Saturday, December 15, 2018


                       Solitude Raga

               1

drop by drop water
incessantly dripped then splashed
overflowing rain        

so disconsolate
flat stones skipped discus-like     sank
a fate for stones 

courage, do not weep
though a million cells break
life    strong tea   will steep

though glass slivers glint
cut jewels flash with each beat 
broken hearts still bleed

a pot full of chocolate
crimson sphere dashed with gold
a crystal ball

a candle-lit table
of varnished oak
a glass carafe of red wine

reflections
reflected by darkness 
outside un-curtained glass windows



that owlet she raised flew
from fence to barn roof
rust dusting her talons

moon over Kielder
purple bloom above crag edge
climbing above Roughside

                   flag stones after rain 
                puddles stained with kerosene
                    drying to grey blue

drop by drop water
incessantly dripped then splashed
overflows again       

a field mouse
floating in that metal tub
left out under the downspout

no company for some days
except short-eared owls
quartering the moor



                          2

so particles traverse the universe
strange sounds like water dripping from gutters
we play those signals back in reverse
forensically    hoping to derive 
some good rhyme or reason why we're alive
or revelation of why we were meant
what purpose   if any   do we survive
to receive these signals    this testament
this old testament of events in time
whose ripples arrive carrying signals
of far begettings with clear signatures 
from which we surmise others are out there
as yet unfound    just more shards of knowledge
to log   no patterns more than Orion's edge


                           3

         cosmic waste pipes drip and splash

         between two sounds
                  drip splash
                            little sound to measure
                  distance between things
                  pipe   rock

              twelve feet between
                           sound waves spoke out
                           through air dampened by drips
                           radiating
                           from origin  
tick tock
pipe   rock
                                    between that noise of things
                                    an essential silence
                                    of movement
                                        of limbs
                                             before noise    
       warmth at center
                   towards which   air swirls     
                              warms   rises   cools
                                    & always evening when
                           noise   warmth    light       
                  then dust brought
         then warmer    faster
then breeze   wind
in your beginnings
wind myth     myth carnal
bee rhythms
         stem sway     wing fall
                  mulch
                           feeds the sycamore tree     
                                           but one wing

                                             wing of myth
                                            with bones    joints     thumb
                                         let go     forego    the primates                                              
                            thumb                  indulge
                  in chimerical incunabulum



                            4

quick!   chirps a night bird now that it is dark   
quick!   quick!    

thinking again of her gift
drawn with charcoal on thick art paper
a nude silhouette

concentric ripples
like a grenade was dropped
a trout erupted
took a dragonfly

it’s natural for waves to travel
it’s what waves do
so should we believe in that Big Bang Theory
or opt for one that explains cosmic plumbing?

impact
consequence
that gift was an event in time 
whose ripples still reach me
with a signal of perturbation   

Orion in view from the front door
Venus shining




                 what breaks that sound
                 that falls on stone
                 that sound
                 of water splashing

                  in between
                  two songs

                  one hand on a taut drum
                  damping percussive effects of crowd
                  the other on cymbals

                  achieving silence again they play
                  weaving meaning
                  on a thousand-line octave




                        ©Dick Russell, 2015
                                    Revised December 2018




Saturday, December 8, 2018

                        Away Faraway



Away faraway
someone I haven’t seen
except in day dreams rarely dreamed
she inspires me now as she did then
when she asked me
why it was I came to her?
why was it I was there?

Away faraway lives someone
someone I haven’t seen
except in day dreams rarely dreamed
glimpses, even many, are too few
leave-takings fond farewells





Copyright (C) Dick Russell 
                2018

Thursday, December 6, 2018

Hotel Room Coffee Machine Blues


She said with a smile “you know
your hair is beautiful, don’t go”
directing me to a bus to take me to the show
but I declined
saying I’d walk

another time before that
wearing that same orange hat
on her blond hair pulled back
in Dallas’ sudden cold snap
no warmth in the air
would I have been warmer
would we have talked
would I have invited her up to my room?

nearby a van lurked
surveilling the hotel
FBI
operating a wireless net
I could see from my room
dividing my time
between my first cup of coffee
and my first laptop connection
sipping my coffee watching my screen




November 2018


(based on an event while staying at a Marriott on Commerce Street in Dallas, Texas during SC’18).


Copyright © Dick Russell (Richard M. Russell)

Tuesday, December 4, 2018

                        Autumn


I should clean a keyboard
dirty from constant use
just as Indians once rubbed buckskin
white with diatomaceous earth
now chlorine tinctured cloths
clean refrigerator rooftops
cleaning time’s detritus away
wiping age from my face
forever
so that I’m young again
strong shouldered
not stumbling
so that I’m hale again
hearty
hawking 
as I stride across a carpet of leaves
fine red cedar needles
a fresh crop since the last rain





Copyright © Dick Russell
       December 2018

It Serves No Purpose it serves no purpose to sit at night hearing the wind gust from the sea wishing the wind would draw from me a similar f...