As I Recall: Poems of an Urban Hermit

8/12/2019 As I Recall: Poems of an Urban Hermit

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2013


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he met a girl forty-five years ago on an island

she was barely nineteen years old she was so

cute that every male in town lusted after her all

that she had to do to get anything that she

desired was to walk up to the square

in a too-busy mind

she yet walks through

over and over again


4/14

d awn in this morning's mist blue birdeating ripe fig dripping squirrels runningeverything is greening is on the flat roof

just so that a steady stream of ants need

stale crumbs old man spends so muchtime in getting ready weed's tiny budsopen between her legs and memories

walking-mind counts his every syllableevery other word epands into each

precisely falls on page leaves friendsleaves squirrels leaves birds clouds in

sky do not disturb certain views of thingsinto a vision of her settles in-betweensilences through mind fills larger gapscontinuous void is not empty nor morenor less than any other cloud in thinking

old man with long beard continues his

just-now sitting posture opens yet another love poem see is from this distancestepping out from bath towards mindtawny body bubbles slide turns to himslips into this erotic clearly

without his glasses his eyes are bid to find

wind-play in the old holly unaware of anyform or content while in his mind she is

dancing bend is into movements that open flowers and her summer dress


5/14

squirrels' run among leaves branchesinside and outside as prelude coming

blue sky white clouds green tree amongopened figs she also had ripened

lady bug just in this glass of beer fell an oldman who long ago and in his mind so savedthe lady rescued her from nothing worsethan harmless drinks that sobered him upto now she is his pleasure sits in this lightas if in a sound sleep he dreams

cat on shed-roof eyeing doves on branchbirds' nest in eave of an old house eachmorning their cooing opens the day again

pardon me while ! make some noise

"#o away $ussy %&

writing another love poem painting just another is what the paint does what the wordsdo move him into another run of stone-speak

hard on words from there to here is of andbreathless given up to then and when he asshe walked out from her bubble-bath

stand-alone stones imaginein mind's precise time-line

house-fool and yet of pliant stuffon shaky foundation floor-to-ceiling

green goddess clouds his mind


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after all of these years in this too-busymind she resides in habitual old man'sdisposition is to draw down memoriesand countless obscurations time is now

too late to take another lesson

sudden warm gust from left marginturns he swears into play with

breee blowing his way she bendsto pick up another love poem overlong distance calls to come into

what has become of she who knew

this white haired old guy sittingwaiting for something to happenwatching his friends squirrel towardsmorning doves play in open spacesunprotected love-poems closing in on

his mind to see with eyes her step outfrom ball-and-claw tub

happy in his mind-stuff's thinkingof her go is into what imaginedentirely what has become a realitythrough white cloud's recluse yearsthinking that she yet cares how is it

possible that he is thinking that hecould have rubbed same stone forty

years ago and not have known orsuspected or anticipated what this

measures as concentration's stream

deck-sitting silence such as it isimages of a young girl in an olddress brought to him just-baked bunslong ago solved not one left to bringold man in tattered sweater cookies


7/14

on his seventy-third birthday girlmarried and moved to a warmerclimate changed everything walks

hills along goat path cleared way of

rocks in mind and any need to know

old clothes her habit for summerbends is to get a better view ofpiss ants coming (going from overthere to a farther over tiny mounds her

breasts not much smaller than memorystains where morning dips into mind-ink

pen is also blowing images that she is no

match for beyond his play old games intomoist the upper corners of his eyes turn

grass-cricket just like this sing sfinger snapping trickster fell for itrecluse in a green time far awayfamiliar refrain carries throughinto the perfect shape of moist mouth

a little open tongues and fingers in

what sitting thinking again imaginesgone old man moments convincehim that nothing will again comethat brings her in a yellow print backthese words and drawings her bodyin where everything its own fragrance is

wild flower playing in breee who isto say that old man is not supremely

happy in walks along creek until theyfinally touch in brush-mind's dips intosand mud brush-mind dips into another


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in this moment-to-moment seeingmany things old things new thingsfeel is as old as beyond his sendingstupid love poems or in any other way

the gae-back means to hang theresame said as a go and come into old hollyeach morning as she returns from where

he has her through days and too shortnights that bring these poems in every

way punctuate image flowers playing inits fragrance brings orange smells

morning dove settles in squirrels' holly

rousing her ecites hermit mind settlesinto touching weeds tiny tawny

just there peeing behind tree of heavenneighbor intrudes catches wave fromacross space that time drops on papermoving pen head entertains then tonguemoves into lips open

eyes on ripe fig the one hanging plumpdrops nectar just beyond old man's grasptree-squirrel runs first this way then that

way his too busy-mind chasing tail circlesday lily dances with wind opening blossoms

into sitting with her feet set inhis mind in all ways she movestowards center as if imagination

could separate the movementsfrom the mover white clouds his

hair white in mind blue on plywoodpainting is what paint thinks walkingthrough hills around first leap onto

body sun cuts without hesitationrocks sun sky clouds inside squirrelin tree doesn't care either


9/14

full moon behind cloudsuddenness is his conundrummoves rhythm unadorned flowerinto breee again plays old man

opens eyes with just-here dawn

up early with a start her voice he swearswas her's and not in his imagination sheknowing every subsequent movementas of him at table in front of love comes

poems forty-five years writing downwhat is left but to arrange book one islast time this stupid stupid old fool

finds her after half a century in phantasies

in this moment thinking's close at handhold is onto habit of what does this meanany one of these unbalanced lines attachedto back-deck sitting watching same busyday squirrels and birds interceding on his

behalf wait is for long time sun from night

not her that he thinks of it isthe longer shadows of her in

his poems and drawings downinto every image lingering intomatters that find her in himself

where did he put that last love poemthe misplaced photo that is solid proofmoments had gone in any instant he didnot realie precisely how she felt


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what is i t cloud head you are thinking ofgoing into young girl who continues runthrough mind predetermining visuals ofa yellow summer dress head turns to see

reach is in to open needs

mind then as now insisting that thisyoung girl in wet dress yellow comingnor past nor future here nor flow fromchair to rail to grass on knees beyond

rocks among day lilies surround whatclears away old fool's fi in place ready

grays and long-black-hung-down hairher breasts run beside the watch the waitthe leap is into too fast to pin her down

little time to move from here to there tostore old hermit needs are such and so

sudden warm breee is not what once ithad been opening doors and windowsit came to this hasty rustling cover-up

image of when written this go intofrom limb to limb from leaves to

perfect legs she balances twists onfloor in the corner ants in line themoon in sky crack in yellow gives

essence entirely in his let-go mind

mind in all of these years just now sittingripened cay-cay fruit in perfect colors faroff course supposes that it was merely along ago encounter such as daily these aremakes forty years' continuous mystery


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gray sky clouds in mind doves flutterpuddles over by holly squirrels dip intosudden warm awakens love-scent his wayas far away thought where thinking had

stones reveal the rock the girl throughthe meaning of her going is from thefamiliar as every other possibility has it'sown history gets him to a place in this

just dawning

sudden spring and in his walking mindcut is what of white hair there is whilethoughts revisit who was telling whom

eactly what it was that it will be at anymoment food for ants' and fig rats leaving

sitting in this morning's just-here-dawn and steadydrile under green umbrella an old man sitsas long ago they sipping wine and giddy lust who isto say that in this now what this old fool desires

in white hair memories as if they've alwaysbeen smoke rises into tree settles on anold branch bird full upon belly stars and hisquick mind are far beyond what is necessary

inside and outside of his mind she biteshis lip draws blood and in her eyes the

laughter reflecting what had been tasted


12/14

last night as he recalled her in herfamiliar garden dove song squirrelchatter drew him into touch another

vision no metaphor can say it so as

run away mind's leap is beyond fullmoon hung behind all doubts

many years ago they took walksamong the rocks just north oftown and into words mind heard

what had never been said


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As I Recall: Poems of an Urban Hermit