graffiti

the futility of it
may never be recognized

yet here I am again
at an undisclosed wall
downtown

1:14 a.m.
dollar store spray can
and doorknob from
that cubby in the basement

painting rectangular portals
waiting
for my allotment of
magic to happen

(c) 2013 Fred Whitehead

for the moment

it was fine as far as yesterday’s go
the day before that was even better

then there was that Thursday
a couple of Thursday’s back when
I found a buck in the gutter –
one of those gold coin ones too
so I didn’t have to fret
over the possibility
of it blowing away before
I bent to retrieve it

but we are taught to live
in the moment
celebrate the right now

do you think
they mean
every moment?

that could be tiring, really
and we could never
grab a couple of beers with
an old friend and ruminate
about where all the
good times have gone

it’s nice in theory, sure
and I try, you must believe me

I wish you could see me now
spinning wildly
through the dining room
having twisted my already hurting
bum knee trying to avoid
the cat I didn’t notice
sleeping in the
square of sunlight on the floor

looking all the world
as though I’m dancing
some strange celebratory dance
and singing loudly

yes, that’s it

singing

(c) 2013 Fred Whitehead

intervene

intervene

I could intervene
but
that would mean
a trip
to
the attic
some
things are better
to remain in
the attic

verse – 291013

find the shaken this the test most left veered with heads low the rest led here to hear said if taken to be as arrangements go the severest investments appear as fear of compartments unknown in folds of dear departed minds

(c) 2013 Fred Whitehead

discessum paradisum

I plodded my way
through mid day graylight
listening to the
forearm of November
battering
the last warm day
into it’s crypt

I know the requiem well

and it knows
the way inside
knows where
to set it’s weight

I try not to
focus on
the length of the piece
as the ship turns
toward the horizon

I’m on the pier
without even the
energy to lift a wave

the chorus rises again

(c) 2013 Fred Whitehead

rippled

evoked atmosphere,
phrased correctly,
smuggled
into think space,
changing
trajectory of
thought collective

(c) 2013 Fred Whitehead

alone

it’s hard not to think
of tomorrow’s night
when obsessing on
yesterday’s sun
that was
the alone of then
this,
the alone of
from now on

(c) 2013 Fred Whitehead

I wanted to know

I wanted to know
the places he’d been
wanted more
about the lay of his land

taken to visit him
for years
stiffly sharing a sofa
with my brothers
trying to suss out his affinity for
stony reticence

all I was asking for
was a history
every time I got the same
a pen
no well
a page
no line

I wanted to know if he
saw mountain lakes through
his clouded eyes
groves of cedar in the
shadows on
his smoke filmed walls

because I tell you,
there is
nothing scenic about following
a corpse wagon
through a neighborhood
held together with coal ash
and scar tissue

if there were any answers,
there they go,
to greet the sunset
with a shrug

(c) 2013 Fred Whitehead

verse – 251013

end of summer blister mouthed summaries of bluster caused by carrying water from the slaughtered

(c) 2013 Fred Whitehead

solitary wine

solitary wine

we inherit whatever
spills from
cages of those
who ferment
solitary wine
before we know
the meaning of it’s taste
tracing the shape
of shadows
hunched over books
we know their eyes
do not sync with
their smiles
as they advance through
pages and
gesture to the carafe
between us

(c) 2013 Fred Whitehead