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A minute's meandering with a wily quill.
Taking the Garden State Parkway north To a dentist appointment in Brooklyn, I notice the cauldron of fogs at Cheesequake Is all colors. The mist makes my glasses cry. I curse stubbornly, Wiping them clean at the filling station On the ratty, untucked hem of my shirt. The ugly gears in my car Wail and whine Like rabbis at a smoky wall. Somehow today, every day is too long to endure. It's only later I remember, falling asleep Under the pink floodlights of my apartment, How this awkward swan, Beating slowly, rose from the marsh Out of the soft fogs, his dawn wings Flashing sharply.
Gregg Glory
10/16/2008
This is what the sky keeps saying to me.
The sky crowds my shoulders As I kick the stubborn tufts of grass in the field. It's too blue, or something. I don't like Living inside an eyeball. It's going to take a very great person To just stand there and love me. Across the grass, A gray squirrell emits it's chuk-chuk challenge At a dog, head down on the ash trunk Darkened by night rains. The unmolested grass is long and wet. I consider how the horses Will come stand here all day, And all night And just take it.
Gregg Glory
10/16/2008
Fine advice from a doodler and witless whittler.
If you want to live in a civilization, You have to put the pieces together yourself. Every day. If the steeple leans, don't blame the wind. Hey, getting your hands dirty isn't the only part. Afterward, there's singing.
Gregg Glory
10/16/2008
Spent the last four days in the company of poets at the Geraldine R Dodge Poetry Festival. A falcon showed up unexpectedly behind the huddled porta-johns in the misty weather. Somehow, I feel like like I'm always shaking Jim Haba's hand.
My friend Dan's a ghost now since Christmas. In this mist There's only a green line of fence Last night's rain did not dissolve. Then the falcon is there, Snowy in the humid morning warmth. He lets his silken shoulders shake. His compact head moves like a ball Rolling in your palm. His face is all severe eye, And one closed hook. When he stares my way, I can't guess what he sees. There is no time in him, Only flight that has not yet risen to his wingtips. When he goes from the wet fence To the barn's peak, Its like watching an old man shuffle All his belongings in one gunny sack. Looking back in paler air, I have No memory of what we carry with us. No weight keeps me on the ground. There's almost nobody here.
Gregg Glory
09/29/2008
Racing lazily around Round Hill Reservoir with my long-legged pals.
Slowly the shore path unwound to rocks, the vapid wap-wap of the tinted water same as the mini-van's sun visor as we walked observing another summer come to its fructifying finish passing knocked-down cairns or astounded butterflies apple blossom ghostly over the trodden mud that glistens under the long green lashes of the pine trees. As we sit in shade and write, turning the purring cars of our consciousnesses inward I think of you flapping in your matted tangle of sheets, breath rum-rich, your smoky eyes opening on no vivid wet or sunken stones, now bereft of their giving skip. Here, we sink in sunlight and lightest windsurfers stand astride the waters-- same as Jesus--live and looking forward into the void and windy nothing of the wind.
Gregg Glory
07/20/2008
Done on a dare during this summer's walking tour of Nether Stowey and the coombs. Penned on the back of some Google Maps directions at The Ancient Mariner Inn.
Strong with hungry step I begin my way Up butcher's lane, whose [dark] hole of wild briars The public mower cut, sparing more buds with speed Than careful industry, plucking Each by each, would reap. For singly still above Overlooms a rangy rose fully lit, And tranquil as if never threatened-- A capable keystone for the small lane's Unarachwayed gate. It holds no leaning stones Together, nor other green weavery Of country aspect husbanded and led to twine-- No, nor any part of the downward things of Earth Whence all archways rise but to return --Not that it holds, this dew-soft frailest flag Inattention's left aloft--it holds instead All the mighty arch of blue Heaven up By the self-enfolded hope that tops Its thorny stalk above the closing shadows Of the lane. Pale star! I too shall survive The cuts of Life! I too shall rise on ridgy stalk To blossom on--I pledge it now, to thee, Pink guardian! And so, with sprung step upwards I go through the hole of dampened green; The hot sun's shut out by warden stems And among the spotted flowers idly left Woozy bees zumm through the fresh-threshed leaves.
Gregg Glory
06/20/2008
Spring's inevitable insistence.
What was here Is gone. But now it is back With a sudden sweetness!
Gregg Glory
03/23/2008
Lord Dermond is gone to eternity, with a diamond on his brow.
Oh I was young and once All the world was once My own golden rose. No dawn lifted up But my eyes lifted too: To see the smallest waterdrop Dot the most minor leaf Was heaven in my reach-- No zigzag bird could sing Of widened skies untried But sang the very note of me. And then... but then... The small difference of a day Unmade me.
Gregg Glory
01/26/2008
Here's my Christmas poem.
No spirited Ariel condemns The master who frees him from his pen, Gracing imagination with air and light Whose force-folded wings through the night But husbanded their flight. Only we, undreaming seamstresses who weave Close-wrought prisons from our misery, Detailing tales that tie our tongues, Tell in subtle tapestries of grey thread What we will not wail in honest dread--- Only we curse the sun that comes to us And damn the wind's interrogatory gusts, Sitting down in our own dark to contemplate How blind's this world we hate.
Gregg Glory
12/22/2007
Music, arts, crafts, prizes and more at the Internet Cafe
For more information, please visit: yogalifesociety.com
11/26/2007
How much un-green energy are you using?
Your "carbon footprint" is a measure of your impact on the environment, in terms of the carbon dioxide emitted as a result of your daily activity.
Use this calculator to estimate your carbon footprint from the energy you use and the vehicle you drive--and learn how PG&E can help you reduce your footprint.
Linked from: Pacific Gas and Electric Company
10/03/2007
A whittled mystery of girl / boy knowing encoded.
It's been a while since I foisted a poem on you. But here's one that comes under the header, I think, of male / female relationships. Any feedback? Is this you? Your lover? The man on the moon?
Look into my eyes with a lover's rage--- No panther acknowledges her cage. Pace to the edge of what existence brings And set the periphery on fire in a ring! There is no boundary that being obeys But a fountain's circle that leaps for a day. So jump and burn and snarl and rage, I know my darling but trods her stage.
Gregg Glory
8/13/2007