JF Mingione: writings

Friday, February 18, 2011

Time no marches Thru igloo Who says, “The Bean Bag is King?” If I had a thought I’d say so And send it by Special nite email To whom it may concern If I were still talking to myself Which I’m not Sign in to see full entry.

Tuesday, February 1, 2011

THE FIDDLER'S FINGERS

My mind is making movies again A good thing for me because It only happens every hundred years Purpose and ions brandishing air Making my thoughts glow white Which is good news for me That the pump might still be working Are thoughts still projectiles? Well, I’m glad not much has changed And I can... Sign in to see full entry.

Monday, January 17, 2011

CINDERELLA'S SHOE

Something eludes me, something passing Sometimes my ideas seem bigger than my thoughts Always missing this ephemeral connection between the big abd now As if looking for Cinderella’s shoe While knowing that one size does not fit all Or Hamlet’s proposition that a play Is a way to catch the king in... Sign in to see full entry.

Sunday, December 26, 2010

Portrait of a Dream & A Frog In Waiting

If I falter in my dreams Doesn’t mean I never had any A frog among frogs Lips to be kissed The Android is absurd My lips falter But if you wind me up Maybe I could make that leap Sign in to see full entry.

Monday, December 20, 2010

Untitled

In the fabric of my integers Could I rest my face Between a number and its destiny? A pillow for my thoughts! If I could only re-arrange For just one moment This pattern of becoming Sign in to see full entry.

Tuesday, November 23, 2010

A PERILOUS NON-CONCEPT OF GOD

I don’t know much about God Because the blurp happens before the concept Which is ok with me if it lands up-right, or not But there’s no way to be sure who is talking to whom If the Big Khulna isn’t even there And I wind up talking to someone who looks like myself And having a conversation with the... Sign in to see full entry.

Monday, November 15, 2010

The Kiss of Existence

If in this autumn I would sew my cape What would I be leaving? The crunch of fallen leaves under a foot The fragrant smell of oaks Once cherished because it is remembered? Or the faintest breeze, on the stillest day That caresses the cheeks, our lips And passed by our elbows There’s nothing here a... Sign in to see full entry.

Friday, November 12, 2010

In The Autumn of Metaphor

Maybe I wish I could sing of love like Neruda with gnarled roots twisting down into this earth, my soil And to grasp this hand that would lead me back into my unaccomplished deeds Maybe, I wish I knew how to sing a song without metaphor and be carried like a seed to the threshold of my being To sing... Sign in to see full entry.

Wednesday, November 10, 2010

The Gift of Time

I’m getting confused about my age Because I just saw Clint on TV and he aged a lot since Dirty Harry (and it was only 40 years ago--or 50 if You count Rawhide and Spaghetti Westerns) And this guy is really starting to look old Well, I’m glad this is not happening to me Because when I last checked... Sign in to see full entry.

Saturday, November 6, 2010

HI, ME, I'M HOME

1 OK. So I gave myself a big hug today, because I needed it And talk about being welcomed home, Well --who else is going to do it? It’s been one hell of a day, if I can ‘t remember anything All I know is that I wasn’t out there Trying to monetize the National Debt! And it’s not exactly like I’m... Sign in to see full entry.

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