Wasted time

Dusting the morning spells aways
Fields grew rivers and swells grew oceans
Under the carts that bend and sway
Traveling sunlit roofs gathering shadows
And the moon bent its suspenders up
Too soon for the rugs and pastures
One lie leading to the next, or was it fancy
Clocks ticking when you aren't in
The way knives dress coroners half asleep
Through window panes and onion shaped doors
Enough to cry through rabbit holes
Until the dust cleared and the tadpoles stayed
Sense changing each day like real life
Under some core of your wandering
Trees wave pocket books of dust
You get out your check book and wave
It doesn't make sense. Never did.
But somehow you feel in your element
A lightness in your gait beyond explanation
Was creating opposites always so natural for you
I sat under my chair to cry, but the legs were holding me up
Toothpaste and lemon juice setting up cheer
Where the last of the ladles lay
I tried to put them on, but they didn't fit
Washed them and they fit perfectly
But the clocks were running fast. I lassoed one in.
Time struggled so I released
Realizing this game I was playing
Wasn't going to end
It was beginning.

Denis Streeter 2/27/12

Trust

Some work days take up your nights...

Learning by the window sill
Typing turning mind a till
Tilling earth inside my head
Hoping for some sleep instead.
Bleary weary done undone
Disconnect this attention
Hyper-vigilance in bed
Messes with your sleep instead.
Late night popcorn did not help
Dipped in chocolate all about
Morning stomach learn achurn
Stomach head some earthen learn.
Turning toward some prayerful thought
As things are and as they ought
That communion will involve
Hoping for some kind resolve.

Denis Streeter 2/26/12

A perpetual baptism

Beyond the spring pages that march by
The captured moons in their moonshine buckets
Miming happiness that carried them away
Lay the rainbows start and the rainbows end
Some hatchlings of color some mistings of grace
And at the center the learning curves
Asking for moonshine in braying buckets
And the buckets listened but never heard
The misting of waterfalls shot up to pray
Thinking learning comes that way
A perpetual baptism
Curving midlife gone astray
And the curves keep correcting
Listening hearts in moonshine buckets
Mime our time, plummet our depth
Turn our pages, sharpen our prayers
Whittle our essence, bray away
Learning curves
A perpetual baptism
Towards, away
Some mistings of grace
Lay our rainbow start and end.

Denis Streeter 2/24/12

Storyteller

Read my March 4th 2011 post titled "Elsie Piddock". I'm now reading Eleanor Farjeon's book "Martin Pippen in the Daisy Field"(1937). Now I know a little more. Martin Pippen is a traveling singer/storyteller who wins the heart of Gillian in the previous book of tales "Martin Pippen in the Apple Orchard" written years earlier. I just finished reading "Elsie Piddock skips in her sleep" again. It's even better a second or third time! It reads aloud perfectly! This intricately told charming story has amazing depth. I can't tell you what it's about. That would spoil the spell. And it is a spell Eleanor Farjeon creates. It is stories like this that inspires the storyteller in me. I just wanted to read it aloud to an audience of one, two, five, or a thousand. I don't want these stories to disappear! Luckily you can hear some of these stories for free on librivov, but I want to become a professional storyteller. There's so much I feel I need to do. It's the way you spin the words I want to learn. It's visual cue...how authentic you are as the story unfolds. It's truth unfolding in the form of a story. And if it's true that each of us has God given abilities, then those who have the abilities to tell stories should share of themselves. It is who they are meant to be. Now I feel like I am preaching. I don't mean to be. It's just that stories are so important to me and some are already gone. That's how I felt after reading "Elsie Piddock skips in her sleep". They are slightly dated and could be considered impractical fancies. But it's beauty is in the telling and the way of the storyteller.

3408

I found a wire tie on the bookstore floor
With number 3408 bin tag label on it
I wrapped it around my middle shirt button
Number out
Now I'm a bulk food item
Probably a nut
But even nuts fit
Somewhere along the food chain
Perhaps Whole Foods would know...
They don't know...

Denis Streeter 2/22/12

Spell checks

There's no reason for this.
I wrote it because I wanted to.

Spell checks

Cobwebs and snails and oysters and nails
Reworded the shores with enough to ignore
In webbings of light when it sailed a bike
Were learning discerning to pearl the floor.

When outward were guessing what could be confessing
The spell checks of lightning were thundrously tight
When weeding debeeding sent sunlight to seeding
The bars made of bikning reworded to kite .

So oysters of nails made cobwebs of snails
And webbing of spell checks were flooding the decks
Then lightning of bikning sent knees all a kitning
In skiffness of decks into frightning spell checks.

Denis Streeter 2/21/12

Something good

Putting pen to paper
The letters spin themselves
Into tapestry of words and sentences.
But it was not good enough
It needed to flow or have a point.
Some structure beyond mere words
So the editor came rearranging
Not just once but several times
And the bees of thought stung
Each time saying "It no good."
Demoralized, it got worse
Stopping, deleting, beginning again
Some new tapestry
The editor came
"It no good."
Rearranging
"It no good."
Start again
And after a time
Some instinct beyond
It good.

Denis Streeter 2/17/12

Rainbow

After reading George MacDonald's "The Golden Key".

Rainbow

The hammer that broke the evening in two
Shard looking glass faces
Shatter scattered dark and light
Separating sky from day and night
And came into being
Two worlds
The settled world and the other world
The world inside the rainbow...
Spectrum of light, wonder, and mystery
The possible impossible
Sometimes the two worlds merge
But mostly in dreams
Climbing between conscious and unconscious
Awakening truth the hammer breaks through
Both worlds
The possible impossible
Where one voice says to the other
"How can this be?" and
"It is."
Sometimes it isn't
But the hammer and the evenings
And rainbows and dreams
Are

Denis Streeter 2/16/12

Unless

Clearing screens
Paying debt
Never you mind
Enough
Crawling
Down the depth
Your deep showing
Wandering cry
Shadow play
What you say
Don't know
What you say
Figuring
It's words
Don't get the meaning
Reword
Want to know
What you mean
Unless
Your going away.

Denis Streeter 2/13/12

?

It's not really a question mark, more of a visual cue.

?

Seahorses jump ship
Catnaps take too long
The water that itches
Washes free
Questioning an island.

Denis Streeter 2/5/12