Saturday, March 18, 2023



Ghostly Bonding by Kinetic

Since the living body persists

as strange accelerated crimson

what of its post-biology through ideas through ghostly bonding 

      with itself as kinetic?

does it persist within its after-state via chewn reindeer?

or does it unearth itself via post-mortem figment?

because kinetics reabsorb themselves

they remain trenchant

as certain owls

roaming the horizon as signs


Will Alexander

Divine Blue Light

    for John Coltrane

City Lights Books 2022

Friday, March 17, 2023


Mountains Don't Attract Me Anymore

The mountains don't attract me anymore.

I've lived long enough between cold snowfields.

I still find my way in the woods, listen

to fall wind, and stop at the forest ponds,

engage with streams. Even late in the year

you can find good berries there.

You have to cross mountains if that's not enough.

Peaks stand there, so you know where you are.


Olav H. Hauge

The Dream We Carry

translated by Robert Bly

Copper Canyon Press, 2008

Wednesday, March 15, 2023



R E A D    M E

An ugly as sin dust jacket but

the book is a delight to read

Tuesday, March 14, 2023

Monday, March 13, 2023



song of the thrush

sense of sound on air

knowledge of tree space in thrush-song

thrush weight on the branch

thrush weight on air sense

song weight on air space


qui-qui-qui who

slant-stone-on-ice song

going up coming down

upside song a ring

downside voice ceol

a-breath a-voice a-song a-ring

mistle thrush

a high clear closure

in throat tuc-tuc-tuc

of smeòrach a psalm

of stormcock a fluting

of wood/wind a lament

a sanctus in livid sky



Gerry Loose

Dockyard Press/Glasgow


Sunday, March 12, 2023



Recorded Live, 1964

Remastered by Ryan Smith

Thursday, March 9, 2023

Tuesday, March 7, 2023

Monday, March 6, 2023

Thursday, March 2, 2023


On A Starless Night

On a starless night,

I toss and turn.

The earth shakes, and

I fall out of bed.

I look out my window.  The house

next door no longer

stands. It's lying like an old carpet

on the floor of the earth,

trampled by missiles, fat slippers

flying off legless feet.

I never knew my neighbors still had that small TV,

that the old painting still hung on their walls,

that their cat had kittens.

Palestinian Streets

My city's streets are nameless.

If a Palestinian gets killed by a sniper or a drone,

we name the street after them.

Children learn their numbers best

when they can count how many homes or schools

were destroyed, how many mothers and fathers

were wounded or thrown into jail.

Grownups in Palestine only use their IDs

so as not to forget

who they are.

Sobbing Without A Sound

I wish I could wake up and find the electricity on all day long.

I wish I could hear the birds sing again, no shooting and no 

    buzzing drones.

I wish my desk would call me to hold my pen and write again,

or at least plow through a novel, revisit a poem, or read a play.

All around me are nothing

but silent walls

and people sobbing

without sound.

Hard Exercise

In Gaza,

breathing is a task,

smiling is performing

plastic surgery

on one's own face,

and rising in the morning,

trying to survive

another day, is coming back

from the dead.

A Rose Shoulders Up

Don't ever be surprised

to see a rose shoulder up

among the ruins of the house:

This is how we survived.


Mosab Abu Toha

Things You May Find Hidden In My Ear

Poems from Gaza

City Lights Books,  2022

Wednesday, March 1, 2023