Manor of hope and optimism.
  A tradition of tolerance and struggle
  And yet
       and yet
    an expectation
        of wanting,
           always wanting more.


   How much
       of too much
   is enough?
  
       should I ask it again?

   How much
       of too much
    is enough?

  Classic lines of poetry
       you all read it with your room light on
     you all hear it on your handheld 'corder
    Y'all take it with you when your driving far.

   Down the highway
     towards the end
   You can follow the shore.
     It doesn't ever end.

      Many many pages
   misquoting all the sages
       dressed in purple robes
     no one even noticed.

     The light had gotten low,
       the fire burning out
    they'd all been by the river
         fishing for some converts.

       And with the sound of the sight of the sea
  and nonsense being the meaning
         he and she stepped into eternity
    denying all the rages that say
     you cant be with her
    you can't be with he
           What will grandmother say?
       How are you thus free?


  He kisses
      his girlfriend
     and doesn't care
   who her parents are and what
       tribe she is from.

     Yes, roses bloom, 
    so say the romantic poets
      who will then go on about the fading
    of the beauty and make it
         an allegory for youth.

    But aloof youth
       think that poems
    don't have to matter
       those poems on ancient pages
     sounding like the way no one talks at all.

     And these youth, with their
    spiked hair and their 
  painted outrage
        simply don't care to learn all the hate.
   They choose love.

       Didn't you choose love
   when you were young and broken
     love leaving you suddenly
         and standing in the rain?

    If you are reading poetry
       didn't you choose the sarrow
    over the hurt, let the bird fly away
        but it never did return.

   And instead of a life time of hurt
      you lifted yourself off of your weeping
      pillow
     you noticed so slowly how the distant 
               clouds billow
      and you moved your self along
        to somewhere
        farther forward
      in your life.

   Now is it kids?
       Nieces and Nephews?
      Neighbor children?
    You pray for all of them, don't you?

         Micro burst of rage and 
      flame war postings
        that made her cry
     caused her to pull the plug
      on her computer, damn
           shutdown, 
      just do it.



        But now she doesn't care
       there is no one to get back at.
     She goes to a store and buys
      cinnomon candy hearts.

          

spilling
 and what are you 
   spelling
     and sop is guer that we
      goror gash and plos
   The spell check that I installed
        does not work

     does not work

We don't have a tear now
    that we heard about you
   and that you
    made it past your pain
        and you got through
      to your happy place
       that you won't tell us about.
 
        and now I am off your radar
       and don't miss the lonely stairs

     If you lived in the communial house
    maybe you got hangups about
      people who take more than their share
    or who say
    you share yours, I shared all mine
       but you see them later
       bogarting in the sugar house
        shooting their rifles
     over the hill and smoke beyond the
        ridge.

  You can't make a poetry
      translation rhyme 
     especially when it didn't
   in the first place
   in the English fragments found
     on a webpage like
  this automatic writing, not
      really a blog, not
   really a poem . . .
     it is what it is
    Manny being . . .
            upset
      pissed-off
        not happy.

      Most mornings
      if it rained then
     there would be water
   on the floor of the kitchen because
       the roof leaked
    so she
        told the landlord
     and he
     moved her to a better
        place
      while he did the repairs.

   She liked the new place
        better
    so 
        she stayed there.

     What random life,
   random words, random
  pull-over spot
     on the web of roads that
      line the hills and 
    rills 
      of the far-away
    landscape

        What random thought
     or hurt of mind
 or imagined slight
       or little boy rage in 
     a 'supposed ta be
        grown man
 
    What wondering ecstasy of
       lost time
    no regrets
     it's all good
     take it on the chim
    suck it up
 we're all in this together
     take one for the team

        And all that and
     the solotary wondering
        alone on the seawall
   Where he feels closer to God
      the higher the sea rages.

     Is a poem supposed 
        to be a
     complete thought?

    or just a jutting rock formation
        like what used to be on
     Franconia Notch.

       The old man
          gone's down the hill
       (and now he is in the lake down below)

   Valentines of thought
     for future lovers who will read
       this poem and recall
    their lover's face.

   And blooms just blooming fragrent
    lilac sunday dances
     picnic basket
      arboretum spirals
       and beach tree leaves 
     in a fresh Spring green.

       Read this poem and recall
     your lover's face.

  Merk of life
     and windshields clouded over with ice
    and no map or road signs to read
 and no glasses with which to read

   No eyes
      No highway.
  Just a car
       hanging in the void
    needle pinned at 45 MPH
  which, 
      given the black ice
      really is going
       too damn fast

     How many cars driving off the
      highway before
 Jaffery got the idea that there's
     black ice and
    4WD be damned we 
        could die if we flip and roll
     down the I91 ledges and
     towards the river below?

   I said:  "You got Insurance,
      you got airbags
        let's go"

   but he pretended to not get the joke.


        

 Poem roams
      across the page and
        takes it's heart
          to the river to be blessed
 
     I was blessed by the best
        and I can't throw all of that away.