Disowned OR: Into The Void

Please not to dive too deep
or seize too hard, firmly or
insistently upon something
I put, which I then declare
overthrown and disowned
by mine own mind and
heart, subsequently.

I sent it, then unsent it, so
that meant it stank.

I discovered its scent
in a fuller tasting swallow
was bull shit or bird seed,
at any rate nothing to dig
a hole and drop in. Nothing
fruitful can germinate from
the disowned wooden acorn
I carved and tossed, or rolled
down some way wherein you

…stood, caught, or perhaps
stooped to examine.

When I disown something, there is
approximately zero (0) percent (0%)
chance it is "how I REALLY feel", and
zero chance it is "what I really THINK."

No, it is void. Annihilated when I disown
it, for I first fully-owned it, and only then
found it cracked, busted wide open and flying!
In a sphere of diminishing sharpnel... . .. . ..
. . . . .
. . .
.
. .

.

Feel free to claim otherwise, but
cite your basis and supporting detail.

I suspect and reckon you'll find
you staked your claim in air,
and have been hovering
there ever since like
a wily coyote,

oblivious to the long,
far,

fall

you seemingly crave.

"Meep eep!"

ERR ERR

True in each sense tried.

It is true that
in a sense, I am no
greater than any
other poet (online)

but

...that's just a guess,

...and I may be less.
In a sense, or is that spelled
"innocence." No, no

it's spelt with an IG.
Nor

-ance.

Or anyway, it might
well mightily,
meekly be, and

I never could math
that
kind of

dense.

like a stone, twice

I drop like a stone
and become a smash
smacking deepening slow
to click and clash on the stones
others threw, or have thrown
through the years.

At the base of this pond,
there's a cairn for tears
or for wishes, or whims

so many stones skipped
over surfaces bright or dull,
dim, splash-tripped in a casual
arcing lob or a hard-flung
toss. There are different techniques

and no loss

So I drop like a stone
and become a smash
splashing out to a ripple,
a wave, to crash on the farthest shores
past horizons unplanned

at least it seems so
from here, where I stand.

Sub-poem note

There's some arhythmic dissonance
-no. Try again.

There's some jumble and slip
in the third stanza's meter

- deliberate.

Whether it works or not IS
equally valid in the call of each
individual. I am adamant about this:

my judgment does not, cannot overrule
or outrank the judgment of any individual
in the matter or effect of a poem of mine.

We are each-all-own equal in judgment.

That’s a demonstrable fact, but I digress

ways to not fly

I used to wait
until some new idea struck, 
then tried it out exhaustively. 

When as a kid: with flapping motions
of one's arms more vigorous than any
bird's, I stood and stood
in various backyards.
I tried and flung myself
into it by both hands: two
beating flaps! Like sticks
without a drum
and  

No result!
Just looked absurd. 

The trick
was in the rhythm, 
though. I couldn't ever 
catch that groove.
You can't get any
altitude

the way I so completely 
proved. 

So: running leap in empty
lot! A flat-out shot tiptoe
to fingertips! One shot, one leap
by jolt of faith to make a javelin
that slips so far through empty air!
Until, until...
The bolt one makes
has knocked  

the wind
out of itself, 
to skid to halt
in dirt and weeds. 
It finds its place
on painful ground,
like one's own fault,
so many times. 

So I had found.
Or at least three.  

Or: one fist up, one pulled back 
in, like Superman, except 
he wins. While I just hop 

about with one knee up

So it begins, 
so it proceeds: 

no progress, though. 

(At least I never used
a cape. I knew by then
the cape was not the key.) 

(I also wisely kept
my efforts and attempts 
all set quite low. Ground
-level to begin! I could just
tell somehow: to jump
from off a roof, or some
high place could never boost
my lift in space.) 

(Yes, reason is a gift
with which I'd always felt
back then
I'd been 
endowed.) 

So past a certain point, quite
young, I knew my chance was up
and done. By pretty early in the trials,
I allowed as how I wasn't getting 
anywhere: and moreover: I wouldn't!

Since (you see) I reasoned, judged, observed:
none of these tricks and methods worked
way back when I was light and small!

There's no way that they'd work at all,
then. Since by the time I'd noticed this,
I'd passed my peak for aerodynamism,

loft and lift, or what else figures into it.

Yes, probably
it's just as well
I tried and failed
with each and all.

Since at my full grown size and weight, 
these days, if I'd flown then, I probably
couldn't fly by now at all, anymore
anyway
anyhow.  

If I could, I'd be amazed. 

All children passed through this same
basic phase, hey didn't they?

If they did not,
I don't know how. 
It seemed so natural
to fly, or try at least. 

Way back when we 
were light enough to land
with OW! 

no injuries. 

It didn't take a break or sprain 
to make me chuck it up: "bad job." 
Just realizing I'd become 
too big a boy 
for such 
light
lift
and loft, and soar
or clumsy lob. 

kind-of spider

I'm kind 
-of like a ghost 
spider, sat pluck 
in the midst of 
one mangled web 

but it's just my luck
someone 
or something keeps  
sticking these flies around 
my bed. Oh 

do not mistake your man, 
I mean I don't eat 
them. 

I'm kind-of vegan 
that way. Those flies 
are too much like me, 
but I like the shimmy 
and shake they bring 

anyway

I will scurry and scuttle 
on the trembling line 
'til I spot that bug 
in my faceted eyes 
and I'll steal in close 
and I work it 

free 

then it's back to the middle 
(wherever I be) with my 
skinny-ass legs 
and my fat body

To James McMurtry, from the crowd that night

(2) Facebook

__________________

"TUNE IT"

The son of a cowboy novelist 
and one of our finest Western 
apes of angels, come to 
story/song 

stood raw 
like a sort-of 
modern, American 
Elvis Costello 

onstage, messing with 
his strings.

So I stood
in the crowd 
always right
next to her, and screamed 

"YEAH!

TUNE IT!" 

I got such an elbow in 
the ribs, for that! Aimed 
right and hard from my better, 
sharper than-back-then 
half, 

as she laughed, 
but 

It was so well-worth it, because 
I meant every word.

And
she knew I did,

hence the hard-struck 

nerve. 

The Least, Easiest Things

He gets in a car 
They're looking for him
down the corner store. 
Everyone pitched in. 
His dad found the book, 

And
So did he,

So
she and he
've been
making it up
for themselves;
. 

their own private language
verbatim or not, 
we soon shall see. 

They've each fixed on 
the least and easiest things, 
and found two full worlds 
of difference, their one same 
/similar take can bring. 

One book, four hands 
soon torn apart, is easy 
and less to mend 

if you still have yourself 
half a heart, by 

the end 

offal meats

Offal meats 
discretely laid 
upon some potluck smorgasbord 
looked great, and so 
tempted was I. No, 
don't think so 
Let's let await 
until a drink or few 
gone by 

Hook, abated

What gall
and nerve, even
arrogance stands here,
to swerve 

chore to-do

my earliest convenience 
comes too soon 
i would put it off 
but 
it's done, now. 
BOON

Tin Dot.

Mostly I am
or feel like the
Tin Man. Heartless
and brave, and wanting
so much.

Occasionally
in an argument, I become
the Scarecrow by a work
of your art.

I do confess it: a touch!
A touch.

I don't really go in
for Lion, so much.
Not so much a Cat!
But I'm kind of
Chesire.

Perhaps ultimately
I'm Dot. Just Dot, with
a big wicker picnic basket
(no Toto, but probably some
kind of dog inside), sweetly,
naively unafraid of fire, coolly
or coyly advising the lot:

Pay no attention
to the curtain behind
the man, or the halo of
light he glares within.

It's only a spot.
Just a spot of light.
Not so bright as the sun
when the clouds come in.

Revenge of the nerred

"To nerr" should be a verb.
Then we could say we've
gone nerring, or nerrant.
I'm going to nerr you, or
Has she been nerring,
lately?

It would basically mean:

"To do no wrong," such as
not to err, or not to wrong
someone (typically another).

Watch out, though.

Some people might not
like to be nerred. They might
not care for the term, perchance.
They might think YOU think

you're infallible.
You could just say

NOPE! 
Just nerring
the best I can

"O come all ye"

Oh come 
all ye faithful, 
joyful and
triumphadent 
no wait 

Triumphant!
And really, only if
you're all three (3),
the song asks you
to come. If 
you're
only faithful, joyful
OR triumph
-ant, or if you find
you've got 2 out of 3,
please 

no line-jumping, please.
Please WAIT
for some other hymn
or (hyr, or thyr) to sound,
so you can join in, full
voice and applicability.
Please! If you fit the
carol's criteria, then
join in if you're feeling it! 
If you are moved to 

Wait your GOD-
BLEST TURN 

THOUGH PLEASE! 2
out of 3 ain't bad, and
even ONE (1) of those 
adjectival slammers 
is pretty good, huh?

No cause to barge in
where you weren't called
to "come all ye." Hold
up, hold on, hold out unless
and until you hit 
all three! 

(3). 

A significant number, 
in those days of yore OR
in these days of yours. Even, 
if one might say so: 

these days of ours.  

Oh wait. What the heck
do you do 
IF
you find you are
or have got all three (3)?

What 
does 
one (1) do then? 

Well, what one (1)
should do, once
one recognizes one
has the good fortune, 
dumb luck or grace to be
all three 

of those heavy-hittin' 
traits or circumstances 

If that describes you, sure.
Dive in, chime in, pipe up
and sing right all the way
through. From the aforementioned
start to the rest of the song, 
baby 

Sing it then.
You know the tune. Make up 
the words if you have
to

Christmas 
is coming hard and fast, 
hot and hard just past Halloween's
ass, and Thanksgiving's case. 

Why, before you know it, 
it's January 1st, so 

you know 

you don't have to jump 
the line, cut it early just 
for a proper slice 

of season's greetings. 

Do you? 

If so, then sure. 
Just get in where you fit 
in. Or fit out! Or fit it, or 

it fits you. Suits you fine, 
Caroline. Fits you well, 
William Tell. Now, 

how would you like to bob 
for an apple. I'll put it 
in a prime spot 
take a shot 

open dream journal #5

Last night
I dreamt that I was
counting sheep. Not even
kidding. I never counted
sheep (to get to sleep) in my
life, but there I was asleep AND
DREAMING, and my dream had
a literal counting sheep interlude.*

*for real. IN A DREAM. This happened! 

The sheep would one-by-one approach a
low, low
fence. Each leapt the fence in turn, and
a number was superimposed upon it, as if
in postproduction.

DING: 3! 

New sheep comes by, leaps over
(DING: 4!),
gambols a bit - it was the stupidest
fucking mid-dream interlude I ever
saw. THANK GOD I'm no lucid
dreamer; I would have to blame

myself for this

not funny if

So anyway,
a quick brown fox jumped
into a bar called the Lazy Dog(s).

The bartender says

(said, but): HOW MANY of you
fucking foxes does it TAKE
to change the lightbulb? The fox

said slyly why, am I the only fox in here?
(It was a dark and stormy night, you see)
(inside the Lazy Dog(s))

So the fox says: I'll have a light lager.
The bartender
says: "Well, I'm a lumberjack.
Am I OK?" The fox rejoins,

I don't know, what do you weigh? 

The bartender kicks the fox out of there.

The owner of the bar immediately waltzes
in, changes the lightbulb, realizes

the problem

was the bartender forgot to FLICK
THE SWITCH TO 'ON,' and FIRES
the bartender for kicking foxes out
of a bar whose attendance (in dog
terms) is/was largely predicated on
an occasional influx of foxes! GAH

DAMNIT this joke gets less funny
in the telling. Perhaps

if I could explain

avo toast deluxe

I raised a toast to you
by bites of avocado,
egg and such

I forked it up
and swallowed it
South

by dint of eye,
nose, tongue
and mouth

defy, deify or defile

I'd sooner defy 
or defile than 
deify you, but 
the chance of the first two 
is negligible of necessity, 
and the third 

would be redundant, 
too

the lessons of self-defense

My own unique mastered 
martial art: Tai Chi Do 
never fails to kick in 
slow motion leg 
and hand strikes, 
sweeps and blocks, 

with balance, poise 
and acumen. 

It's quite relaxing. 
Best with two: 
one mastered, 
mistressed 
martial 
art. 

We used to do it 
often at home.
Alas, she's gone. 

We danced apart 

homely homily

My faith is the size of a mustard 
tree. It's always pollen seasoning.
I cannot help but sneeze three times.
ACHOO! Amen and Alleloo, oh,
bless these days 
and evenings.  

the deef end (expectation)

I'd sooner defile
than deify expectation, but
I'll settle easily on "defies."

Truth is I don't expect
much or little; I try
to leave expectation

open

for others' use
as needs must or
likes love

then if they declare
expectation openly, I
can be like

WHAT?

or

OK!

or

whatever
seems
apt.

Or flat.

Depending on where
we
at.  

quantity vs. quality revisited

Quantity is not 
versus quality. 

And

Anyone who says it is 
has run a false dichotomy. 
I like to run quick and deep, 
leap like a stone skipped 
over a fake lake (or a literal 
one, for real) and smash 
from ripples to waves 
on far shores of any 

ol' pond in range.

Why not? Why not stunt, 
lark, fling and swing away?

Rarely 
and preciously,
when it happens 
- I am succinct. Rarely that.
Fecund, though! - even though
that's not a very virtue,
is it? 

Point is: I put out. 
I write poems bad, good 
rarely-to-never indifferent, 
every which way to loose 
in the eye of random 
passerby, and call it 

blind luck 

when one good one 
turns up. 

Is this an invalid way 
to go? I'd love to see you 
stake, make and defend 
that case, 

honcho 

I am an online poet of some (1) note. 
I'll thank you to notice, I do not gloat, 
but I'm glad in my small way 

to make. As I allude to up there,
it's about as good as a scale 
paper boat Spanish Armada 
hauling ass, grass and cash 
(or gold) across some puddle 

cosplayed as a midsize lake,
and pretending to seas. 

gift outright

Let sunlight strike 
the letters from the page, 
and read it
from memory 

anyway

kinda koan beta/original version

I would not be
an honest person, if
I said that coincidence
was mere observation.

kinda koan

I wouldn't be honest
if I said 
coincidence
was mere correspondence.

valley boy meta direct dead-set

Dear friend, you have always been
more
with the finger
on pulse of the electronic gore
slice n’ dice mix n’ match shuffling cut
to the edge than I! 

That's a mouthful, BUT
I do think
too much of that kind
of stuff
would risk creeping me
/freaking me out
enough.

I’ve a keen cool
interest in natural
uncanny valleys, such
as cryptic odd-stress syllables
in a dialogue, but that
digitally
-done-
guff hits
and overreaches my capacity for it
FAST 

With humanly-wrought things
- intentional, or not, just that
it's *natural* somehow I’ll always hold
that nothing of sense or significance is
revealed about the whole.
Not by such means.
Such a quirk or tic
only adds meaning
to do with the part,
wherein it appears
specifically.

Where the cryptic, mystic
or intriguing distortion or odd
emphasis hits!
Sits, fits, occurs. 

No overaching meaning plus,
by such flits, blips or stretches.
Just a grace note there, here, hey
no fuss. This is

a decided thing with me

Not anyhing to do with (ultimately)
the intended significance of the others’ part!
I honor that! Whatever it may be
I’m fine
with whatever they did
or might
intend, but by my interpretive art 

I rule all implication out of my take, if
I can. If it's not given plain literal enough.
it's a breeze, pretty much.

Just-as, just-is. “Hint
me no hints, for I’ll leap you no
leaps!” I say!

EXCEPTION

of course, for people longtime,
and well,
and mutually
known. That kind, those
peoples’ ways have already wormed in,
to the point
they BECOME
literal known denoted
value and meaning blocks 
and chips shot fair and level 
in any gift of sense. If…

...does that
make sense?
If so, if not,

It’s a shot from hip through
bottom-of-heart to lip!
Watch the ricochet,
for a start. Ka-pwing? 

Thanks 
for deciphering that 

if any 

thing

over-the-counter

I took half a pain-killer 
hours ago. So you know, 
if you see me half-squint 
half-wink
one eye
AT YOU - 

Nothing funny, there!
Just plumb down the line,
straightforth and true:  

My left half's in agony 
(cue wince/tic)!  
My right half's fine.

And 
I'm fine with it.
Ick.  

MOOD HAT answer key

BLUE STAR means 
I'm here, y'all. Throw me 
the pass, hand the run, 
I'll ball

BLACK STAR red white 
& black hat means 
same as above, 
just camouflage that

DODGY hat means 
all or both or either 
of the above, let's 
hope

MERMAID HAT 
means, "Hi, cupcake.
make what you wish 
of it, give or take" 

All these hats mean 
I am bald. Sorry but 
hey there it is. 

Such nerve, such
spine-tingle gut-wrench
GALL

I've been on the look 
for a black cap that just 
says "BALD" on the front, 
big and bold, forever. 

But I don't think they 
sell hats like that. I cannot 
think why they don't. 

Whatevs 

For whatever
(it is 
or means)

It's probably just 
a hat in the end. 

If I touch the brim, 
it means 'Lo, there 

friend?  

appetites & limits

For the running routine,
I'd advise four hits and/or meals
a day. Four of each, mind you. 
No swapping around! 

Big deal: 1st comes at 10AM,
or upon getting up, whichever
comes first. Hit the ground. 
Now for 2nd: not before TWO
pee em, but delay gratification
as much as one wants.
Go by appetites galore!
But keep within limits.
Fourth, third, twice, once.
For 3rd, not before 6. 4th
not before
BIG 10 P.M.!

- or whenever I
turn in, or am about to. 
Whichever that is. This is
less free verse, more a to-do 
how-to
list. 

Reflexive reflection in self-critique.

Man

trust me 

to take a dump 
in the middle of a 
pretty-good otherwise 
poem, 

right? Right
or wrong, it's
did and done. Cool
as a beast in heat 
with no mate 
in sight. 

UNCOOL insight,
potentially. Or it could be
alright, or it might 

be a big shot crack off 
the broken back
of a baseball bat,  
flying out of sight 

foul,
but just

inattention & hate

spiders would be wise 
(and most of them are)
to consider me 
a force of nature. 

I hate to undo 
all that detail-work

but sometimes, I do 
what I hate ta. 

Cool as

Cool as a candle without a flame.
Cool as a snowman's fresh disdain.
Cool as the other side
of the pillow
is.

Cool as your own reflection
in a lake,
in a glass,
in mind,
per circumstance.

Cool as the breeze
off an ice cream cone.

Cool as the business itself 
(the biz)

Cool as an iceberg's bottom
half.

Cool as a one-wipe dump. Oh, please. 
Cool as a swimming hole. Cool as breeze!
Cool as a customer, actually right 
for once.

Cool as confidence and ease. 

Cool as not caring how much
or little
people who don't know you
think of you.

Cool as whatever anyone wants,
so long as they can get it
themselves.
Cool as boo 
to a goose.

Cool as...

a hunch 

- that you can back up.

Or that you can't. Sometimes 
that's cool. It's cool. 

Cool as elves. 

Cool as a rhyme that doesn't quite 
land. Cool as a bird in a wide-open 
hand. Cool as a pose
without a stance.

Cool as a stance 
without a pose.

Cool as a perfect suit 
of clothes, or trying
that outfit off
for sighs, or

for show.  

Cool as a chance.
Cool as a fool in good cause,
such as love. Cool as a cloud-shaped
cloud, above. Cool as a
metaphor for itself.

Literally. 

Cool as someone else, who you have 
no reason to know, so far. Cool as the
temperature where you are, if it is
indeed

cool.

Cool as a dare. Cool as a risk. 
However cool either of these 
things is,

- in a given case. 

Cool as an ace with a heart 
up your sleeve, played close 
to your vest in a time of need. 

Cool as a candle without a match.
Cool as a candle without a light. 
Cool as a candle generally. Right? 

Candles are cool! Or they can be, 
sure. It all depends on a lot.
Context! Cool as a hitch
without a catch. Cool as It
Is Itself, just now.

Might be less cool, somehow,
or more, next time, next place,
next thing itself - galore!  

Cool as a bare-ass baby pic.
Cool as an iceberg's underwear. 
Cool as a cone, when you get

one lick. 

Sometimes we pick. 
Sometimes we share. 
Sometimes we get none, too

That's cool.
NOT FAIR

headfelt

The contents of my heart
so full, so clear right now

Unfortunately

the cotton wadding in
my brain eschews
all

eschews
attempts

at

ah, dang it.

Unfortunately, it's
the thought that counts.
My thought is caught
in purple felt done up
all stiff and soft like
this.

So uselessly, my thoughts
are dealt.

A shopworn hat
crunched up, worn
inside skull, and cocked
so far from bliss, eschewing
all but awkward words.

It feels right now like
I am always this.

Except
I know I've known
much better days
and moments,
so

might we postpone?

'Til I awake
with heartfelt mind
and golden tongue,
and speak my way
clear home. 

some moment aglow

Raise a glass to clearing skies 
and let the moonrise shine 
through it.

Make
some toast 
that just popped up,
impromptu, meant
and somehow fit.

All 
the while
lost in your
eyes, with you
so found in mine,
as well. 

Too simple 
for a recipe, 
but perfect how 
this moment fell. 

Brave advice

Kid, sometimes, 
- I don't mean to be mean, 
but you're one well-spoken 
nothing puff. You might 

if you care about might, 
consider holding back 
until something you say 
builds up 

to clear a higher bar 
of remarkable. 

It might take practice 
or discipline, but I know 
kid, that you have it 
in you. 

Or maybe you don't. 
You do you, then. 

fantastic odds

If not for my bald spot 
I'd be a superstar 
I'd strut around in free clothes
to impress

If not for my longshot
I'd be a gambler
I'd make a number of big, bad bets

If not for my slow start
I'd be a cornerback
I would be playing professional ball

If not for my free fall 
I'd be a climber, now 
I'd be
way on top
of it all! 

- If not for my 
- If not for my
bald
spot 

(I'd be a billionaire 
I'd drive a hundred-and-one
Corvettes)
(I would be famous
with no regrets) 
(I would be counting more
than 
you could bless) 
(I would be better and best,
no less) 

If not for my
If not for my bald spot. 
I'd have a head of hair
beyond counting 
so you'd just guess

the load

We carry a burden remarkable 
In all of the things we say, let fly 

Because there is too much there 
to explain, exclaim, even if 

we did nothing else 

'til we die

Unused saws

Can't eat your cake 
that you don't have. 
Can't look your horse 
in its long-gone mouth 
When you gave it away 
by the waterside. Well 
you led the way fine, 
but you lost your ride. 

Now you can't teach 
dirty dogs squeaky-clean 
tricks! When will you
learn 
what not to mix?

All your metaphors laid
like so many bricks slid
into similes 
you can't like as this.
But 
you might as well learn 
from experience.
It sure 
isn't good
for much else, 
you wince.

You can't fly 
a kite from a bike
off a log
 
and expect to forget 
how you did that 
a thing like that  

tends to stick 
- unless you were stoned, 
or ended up with a concussion. Well,

try it again, then, maybe. For 
the memory jog 

sliding scale

You can always tell 
where you fall on the scale, 
'cause it's fixed in the place
you've broken it. Don't fall 
for the false dichotomies! 
In a given case, they are not
legit. 

Still, now and then T/F 
does hold true, and Y/N
lies right
between go/stop. 
In that case, in which case 
you may rely:

You know. 

Sure you do.
Don't be coy,
nor shy. 

When you're hot you're hot! 
When you're up you're up. 
When you're not you're not. 
Sometimes you get stuck. 
Sometimes you get loose. 
When you're feeling wild
or mild, 
honk 

like a goose! 

Or if that won't work,
cry like a baby, 
laugh like a child, 
act like a sweetheart,
look like a jerk,
dance like a fool 

on apple juice

and let opportunity 
do its work.

take measure

I keep a level in my heart, 
like carpenters use to test straight lines. 
The bubble slips from left to right 
with every beat, and I feel fine. 

I keep a gauge in mind, all day. 
It's sensitive. It calibrates. 
Sometimes results are off the charts, 
but those are only on best days. 

I keep a range, a meter, glass 
with needle always quivering
or sitting still. Whichever way, 
I hope tomorrow when I rise, 
it always will.

I don't know what these things 
are for. I only know they're always 
there, and always have been.
I keep score against myself.

So far, I win.