October 2005 Archives

Teach a man to catch worms and perhaps
he will be fortunate enough
to find some worms.

Or perhaps not. Perhaps
they will elude him.
Because worms are crafty.

But give a man a worm, and he can split it in two!
And then he will have
two worms!

I'm asking nicely now:
Won't you give a man a worm?

do you remember being a goose?
do you remember flying in pairs

your neck pulled long and straight
warm feathering into the wind

your boney beak bobbing
far out in front to beats

pulsed sideways
by your partner's heart?

If I can
just just
make it
three

minutes more
three more

minutes
more

I'll let myself
hear another
tune by

The New Pornographers.

Is it enough 
to call the water 
black to talk about 
the swirls, the crack in
the floor of this Bay

That steams up
sleep evaporating
soaking into 
a newspaper headline
  till it has mighty heft

Is now a good time
to chalk it all up 
  this swirl and this crack
  this slow-dripping heft 

to some sort of 
vague, tectonic displacement?

Some foamy kerning surge?

I am late 
to this particular party.

In fact, the party has rolled on.
                               And yet here I am. 

         Partying 

         nonetheless.

"The eye of the storm
never hit land
although obviously the eye wall did."

Obviously.

Like now we're all supposed to know what an "eye wall" is.

Meanwhile: I'm having these dreams
where Mr. Roarke was originally
Tattoo and he's saying
"The Plane, The Plane"
in rolling tones with a sweeping hand.

And then he gets promoted and the new Tattoo comes in.
And the new Tattoo thinks "Alright! I've got a job with upward mobility!"

But he's wrong about that.

And those white seaplanes keep dipping down
slowing to a stop

while the eye wall of Tattoo
becomes dark, clustered, clumped.
Obviously.

As he floods on the inside.

The thing about Fox is, they're not subtle. And neither is this micro-rant.

Sometimes
when people walk by
I go to say "hi" to them
but nothing comes out,

I just open and shut my
mouth with a
dry whisper

and I think:
I must look like a lizard to them,
like a big, hairy, rumpled lizard
with a tiny
tongue.

Some say "no one should suffer simply because they have chosen to fall in love."
But I'm not certain I agree.

Surely someone should suffer.
Surely. Someone should suffer simply.
Because they have chosen to fall.

But perhaps no one have chosen?

You think? Because they suffer then?
Perhaps they surely? Simply to choose?

I'm say not certain.

Surely to choose to love, yes?

Surely to choose perhaps
to love at last
to fall
simply because

but no one agree.

Hi all,
A little shameless self-promotion. Red Hills Review and C'era Una Volta (one of my very favorite Italian restaurants on the planet) are hosting a poetry reading and were nice enough to ask me to read. So I'm bustin' out my top hat and cane and I thought I'd use this old web site to spread the word.

I'll be reading various poems and related shtick along with two great east bay poets -- Julia Park and Andy Crockett. We'll try to keep it light 'n breezy. Except for the part where we suddenly, unexpectedly strike a nerve and you begin to weep and weep and weep some more. And then, just as suddenly: back to the shtick!

John Wright, a good pal of mine and an outstanding musician, will be starting the evening off with world-class acoustic guitar.

If you're in the area, we'd love to see ya there.

Here's the information:

Date and time: Tuesday, October 18th, 7 pm
Place: C'era Una Volta
Address: 1332 Park St. Alameda (call the restaurant at 510.769.4828 or just ask me for directions)
Admission: Free as the day is long. And the day is long.

-Cecil

Here it is -- finally. The spot for final thoughts on Flan's Irish stew....

I don't usually use this blog for "links to funny things"(tm) but this one has earned an exception.

See, there was this contest to create trailers for movies that sorta mess with what the movie's about. And this piece for The Shining won.

Super-dooper-highly-recommended.
-Cecil