it was suspiscion that fueled the
doubt
that fueled the insecurity
that forced the man to flee
and the woman to stay home.
when he realised it was just the force
of attraction'that compelled his hand
and forced his words to take the shape of the
singers of the eighties whose orientation would
be suspect...
by the dulled masses. and speaking of a gathering
of the souls with thougts of clubland and their
stamped hands of belonging...
he looked deep, deep,
deeply in her eyes
and saw secrets
so shameful
as to put the blush on
a pro, he could confide
and did confide
in someone that he only knew on a train
and then only so well. he recognized, in her,
that look that signifiied an open door and an invitation.
he would oblige by saying yes
(to her dress or whatever she wore). all he wanted
was a conversation with the skin -
an unrehearsed dialogue with sympathetic
epidermis. the big browns could not lie that she too
was looking to escape.
©jim hill 06-27-2013
Thursday, June 27, 2013
a_'s blog
when the tree
carried me from wind
to calm
i entered her chamber
to write of my experience
she was amused to find
me upon waking
there was a frenzy
in the air as neither of
us could still the beating
the frenetic longing
of the north making friends
with the irrepressible south.
©jim hill 06-27-2013
carried me from wind
to calm
i entered her chamber
to write of my experience
she was amused to find
me upon waking
there was a frenzy
in the air as neither of
us could still the beating
the frenetic longing
of the north making friends
with the irrepressible south.
©jim hill 06-27-2013
BERET
I've not seen
the whole canuck
pieces here
a tease there
sure i could guess
at intents
imagine portents
and late flights
for rendezvous worthy
of a queen's secret
we decided
independently
(as colonists) to keep the abstract
abstract
and the distance distant
good thing as we each
had little discipline
and one of us would be entering
a sacred realm whereby fledgling
look for the model of completeness
and truth. the other had been through a
similar phase and understood
that in his reflected stab at perfection
there would be no pretense that kids
would see themselves
as anything but misguided progeny.
©jim hill 06-27-2013
the whole canuck
pieces here
a tease there
sure i could guess
at intents
imagine portents
and late flights
for rendezvous worthy
of a queen's secret
we decided
independently
(as colonists) to keep the abstract
abstract
and the distance distant
good thing as we each
had little discipline
and one of us would be entering
a sacred realm whereby fledgling
look for the model of completeness
and truth. the other had been through a
similar phase and understood
that in his reflected stab at perfection
there would be no pretense that kids
would see themselves
as anything but misguided progeny.
©jim hill 06-27-2013
model
i see the model
strike a pose
for the class
and they, enmasse,
agree
they are not worthy of
magnificence
they are young
and have fucked
on skateboards. so what.
they know nothing of decorum
or keeping appearances
or holding things together
like reins in the teeth of
the cowboy hero who knows
there's only thirty minutes or
so of the matinee left to tell
the story ...
and how the man gets the woman
and, even though flawed,
sees himself as god's messenger
to deliver good news and an ethic
inhabited by workaholics and slaves to an ideal.
©jim hill 06-27-2013
strike a pose
for the class
and they, enmasse,
agree
they are not worthy of
magnificence
they are young
and have fucked
on skateboards. so what.
they know nothing of decorum
or keeping appearances
or holding things together
like reins in the teeth of
the cowboy hero who knows
there's only thirty minutes or
so of the matinee left to tell
the story ...
and how the man gets the woman
and, even though flawed,
sees himself as god's messenger
to deliver good news and an ethic
inhabited by workaholics and slaves to an ideal.
©jim hill 06-27-2013
working (title)
you just sing
or hum
i'll narrate. no, it doesn't matter
what you sing
except it has to be original
and not derivative at all. i will not
tolerate your usual mode of cutting
and pasting mashups
of the famous...
or obscure. okay, that's a start...
good, now me:
it was the worst of times
and it steadily declined
after that. all the mix-tapes
in the world wouldn't change that. there was
absolutely no more dancing
and if there were any movement at all
it was strictly confined to
hand gestures inside the cubicle
we were scared of getting caught
reverie was forbidden
on the job site and i can certainly
understand protocol in a manufacturing
environment. occasionally i would circle
'round the water cooler and fill
a coffee carafe the way mick jagger would
if he were on stage and suddenly was inspired
to 'go interpretive on our asses.'
while moving
this way and that i pictured the flavor bins
as being bill wyman and charlie watts. brian jones
would've been something that fell behind the
'fridge, long forgotten and abandoned like rotting fruit.
good. keep going. you're doing fine. i like what
you've done with that nasally whiny voice of yours
what you're singing finally fits the meaning of
the words. wait, now you're getting a bit cavalier
with the melody. it should dip and swoop that way. you've
already sent the notes soaring and suddenly you want to ground them?
i don't understand. no, it's alright. i'm fine with it. just keep going. i can't
riff over silence. thanks:
continuing, i stepped over the line or pushed the envelope too hard on
that one. these folks should know that genius is among them. that's all.
their pleading looks say i should back off. you bring a weapon to work you'd best use it, yes. anyway, a crowd is gathering with that last shriek. several of my so-called colleagues are on their cells, likely dialing directory assistance for 9-1-1 ha ha. this is not going to end well, i know that now. it looks like it's gone too far and even though i'm mostly kidding i can tell that others don't understand what they're watching. it's only 10 o'clock and already
the hunger is welling up inside them they are eyeing the snack machine for something to take their minds off what is transpiring. janet should NOT be looking for coins in her pleated khakis right now!! "janet, you KNOW the rules!!"
okay, i've got to continue with this. there are security folks at the windows now and the chair under the door will not keep them out for long.
©jim hill - 12-24-2012
or hum
i'll narrate. no, it doesn't matter
what you sing
except it has to be original
and not derivative at all. i will not
tolerate your usual mode of cutting
and pasting mashups
of the famous...
or obscure. okay, that's a start...
good, now me:
it was the worst of times
and it steadily declined
after that. all the mix-tapes
in the world wouldn't change that. there was
absolutely no more dancing
and if there were any movement at all
it was strictly confined to
hand gestures inside the cubicle
we were scared of getting caught
reverie was forbidden
on the job site and i can certainly
understand protocol in a manufacturing
environment. occasionally i would circle
'round the water cooler and fill
a coffee carafe the way mick jagger would
if he were on stage and suddenly was inspired
to 'go interpretive on our asses.'
while moving
this way and that i pictured the flavor bins
as being bill wyman and charlie watts. brian jones
would've been something that fell behind the
'fridge, long forgotten and abandoned like rotting fruit.
good. keep going. you're doing fine. i like what
you've done with that nasally whiny voice of yours
what you're singing finally fits the meaning of
the words. wait, now you're getting a bit cavalier
with the melody. it should dip and swoop that way. you've
already sent the notes soaring and suddenly you want to ground them?
i don't understand. no, it's alright. i'm fine with it. just keep going. i can't
riff over silence. thanks:
continuing, i stepped over the line or pushed the envelope too hard on
that one. these folks should know that genius is among them. that's all.
their pleading looks say i should back off. you bring a weapon to work you'd best use it, yes. anyway, a crowd is gathering with that last shriek. several of my so-called colleagues are on their cells, likely dialing directory assistance for 9-1-1 ha ha. this is not going to end well, i know that now. it looks like it's gone too far and even though i'm mostly kidding i can tell that others don't understand what they're watching. it's only 10 o'clock and already
the hunger is welling up inside them they are eyeing the snack machine for something to take their minds off what is transpiring. janet should NOT be looking for coins in her pleated khakis right now!! "janet, you KNOW the rules!!"
okay, i've got to continue with this. there are security folks at the windows now and the chair under the door will not keep them out for long.
©jim hill - 12-24-2012
untitled (for May)
Do my best to believe
But what can I do
If the space is empty
And the light is out?
I hate ending a line with
Something so dubious
And full of abstract nouns
(I hear that’s a turn-off
For geriatrics).
There should be some
Quantifiable thing to
Which I can attach significance;
Short of that I’ll settle for a
Large salad and carrot juice.
untitled (for june)
As the child moves out
And in grooves dug
By the humans and their incessant
Ways of heritage and entitlement
These little ditches get deeper
And deeper
They suffer from collapse during
The torrents coming in the spring
Then summer
Late winter. Often there is no way out;
Infrequently, self-help motives act
As enablers and there seem to be reasons
For everything: you meet miss perfect
In the bread-line, for example.
Persistent POWs
Wage war with the elements for years unknown,
Forgotten and abandoned – so much refuse in a
Barrage of cast-off older models – of national service,
Patriotism, and mannish ideals. Yet no one is saved.
And the soldier drones on.
©jim hill 06-27-2013
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