Welp!

                                                         A PROOF OF IMPROVISATION 

AS PRAYER

If 

all art aspires 

to music

&

all music aspires 

to math—

then

all morning

the sunflower seeds

a cardinal’s song.

TEN YEARS AGO TODAY

 TEN YEARS AGO TODAY

2:29 pm at my boy Barry's 

house in Brigantine, 

I grab my black Eddie Bauer jacket 

and dash out the door because 

the 501 is due at 2:30 

one hand is deep 

in my right pocket 

as I rush to the corner

where the bus trembles up, 

only to realize

I have only $20 bills 

which yesterday the Treasury Dept. 

announced will soon

feature Harriet Tubman 

and the bus glides past 

and the next one 

isn't coming for an hour, 

so I curse our 7th President, 

only it's the kind of day 

that Bill Withers sang about 

so I stride on and revise a poem 

in my head about

coming to terms with

being in the Spectrum

which I read last night at Dante Hall, 

one of the best open readings 

since Its Your Mug 

and I change the title 

to "Portrait of the Artist 

as a Starfish in Coffee" 

because my cousin Derri 

a gorgeous actress in LA

posted a video on FB 

of Prince on The Muppets 

performing that song 

which grows like the hair 

in your ears 

and I decide to revise 

the last two lines 

by cutting "like" 

which I suddenly don't, 

now I pass a brother 

out front of his house 

digging a hole between 

the sidewalk and the street 

as if putting in a new mailbox 

or planting a small tree 

I turn on to Brigantine Blvd. 

where crew clad 

in yellow T-shirts 

with "TCM Paving" 

in lavender letters

is redoing the asphalt 

and I pull out my iPod 

but my Shure 535e earbuds 

are too good at isolating 

which is dangerous 

on busy streets 

and now I'm rising up 

one side of the Brigantine bridge

I peep white birds wheeling 

in the sky and peep that signs 

on the Borgata & Harrahs casinos

are both flashing purple 

and as I crest the bridge 

to get buffeted by the gusts 

Brigantine is famous for, 

there's a notification

for a new comment

from Derri on FB—

"It's not fair that he's gone"—

I lean on the railing

to catch my breath

and see the water below

is reflecting nothing 

but purple light . . .

30 for 30 Haiku for NAPOWRIMO

 Wasn’t going to do it, but whatever the poems say is what matters. 

the fingernails

of the new barista

plum blossoms

the barista’s

freshly glossed lips

a different menu

the outfit

of an approaching woman

lavender becomes her

Xmas flurries

my stocking bulges

with black jelly beans

Tidal Basin

the boats paddling through

cherry blossoms

through the window

a tenor sax solo

wild honeysuckle

reaching up

for the new box of cereal

the snap crackle and pop

bare stalks

across a cotton field

mourning doves

a rainbow

in a shard of glass

Monk’s robe

Another damn revision

 It’s just a revision of a haiku sequence in my book “Ideas of Imorovisation” but I’ve never been prouder of anything I’ve written. 

IDEIAS DI IMPROVASON NA KRIOLU

konxas na praia

undi sta nha kretxeu

kuxixus di mar

shells on the beach

where is my beloved

whispers of the sea

kritxa di barku

na kordas di violon

txeru di peska

squeak of the boat

on the strings of the guitar

smell of fish

konxa na orela

morna di kes ondas—

mesmu na Praia

Shell to ear

a morna for the waves—

even at the beach 

lua na seu—

karanjeju fantasma

na praia pretu

moon in the sky—

a ghost crab on

a black beach

ondas di agua

crescenti sa ta toki

morna di Cizé—

the ocean waves

the moon touches—

morna of Cizé

meiu kantiga

rabu di passarinha

ta some some

half a song

the tail of a kingfisher

fades fades