NaPoMo is over and with it went one of the most tumultuous months I've ever experienced. Overall there was much more good than bad, and it ended on an upswing, even if I couldn't see that then. The last couple of Aprils have sparked nice creative surges for me, let's hope that continues. In other news, I'm taking applications for a new Muse, the job pays well, but it pays in poems. Woke up this morning happier than I've been in a long time. Good food will do that. Well, good food and good . . .
Swooping seagull-
scanning the bare beach
for a muse
Her eyes-
green pistachios
half open
WAVE
(for Oscar Peterson)
Here what ten
fingers can spindle
from an ivory spine,
a bubbling
bathing ears
until a chartreuse sea
lacing white on the beach
becomes a curling
breeze rising
to kiss sandy lips
Listen to the terns
these riffs attempt
in a steel strung key
on a heavily knuckled board,
how softly the notion can
hammer a man
not the notes on paper,
though those, too -
but the way the A
tears through "paper"
not so much the tune
as being tuned
to the chord that
curls itself
across the hands,
not the joints,
but what jukes
between goodbye
and gone.
Until next we meet, may all your potatoes be sweet (and dusted with cinnamon).
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