Bewilderhof- 36

March 29, 2015 § Leave a comment

Bewilderhof 
Chapter 36
– strokes
cells 
continue to
perish (at an increasingly heady clip it would seem)
lack of oxygenation, you see,
and
a probable cause:
jagged bone of superstition 
     lodged
in throat of reality 
simple worlds
               occupied 
by painters of echoes
ricochet off barriers 
leaving only
smudges
as 
      proof of existence 
one such
with a 10 tined rake
for a brush
leaves long strokes
on familial acreage  
with each pull through
the dirt he
listens
for colors in
those echoes 
a palette of voices 
a chorus of 
the comfortably familiar
and nerve testing new 
every season an
unrecognized masterpiece
to be gessoed over
by the hand of winter
the aging artist
looks at his canvas from
the barn door
a crescent wrench
in one greasy hand
a glow plug in the other
fugitive above him
in fitful asleep in the seat
of the ancient tractor 
eyes darting behind 
lids
following the proceedings 
of a meeting 
between mother and son 
a continent away
(c) 2015 Fred Whitehead 

Bewilderhof – 35

March 26, 2015 § Leave a comment

Bewilderhof – 35
Chapter 35
– reunion 
the bail jump unfol
ded paper
read
     again lines 
and orde
red another beer
‘how much time 
has fallen away from you
as you filed
insignificant
    grooves into bars
             when all along 
the door would have
opened with the 
right question
     asked

if you want to know

what a thing is

take it from 
the shelf
     take it apart
see it with eyes of a child
       as I have done with you’
thinking as he sipped
of temperament 
under the spell of curiosity 
on how all else
retreats to the wings
this thing
disassembled before him
a conglomeration of gears
tooled to drive an unknown 
parts of an equation observed 
to determine sequence 
and reaction 
lost in another trance of deciphering 
he never noticed the lights
or the matronly figure 
standing next to his table
until she gently took
the note out of his hand
and ordered
a tea
from a passing waitress
“you have never had the patience for riddles” she said, putting the note into her handbag 
“I’ve the patience, it’s tolerance I’m a bit short of”
“I can hardly stand the man myself at times, may I sit?”
he pushed the chair opposite him out with a foot
“sure thing mom, how you been?”
(c) 2015 Fred Whitehead

separated 

March 25, 2015 § Leave a comment

twice      by

scalpel 
the first
       a swift clean flick 
not remembered
– a slice of history
   driven into the depths
by trauma of arrival
    the second
a slow
arduous cut that
replays every time
buds crown
thawing ground
below the window 
she would open
after long months
of dim light and stale air
that first renewing breath
set aside 
to be doled out over
the course of the coming 
summer
     in easy laughter
     and whispers of love
     for grandchildren’s ears
(c) 2015 Fred Whitehead

in time

March 22, 2015 § 1 Comment

there will come night
into it

two sets of footprints 
only one
                out
may it be you to
      light the candle
to see it
    from afar
(c) 2015 Fred Whitehead

Bewilderhof- 34

March 20, 2015 § Leave a comment

Bewilderhof – 34
Chapter 34
– the bail jump 
his time   his coin
        so often lost   when
the error was a
too early 
wager on either
         Eros or Thanatos
he could have kept his silver      
the end being
      another draw
      (in such forming new instinct)
had he been there for the 
fasting of Gogol
he would have gladly 
shared a cherry solozhenik
with Konstantinovsky
laughing 
as uncompleted 
pages fell off the edge
of the earth 
– taking purpose
          from his titles only
however
he was outside of Encino
     now, with 
enchilada and cerveza 
waiting for a call
wondering if this would be another pony
     gone lame 
     before the wire
(c) 2015 Fred Whitehead

Bewilderhof – 33

March 18, 2015 § Leave a comment

Bewilderhof – 33
Chapter 33
– a severing, a slow separation  
  (it’s all semantics)

she knew he saw something

no one else did

when his gaze
followed
           constellations   
standing in the
doorway
as he lay      on his back
repeating names
(those he could remember) 
she knew he saw 
               something 
no one else could
when he 
would stop
      whatever he was doing
to sit
without blinking
his lips moving
in slow voiceless 
conversation
she knew he saw something 
that no one 
else dared       for appearance 
                        of sanity 
                        was a thing
        to be guarded 
yes yes yes
she knew    he saw
something
she wanted to see
          &
eventually the calls to come in for dinner had stopped, as did the reprimands to pay attention to tasks then
calls to get up
to get ready
get going
and the
    good mornings 
          hellos     good byes
              good nights
and, 
finally
his
name
(c) 2015 Fred Whitehead
        

a walk on the ides

March 15, 2015 § Leave a comment

a walk on the ides 

from the bridge we watched

        the kids and I   a shard
of a hard winter    a facet of
a floe   breaching the roil
& roll on
in its drift beneath us
past chapters
of time
      pages worn of edge
and towering 
       above submerged flats
a thing to be 
read
      once thaw completed
its shift
& the creek catches its breath
when the
sun centers itself
above the gorge
        & snakes take to rocks
        midstream
(c) 2015 Fred Whitehead
           
      
 
       

Bewilderhof- 32

March 12, 2015 § 1 Comment

Bewilderhof – 32
Chapter 32
– of birds, bones & buckshot 
then:

      a servant 

             to a vision 

when as a boy   looking up at a Mandelbrot of starlings
his sun somewhere
behind ten thousand pendants of onyx on the wing
        vibrating under
        delph
        dome of sky 
each turn of the mass choreographed to mirror
his mothers veil
twisting in the
morning breeze
as she sat        seized by grief
         & seething 
an empty box lowered beside 
        one of bones
before
an audience
of three
(not counting the raptor perched on the cupola of the house)  his feathers rising in response to whispered incantations below 
            2 mourners retreat
shovel bearer
goes to work on
the task of 
filling 
by what scales the measure of a curse? 
              that was the first night the boy took to the kitchen as refuge as he would    
     increasingly      until
by the time her madness drove her to make a bargain with the business end of a Mossberg  he was staying there permanently    not even going toward the distant report that broke a midnight silence in the month of his 13th birthday 
by what measure the volume of desperation?
he simply closed the door that lead to the rest of the house and    by inches   wrestled the cast iron stove over to block it 
far from then:
        3 tablespoons of coffee bundled into a
bit of cheesecloth
and dropped into
boiling water
watched for a few minutes
then 
poured into a stained
ceramic mug
a cap from a peg
tractor keys from 
a hook by the door
boots on the porch
and a familiar black cloud performing arial maneuvers
above a stand of pines   down where the road
banked east    
toward town
(c) 2015 Fred Whitehead
             

Bewilderhof – 31

March 9, 2015 § Leave a comment

Bewilderhof – 31
Chapter 31
– milk cow blues
he thought about    was 
        still thinking of  the
conversation laid out  before him   a forensic display of words     the heart removed &
   weighed    scars    & con-
tusions
counted   & unceremoniously 
categorized  
            it seemed   lately
                   he was always
                   waiting for day    
                   to end in fire
this portal
     this
       fold     under his
watch      burden and itself
             burdened   
some sort of 
interstellar attache 
         marked to
be filled with  
the  
unwanted
& the seldom used
taken from beneath guernsey 
     emptied and retrofitted 
now waiting to be of use to the one whose tumblers engage in correct sequence
he is 
just to stare at it
as planets traverse spiral
      descent  
hoping not to catch 
a hoof to the head
(c) 2015 Fred Whitehead

Bewilderhof- 30

March 4, 2015 § Leave a comment

Bewilderhof – 30
Chapter 30
– the doubt of fugitive 
feeling like an Argus stricken 
     blind in 99
           letting some escape to
take place        
isolated guilt
in the loft     (sweet though 
               it was with   
               softness of its own)
he wondered    where he
would find the will
to remove himself
from

under 

          thumb of destiny 

could he hope to one day
disconnect
        from the axis 
that actuated     his  befalling 
he,
having taken a bullet for nature,
sits like a monument 
           an artifact of bypassed
ideal
waiting
for his moment of turning 
he leans out
to catch certain inflection in the whispers of the wind
hoping for
a hint of satire
            a comedic setup 
he figured it was a 25 ft. drop
& considered testing his
employ    but
the gloved hand of trepidation
caught him by the belt loops
& reeled him in
in name       this lot was
duty for its own sake or
self preservation 
       whatever
2 demons fused at the hip
will turn jaws to
the most convenient target
when no other is near
(c) 2015 Fred Whitehead
 

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