One Muse, Two Muses, More Than That Should be Forbidden

Once upon an idea
a little one, mind you,
nothing in the class of relativity
or world peace
I smelled change
even photographed it
before announcing it

The muse was in the wind
and the Wind
was catty-corner

Shrug

Sit in a bush

shrug
shake your head

something sober this way comes
something smarter
more spirit
less intellect

silent mind

silent mind
nothing stirring
nothing buzzing
nothing searching

silent man
no one talking
no one listening
no one looking

silent mind man moment

a mid-summer afternoon's dream

not everyone dreams in the afternoon
not everyone should
the dreams are more vivid then
and memories become realities

wake gently after dreaming
the shock of your present
is not always a gift

spring, again

spring, when a young man's fancy turns to love
and a wouldbe buddha who lives like a snail
turns to wandering

spring it is,
and sprung it has,
so off we go,
to talk with ghosts and memories that have not yet been had

slavs

what is it that makes a Russian Russian? A Pole a Pole? A Slovak a Slovak?
is it food?  is it clothing? is it religion?
asked the professor.

yes, and no, I said.  language defines culture and culture defines language, so the answer is language.
if you understand a language well enough, you understand the culture.
the reverse isn't true.

we all have gods, and even the Irish have cabbage........

October: again

October, again
 Beyond all other names for time
 Beyond all other times
 October stands in memory
 Taller and more beautiful

 She is wife most faithful,
 A muse most wonderful
 a month of eternity

 gentle rain
 and not so gentle women
 fill her days, the days of mind
 the days of mindlessness
 the women, memories
 the rain
 a certainty

 I wake in the dark
 and you are there
 (or is it you? or you ?)
The Sun rises
l am alone.
 Never lonesome, I smile at the memory
of a morning kiss
 an evening kiss
  the notion of love
    or something like it

October, again
the smell of things about to sleep
the sun on golden leaves
the smell of women
who will be born again
in the Spring

October is the morning
of my year
the morning
of my life
the time of times
unmarked by sadness
or deceit

it's a day of the mouth, live within its boundaries

it's a day of the mouth
live within its boundaries
i can see farther with my mind
than with my eyes
and project myself even farther than that
but what you see is not always what i do
so we'll have to settle for words
a day of the mouth
not much
without your ears

a note on poetics

poetics (uncountable)

1. (philosophy, literature) The theory of poetry, or of literature in general. 

I kicked off a reading in a bar (not the one it was planned to be in, but the one it ended up in) by saying that I was more interested in poetics than poetry.  Nobody left, so I read anyway.  I've lost all of those poems, but I don't think it makes any difference, because it's just as much now as it was then and maybe even more.

There are those who believe there is nothing more than the eternal now, and nothing less.  I may be one of them, we'll both have to wait and see.