StumbleUpon | gu1tar's blog posts http://gu1tar.stumbleupon.com/ gu1tar's recent blog posts on StumbleUpon en-us Thu, 24 Dec 2009 10:37:09 -0800 Tue, 19 May 2009 11:48:45 -0700 StumbleUpon | gu1tar's blog posts http://gu1tar.stumbleupon.com/ http://cdn.stumble-upon.com/images/logo_su_36x36.png Thu, 01 Jan 2009 23:02:27 -0800 <![CDATA[http://gu1tar.stumbleupon.com/review/28904275/]]> http://gu1tar.stumbleupon.com/review/28904275/ http://gu1tar.stumbleupon.com/review/28904275/










                          Janus

                          The night before New Year
                          you went on ahead,
                          but when I crossed over
                          you went back instead...

                          Namesake waited for the new year
                          to get lucky
                          while Signal pulsed

                          as the ball came down
                          oh yes oh god this Is
                          the coming year

                          Riverbob would not wait and after
                          watched contentedly as in
                          came the new year flowing.

                          Prayerful wanted a second coming,
                          Flavia wanted a second helping,
                          Mysterical wanted it all

                          the time, repeatedly sated,
                          never enough but
                          damn that felt good

                          lasting as long as
                          a resolution.

                          Romanticide pined for Mysterite
                          alone in a roomful of minutes,
                          too glum to realize that

                          had the right one shown
                          it would have felt all wrong:
                          new years would arrive

                          no matter what, and life would go on
                          no matter how badly she wanted to start over

                          And Jackthezipper took himself in hand
                          and after he exploded, told the new year
                          that he had it coming

                          And a couple of once upon a could be friends
                          clinked drinks at midnight, wondering
                          but wary of the new year

                          And 13 blackbirds singing in the dead
                          sang to life perched fretfully
                          on a Fender bumping into
                          auld or new acquaintance come to grind

                          And a solitary scribe,
                          marking time, gamed by rules,
                          tried to write what he meant,

                          plucked a memory,
                          dreamt a friend,
                          rested easy as

                          the old year passed
                          into the new,
                          the new slipped
                          into the old

                          and the fog of their fantasies
                          resolved

                          into now.





Poem copyrighted © 2009, Steve Wax. All rights reserved.

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                          Crossing Christmas

                          At the crack
                          of Christmas
                          dawn was
                          all it was
                          cracked up
                          to be: joy to the
                          very next thought lined up
                          at stores for
                          better bargains or
                          returns of merchandise
                          that did not fit or work or play or
                          just plain did not please . . .

                          Trudging down Mt.Christmas, crossing
                          timberline of stunted cedars, crunching
                          across a carpet of discarded ornaments
                          I tripped
                          over this present:

                          No before no after
                          all I know
                          and all I've ever known is
                          snow coming down
                          you log blazing
                          candles in
                          your eyes . . .

                          And yet not yet
                          in my fingers
                          the pure song of Christmas;
                          instead the squads
                          of chestnuts roasting on
                          and on and on an
                          open fire,
                          executed by lying eyes
                          willing to see
                          anything
                          but what's there, Christ,
                          just feeling I am
                          too damn full to eat another

                          Neither did I bring my leftover round
                          to the missions of the second-hand gospel,
                          belated greetings from the conscience of the unavoidable:
                          I hadn't given
                          enough to feel
                          well received, and hadn't
                          received enough to give
                          a left-handed prayer to
                          whatever or whoever follows

                          Xmas, which I
                          for one
                          for all
                          and for good
                          will keep
                          on following until
                          it leaves
                          a perfect present

                          called nothing more
                          or less than
                          our lives




"The Timberline - Mt. Hood Forest" by Jim Gola


Poem copyrighted © 2008, Steve Wax. All rights reserved.

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Photobucket

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"Doors Within Doors" by Hubert J. Steed

Problems with the Story

                            The story was too long.

                            Before you told it, you forgot it.

                            Before the snake unwound
                            his infinite body
                            from around the tree,
                            the head forgot where he was going.

                            The story had too many beginnings.

                            If you stepped through a door
                            twelve others might open.

                            Did anyone have time?

                            The story knotted in the throat of a finch.

                            Sometimes the story felt cold after you told it.

                            The story might make his mother nervous.

                            This was only a translation of the story I heard
                            through a small crack while sleeping.

                            This was not the best story.

                            Angels and bells did not follow this story
                            but still, I had to tell it.

                            It was the only chance I had
                            to find you.





"Le Philosophe" by Andre Martins de Barros (Thanks, hekata!)

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"Alabama Family 2006" by Tim Heinse

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Cleaning Up The Political Landscape . . .




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Just To Say

            For longer, far longer, than I expected or knew
            I had no home.

            When what this new one was came over me,
            my old computer could not overcome

            what it is, what it can never be
            again. Soon another will come

            but connection remains elusive
            as time.

            The lake is still
            here . . .

            you are away . . .
            to send the best of what I find

            here there
            is a way to say



Poem copyrighted © 2006, Steve Wax. All rights reserved.


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Thanks, susie!

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Pat Metheny on the Pikasso




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