All the Confused Tenses of the Shoreline

All the Confused Tenses of the Shoreline

Art by Bill Wolak 2019

The Voice That Turns Your Body Into a Spark

                                         
                                           
                                            The Voice That Turns Your Body Into a Spark
                                                            Art by Bill Wolak 2019

The Sudden Trance Triggered by Lingering Perfume

             The Sudden Trance Triggered by Lingering Perfume 

Art by Bill Wolak 2019

Unhearing Aid

Sparks and smoke bring lots of joy,

But not so much for my doggy boy.

For if he hears a whistly boom,

He'll dive into a corner, zippity zoom.

Mortar rounds, and everybody's getting jolly,

Old boy's trembling behind a refrigerator dolly.

Ice cream cones, hot dogs and burgers,

My boy says he's quite the deserver!

4th of July, to Doggy Boy is quite alright,

Until darkness when they strike the light.

Shots, crackles, flames and squeals,

Pierce his ears and freeze him still.

Palsy, shakes, and squeezed eyes close,

Hell on earth for this little wet nose.

All attacks will end in just a few days,

but a stray bottle rocket will bring a trembly phase.

Then he fainted; scared into the ethereal!

When he heard snap. crackle, pop as I ate my cereal.

What a shame, to him America's birthday sure is tough,

Gonna have to make the old boy some anti-firework earmuffs.

-Ronnie Pierce

Invisible the Substantiality of Love

 How now in the lostness of time

are not moments found to collect

before they are not and will not

be again?

                How the now invisible lingers

like a presence even as we grasp at

what cannot be held beyond

a moment's existence.

The stability of matter not able

to eclipse the fluidity of feelings,

acts that to the heart and soul

last forever,

                 our stories unfolding act

by act, longing by longing,

dream by dream into the only

reality there is --  that one flowing

through all of us, memories echoing

the only divine commandment

we need to understand:

"I am that I am."

                         What else but through

love can this be followed?

And what need of anything more?

-Byron Hoot

That Sea

I am getting to that point

that forgetting is a kind

of reprieve from remembering,

a prelude to a moment of discovery

whereby what has been

and what is to be

                            coalesce

just into the only thing

that cannot be argued

and so I slightly know,

remembering God's sea

of forgetfulness

                           feeling the water

at my feet, the waves repeating,

"In the beginning. . . ."

-Byron Hoot

Bear Face Cloud

"Watching storm clouds roll

in can be interesting," he said

after seeing a picture of a bear

face in a thunderhead I took

off my porch in an instant

of attention before it was gone.

Not all storms are so willing

to be announced;

                          the suddenness 

of some beg the meaning

;of "the readiness is all" 

as clearly inadequate.

And yet

            if I review the history

of the storms in my life ,

I might reconsider in my hindsight

there was a foresight

of a storm beyond the weather

of the moment.

                       Like that prophet

whose storm against the priests

of Baal

           was but hand-sized:

unseen, unnoticed to the unlooking

eye or heart. . . .

                           But I never had a storm

cloud with a bear face in it;

the storm the bear announced never

came, the cloud changed shape

and passed away.

                          "Later, another day,"

I thought, my eyes scanning the skies. 

-Byron Hoot

The Beginning of The End

"And in the outward air again 
I filled with woes the passing 
wind." 
-Wm. Blake 

Angel mine 
arrive, arrive 
in an evening haunted 
of Summer's presage- 
upward there, the cornering thunder 
strives and whitest 
flashes alight 
the cool sky/ 
Dusk drawn spectres. 

-T. Byron Kelly
5/17/2002 
Revised
7/3/2008

The Unicorn of Longfellow Trail

Today I walked Longfellow trail with a unicorn

He knew the forest like forest was his middle name

pointing out the peace tree Chief Jake Swamp planted

An olive branch of an oak offered as peace to all nations

from his indigenous peoples nation to the new nations

So much to forgive was forgiven and such a brave forgiveness

Chief Jake won the Nobel Prize for Peace for his peace trees

So says my unicorn 

Longfellow trail for a length is also a section of The North Country Trail

Four thousand six hundred miles more is more freedom

than even unicorns and I could imagine so we stuck with Longfellow

He took his mind off his troubles of late to give me a bit of his wisdom and magic

He told me that hemlock over there was the tallest east of the Mississippi

until the microburst of ’07 laid it low

And over there, a moss-covered timber he said was over 500 years old

We paused a moment in the forest hush to ponder 500 years

At a great boulder on the ridge he showed me a small rounded bowl

perfectly eroded in the rock, a bit of rain water collected there

A family walked by and as he showed the little girl others gathered, listened

Listened to a unicorn of all things can you believe it?

Centuries the Indians gathered acorns, brought them to that rock 

after softening them in the river and ground them there with another rock

Ground, ground, ground them to a barely palatable but richly fat nutritious mash

for if you can make peace and eat acorns you will never go hungry

~ Girard Tournesol

The Duality of the Singular

The animal existence of my reality

begins by rubbing my eyes,

my feet finding the floor,

the slow, certain steps towards

making coffee.

                      And then the sitting

down, looking out

                             but looking, listening

in as well

               because I know for me --

though I can't speak for my brothers

and sisters of the wild -- there are

at least two worlds.

                                   And to deny one

or the other is utter denial of me.

I immigrated here from my mother's

womb, the joint effort of egg and sperm

and desire and love: these last two

inherent before I breathed my first breath.

So that other instinct of my existence

I don't deny either;

                             I don't think any wild

creature is so cross-blooded,

that elixir of human and divine,

divine-in-human, humanly diviine 

is only yours and mine.

Even Angels and Devils can't claim

the blessings and curses we call

human we alone possess.

-Byron Hoot

Into Oblivion

Into oblivion I cast my line 

Blue Zebco Splash spincaster

Kerr-plopps red and white bobber 

Sinker hook and nightcrawler 

Dad helps with the nightcrawlers

Into oblivion I sing my song

The Pentecostal prayer language 

Only my mother could translate 

Ay la Oh, malla Ay shunta shallay

Ay la Oh, malla Ay shunta shallay

Into oblivion I heap my life 

Pile of autumn leaves 

Sad browns and lucky reds

Wonders of yellow and orange

Acrid skin and the ache of the rake

-Girard Tournesol