Dreaming The Old Man

Through slanting doors and broken windows
odd furniture in dim rooms

old books and roses rotting with age
I follow you,

charts and crumpled maps and paper
glitter like a lost hope–

Sudden sky and wide water
reeds along a shore

under a silver willow you call to the other side.

No limb or vine to hold my feet
my boyhood swept away

to a green recess of memory
nothing to pull me back

only rock and sand, sky and air bathed in amber light,

Peace, I am with you
looking in your old eyes, stretching out a hand

sinking in a river of night
transparent stones on the bottom of a lucid pool

I glide in bright shadows
fish swimming

in and out our one and separate selves

 

 

Green Lake Heron by Rob KasheyROB PICS 430

 

 

 

 

 

 

All Photos  by Rayn Roberts

Apparition by Rob Kashey

Apparition by RR

About The Dangers of Transgender People….

 

Why Transgender People are Dangerous

 

Nevermind the roller coaster ride
you’re on it now you can’t get off

It’s gravity’s got
a terrible side
got nothing to do
with God at all

God doesn’t really
give a toss

if you die next week from a stupid fall

God damn gravity
that evil threat

Gonna getcha right soon
gonna getcha  yet
Not too sure
why I stand at all
If I’m gonna get killed

by a natural law

“Hells bells, tarnation”, say I to my wife
“I’m takin’ to bed for the rest of my life!”

*****************************************************************************

I’m not white, not black, not brown or yellow
not rich or old, poor or dumb
but I do see things in a different way because

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Understanding the Transgender Community

A Dangerous Threat? Who is?

What is really Wrong: Violence Against & Murder of Transgender People.

Why Do We Need Science to Approve of Anyone Being Transgender?

The Problem Some Christians Have with Transgender People

Think Transgender People Themselves are in Danger? Well, yeah!

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What the Cicadas Are Saying

There’s a method in the music, the buzz
Filling the trees, a sizzle, a scream
The clicking and the ringing of cicadas.

Where some leave off, others pick up
The cantos of love, a hum like a dream
That is all of summer and seventeen years:

“Here, here, I’m the one, I’m the best,
Here, here, I’m the one, forget the rest!”
It’s an old serenade, it does not let up,

It defends, drives off birds that come
To make an easy meal of them, it assails
Fox, wasp, raccoon, boy with butterfly net–

In the end, all the songs whirl into oblivion.
Their bodies wash into rain-gutter and trail
Dried up, cried-out shells of what they were.

Other singers rise in a coffee shop in town
Worn thin by years of blinding night labor
Soul-broken, lost, jubilant, newly in love

Sick of love, but madly in love with sound
Looking to bend an ear, the poets file in.
Autumn and an open mic are about to begin.

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Note: Depending on the species, cicadas live underground for 17 or 21 years. They emerge for one summer to mate. Males sing, females do not.
They listen & select the loudest singers.
This poem is a slight re-vision of the first in Jazz Cocktails & Soapbox Songs.

The Seattle Star is a Neutron Star

http://www.seattlestar.net/

Neutron Stars:

If a star has between 1.35 and 2.1 times the mass of the Sun, it doesn’t form a white dwarf when it dies. Instead, the star dies in a catastrophic supernova explosion, and the remaining core becomes a neutron star. As its name implies, a neutron star is an exotic type of star that is composed entirely of neutrons. This is because the intense gravity of the neutron star crushes protons and electrons together to form neutrons. If stars are even more massive, they will become black holes instead of neutron stars after the supernova goes off.

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This is a neutron star. The rings around the star represent the high intensity magnetic field lines. Neutron stars are typically only about 12 miles long but contain more density then a hundred suns.

Mother Star…

Father Star : E W. Scripps..

New Born Star

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On The State of World Affairs and Other Madness

The cat chases its tail, the dog whimpers in sleep,
The heart skips a beat…
It’s not a nightmare, not a movie, a TV show.

Wake when you will, but where will you be, in bed alone,
In the den, your unknowing hand holding a gun,
At your desk starting at nothing?
It doesn’t matter— Looking deeply matters:

Unless you turn it inside out, look long at what you find
The mind eludes the eye of reason.
Recall the flowers of betrayal and delusion with merciful disregard,
Struggle all your life to save this dying thing
This beaten, bloody thing called love.

For the tail is chasing the dog,
The cat is barking in sleep, the heart is cracking
Hope is a Gypsy song rising over the ash of Auschwitz

Mad Men rule the world—
And if they wake from a coma of hate, will they give a vision truth?
Will they feed the poor, give up peace?
When will your heart slow to a murmur and hiss into silence?

I want to say the cat is calm, the dog is happy,
Humankind is wise and kind,
But the cat is gnawing the cage, the dog is humming a dirge,
The good flower columbine was never a flock of doves:

Littleton, Kosovo, Dachau, Wooded Knee, Santa Fe, Noblesville:
Large extensions of the fist we use to abuse the children.

The Government is drinking our blood, but what’s new?
Ask People of Color, Veterans, Teachers, Students,
Ask the families of the dead kids:
Where next the murder of the day, massacre of the week?
Buy yourself a body bag, you may need one next.

The heart is failing, the heart is failing, there are no known donors

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Mother

The need to return to origin
True as the need of home
Rush of red shoreline kelp
The coupling of crabs, flash
Of Garibaldi in tidal pools

But a reason for rock foam
Breaker gull sky– unknown.
Each salty breath brings me
To being in you, Uterus of
Life and Death, great Mother

You hold all my answers
Teach me just who I am:
Many, but one, isolated in
An interconnection of Love
Never greater than now

These unbearably clear days
Blood-burst of mystic ocean
The wonder of hearing in all
The endless hum of gestation
Spun in a womb of silence

The mantra of waves.

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Photo, Cape Flattery, by Rayn Roberts
Painting by KATHY COLLINS from exhibit at Tsuga Fine Arts