lost poems or recovering notes from the deep, part 19

circa 1977-1978

so i'm kinda resigned to the fact

that all those raw words

got left behind

strewn across dried up frozen hay fields

bitter down to the root

leaving northern minnesota passion

( 3 miles north of nashwauk 
across from nurka's corner store)

to fend for itself

stripping everything to bare essentials

locking away everything not claimed already

there were some beautiful words in the fall

as the words grew and took form

memory doesn't serve me well at this point

but i get the deep down guttural feeling

that everything written

on that old underwood typewriter

could only have been written once

and at that exact moment

the wind swept in out of the northwest

somewhat confused

like it was going to a dance

without a partner

waking you to what only could be described

as stumbling forward on strike benefits

and borrowed pencils

and then from time to time

reverting back a decade

to muster all the courage from a family

of shoemakers and tinsmiths

draft resisters and tormented writers

when the strike finally ended

there was a small pile of papers left

stowed away in the attic eave

of a brown loose-leaf notebook

left to gather the maturity or abandonment

of another season

which came and went

and then went again

left leaning into every episode

retrospect vexed or otherwise

for alternative explanations

ultimately recovering what's possible

finding solace

and space
between the words

--- e b bortz

earth note 656

i may have said this

in a different way before

but the flight of a crow wing

can bring you home

through black and gray contrast

an overcast sky has nowhere else to go

following north then west

stripped black branches painted

etched in gray background

snow still a blanket

clean as the grit around it

rolling up and down each hill

without judgment

--- e b bortz

earth note 655

there's a trail

frozen in time

by the last snow dusting

footprints i left six months ago

mingling just below the avenue

with the doe

stepping carefully

toward autumn

--- e b bortz

earth note 654

polemic road off route 19

in west virginia

still ranting while drowning

into the gray soup fog

not knowing the answer

for an appalachian mid-life crisis

coal dust thick in the creek bed

a homicide by any definition

waiting for acknowledgment

no matter how you cut it

if you can't believe that

just take a walk out back

and find the shithouse

still full

from the last century

--- e b bortz

earth note 653

a windy saturday afternoon

and i'm sorry for revealing all this

but sombrero beach is something

of a beach party today

kayaks up the yazoo

a few sailboats

rhythm of the tide

     a dozen languages

& music mix

out near the horizon

a speedboat race

noise and testosterone

and most likely a few drunks

making waves

the seagulls and pelicans

seem to care less and less

like they understand the cajun french

as well as french quebec

while turning their beaks like pointers

     at the wind

--- e b bortz

earth note 652

cudjoe bay

from patience

you'll find your bearings

there's always a larger vista

if you find an opening

it'll be up to you

to go on thru

--- e b bortz

earth note 651

big torch key

the end of the road

but not the end

of the trail

mangrove rising

wild

free

like a growing hill

before the sun

before your eyes

a path

--- e b bortz

earth note 650

denim underground railroad

a mix of hands

eventually landing

in a pittsburgh thrift store

the origins too faded to see

so i'll point them toward

the open water on sombrero beach

where languages mix freely

and no one is demanding a green card

--- e b bortz

earth note 649

i'm walking highway A1A today

like it's a religious experience

     maybe it is

the north wind is sharp and cold

the tide is meandering in from the caribbean

like a ritual or habit

     might as well call it a ritual

there's an old milwaukee beer can

with its head bashed in

stranded in the shallows

might as well call it holy water

when the beach sands

reach the sidewalk and cover it

the hourglass will begin

traffic will stop

pelicans will gather up their tribe

     the sea will open

--- e b bortz

earth note 648

roots anchor sun

sea swallows light

green sprouts push through

first as rhythm

then as song

--- e b bortz

earth note 647

iguana highway

is not so much a physical place

as a frame of mind

where the outliers scrape through life

in spite of every aspersion

thrown from the leather seats

of a rented camaro convertible

playing the music of the road

but missing the meaning of it all

sure

the beach sand is brown

beautiful in every angle of the sun

but the road goes beyond

all of that

the waters will rage

as sure as the colors

on the get-a-way brochures

run

this isn't about ink to paper

but about the perseverance

it'll take to make it

another day

the sidestreets and alleys

are filled with musicians and poets

they didn't arrive in any particular cast

they're not definite

in any one plan or even two

but the bus to miami

might as well be to another planet

the mind and heart will always return

to the authentic but desperate song

having nowhere else to carry it

it's said that the iguana was transported

and placed along the highway clandestinely

to spite the other travelers

their bright green

hides well in the grass

and they move

with the speed of a wild night

in south beach

even as the artist starves alone

and the well connected

change into their evening suits

--- e b bortz

earth note 646

crossing over iguana highway

the eagle eye of a turkey buzzard

knows where the road leads

from the instinct of talons

     holding deeply held secrets

          dead or alive

out of mangrove thicket

without as much as a gesture

to the incognito

soft perfectly round intense eyes

     of the ibis

left to their elegance

group mentality

gentle curve of the beak

     to glean through the grass

--- e b bortz