Painting adapting a photo in a pharmaceutical ad
It swirls
around him, weighs
upon his brain, squashes
hope, psychic tumor grows
like a ball of string tied
in a thousand knots,
wound by wounds,
no single catastrophe,
but wave upon wave
wearing into his soul–
no pill for this picture
The day was sunny and clear,
The winds were calm,
The pilot inexperienced,
As we flew from Centennial Airport
To the tiny airport at Fort Lyons.
From the sky we could see
Farmer’s fields with irrigation ditches
Surrounding the short runway.
When we came in
Too low
We crashed
Into the top
Of a dirt mound
Next to a ditch,
And sheared off
The bottom of the plane,
And bounced one, two, three times
Across the field,
Before sliding down
The runway,
And off onto a low rise
At the side.
Stunned we sat there
Till Jack, a pilot himself, said,
‘We’d better get out.
The plane might explode.’
And we rapidly abandoned
The wounded bird.
Later I looked for a job
But could not find one,
My wife, Diane developed M.S.,
So I ended back
On a small two engine plane
Consulting to the VA hospital
Across the state in Fort Lyons.
We were flying home
Almost one year
From the time of the crash
When I saw from my window
The right propeller:
Dead stopped.
Quiet panic
Moved through the plane,
But this pilot was experienced
And we flew to the next airport
And with one propeller
We landed safely.
After a long bus ride home,
I quit the job the very next day.
I did not want to risk
‘Three strikes and you’re out.’
Much later
I went on another trip
To the plate.
This time,
Not work but vacation
To see the fall leaves fall
Back east with old friends.
But in old Quebec City.
Ceylon abruptly left
Without explanation
From our night out
To find a restaurant
And I knew
All was not well
With our companions.
We ate there puzzled,
His wife, Caroline,
Her mother, Marge
My wife, Diane,
And me.
The rest of the trip
We pretended
All was well,
After all Diane
Was walking again.
Later we parted,
And Diane and I left
To explore New Hampshire
By ourselves.
About a year latter
The five of us
Went on a Louis Rukeyser
Investment Cruise
On the MS Ryndam
To the western Caribbean.
The days were cloudy,
The winds were strong,
And the market was down.
I needed a vacation
From my busy psychiatry practice.
We were not sure
Our friends could go
Because Carolyn’s mother
Had two cardio conversions
In the hospital
Earlier that week,
But we gathered
Our bags to go.
Because of high winds.
We went off course.
Instead of the beautiful
White beaches
On the cove
Of Half Moon Cay
We landed at Ocho Rios.
On the second day out
Ceylon told Caroline
He wanted a divorce.
She was devastated
By his cardio conversion
And so was our trip.
We had to pretend
Everything was OK
To make sure Carolyn’s mother
Would not get upset
And have a heart attack.
As we became therapist
to our friend.
It was a busman’s holiday,
This Timothy Leary trip
In a not yellow,
Not submarine,
Not vacation,
Not.
Tripped up again.
This time we struck out.
Narcissus so saw
his reflection in the pool
that he, like Oedipus,
lost sight
of himself
Our choices give us voices
Or we babble with the brook.
Though with guilt for blood spilt,
We must see; we can’t just look.
Jean-Baptiste, judge un-penitent,
Tied are we to your covenant.
Like mariner with wedding guest,
You cleave us to y(our soul’s unrest.
Our negative spaces, where water, now land.
Seduced by your traces, we’re Amsterdammed.
*by Albert Camus
*
Doublet{s[(I)n]} (Am)ster(dam’? **
** More After the Fall by Albert Camus (Doublets, Doubts, Sin in Amsterdam,–I am Dammed?)
“Fains” as in “obliged, constrained, compelled” per Webster’s Third New International Dictionary.
Doublets is the name of the popular word puzzle invented by Lewis Carroll – now also known by a variety of other names: Word Ladders, Ladderwords, Stepwords, Word Chains, Laddergrams, Transitions, Transformations, etc.
Transform one word into another by changing a single letter in each step, so that each link in the chain is a valid word. For example, to change MORE into LESS with 3 links:
MORE, lore, lose, loss, LESS
“As knowledge increases, so does the number of people believing in superstitions.”[Article in the Boulder Daily Camera]
“The amount of people attending churches is up.” [Fact]
Rather than wonder,
we carve a little knowledge
out of the great unknown
and call it ‘science.’
We learn more and more
about less and less,
till finally we have nothing.
Too much information
boggles.
Rather than wonder,
we read horoscopes
and turn to
television angels.
We repeat dogma
about a dog spelled backwards,
and get more dogmatic
about what we don’t know.
We’ve gone
from the dark ages
to black holes
and ba(r/c)k,
bark, bark, bark.
The poetry’s gone.
No wonder,
we’ve gone to the dogs.
I’m a dog upside down,
scratching fleas
with the ground.
[Written last year]
He that findeth his life shall lose it: and he that loseth his life for my sake shall find it. (MATTH 10:39
From 1991 when
everything seemed possible
to 2112 when nothing
is everything.
Now 2002 won
when everything
seems nothing,
which one, one which
to bare 2 bear too?
(dust II dust)
Nothing or 0/0?
The cat in the field scratches the grass
and stokes the grey mare to water the grass.
How now know what cannons know
and where are the dreams that set in the sun?
For all the old hats go silvery down,
and the old gray mare sings as she goes
while evening drips over the bay.
Can the open door know what goes with the wind
or dream the dreams dreaming and go with the dream?
The bard of the bale sees the grass growing,
while old hands weigh the gift of the heart.
How is it saying, the old mare baying
and where are the dreams, the age of old times?
Keep the band playing and steal the ring going.
Ring the ling po(se/se)y and know the old rosey.
Here the grass grows and there bees sting
for all the nosey and honey rose goes.
Keep to the times of all sounds singing,
and follow the dreams that run with the wind.
Here is the valley and know the grass growing
for often the tale is far from our knowing.
Give the grass greener and here is the louder,
the chimes are ringing and sounding their song.
* from my video, Word Salad