Style

A poem by Rudyard Kipling might not go something like this:

Rowely, Rowely

Rudy is his name
Twerpdom his domain
And his kin flourish truly.
They run to his camp
Their eyes so damp,
They claw to capture his sight;
To see as he does -- unruly
That the stars of the night
Do millions number
Hanging in order and harmony
Rudy's lack of substance
and pseudo-rebellion
Could rip constellations asunder.
With no one stopping to ask: Why?
With not one person asking why.






Copyright © 2010-11 Patrick Darnell

I Remember Sail Cloth

Tuft of thundercloud trailing anvil head,
For a moment dove eating crumb of bread
From bronze rail before flight
With point on horizon to sight
Full wind, full rudder churns freshwater white.

Out to quiet sailing had set we
With jib and full sail cast
As have sturdy fellows past.

I could hear almost the Old Salt
From his boat in briny harbor forgot
Talking as frapped his rope
'... Bloody Lake Mich, choppy old moat,
'... Choppy when the wind blows,
'... Meaner'n a blistered nanny goat.'

Leaning with gaunt arm bare
Upon bronze gunwale, pushing aside thick hair,
Squinting ignobly in bright sun-glare
With meaty fingers tugs at pipe there
Aboard chapped lips points to east horizon
Of inland mare, fashions scowl for his next quip
As great barrier of clouds form at fast clip

'... Tha' water my life did I impart,
'... Not much left for Almighty God to sort.'

Flipping pocket flap open like a hatch
Wriggling fingers while digging for a match
To strike against all that scratch
Of a standard jaw, put he then pipe to pucker,
Match to pipe bowl, sucked he flame to tobacco;

Returning to his task murmuring just audible
Pipe clenched tightly in teeth and jaw
Spatted he to indicate his final card
Whispering as puckers he a humid draw:

'... Wha'cha gonna do ... Wha's one to do ...
'... Wha' character does she reflect when tide low
'... How can tide pool stand for long
'... in ancient thirsty sand?'

Calm smile now on his face in half shadow ...

'... To where my life depart; to live a mariner
'... For what did I impart these hands?'

I remember sail cloth masted, trimmed taut
To gather wind for friends at steady knot
A chance to depart on lake large as a sea
And to cross horizon in time eternity
With promise for life, love and for loss.




Copyright © 2010-11 Patrick Darnell

Before the creative spirit departed
They spoke in their childlike voice
To breathe the gift of life or not
Is a personal note of choice

I breathe the stone of life
Remarkable it stays unknown
Have mercy Lord over my soul
Indeed it is a poem.






© 2010-11 Patrick Darnell

Pianissimo

To live
Silvery string
Ivory key, brass pedal
Power of sound resides
In taut potential beckoning

Foot upon one stanza
Soul lingers yet
Broadcasting message to hand
Tenders the fingers...

Soul ... sparks ... from arch
to digit, to the toe --
Pressure of sounds on forehead
With timbre ... melody unfolds.

Once to inhale ... twice to exhale
Crescendo ... decrescendo
Outlast physical sense
Phrase lingers ... open mouth.

Let fly spirit
Hammer weighted stones
Upon granite marble perch
Music soothes passion searches.

Piano... of music house fame
Launches spirit to heights
Only spirit can measure
and fades to pianissimo.

That above stony paths fly
Footfalls beyond human heart
Mastery of soul-feet's cry
Release all that is inside.



© 2010-11 Patrick Darnell

Dream Futures

Window to view a soul
Mullions stacked six over six
And mullets for panes
Frigate birds circle to poll
Zoftig female ling to eat
By warm gulf craft yaws
Chance to embark for talk...

Today journey ended yesterday
In circumspect... clouds glowed
As embers in ashes
Against sky with no flaws
In constant com
With the one I love
Sky beautiful in back drop.

Unable to photograph hugeness
Resigned, I take photos
To my mind, to my mind ...
Scene remains ever there
Vision for some dream future.




© 2010-11 Patrick Darnell

Lost Boss

We have to get to Whitehurst!
Tuaca, Liqueur.
Cryptomatic
Rikki Likki con Nikki

Wait ...

That has merit!

Craft-o-matic
Anchormeister
Dart-inspection on her blouse
FAST FOOD ZEN
19:56 You only remember wha' cha'
Need to rememba', Atlanta.

Jones Beach
Long Island, New Yoik. Watching

The Sunrise.

The desert is your toilet, Jack.
Yarn Shoppe?
Grits and ... See you don't really
Have to pray for toilet paper.

20:20 blatantly cute...
Big A's!

Poindexter and the Metal Benders
Peggy snorted again.

Czech is in the male.
Vocal gender switching.
Lost boss.

Copyright © 2010-11 Patrick Darnell

Golf Man

Muttering to his own mind distance and wind measurement
While Falstaff-tans approach, they are
Consuming and spreading out along borders
Some things one must take in faith ...

That miscreants, hellions, and twerps
Cannot prevail beyond the number seven,
And what is it they consume? Besides
Culture, their diet demands, gorging morals.

Wherewithal of deepening fracture,
Could tempt the perfect par eight to sway?
He, Golf Man, might at Fall be perfect in game
... perfect in stature,
In judging turf men's perfecting grass grain -
In conquering swells, grade and drift in gale.

Winter wave, late tee, lengthening shadow ball,
Perfect arcing hook at 300 pine tall
No meager male shall stall his golf
For love of tempestuous, herald par -
One cannot assume big boys tote and play here -
The association is more intimate by far.

Tyrants on steel horses cough,
Can come only so close to the life in golf.

Absent of guile,
Golf Man has a two lie --

Hardly noticing at all
... staid he cogitates the ball,
Hairy hands reach deep to putt
... heeds he no earthly call,
No wall of wind to overcome
... he putts to bird
Finally to golf god
... speaks he the third:

What a swing --
What an up lay --
'nift, the brass cup is stirred.

God, oh what may be asked
... more of any Golf Man.


Copyright © 2010-11 Patrick Darnell

I Miss My Children as they Dream

I miss my children as they dream,
In value times oft' it seems
Escape they to finer place
As clouds gather over landscapes

My children wax in Summer's grace
Cry not while in their place
Roam though I a babe as old
Battling too till I'm aloft the world --

That then is conclusion
my children's dreams ...
They ride free a'stride stallions
Claiming pastures for each's scheme

I've but purchased my bare plot
I have called in my delusions
Articulated on high things
Given to do lower; my illusion.

Primitives would gather to my grave
In stiff fog of dreams I have,
Scoffing unrelenting ...
Crying not, nor laughing they.

Yet I come not in spectacular times
To biddings of forgotten souls
I strive for shelter ours
Before grave in life's unfolding hours

I miss my children as they dream
For I alone can know them to value it
Wanting each their right to my spirit
A portion my children rightfully redeem.




Copyright © 2010-11 Patrick Darnell

In Che Direzione le tue Lacrime

In che' direzione le tue lacrime?
Dove vanno sempre, in preoccupazione o per bene?
Singhiozzi di incoraggiamento ...
Il messaggero di dolore
Visitando gli amanti separati
Che il loro affetto andra' via domani.

Questa casa e' vuota!
Non c'e' nessuna vita, potra' essere perche'
Non c'e' nessuna promessa e il dolore e' profondo!

Quando ti sei svegliata in terrore e hai parlato
... " No, per favore, No " ...
E' questa la paura di sbagliare
Nell' amore cosi' profondo
Nell' oscurita'
Senza fondo.

Abituati nelle tue lacrime
E le mie. Col sapore di sale.
Le preoccupazione del presente
Di essere da soli e senza dell' altro.

In che' direzione le tue lacrime?
Dove vanno sempre, in preoccupazione,
O per ill bene che' ha creato.

[For Marinell | 1991]
Copyright © 2010-11 Patrick Darnell

Remember the Future

What is; what isn't
Is better than
all linear systems up for review.

Omniscience capable brains
with linear existence

I can now remember the Future
And an infantadolescent creature

Harvester of language
not for even an outline
but for what I sense volumetric

Snow drifts expire ... summer wind
for as long as the earth is
do seasons follow one another?

Tree talk ... sun path
They have memories
to reasons of gravity on one another?

Baby ... become mirror
When head out, head to head
will be overworked as she becomes mother?

Thunder storm ... simpler fright
of clouds and vapor and thinness
and breaking up of dreams?

Forgive me ... answer me
for I remember the future
and then why again is this so important?

Harvest not language for even an outline
for what I sense in volumetric
What is what isn't.

And, now on ... on, on.

[Pat to Ali and Matt | 05.18.93]
Copyright © 2010-11 Patrick Darnell

Frenzy

Tattoo about 50 bucks
for luck, Maw, and Paw

Livin' just other side
of the law

Tattoo don't come off.

Tattoo stays with you
Says "your name here"
stays there forever

Tattoos come before
the heart is broke

Got one that says:
"Hit and Run"
costs 20 bucks, thirty-one
runnin' out of luck
in a frenzy

Just this side of the law.



Copyright © 2010-11 Patrick Darnell

Not in to It

Things we love dearly
go often astray
cold drinks clearly
won't right the day.

Love is mild sunstroke
nausea, throbs and pain
night terrors afloat --
volumes of water retained

Love is a blue heart
dead in its blood toll
-- to make it restart
will leave gaping holes

How love changes us
accidents happen
-- bloody dangerous --
... like walking in Manhattan.

Go we through motions
creating at best
no good solutions
we all know the rest

Love is our vintage
all bottled and stored
how we live and age
with those we adore.



Copyright © 2010-11 Patrick Darnell

en Fuego'

I was en fuego
when you found me
dying on a doorstep

I was intaglio
as I crawled down
to the river

that river went up
and covered my feet
and my heart leapt

But I could not spring free
I was ridiculed
so I slept

Water does not hold
it soaks or boils
so I was free

I was braggadocio
but another tagged me
and I was inept

I was then saggio
for knowing my own cry
so I finally had ...
... eventualities.

And silenzioso,
by my doorstep perch,
with no reserve, you crept.






Copyright © 2010-11 Patrick Darnell

Hai'can't

Water
barnacled pier
crab grabbing bait
net


Copyright © 2010-11 Patrick Darnell

Parlays

Mesmerized, crustal being, I
-- being without gills
but, however, full of guile --
Side-step, step-aside,
side-step, step-aside
rainfall ridden
footfalls
and chase to
dry pockets
or a den
to reward paper
with pen.

I step in
from unto the rain
revealing ancient phrases
again

While other details
taught me to expatiate
I delay

For impressions such as
this rain-soaking
it parlays.


2000
Copyright © 2010-11 Patrick Darnell

Blues Simple

Open the door --
... I don't know
where I'm going to go
... anymore.

But I will leave
and I tell you now
I'm not going to grow
anymore ...

That was all I had
for you, the kids,
the dog, and the cat,
that we adore...

I've run out
of emotion
of regret, and,
of chances
to be more ...

Once I go
out the door
I can't say
I'll be coming back
anymore ...


Copyright © 2010-11 Patrick Darnell

Understand

Ponder the other half
-- the other side,
of a tear drop
shaped planet.

Spheroidal hemis-prison
to some, do not go there
with romantic notions
isss ... isss ... isss
murmurs the pasture rain.

This is difficult to bear.

Flashing of cloud borne arc
strobe-ing gelled walls
on loading docks
heavy in their lakes.

No hump-backed moon
lasts in the dense yoke
of humid emotion
rocking a cradle
of newborn troubles
as droplets that stream down
the glass ...

Rains down onions
scupper'd to the ground
-- understand --
... that for a whole life,
Time is eclipsed by
its reluctance
to experience
this moon-raked drenching,
as walls look like wax,
and flat roofs are un-pardoned.


2000
Copyright © 2010-11 Patrick Darnell

About Love to my Teenagers

Love is bigger
than you and me
It is an ocean
of surface
and, depth
and, weight
pressure and temperature.

Love is gravity
that pulls the ocean
to ebb and flow
rise and fall
make waves

Love is a place
where life thrives
teeming multitudes
competing in tide pools
a place of no folly
a humble abode

Love is time
of kind-patience
of long-suffering
caters not to weak
it carries forward
faith and hope
in changing tides.

These are just words
frail and thin
from an old man
who felt it again and again
drowned in that ocean
crushed in that gravity
put in my place
and found time cruel
until love awoke within.

Copyright © 2010-11 Patrick Darnell

Blues

Up 6 days

Five nights alone

I feel like a blues

Subterfuge

-- Can I go home?

Momma, dear --

Was I born

on dry land

'cause I feel seasick

almost every day.


Copyright © 2010-11 Patrick Darnell

Restorations

Spoken

A blessing
Upon the world
Fast to fasten
Quickened spirit
My friend

Spoke to face
Cheer of creator
Answer

Relent
Foretell
Deliver
Reveal

Comfort hasten
Forward
Spirit left to me.

Open
Ear and mouth
Clap hand numb
Call our names
Each one.

Incise sin
With word
Spoke clear
Iron sharpens iron
My hope sincere.



1-19-95

Portrait Eyes

Look’n through portrait eyes
See’n clear-wise, all un-wise
In their blatant disguise;
In my habitat domicile,
Pigment stays; oil expires
Feelin’ thin, I oxidize

I seldom move my mirrored pose
That sobriety hath imposed
Ponder the half burnt ash
Claiming my wall mate’s nose
Facet, surface, shell, indoors
Her face too a wanton repose

Upon stair wall aspire
Breezed past me those
Up stair scale much
Petulant haunts a’ flush
Ascending in feral rush

Lie vertical, cast no shadow
I feel none their touch

Portrait eyes
Seldom cry
From dusk until dawn

Yet lovers above
At full tilt, begin to weep
When sheath of night
Is gone



Copyright © 2010-11 Patrick Darnell

Restorations

Still the Gentile

Still a gentile,
I say goodbye

And flee
To wilderness,
Escape mankind

Woe this city
Full of faux wilderness,
swallows, trees, and all.
Besides, a well ridden
Dustman, named Joachim,
Became proprietor roiled
Of the disparaging peat rim.
Through a duster’s style
Does he not repair seed
Left behind indeed by
fully leavened gentiles?

Large numbers, droves,
Th’ big city proves.
Create collective science
Stranger than fiction prose.

Emerge anyway heroes, Who
Boys and girls playin'
Follow close the game,
Neve’mind their names,
Wi’ rules e’en to their graves
Bad seed, up to speed
Relentless in faux wild
Just knaves, the same,
Brought to their knees
Final rest where the dust pile leaves.

That is my detail
From road of denial
Wise as me, still the gentile.


April 23, 2007

Lonely as a lighthouse keeper

Lonely as a lighthouse keeper
-- Third generation keeper that is --
Witness many shipwrecks
Stand of stones and cairns that is
Hidden midst panes of light
‘midst uncertain sea life

When the sea froze
Was it safe to walk under?
Relying might we with
Boots as boats
Frozen toe and guts
Alone as a gusting wind
Nature christened Bad Temperament
Was it safe to christen
Other souls let go
Bodies mashed on wall
Of water at toe of tower
Turning in a bearing
Signal friendlies
Friendlier, friendliest peers
Neighbors looking into vapors
Looking at sea wave bombs
-- Some frightened; some calm --
And ask ‘What can we do?’

Where built a pier
To tie me froze boat
We sank down below water line
And towed it
Till we froze and float

Yet to yonder on
Dry patches pavement
Scant puddles left
Like toed nails appointment
Against weather’s addled temperament
On piers by soldiers’ wives
And children’s wails
Crying, bereft against torrents
And ignoble swales

Uncertainty
Eternal pathos prevail
Abundant trouble
To die, turn up one’s toes
A chap should be what he can do!
24 Jan 06

Folderol

Move the dust
Move the dirt
Turf allover earth
Good and plenty
Good and contented

Drive bayside surf
smile like pappy
say goodnight
Listenin’ t’ crickets’
Who abide alight
Long way to domicile
Slick escape maybe
Environmental selection
Condescension apprehension
Of virtual annihilation
No room in No-room Town
No room in NosmoKing Town
Plenty of Hey Baby in Boomtown
In heyday groups of 3 thou
Lackluster homely Crowd
Clankingly with no culture

Stomping grounds disappeared
railroad sank
what delivered rich from poor
re-rooted, re-routed
starting to stank
feels jaded
hardened, less luminous
once unashamedly cradled

Boulevards float trucks
on roots of ancient oaks
and chariots swerve
‘tween turrets of viaducts
Rarefracted, distracted doles
Flagged and pooped – sun struck

Language-barrier’d panic polls
baseless numberings and loud sounds,
Perverse logic destroys logic,
Places lost to mummers’ tolls
Cast down in hot summers
Amidst mob of sweat bolls

Monotony marmalade
There’s no room in No-room Town
Just for Faust and troll trade
No more room in Boomtown
Just seduction for Gretchen
In a How-Town folderol

PD | ©Darnell 2007

Patrick

by Patrick Darnell


Numb nuts
Buns, four-eyes
Pitter patter
Draftsman
Two-minutes
Barnsmell

Pete,
... Pat-er-ick
Patick Zio
Cognato Grandioso
Cuolo grande
Poindexter
P-Hole
Pitiful Case

Store Planner
Great-Gran’daddy of funk
Naked Party Chairman
Wanker less Tosser
Fly Half Rugger

Guard, Nose Tackle
Deep center
Specialist tugger
Engineer artist abashed
Advanced token
Donor self-harassed
Big Bird
Patrick

Pander-monium

It turns out
I was right
'n my microcosm
of pander





Copyright © 2010 Patrick Darnell

Basement

Water dripping
in a basement
smell of grout
smell of wetness




Copyright © 2010-11 Patrick Darnell

Out Patient

A case
too tricky
and anti-science
anti-logic
too clever
rolled up into
a bale of hay
captured energy
from glistening trays
of uneaten buffets

Vikings of Geisha boys
riding curved headed ships
paddled into mock joy
black-guarded low gips ...

Days of doggerel fashion
Fran questioned and found
only pain as
truth serum.

We are on the same side --
this a question
from a freak
who wants to
circumcise his own fingertips
Fran ran away
-- checked out.

To experience
Counter reality
with anxiety
in an out patient
sort of way.




Copyright © 2010-11 Patrick Darnell

Crazy Voice

[Impromptu Lyrics for this song at Guitar Ramble :: PRIBEK -- LINK]
by Pat Darnell

Crazy voice
I can’t tell
what you say

Your screams and cries
will make fruit bats
stammer, stagger and die.

Your creepy howl — please –
Don’t scare me now,
Later I gotta’ sleep.

Crazy voice, please cease,
You burn my lungs
When I breathe.

It’s okay, Crazy voice,
your chatter instead
is waking the bitter dead.

Crazy voice, it matters,
Your voice stabs me
like a thousand daggers

You’re causing here
a crazy stew —
Oh, yes you do.

And, Crazy voice
I can’t tell what it is
That you say …

It’s just possible
maybe I will …
but not today.


Copyright © 2010-11 Patrick Darnell

Living Vicarious through my Friend

I woke up this morning
could not remember my dreams
but ...Something was on my mind
and it made my feet move

When I woke up this morning
I said I had to get goin'
Get goin' outta this bog
Yes, had it on my mind.

I was tired of looking
out each and every way
for gators and wild hogs, and
snakes around shallow lakes

Diamond D and Circle K
got no more lure for me,
All those bog secrets
ain't scared of me ...
... sure 'nuff ain't scared of me.

Hopped in my Chevrolet
to see what I might see
and followed the rail
put my hair in a ponytail

Packed my axe and muscatel
drove to Tunica Mississippi
drove till I find a casino
while Blues spun on the radio

I woke up this morning
not a memory could I say
but knew I could not sit a spell
had to get on up out down this way

What happened next, you see,
In my mind I'll just keep it
what went down in Mississippi
Well, that there's top secret.





Copyright © 2010-11 Patrick Darnell

When Bramble starts to Bloom

Check the clock
when the bramble starts to bloom
check my heart
when colors enter the room
look in the sky
when rose sharon finds her groom
listen to the land
when angels sing their tune
observe the bands
of red, yellow, pearl, and blue.


Copyright © 2010-11 Patrick Darnell

Mom's Living Room

Many a parlay went down here.
...thirty years of dusty guitars,
and a wurlitzer for Garth,
a boogie-woogie piano by the rogue's gallery.

More than several over-nighters...
several puppies, and a comfy chair
for anyone whose dogs are tired.

Don't show me this again,
until I am there beside you.
Mom will probably make a little more coffee.
Someone will tell an old joke
and there will be laughter.

Copyright © 2010-11 Patrick Darnell

But as Dreams Go

I am one who
often dreams of
events before they happen

But as dreams go
events in them are misshapen

It may be years before
I recognize what those
dreams were for

But as Dreams go
Real life corrects them

And I usually smile
for I am safe;
miles from sleep

But as dreams go
New venues start collecting

Submission in sleep
alerts my intellect
to rigors in life

But as dreams go
I find this all enchanting.

Copyright © 2010-11 Patrick Darnell

Blues Pickin's

A little off the top
Now feather the neck hairs
Slide over to the side burns
trim those to the ears

Now lay some track
talcum yourself a soft brush
brush those hairs off my back
call my name out in a hush

and feather them neck hairs once more



Copyright © 2010-11 Patrick Darnell

Gettin’ from There to Here, listening to Coltrane and Friends

I got forty tons a haul
an’ no safe port of call
I asked my biz manager
whad’ he tho’t of it all

He said “Take it on up
to Choctaw Nation,
eh … all okay Mister Reginald”
-- just if you are a little patient

I'll Pick up 20 thousand yards
of rubble and trouble
settin’; up on side of a cliff
just for you at that station –

http://youtu.be/KW33ye4fPBA[Personnel: Sonny Rollins, John Coltrane (tenor sax), Red Garland (piano), Paul Chambers (bass), Philly Joe Jones (drums)]

I got plenty of sun
out of an Old Mexico run ….
and a red arm to show
I'm thrivin’ on that riff
easing into a Oklahoma snow

Listen'n to Ted Sonny Rollins –
don't he tell you about Jelly Roll Morton?
while you are on the road, tires flappin’
This perfect jazz is mad bitin’

You got no extra time to kiss
keepin’ it r’ill, with rubber on steel,
Till you be thrivin’ on that riff
ridin’ 40 tons of haul on wheels.




Copyright © 2010-11 Patrick Darnell

Welcome to the Grand Illusion

flytrap says:
March 31, 2011 at 6:40 am

Welcome to the grand illusion
Come on in and see whats happening
Pay the price, get your tickets for the show
The stage is set, the band starts playing

Suddenly your heart is pounding
Wishing secretly you were a star.
But don't be fooled by the radio
The TVor the magazines

They show you photographs of how your life should be
But they're just someone else's fantasy

So if you think your life is complete confusion
Because you never win the game
Just remember that its a grand illusion
And deep inside were all the same.
Were all the same…

So if you think your life is complete confusion
Because your neighbors got it made
Just remember that its a grand illusion
And deep inside were all the same.
Were all the same…

America spells competition "blind ambition"
Get yourself a brand new motor car
Someday soon well stop to ponder
...what on earth is this spell we're under
We made the grade
...Yet still we wonder
Who the hell we are

_______References
http://www.infowars.com/cost-of-libya-intervention-600-million-for-first-week-pentagon-says/
http://www.infowars.com/cost-of-libya-intervention-600-million-for-first-week-pentagon-says/comment-page-1/#comment-2445366

_______footnote: talksic_ says:
March 30, 2011 at 6:55 am
in a recession and we have 600 million to bomb another country. what a joke. looks like they care more about the libyan people then us. but to bad the u.s. is really over there to get a stronger strangle hold on the middle east and when were falling apart at home.

I Know a Few Things

I know a few things
-- yes I do --
yes I do for sure

Like a hamster
tucked in all day
wakes at dusk.

There are things to abhor
-- sure there are --
things you like more, trust...

I found old barn wood
is plenty dry --
very dry for sure,

just fine for
building your
own furniture:

Like a table fine
for breakin' your bread ...
with cane-backed chairs

Or, a guitar painted red,
to make your songs live,
like songs of heaven's stairs.

Or, a sturdy mantle
of dry barn wood
to hold pictures

Messages of a long life
-- your long life --
I know this for sure.

Copyright © 2010-11 Patrick Darnell

Turn back, O Man

by Clifford Bax -- 13 July 1886 – 18 November 1962

Turn back, O man, forswear they foolish ways.
Old now is earth, and none may count her days;
Yet thou, her child, whose head is crowned with flame,
Still wilt not hear thine inner God proclaim:
"Turn back, O man, forswear thy foolish ways!"

Earth might be fair and all men glad and wise.
Age after age their tragic empires rise,
Built while they dream, and in that dreaming weep;
Would man but wake from out his haunted sleep,
Earth might be fair, and all men glad and wise.

Earth shall be fair, and all her people one:
Nor till that hour shall God’s whole will be done.
Now, even now, once more from earth to sky,
Peals forth in joy man’s old undaunted cry—
“Earth shall be fair, and all her folk be one!”


Words: Cliff­ord Bax, 1916. Bax wrote these words at the re­quest of Gus­tav Holst; they ap­peared in the League of Arts Mo­ther­land Song Book, 1919.

Music: Old 124th, Ge­ne­van Psalter, 1551

All Poets are Self-Published

by Pat Darnell

an old city
is basically
a graveyard

monuments
and headstones
on square plots

a pedestrian
maze of sorts
of building spots

plastic pots
with sprigs
and trees

water always
running free
to its on level;

all creation
is clueless
in a life it revels.


Copyright © 2010-11 Patrick Darnell

Supreme Sob Story

Who are you really --
what is it you do out there?
From this loftiness it appears
prophets' scattered lives
are destroyed.

Frail prophets; are you daft?
Fragility ate up lives?
Unable, or unwilling,
to stand against and
forswear, and repudiate
technologies in recant ...
... Face in face-off, while
stolen by unknowable
and cowardly villain;

Sneaky Demon's, role models --
surgery to deceive
rejuvenation twist
promised reconciliation,
names you cannot unsay --

Confectionery cake
a brittle layer like
two dimension bas-relief
over soft core of humans' stakes

on Supreme Secret plates --
secrets you depart with;
low tech solution for
high logic-techno pith; --
and hardships abated
for your prophets-in-waiting.




Copyright © 2010-11 Patrick Darnell

Sean Tudor the First

Highly accurate
guesswork, describes
terror Tudors feel
flying above us
untethered to
Mother Earth.

Rolling, rolling, rolling
like Vampire bats
slaves of endless
ersatz

Wages of their sins
is of course death
Death is final
frontier, unless ...

... Tudor, it will take
you seven hundred
generations to
spend that wealth

Sons' and daughters'
immortal souls -- what?
Still secret to you?
"Come with me:" said Jesus
"Behind me Satan!"

There might be hope for
Sean Tudor the First.

Copyright © 2010 - 11 Patrick Darnell

Conversation at the Army Surplus Store

"You didn't have
a childhood did you?"

"No."

"I mean; you were
born to a bunch
of goons -- siblings,
all nervous
about their
birth-rights?"

"Uhmmm -- yep!"

"What are you laughing at?"

"Mullie."

Copyright © 2010 Patrick Darnell

It isn't Always Pretty

Copyright © 2010-11 Patrick Darnell

Fran

When serpents
attack back
and lead to
a whole new
story ...

So that Fran can
end it, or not,
anymore than
she could have
it started  ...

We are all
on the same side.
'Truth is:' that
truth is
a harsh villain
to those
who lie.


Copyright © 2010 Patrick Darnell

Having been born human
and never known the Earth
never saw it's green
never filled lungs
with its air
never felt the sun
radiance on his face

Traveling the cosmos
as a star struck being
always seeking a place
a place to know
as home

This is how it is
from earliest time
from Adam to Enoch
from son to son

Having arrived
breathing in paradise
savoring fruit of earth
drinking its wine
then is a human born.



Copyright © 2010 Patrick Darnell

I'm almost not Dead Yet

I'm almost not dead yet
-- dead is real final --
but alas' I'm not
there yet

I guess I'm just
not there yet

I am pulling out
my eyebrows
and I'm lying very still
listening to TV persons gab on

Talk about who walks about
many bloody segues
I'm like antlers on a wall
watching seagulls set up a queue

I'm almost not dead yet
guess' be alive I will
as long as I have eyebrows
as long as there's face
... on a clock

life went by fast
I was twenty, then way past --
hung out to dry at fifty-five --
need an air lift out of this flood.

Copyright © 2010 Patrick Darnell

A Bookshelf

Somewhere there is
a bookshelf with
the very book I need

The very book that when
its pages turn
reveals just what is --

Just what is
in the very way
that I need this day
to contemplate,
while I perambulate
and be complete.


Copyright © 2010 Patrick Darnell

Sustaining an Unplanned Life

We
en-route
to truth
scampering
past trickery
skulduggery
maneuvering
past lavish lies

Finding a grove
of sweet-gum tree
and hickory
ancient elders
masters of sky
in shadow we hide

Then we re'lize
that we can grow
Sunflowers in
our own front yard
we don't hav'ta
go hide so hard.

Copyright © 2010 Patrick Darnell

Six-legged Yoga

Imagine an insect
the kind you abhor
practicing six-legged
yoga up on your door

When opens your door
there reveals a puppy
legged with peds of four
propped up right steady

As --

Copernicus separates
Earth from the Sun
All life-forms begun ...
... go on as before.


Copyright © 2010 Patrick Darnell

Sodomy, Bigotry

Sodomy, bigotry
my lands such things
into the 21st I go
someone let me know

aren't those deadly?
idolatry, polygamy
insufficiency
-- did I miss one

did you witness?
can you see the mess
will you do this
nothing eases up at all

seven of seventy
ways to fuck up
and screw the pooch
-- what did I do?

that game of games
is too much for me
same with you?
-- can we agree

I enter to leave
I capture to free
I seize to release
-- you, do what you please

no heavy loaded words
just nouns turned verbs
missiles in silos
shit oozing 'tween my toes

Bigotry, sodomy
where will you go?
out with the polit-bureau?
last chance to know.

Copyright © 2010 Patrick Darnell

Poem a Day on a Sleepless Night

by Pat Darnell for Cage Potatos Everywhere



I was conceived in the backseat
cup holder of an S.U.V. [Es Yoo Vee]
Going up US Interstate Highway ...
... one hundred and forty-three

Lord I was born an armchair man
Lord I was born an armchair athlete ...
Trying to escape a living
Doin' the best I can in retreat ....

When it's time for leavin'
I hope you understand
I eat peaches and then I eat the can.
Lord, I'm no ramblin' man.

Copyright © 2010 Patrick Darnell

Kitty is Full

Bob-tailed kitty
has a taste for bird
she climbs 'top the wood pile
out by the shed
she sniffs a bit
plops down and closes her eyes

She finds a board
to scratch on
rolls onto her back
stretches her legs out
shakes her head

A new flying cardinal
lands on a shrub
hops to the slider bench
kitty only looks, yawns,
and licks her chest...
Kitty must be full

Kitty, she acts very cute
always at safe distance
that is, how she goes,
She likes better
sounds from women,
Men scare her away.



Copyright © 2010 Patrick Darnell

Great Lonely

by Pat Darnell

On a runway lonely
Songwriter croons
crafts a tune
out of refrain

Evidence is in a tablet of stone
a very large and heavy
block of stone, a terrain
in hopes to be emancipated

Lady gained his heart
but forfeited her soul
she had to be at his side --
-- what was, she unanticipated

What, anyway, was the point?
her love could have levitated
a mountain, and its valley,
but there are only
so many fertile valleys

Then Song-man wrote,
wrote it all down,
but the tale became fragments,
restrained fragments of stone.




Copyright © 2010 Patrick Darnell

If Not Human

by Pat Darnell

If not human
would you know
winter, spring, and fall ?

If other than a man
could you tell
differences at all ?

If some other being
would you sing 'n let
your hands go free ?

If other than human,
is your calling,
Would you avoid Falling ?

If not human, then
would you work so hard
to give your fellow so much regard ?

If not human mate
would you mourn,
think, or, jubilate ?



Copyright © 2010 Patrick Darnell

Not a Revolutionary Piece

by Pat Darnell

Here a reluctant
authoritarian writes
not a revolutionary piece

but rather a cautious
series of tales
that are warnings

responses to glaring
holes in logic
and songs blaring

to ignite memory
of some things once
pleasantly democratic

or to declare
what you are going through
is certainly valid.

Copyright © 2010 Patrick Darnell

I Waited

by Pat Darnell

I waited here
for you to give
meaning to my words

Then when you
Came to call

My Spirit leaped
from the saddle
like the soul of Sal

It could wait no longer
beneath thunder rolls
nor 'neath squalls

It broke free...
My Spirit did for thee

Did you leap too
When our time began
At two journey's ends
And Spirits freely ran?



Copyright © 2010 Patrick Darnell

For My Heart

by Pat Darnell

For my heart
to be supple again
only a closed mind
is certain

Our moon is untrustworthy
different every night --
and we want to know
about our spirit and soul

Think ascent and descent
think light and screen
think ears, eyes, nose --
Think heart, mouth,and bestowal

To know our souls
requires a shrinking brain
Egoism thrown out the window
and tears flowing like rain



Copyright © 2010 Patrick Darnell

Work in Progress -- Dream of Flying

Why do I fly
in my dreams?
Floating over brick floors
around steel corridors

floating in atmosphere
teaching you how
so we can be together
flying

finding new clothes
swimming in large pools
expecting adventure
looking for work

Flying, a joyful expectation,
a joyous exhilaration,
how does it end?

We awake.



Copyright © 2010 Patrick Darnell