trees

From the front window I like to look out towards a stand of pines on a hill off to the southwest a little.  Sometimes it snows on the tops of these trees whereas the snow doesn't quite reach down to my front window.  The pines around here are fairly well rooted, although none of them 'virgin' and apart from being cut down have probably burned over centuries as well.  Even now that houses have been built upon much of their old turf, little pines sprout up about everywhere.  The land is fairly inhospitable to any sort of proper lawn or garden and except where more amenable soil or sod has been imported, the pines or scrubs grow.

On the radio, which I still prefer to internet feeds or pod-casts, the news caster is announcing the status of the so-called Fiscal Cliff.  The federal legislature in their wisdom enacted a budget which was bound to fail should they not by the calendar year's end enact a new budget.  If a newer more solvent budget is not soon passed, then pundits and even many experts predict the national economy will fall over this Fiscal Cliff,  causing millions of individuals to plummet with it.

The season's long chilly dark hours set me in a contemplative bend, so I wonder what the pines would think of the Fiscal Cliff.  Perhaps they are sympathetic to the humans here about them.  After all, despite our use and abuse of their lumber, they're still here and quite majestic.  If the timbre from the winds through their branches were a form of their expression, more likely the sound is laughter at the ridiculousness of such situations humanity has placed itself in and towards no apparent reason.

Of course, the pines really have no feeling whatsoever about the Fiscal Cliff.  

Dennis the Menace

On the retro TV channel today I saw Dennis the Menace in a classic piece of Americana singing Silent Night, sleep in heavenly peace at the end of the show in front of the Christmas tree.  He kind of smiles, sort of sweet, but a little strange.  I wonder what little Vietnamese children would have thought of it if they had the freedom to watch in 1959.

more spew on Michael Jackson

The morning was very chilly downtown, so I had on my gloves and hat while walking to the coffee shop. I went by the counter, ordered an espresso and went back to the restroom.  I was still shivering slightly approaching the urinal, so still had my gloves on.  I put my left hand under my right arm, pulled off the glove as it wasn't possible to unzip and pull out my private with both gloves on.  Then it occurred to me, I had solved the mystery of the Michael Jackson one handed glove.

Wisdom from George Orwell

George Orwell wrote in 1946 on Politics and the English Language:

(i) Never use a metaphor, smilie, or other figure of speech which you are used to seeing in print.

(ii)  Never use a long word where a short one will do.

(iii) If it is possible to cut a word out, always cut it out.

(iv)  Never use a foreign phrase, a scientific word, or a jargon word if you can think of an everyday English equivalent.

(v) Break any of these rules sooner than say anything outright barbarous.

To which I say the Limey has struck gold on a hotbed of literary lachrymose jibber jabber cutting to the heart like a cardiovascular surgeon slicing the Archilles' heel (typo intended) of the average Joe searching for clear verbalization.

dream thoughts

If people were invisible, then how would deaf people communicate?
_______________________________

Are you looking at my daughter?  Yes, sir, she is definitely pretty enough to look at, don't worry.

_______________________________

Do not be dismissive of American culture as thin nor shallow nor without substance, that is, do not view it as Americans tend to view the cultures of all other countries.

Yin without Yang

Dark and no light
Wet with no dry
Cold, never hot
Only ever soft
diffused focus
fuck you,
or rather no.

American Pro Football

Why isn't women's beach volleyball the Monday Night Game of the Week?

It's What Catches On

Walking to work, along the river front, I see a crew taking down the stage scaffolding and cleaning up after the music festival.  The morning sun has already warmed the day very well, shining across the ripples on the water below the embankment.  I wipe my perspiring forehead and notice just past the dock for the small cruise ship, two patrol boats with their blue lights flashing.  Then I spot several police vehicles pulled up across the park's sidewalks.  I continue along, wondering what is going on, and if I am in any danger by being there.  I spy the source of attention for all the very busy officers.  A stark naked skinny young man with a thick scraggly beard is clinging horizontally to the railing along the embankment top.  He's looking down towards the cool water several body lengths below.  There are several uniformed patrol men standing around him, with one holding his arms, and one holding his feet secure to the rail.  "Why shouldn't I jump into the water?!!?", he insists repeatedly.  I think to myself, how sad.  He doesn't know, the police just can't let him jump.  We really can't allow that kind of thing catching on!  If he does it, everyone will want to do it.

While walking back home from work that evening from downtown, a little further down river by the marina, I saw a man flying through the air.  He was propelled skyward by a water powered jet pack on his back.  The pack was attached by a hose to a pump on what looked to be a jet ski modified to carry a high pressure pump rather than a person. He apparently could control the jet ski but with some difficulty, and the hose was fairly lengthy, so he had a bit of maneuverability,  flying about mostly in small circles, but reaching heights further up than the naked man had wanted to jump down that morning.  I stood next to one of the workers who was packing away the remainder of the stage scaffolding as we both watched.  People along the river were lining up and taking photos with their phones.  I said to the man, "Sure, it looks cool, but in a few months the river will probably be crowded with them."  He looked at me and smiled, "Sure, I want one!"

William Carlos Williams (reimagined)

For the Sky

We remember
before the winter rain
a stellar jay
hopping through the bramble

a little thicket
along the graying fence
filled with blackberries
targeted by darted beak

blackish brown head
blends into the background however
the shocking blue feathers stand out
harsh as the shriek

skree-ka! shack shek shek!
dancing around the prickles
filling belly to feed hatchlings
then taking flight.

The Lasting

Woman,

oh woman

You seemingly traipse past the tableaus

where dark secrets are drawn

You see passionate

though quiet pleasures

in splendid colors.

The wistful rich

barely perceive

Your radiant resolve

as they jostle

Their decomposing souls

like worms making mulch

of the forest floor.

While you

and I do
love.

SATURDAY, MARCH 31, 2012

Suburban Mother

_______________________________


Suburban mother in
something akin to deep
thought tracking down
the sidewalk through the
rain with hands clenching 
aerobic weights
in her head
dinner is made and
her thighs are thinner.

The weeds ruffle
by the corner lamppost
a cat pounces towards
what ... she doesn't know.
The darkest March 
on record clouds 
her thoughts 
the rainsluices through
into the gully
pretty much as
the planners planned.

______________________________

Posted by Stu Camenzind at 6:00 PM No comments: 

Labels: March rain, power walk, rainsluice, suburban mother, the farmer, thoughts, william carlos williams

SATURDAY, JANUARY 21, 2012

to a pretty young woman

____________

wearing silk black pants on 
the street tighter than the
tart skin of a plum

she knows she looks good
she knows she looks
good she knows she looks
good in them

you can see it by
the way she gives herself
a smooth half ass pat 
slightly sucking her lips

comforted
a solace of ripe plums
seeming to fill the air
she knows I know she looks
good in them
____________

Posted by Stu Camenzind at 5:40 PM No comments: 

Labels: plums, she knows she looks good, to a poor old woman, william carlos williams

SUNDAY, JUNE 12, 2011

Just Sayin' Forgive

I ate up
the cold 
pizza from
the fridge and

the box is
empty but
I put it 
back in there

no doubt you
were my more
delicious
breakfast

___

Posted by Stu Camenzind at 6:19 PM No comments: 

Labels: cold pizza, plums, william carlos williams

SUNDAY, OCTOBER 18, 2009

red and orange rubber boots on the neighbors lawn

glazed with rain water

as she bends hoeing

whacking the weeds


________________________

Posted by Stu Camenzind at 9:18 AM No comments: 

Labels: ass on the lawn, little, neighbor lady, pretty

Without the Hitch

Three typos I noticed reading Hitch 22.  On page 265, the pornographer known for his "Buttman" productions is referred to as "John Staglione", but his last name is "Stagliano".  The reference arises via Hitch's fondness for bathroom humor with encouragement from Martin Amis and Salman Rushdie and is questionable, but no mistake.  Switching vulgar nouns in popular song and movies titles, lead them to such things as "What's New Bullshitcat?", "Octobullshit" and "Hysterical Sex Potion Number Nine".

On page 338, William Morris's book about the English peasants revolt of 1381 "A Dream of John Ball" is called "The Dream of John Ball".  Hitch making reference to a notion that sometimes you may lose a battle in life, only to win later in a way you did not expect.  An interesting notion that at times may be true, but not always, again though, the notion expressed is not a mistake.

Also on page 338, Hitch mentions a quote of Hegel as "the cunning of history", by which he really meant Hegel's statement "the cunning of reason" in the context of history.  Hegel's thought is that reason is supreme and while throughout history, people act in accordance with their desires, ultimately reason has its way over desire.  Hegel may also have thought that reason was in accordance with divinity representing freedom, while acting in accordance to desire is more akin to deterministic slavery.   Nonetheless, Hitch would refrain from any indulgence in whether reason is truly divine perhaps and brings the whole idea up in order to distinguish his acknowledgment of being susceptible to self-persuasion regarding what he would rather be true.

You could disagree with many of the thoughts, opinions and expressions throughout Hitch 22.  Or agree.

Hafiz Shirazi

MONDAY, JULY 20, 2009

Hafiz (in English, first attempt)

Tonight, I am the wildest man of
all the bars in town
I am reading a book of dirty poems 
and I traded my leather jacket
for more drinks
my heart screams into the night
I see Jim Morrison in the bottom of my glass
I have felt nothing for too long

The drinks flow like a river 
from the glass through my stomach
from my eyes down my sleeve 
to the floor down the street
a flood of tears rages 
to the stream which waters
the trees outside her door

Bartender, no more for me
not until my love lets her smile
shine, until her sparkling eyes 
dance in my glass, until
the burning flame in her heart 
singes my soul for the shame 
I cannot bring myself to speak of her
except by this darkness

She intoxicates me equal to this drink
if you sit next to me
speak of nothing else
because I care for nothing else
in my darkness she is a night flower
but will I see more clearly by day
is her denial of my love a poison
she offers to preserve her own dark pride

Outside, a minister joyfully sings
a drummer and flutist at his side
his words mock me or maybe tease:
morning comes bright and soon
the world waits for dawn
today is sweet 
tomorrow is born unknown.

Posted by Stu Camenzind at 6:18 PM No comments: 

Labels: columbia river, drinks, flower, hafiz, jim morrison, poem, tear

FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 18, 2009

Hafez IV

Sleep falls over your beautiful 
daffodil hair, poppy flower eyes
and not for nothing is it worth

your sweet honey lips damp 
with milk I know
were moments ago tasting of wry
sharp salty teasing
and not for nothing is it worth

the end lies near the beginning
we drink of life
from a fountain set over 
a well of tears
and not for nothing is it worth

perhaps all joy comes from God
a religious person believes this
but I am pierced by love for you
and not for nothing is it worth

do you ache with my absence?
does your heart beat emptily
each moment while I'm away
not for nothing is it worth

a breeze from her bedroom window
floats through every rose blossom
and over her breasts to me
not for nothing is it worth

as for me, I keep my heart's struggle
shielded from prying gossips
for your tender sighs
not for nothing were they worth

SATURDAY, OCTOBER 24, 2009

Hafez acht und driezig

Get up and fill a glass with golden
liquid then lift the glass to fill
your belly because there ain't no
beer in heaven so we have to drink it here.

The hops are golden and so is the brew, 
the hops pass each season and so we pass after our own.

May the great oak trees remember and look over
us as we feed the earth with our remains.

May I be bathed with rain by the dark clouds
passing over us all
to enter eternity pure, look to the clear rain
while religious fanatics look about and find only evil
but it is only their reflection in a puddle.

God, have none impure find my love
let her be with only those who are good
I pray for this although her pretty curls and curves
have wounded me severely yet
her kisses hold all cures.

Breezes smell sweet upon her
I give her my coat to keep her warm
though I am cold and she leaves me there.

Posted by Stu Camenzind at 10:15 PM No comments: 

Labels: hafez, hafiz, half, hat trick, hef, ho ho ho, huff

SUNDAY, SEPTEMBER 5, 2010

hafez more 60 some

a lone drunk never
was
because we are all drunk together
as geometry describes fate
the mystery of spheres describes further
mystery
years yield years of
the same old truths
and the lords of today are only
the dirt of tomorrow
their glory from yesterday's dust
we all cry for the sweet flower
because even us eternal drinkers
of love
have nothing lasting longer

SUNDAY, SEPTEMBER 5, 2010

hafez 61

I love the wine in hand
which makes everyone wonder
what is right and what is wrong
and what is beauty and what is truth
as I fall into the endless love
I rise to be taller than tall
take my heart by your hand
and I'll take yours in mine
my friend.

MONDAY, JULY 4, 2011

Hafez I

______


The essence perfume of her hair 
made from a fawn’s tender youth
etched upon my sorrow 
lines depicting the difficult trails love leads.
Love was effortless at first
and now serves only as reason
to drink flasks of wine to her,
because of her, bring more please.

Reverend bartender says
stain your soul
and wash your heart clean
with some cups of Christ’s good red blood.
He knows the road and
the highway’s lamenting roar
beckoning for me
to get the hell out of this godforsaken town.

Before the storm arrives
surely thundering voices
will resound with what a
fool I’ve been for her.
A wiser one once said
if you gain your desire
cast the world away
and save yourself.

__________

Posted by Stu Camenzind at 11:56 AM No comments: 

Labels: hafez, lamenting roars, love, storms, wine

TUESDAY, AUGUST 23, 2011

Hafez XXV

____________


I was missing you
all my life now
a curse has passed
as spring's new days
put away all feeling
of autumn ending

darkness lifted
joy behind sorrow
God grants sweet rose
fragrance as glory arriving
over thorns and winter's sting
is forgotten

turmoil in my heart
roiling in my head
calmed within my hands
in a stroke of her hair
while her smile sooths
and sadness fades

my freshly formed
excitement as we
sing, dance and drink
apart no longer
together inside happiness

the bar of wisdom
knowing health and 
full days, full cups
washing away 
yesterday's worries

may our friends be worthy
our loving times so immense
the tears fallen by me
before we joined
streamed far off.

______________

Posted by Stu Camenzind at 5:00 PM 

Labels: fall, god, hafez, light, roses, spring, summer, tears, winter

SUNDAY, MARCH 25, 2012

Hafiz 99

____________________________________________


Love and drink are
better expressed
openly. As we 
all
of us
become 
fertilizer eventually 
feeding the earth and the 
world from which 
we rose. Sweet Shirin
loved Ferhad who died while
digging a trench by day
playing his flute by night 
both expertly and beautifully
for her love held captive 
by the King. The trench was
to move a river. 
Then
mutually deceived 
as to the other's passing, 
they passed. Then a tulip 
blossoms red where 
they fell. And there's a thousand 
stories born every day. And 
my wine glass 
may be made 
from the sand of
the dust of such a King. 
And yours from such lovers.
Let us drink this wine with joy.

___________________________________________

Posted by Stu Camenzind at 7:24 PM 

Labels: ferhad, hafez, hafiz, Jamshid, kai, kaus, red tulip, shirin, spring, wine

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