Tag Archives: poem

Alchemists Confer with Hypnotists

Varying days
of bliss and malaise
I’m busy these days
chasing dubbies away

When the ache nears
the break and
light becomes a haze
your soul is so faded,
no hiding, so worn

The alchemists confer
and deny the hypnotists’
clinical opinions.
Retorting, “He simply needs
more magnesium
injected into his bones”

The past life regressions
of painters, loafers and pirates
offer no evidence –
only barroom stories
when envisioning a distant yourself

Consider generating kinetic watts
from my broken soul,
frantic heart and coiled brain.
Anxiety — i’ve plenty to power
all of Iowa — roller rinks and all.

Parallel Parked in an Alternate Universe

Double parked

on a parallel highway

Broke down and hazy

on an alternate byway

 

I called out God,

Odin and Buddha

All i learn’d is

they all are much taller

 

Parallel parked on an

galactic spacepod

Where mustangs roam freely

if you promise to return

 

Floating far above any water

drinking only mud and mire

Chasing fireflies in ditches

tangled cactus and barbwire

 

I’ll build up on a lost slab

a hut of cow dung and roadkill

I’ll meditate on the lizards

and wait for the signal

 

Magnollas and hibiscus

it’s was sure nice to meet us

i’ll send live oak telegrams

with greetings from the forge.

en route to the Matsuri

En route to the matsuri in Japantown
the Asahis are playing and
they’re carrying that golden shrine around

to the bus driver he pesters – well actually, was a trolley
“trouble on fraser st on the powell line”
today?

“well with the in-site riot and a festival ahead

(tbc …)

Varley at Jericho

the two swimmers, heads bobbing way out there beyond the buoys

Varley solid after a bottle of red

with gaggle of glowing students

striving for direction and inspiration about how to go beyond

~ what is the level above?

when human and nature,

face and landscape  portrait

and treatment are lost ~

all forgotten in the sublime asymmetry

 

Vanderpant and his photos showing more than

just the realness – tell the story beyond the moment –

the river doesn’t stop after the shutter closes

where did the rivers without end begin?

 

Look closely across the inlet

and you can see where to wander to find the first drops of melting cascading over lichen and rock,

filters through alpine moss & gravel into a ravine, the

gullies collect the raw material

to begin the rivers which continue to flow until they find their end

 

Blackberries grow where Varley sat

Jericho now leisure-time activities

weddings for international industrialists

 

sandy for blue- haired lounger – leathery from routine

silhouette of grey and green, cypress to seymour

 

divots for Capilano and Lynn

the horseshoe toes slipping into the sound

the only clears for the sky

 

island and headlands

fjords and freshers

lighthouses & old growth anoint the end of land

give away to the space in between

 

higher now they climb

wooden pioneers drifted into the concrete and glass

cantilevered over cliffs craning

to see whats directly ahead.

 

the veranda hosted parties

fraternized student faculty

late conversations with wine

moving rugged frontier forms and

vocabularies of culture

not contrived, not crafted

but not wrestled,

– coaxed from the confluence of river, sea and land

sit with your tools

where were you when no one was here but beachcombers and

outliers and occasional picnicers

the ferries would carry you from Jericho to Ambleside, forays and for day of weekend holiday respite

how the tree became logs and people grow into the land and emerged after exploration and surrender – well affected

“Bay of Flashing Darters” in bentlily | One poem a day

Dave Thorvald Olson | Samantha’s daily poem | bentlily | One poem a day.

BAY OF FLASHING DARTERS 

Sailboats carving patterns

darters into waves which

don’t seem to mind

Leaning over sideways

to control both power and time

Flocking into clusters

brushing past the buoys

like galaxies swirling

spun by translucent kite-strings

Leaving tracers to catch a gaze

the stone mason

experiment invites

me and strangers to rest awhile

only at lowtide when the waves release

a rusted boxspring fence and

gives way to me, the barnacles

and the bay of flashing darters.

##

OlsonD

DAVE THORVALD OLSON

Dave Thorvald Olson is VP of Community at HootSuite where he crafts programs and initiatives to spark the company’s rapid international growth.

 

Poet, podcaster, public-policy pundit and chronic documentarian from his earliest days, world-rambling Dave has spent his time writing, painting and listening to old vinyl albums on the back porch. Published in magazines and journals, he is most proud of his handmade literary chapbooks, static montage art, and audio hi-jinks.

 

Earliest Recollections

Lansing Michigan, 1973
eating macaroni & cheese
in a damp basement
while adults whispered
windows shivered
radio crackled
and i wondered why
the tornado was coming
and then my memory began

night lake diving

freshly skinny white

leaping from the storm

the 2AM moonlight

fractures with the impact

the rocks below 

clarified by the 

glacial melt

jagged but deep enough

for divers and explorers

escaping ennui and malaise

 

on the shore bobbing over rocks

shook freed from constraints

the absence reveals

no barriers for the lubricious and clumsy 

emerging from the cold

to stumble on the wretched shore

where bullets won’t start a fire

only tinder and a spark

is all i can stammer

bay of flashing darters

Sailboats carving patterns

darters into waves which 

don’t seem to mind

Leaning over sideways

to control both power and time

 

Flocking into clusters

brushing past the buoys

like galaxies swirling 

spun by translucent kite-strings

Leaving tracers to catch a gaze

 

the stone mason

experiment invites 

me and strangers to rest awhile

only at lowtide when the waves release

a rusted boxspring fence and

gives way to me, the barnacles

and the bay of flashing darters 

handy for crabbing

The dock extends further

to make the crabs easier 

to capture

Waiting at Jericho

Green hulled sleeper

lulls along the darters

and sunnyday foghorn

Sailors waiting

papers aren’t order

sandwiches and waiting

waiting, watching

for the crackled word

we’re moving out