arranged

she entered a new
country of silence
married under the rubble of
devotion sightless and
tradition unchallenged
temporarily tempted by
tempest internal as
journals of superstition tower
and shadow
a steady missing
of something

fog of rumination
pales the light
that struggles off the surface
of ceremony, sparked by
stuttering spark
leaving her to grieve the unseen

water

I’ve heard it said
that all of the water
in the world today
is the very same
that has ever been

so the tear I shed at your departing
this morning may have, at one time,
been one that fell from
Hagars eye at her expulsion

or perhaps it was a long ago trickle of
snow melt in the Pyrenees
or part of a much smaller Colorado
as it was just getting down to
the business of carving out canyons

a bit of the flood waters that
devistated New Orleans
or, I suppose, dew settling
on the canopy of a virgin
rain forest

and for that matter, feeling as I did
as your nyloned legs
disappeared into the
cab, it may very well have, at one time,

been the piss of
some Homo Erectus chap
hissing on the remains
of a fire
somewhere on a vast plain

long before we ever
invented words
for explaining things
such as this

2012 Fred Whitehead

the way things fit lately

today it was the confinement of my boots
and how they seemed to shrink
– most notably as noon approached
and my steps grew shorter

yesterday it was the way
I had to keep hitching
up my pants, having
forgotten my belt
which was, I discovered still
secured in the loops
of my “good jeans” on the floor
next to the bed

last Wednesday, as I was unloading
a truck, I became aware of the looseness of
the skin around my neck and
the manner in which my ears
have taken to sagging
there is now considerable give
in these areas
I took note of this as I wiped
the sweat away

and lately it seems
the shape of my witicisms don’t
slide into spaces in conversation
as easily as they used to

this is, however, all fine enough

for I realize my anger
doesn’t fit me any more either

now it generally hangs
on a peg in the back hall

next to my tattered
wild expectations
my work worn dreams
and that old green hat of envy
that seemed
so fashionable in my youth

midsommar

the time for
burning witches straw
has come to draw
the long days out of their rest
to gather up
the flowers, cut
to push aside the darkness
dance – for it is time
to dance
dance
for it is time

not for battle

there is a space here
on the steps where
I’m sitting

as the children run
some barefooted some,
to their mothers dismay,

in their socks
in the street across lawns
with sticks and balls and squirt guns

Sol on his downward track
as another few magic minutes
are peeled back

and filed away and
this space beside me, you see,
I’m reserving
for Joshua

if he’s willing to sit for a while
and stop the sun again
not for battle this time

no, but
you are welcome, sir, to sit
and halt it’s procession onward
simply for the wonderment
of this hour

stampede

there is a luminous
silent core
of small kindnesses
sending thin bright tendrils
out
to the edges
where most of us live,
as assemblage
built on barbarism
and layered like loose pages
long since thumbed through
and discarded
we, a stampeding illness
kicking up dust of disregard
screaming
from the hymnal
of death and renewal
as the cracks between us
fill with silt
absently swiping threads
of light from our shoulders

water from a toad ebook

my new ebook, water from a toad is now available as an Apple iBook for the iPod and iPad ( through iBooks ) and for the nook through smashwords.com

sporadipunks

grievous wounds wind
their way ’round
tattooed torsos
of twitching sporadipunks
death scenes vined
in altered lines of information
finding way to faltering
conclusions in the guttural
language of trauma un-sequenced
hard wired to
engage in direct
investment in being
classically vacant

review these books

This is an invitation/appeal for anyone interested to read my books ( Orbs and water from a toad, both available through smashwords.com) and write reviews for them. If anybody does, indicate if you will permit them to be re-posted. List your city/country of origin and any books or blogs to your credit

courtesy

it is, after all,
common courtesy to
hold open a door

for whoever is wanting
out or in
even if it is your most
persistent terror
or your greatest joy

sometimes all three of you
may find yourself jammed
in the entry

elbowing ribs
avoiding eyes
and grumbling uneasy
greetings