rohnbayesjourney

new

from across the room
murmuring voices i cannot understand

the sea breeze lifts and falls
the palms by the street light

feathering the wind
the boats dance

the arrangement of street lights
down the beach to pangea

the shadows
the darkness of night 

it would seem the same
except for this time

i notice it's
black above the white pelican

statue to my right
a car passes

signaling change
something moves inside

ofcourse everything moves
in a world full of stuff

the wind touches my face
first right then touches my hair

stops and then touches my shoulder
my chest stops and then

looking straight ahead
changes again

 

watching the progress

bar on my computer
turn a darker green

there is the scan
i am connected

it's uncompressing the download

we're almost done now
i check the status icon
9912004 bytes of
new information is in
my machine
and the amber light blinks
drowsily
informing me that i can
go on with my life
that the coast is clear
and the window is formatted
i can detatch the cable  

the tree of life

the cookie of life
the iphone of life
the breath of life
the triple latte of life
and the sombrero of life
all are religious symbols
if you look at it that way
transcending their corporeal bonds
to attain a higher meaning
in the scheme of things
the trick is to keep it in control
while you establish some borderless
boundry of things

in oxford england the cathedral
has king and pope carved into
the wall al level 7 and above
a dead body floats by
as if saying 'oh hi
hello all you down below' i photoed
the scene standing on the street
in the present time 

in ancient egypt the cranes of death
accompanied you to the other world
or were they crows ??
it reminds me of the story of
the turtle carried by the geese
or the rabbit or the mouse they
all made their journey

to the house of the ruby king
and who knows what treasures
are stored there
maybe a triple latte under
the sombrero maybe
a kiss in the cafe 

my mother

was opposed to the internet
although she had never used it
someone apparently told her
about the vast network of computers
branching out throughout the world
connected together by cables and of the content there
that whatever you wanted to see could be seen and
whatever you could imagine would be there
and of it's powers to enchant
like some crafty witch the unwary
and unsteady

this concern for evil was part of her role
and her tradition her people were pilgrims
the ones in thanksgiving
with the indians

so she married a handsome and brilliant
young theologian waited to start
a family and stayed in touch

with the line it ran
clear back thru generations of strong
folk god fearing farmers
a few reprobates occasional
baptist preachers or otherwise preachers
of this she was certain until
the history grew dim hadn't been written
down or somebody didn't save it lost it
in the dark forest the smouldering campfire
cooking

and someone said will you be in marriage with me
and the marriage was blessed and the child was born 

be the mother of my child for me i have no one to be the mother
someone said
drink this 
someone said
in the forest or in the camp
before there was writing there was my mother 

 

 

my cat has many names

miati tiabi typo
my niece calls her sam
whatever is fine with her
i suspect she hears something
in the intonation and timbre
rather than kioba or bobo ti
which i sometimes call her 

whatever feels right
it's a jazz thing 
like a kiss in a cafe 
something out of the ordinary

a conversation is unreal to my cat
I honestly don't know what she thinks 
so there is no reason really for a name
i'll say it right now taboinka tatasi 
neruda with an elongated you

rising a bit and extending a hand
which she bites with mock fury
usually her assasins aim is for the
soft meat under the heel along
the channels of spurting blood beneath

the milky skin

keeaba chacana bobo ti 
you have your own name but
what the hell do i care
i don't speak cat and
i don't expect to learn it now
mianda sita kioba mata sita

the poetry reading

it looks easy but it's
hard being spontaneous
up here
performing is what it is
and i'm trying to get it
right like it was in
the beginning like it was
in the notebook when i
wrote it down when it called
down from the air and came down
and landed in my hair
or somewhere riding down ever street
to the grass roots cafe
and a double latte with
sweet cinnamon and a hint of raspberry
and a maroon
pen trying to capture it
was it ?? by the time
i turned the corner on
sunset i was so grateful
not to have slid under that
car on the slick pavement
and wheeled over closer to the
curb to intercept the cherabim
and a friend who were gossiping
there
i caught a clue
now i'm trying to tell it to 
you 

now the evening comes

now the evening goes
it's not much to go on but
it's not the clues we choose that
we are given it's the clues we notice
the news is they choose us over all others to
be the bearers of good news that is why
we notice small details of our life tiny
miniscule insignificant little details that mean
nothing to anyone else except ourselves the
way my hand grips this mug for example
and lifts the
ambient light in this echoing hall that noone will
ever see like this again nor will i remember this
moment for long it will be gone buried in the avalanche of time
and again i apologize for my father
was a preacher and spent a year
of his life at st edwards in austin contemplating the
horizon i have been there i have seen him there although
he's been dead for many years 

gonna fire this musket

spent my whole life loading it
musket ball powder ram
charge the long slender
barrel of my youth

wasted there in
full view of the forest
of opportunities of the

holy ghost my church
was the only unknown
creeping thru cracks
in the floor

if you're waiting for this
poem to make sense i
wait too i wait with you
to find the trigger point
the sweet release the awesome
trajectory that we shall define

a new world or a failed
system - if my filmscript
goes thru it'll mean i
can buy a new car
and be recognized in 
restaurants for everybody
will have heard the story
the crack the
percussion of the projectiles sudden ejection
into dawn's dim light though
only 1 beat was true the
ball hit something and 
felled that beast that
ogre or whatever it was
that other that predator

i see now

it could be that i've had
too much coffee
or not enough

i insist on making my
point and because you're kind
enough to listen it means
more i like you am
waiting for the report 

 

illicit is

they told me i was illicit
when i rode my bike thru
the school playground full of
kids from the nimitz
middle school there
walking the track playing basket
ball talking in groups oh
i tried to do a lap but
was bullied by two mean
teachers who explained that
i was illicit and couldn't
be there presumably i would
be arrested if i persisted
in being there so i
resisted the temptation to
tell the mean teachers what
is this a public school or
a correctional facility of
course i understood the danger
of illicit people showing up
and polluting the minds of these
young people just ready for making
their association of meaning
with the world a tender
time for sure all caution
should be deployed
depending on how
many are needed no child
is left behind says the slogan
so then how to tell the illicit
from those complicit with
the agenda school hell what
i remember most is staring
out the window bored and wish-
ing someone illicit would
show up outside
on a bike and wave 
a similar smile touching
their mouth as mine curled in
time with the teacher
saying pay attention please 

the pain the horror the humiliation

i'm sitting on the porch
listening to birds sing from
over there a melodious trill 
and from over there as if
in reply a melodious trill 
again as if of course they are one
crow brings in the
bass and the stereo effect
kicks in again spatial
response about 12 degrees to the
front center a little to the
right now there are two
mockingbirds and i believe
i have not heard this song before
ever - they seem to know this
and pour it on jazzing up the
final riff opening my eyes and
there they are tearing it up thru
the mulberry bush climbing
higher and higher closing in
for a brief encounter a flutter
of frantic wings beating escape
higher and higher attack it's sex
they're onto and off
she flies left banks
to the hackberry's generous
limb lands and calls out

oh my it was quiet for
a time then started again
some large billed parrot from
costa rica was in the
neighbor's yard apparantly and
answered with the same sweet
voice its twin on the
telephone pole

the sky was full of this
misty light which is why
i suppose the birds were singing

the early morning history
of this place included a
a light rain which still
resides in the form of
tiny droplets of water
on every blade of grass
i can only imagine how
this looks from above

the door bell rings it's a
bird from next door in a
tree the faintest whistlings
from afar come from the sky

i close my eyes again
and remember a poem that
didn't work the pain the
horror the humiliation