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when Lucky met Chase

when Lucky met Chase

 

 

when my dog Lucky met Chase
they rolled in the hay
it was one of those
where you been!  there you are!  days
born in the same barn

 

me   I’m always looking for that friend
and sometimes believe I’ve found them
falling in love    loosing my heart
she let me believe    that she welcomed my courtship
ah with the intimacy of cats and babies
she was “so cute”   “exactly”
and I saw all my life as a tempering
for the butterfly heart
the webbing between the cat’s toes
if this is home I’m healed
why would the spirits send such signs
if she weren’t mine

 

when Lucky met Chase
down on the boardwalk
they had their “pronto” moment
they nuzzled    they rolled
they there you are   corazon
there you are dear

they’ve met again twice since
Lucky and Chase
they’ve sniffed and wagged and walked

arriving at her door
I’d wondered    each time
what reality would meet me
is she that good friend of mine
oh webbing between cat’s toes
and I dreamed  baby knows
everything
here’s everything
but wait
wait at the gate

 

walking my dogs, that’s Lucky and Rita, walking the dogs through the quarry, the meadow space, they hunt mice. It seems the mice sometimes make their nests at the surface.  The dogs wag their tails enthusiastically as they pull the nests apart, and sometimes snack on babies. Then I’ll avoid the quarry for a few weeks.  I’m not heartless.

 

yeah I’m angry    of course
I feel teased    by promise on promise
I do try to wait on the measure
of my September days
grateful    but I’m bitter
the decades run
I thought she was my Chase

 

babe    whose going to fill your book
that was the gold ring
grab it
darn

 

walking the dogs in the quarry meadow
again waiting her call
one more hello
goodbye
not her dude   her dupe
so I’ll leave her with my love
my flowers    and my CDs

 

I’m back in the quarry arguing with fate
my life is little things
and I’m not enjoying the little things right
Rita  my beagle’s  cuteness
Lucky  my blue healer’s  smile
these things must now suffice
my heart has hardened since last night
we’ve come to hunt the little mice

 

in the multiworld universe (of Everett), whatever happened to the conservation of mass and energy?

Quantum Existence

Quantum Existence

Lisa Randall, a physicist, reviewing Carlo Rovelli’s book, “Reality in not what it Seems”, takes issue with his statement: “Electrons don’t always exist. They exist when they interact. They materialize… .” Randell objects: “Stocks may not achieve a precise value until they are traded, but that doesn’t mean we can’t approximate their worth… Similarly electrons might not have definite properties, but they do exist.” I find this interesting because “stocks” are “information” about the “ownership” of a share, a percentage part of a “company” that can be traded for “money”. “Stocks” (and “ownership” and “companies”, and “money?) are an abstraction. So what is an electron when it is not being “measured”: an abstraction? a potential? I would love to believe that things exist before they “happen” and are gone, perhaps as probabilities in the “mind” of the divine. So indeed then, might not the “existent” be that which manifests in the “Mind”?

we are like a sphere of light
and our wounds tune us

 

for Linda

 

 

 

1.

 

do we have to  she whispered
and that sent me away   off
to Gaza    and another life

I tend the mules
I am alone
and these are not my people
another life
with no joy and no reprise

yes, we have to  I answered
and it sent me away
with the infinite dragon    Ouroboros,
tapping my shoulder as
I spun through mirrors
into what many lifelines

 

the last lap behind the mirror
I was an Edwardian gentleman
walking my fields
shotgun in hand   and

I was a mother Partridge
wondering whether to break cover

was there a boom
and I was back in the room
awake gazing at the “gas fire”
(a British room’s,
mid-twentieth century
gas fire      they glew   red)

the child!  something’s wrong with
the child’s imperiled

 

It was three months later
the motor vehicle accident
the child through the windscreen
minor injuries
but her mother  mauled
(no wonder she hadn’t wanted    to stay  for the long haul)
and what is the relevance
somehow it relates
to the “doom”

 

 

2.

 

I was sitting    meditating
a lifetime later
and boom
like a shotgun’s blast
in the guts
under the diaphragm

“doom”

like a kick from proverbial mule
I’ve never felt a greater pain
a full thirty seconds    more
oh my God

 

Irritable Bowel Disease
is a diagnosis of exclusion
so there we go

it was “paroxysmal”
and    it returns   on occasion
though only when I’m “flying”   high
and less and less
three years on its devolved
to a nausea

yet still
this doom    looms
down in the belly

 

 

3.

 

I was flying
with you
and Moon

 

you pointed to your crystal pendant
a tangerine quartz
a small pendant
wrapped in copper wire
smaller    much smaller    than your little finger
Moon gave me this  you said
and it was aglow

a glowing star)
spiculated    symmetries
unlike    not like a snowflake
more like something out of Star Wars
small    gentle     yet bright      light
stunned

I gasped

mother    it shines!

 

 

4.

 

so sitting beside you
after the ceremony
the “puja”      chanting
the other day
flying again
(we’ll use that euphemism [with this apology]
for a pot-stoned psychedelic what’sit)
holding your hand   with
a walnut-sized ball of light
between our palms
a cool light    like the tangerine starship’s
that light present too
here now then there
and a while on   a while gone
my mind tracked  to that doom
and a little epiphany bloomed
below
in my belly

 

we are like a sphere of light
and the wounds tune us

pain brings    pain rings a tone

that colours our being

and that’s the tale
the little I’ve tumbled
of the tune
of the doom

and there   too   then
and Mel injected
what’s going on there?

I’ll write you the story  
I said

so this is the tale
so far
of my gleanings
of the wounds
that are shaping
my world

 

 

harm: first (try to) do no…

 

I killed a fly this morning
“squeegeeing” the shower
I look out for the little guys
(I call them delta flies
they are very tiny bathroom folk)
my squeegee was in motion
as I saw my wee “friend?”

(all my relations we say)
I saw him, it, move –
squish
he’s balled up in some tissue now
on my altar
I’ve said a prayer

 

and meanwhile you’re caught in such a noose
and so much fur is flying

I think it is called
“poem with a lot of footnotes”
but “cuddles“ for short

cuddles are best
the old man giggled
remembering his dogs his cats his kids
the little girl on the train
to her mummy
(me leaving
– you on the platform in Cardiff)
cuddles is best
she said

ah the old man sighed
cuddles were best
he paused
lust comes next

said for a laugh
because contact
contact was everything

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