DECISION by Bob Paris (A Snippet of Prose Poetry) (c) 12.4.2014

December 04, 2014 by Bob Paris

"We arrive on the scene at a flutter of indecision. Picture it. Here he is, paused upon a moment of great import. See him teeter along the edge of things. Neither flute nor oxen, nor paw-paw pie. Between and beholden. He can feel it, there in his chest, gnawing a lung and shoving a shoulder against his ribs. He knows that turning back would be simple. Like switching off the stove. Like brushing dust off a shoe. Like saying goodbye. Until next time, perhaps. But here’s the thing. In spite of this lukewarm handsaw wind, he chooses. He steps forward, through the door marked ‘Do Not Enter.’ The circling hawk calls out that nothing will ever be the same again. And that makes him very happy, indeed. Oh, indeed. It’s thus decided."

DECISION by Bob Paris (A Snippet of Prose Poetry) (c) 12.4.2014

Hallow Eve

October 31, 2014 by Bob Paris

Wind down all these days on a duskscape

Sung out along hilltops yet dreamt

My heart feels naught but a whisper

Cross clouds filled with moments yet spent

On a dust gathered hallow before me

I search all around these remains

On this eve when departed come calling

Cry thee well my soul’s fullest name

ELUSIVE by Bob Paris 9.24.2014 © all rights reserved

September 24, 2014 by Bob Paris

Them millions of lights flick elusive

For here my gut feelings reveal

An orbit pulsed through

By a sure thing

Won’t wriggle away as an eel

Yeah that’s right

You read right

A glittering shimmering electrified eel

That million gazillion megawatt eel

Glides over the brim of us worldly

Deep under the waters in there

And I can see tail flick and vanish

As a whisper trails an echo

Which leads me to wonder

And ponder

And wonder In ragged and curlicue loops

Which is it what is it

This life we be sweating E

ach movement each gesture

A fret or bloodletting

Be it heaven or hell

Or a purgative wash

All over our bodies

Away down that gulch

Does it matter at all

Will it flick yet a jot

There it is there it goes

As the eons do tumble

Here we go yet again

Do discuss
ELUSIVE by Bob Paris 9.24.2014 © all rights reserved

THAT VELVET MIDNIGHT by Bob Paris © 9.12.2014

September 13, 2014 by Bob Paris

This midnight realm above

Like scattered diamonds

Tossed by a reckless goddess

Over a departing shoulder

Burnt by late summer sun

To fall hither skither

On that rumpled bedspread

Of black

Velvet

That we call this night sky

Around these alien parts

Forever separated

Forever together

Where Apollo fleets

And Diana quivers

Down to the underworld of Pluto

And away to the far reaches of Aries

Of always and beyond

Under the stern and squinted gaze

Remind me

Again

I forgot which day this is

It happens

Which era

Which lamb are we to slaughter

What alms shall be offered

In deference to pregnant thunder

To threat of everlasting retribution

Avert the flame alighted

This ripened fruit that bursts upon

An exacted altar

What song doth please

The ever shifting realm

Which passage true

Which false

No matter

For above me spreads a diamond scattered

Rumpled cloth

Black velvet yet a moment

Then peach and violet at each edge

Then spectral

And my heart beats on

As does yours my darling

As does yours

TIES THAT BIND by Bob Paris

August 19, 2014 by Bob Paris

There once was a man and his dog.

Together, days n’er were a slog.

Be they young in spirit,

Sands fall and they feel it.

Eternal, this bond cuts the fog.

TIES THAT BIND by Bob Paris © 8.18.2014

AND… By Bob Paris © 8.14.2014 all rights reserved

August 14, 2014 by Bob Paris

Hickulous dickulous splay

Field mouse sprints

Right down the fray

Am I just another

Soul here sent asunder

To live out this herckus array

Of day upon week upon month

Each year it does tally to sums

That leave me all breathless

And here I pause to catch this

Dear moment a minute

A lunch

Yet in this I'm thinking

Each heartbeat here pulsing

A fleeting it gives me such pause

For if I should leave soon

I will make much more room

For those who come after and

Pulse

And carry on forward

A shadow of genus

Of yesterdays

Rolled on in style

So …

Hickulous dickulous slay

This ghost of said field mouse displays

Complete understanding

Of life in full standing

Here for a moment

And …

BETWEEN by Bob Paris © 8.6.2014

August 06, 2014 by Bob Paris

Noble heart yearning soul

Quickened by longing requited

Calmed through acts undertaken

Moved with force as if amplified

By crackling strings that run

To stars and firmament and faraway

Ground of ties to the space in between

Molecule and movement

Wave and particle and arcing light

All that weaves in mighty quiet

These laneways of shimmered stillness

In transit of a single knowing smile

BETWEEN by Bob Paris © 8.6.2014

Babel Heart by Bob Paris (c)

July 23, 2014 by Bob Paris

Adrift on undulant seas and restless

How shall I calm this Babel heart

A millstream runs my head a’singing

Wet mainsail taunt lines slinging drops

Of heavy salted waves that break

Off port and starboard aft and fore

On far horizon calls measured hope

Crack the swells oh leeward bound

As if to know a nimble trace

A peaceful harbor where to put by

Gleamed tranquil treble everlast

Pulse stills through rhythmic ease

And toil and melody and

Clean light and vapour

Cloud draped volcano cockcombs above

This strange lagoon of quickened soul

Of steady rocking nights in slumber

The peace of gems upon deep velvet

Bright days to patch and stow and long

To move to move to move again

Summer Solstice 2014 by Bob Paris (c)

June 21, 2014 by Bob Paris

Everlast shall summer sun alight

Sustain our dance upon

Twirl waltz floor here assembled

Ancestor dust and breath and hope

Shadow forms alas forgotten

Passed along a road

In chase of grand repute

Gather ash yet swim apace

In strokes along linger trespass

Horizon expands expectant

For this child of tomorrow

Raise a glass

Beat thy breast

Jump yon fire

Sing hosanna

Hesitant twilight yet the forest calls

Shall it storm this eve in light

As the lamb recalls first springtime

On Solstice Night 2014

Solstice Night 2014 photo: Brian LeFurgey (c)

From the Archives...

June 18, 2014 by Bob Paris

SOUTHERN EXCURSION

August 1995

Seattle

“The depth of my belief in the power of bodybuilding grew out of my desires as an artist. I pretended that I wanted grand success as an athlete in some traditional sport, but only because that was what I believed was the right thing to feel. Great athletes were the good guys and rewarded with adulation and wealth. Artists generally tended to struggle. When I discovered bodybuilding, I knew—with the sort of instinct that reveals itself in rare moments—that I could have both. I could be the artist I’d always dreamed of being and I could be a jock and exert my physical presence in a way that would demonstrate to all the world that I was truly a man. I could have taken no other sport as far as I did this one. It is misunderstood, underappreciated , corrupted by petty greed, and considered to be the realm of freaks, but it is also beautiful and thrilling and lifted high above the dull thud of conformity.”

Excerpted from:

GORILLA SUIT by Bob Paris © (ISBN 0-312-16855-1)

Yonder Comes Solstice

June 16, 2014 by Bob Paris

As the Solstice approaches -- as the existential sand runs down the hourglass, as each beat of the heart echoes, one essential message resounds through the ages: Grab this moment. Hold it lightly in your strongest grip. Grasp it as you would a fragile newborn. Take it on your heart and into your lungs, this ever-quaking, ever-shimmering bit of sea glass discovered on the shifting shore of now. So...

Right now, whisper to yourself ‘thank you for my life’ and in the coming hours say ‘I love you’ to at least ten people (or ten times ten times ten people -- and creatures alike). Open twenty doors for myriad strangers and thank them for being allowed to do so. Be kind to someone utterly different from you and then do it again and again. Give a street musician all the money in your left pocket. Hang up your phone and ask the person serving you a coffee or ringing up your groceries how their day is going. Kiss a baby. Watch a bird weave a path through the air you breathe; then remind yourself that this is the oxygen that keeps you alive. Embrace the wind and be ever grateful. After all: Carpe diem is only the beginning of the story. You, me and all of us -- we write the rest.

Flash Goes the Sizzle by Bob Paris (c) 2014

June 12, 2014 by Bob Paris

What amount shall life amount

Through what clear pool to dive

This full accounted jumble intrigue

This purview sinew retinue salute

Grand view to view this view

What a view

Glorious O glorious O glory glory

Glory

Alliteration alteration incantation exclamation

Should do can do will do

Getter dunn

Astride this mountain highest

Sing exception chant exception

Oh exalted vantage point

City burns upon that hill

Along horizon tinted salmon

Cumulus doth flow apace

Mackerel ozone skitter skitter

On this altar shared with Isaac

By buy bye abide

Quiver hand yet hesitates

Or shall adhere remit awaiting

Anoint awake will not escape

Yet not on time or is it is it

Everlasting everafter evergiven evercraven

All embraced yet not arisen

Et fruition beyond beyond

Beyond beyond right here unfolded

The hoarsened chant a shriveled bellow

And yet and yet and yet again

Bounds around this too too mortal flash

Acclaim profane exclaim attain

Amounts again to what

The Second Life of Old Trophies

June 03, 2014 by Bob Paris

EDGE OF A CLIFF

Saturday Morning, Midsummer, 1994, Seattle

“I still had the whole trophy from my Mr. Universe win. It was more substantial than usual: A brass, art-deco, funnel-cloud-shaped, covered vase, mounted on a teakwood base. Only the little physique man mounted on top was plastic, so I kept it around. Not displayed. Collecting dust in a hall closet.

The one from winning the Mr. Southern California was a silver-plated champagne bucket with the title and year engraved on it. It sat on the corner of my desk. Since it easily held fifty or sixty pens and pencils, it had some utility. The sliver-plated punch bowl from winning the California Muscle Classic was outside in a flower garden, filled with carefully selected, smooth agate stones and being allowed to go old and mossy, because I thought it looked English or French or something. That one was getting the best second life an aging trophy could ever want.”

ISBN 0-312-16855-1)

MY DAY by Bob Paris (c)

May 28, 2014 by Bob Paris

Another day begins

In six am light

Along a bank of lucky windows

Portholes of my exile in paradise

Motes waltz at gravity’s edge

Trees echo the gossip of robins

Deer by the woods savor yard daisies

Half hidden down the end of the drive

Along the forest draped road

School bus inhales young laughter

A retriever gobbles perfumed air

Beloved human towed in exultant wake

I leave the womb warmth

Descending toward life

This life

This grand and full bloom drawing in and out

Of sloughing off and growth anew

TODAY IS NOT YESTERDAY

May 07, 2014 by Bob Paris

Am I to paddle the same canoe

In manhood as in youth

Shall I remain always back there

In heart and memory and voice

Unchanged still

Floating on an easy pond

Bent to what unfolded

Scattered yesterdays before

Will I evermore play

With my childhood toys

Or do my eyes see here

Further on

Much further on

A place beyond limitation

Past conforming to the rebellion

Of a bygone ghost

Does not life move

Sweet as a tumbling mountain river

Toward the ever shifting horizon

Of today

Spring Equinox 2014 by Bob Paris (c)

March 20, 2014 by Bob Paris

Behind shuttered eyes

Another winter fades from view

Life springs in this meadow

While swiftened mind

Conjures buzzing splendor

Daydreamer heart overflooded

Nightdreamer soul cuts its path

The pregnant restless river

Pulled down to the sea

Seeking mingle

Fresh with salt

Fir and cedar stand in stoic witness

Bud and blade

Nettle and daffodil

Revel in their fleeting

Excerpt: GORILLA SUIT by Bob Paris (c)

March 13, 2014 by Bob Paris

Rediscovering the Accidentally Discovered

Late Spring, 1977 – Southern Indiana

“Cummin’s Book Store was in downtown Columbus. They had the best newsstand in town. I went in one afternoon looking for the latest issue of my favorite backpacking magazine and ran across a copy of ‘Muscle Builder’ on the shelf. On the cover was a picture of some guy named Schwarzenegger, doing an exercise with his gigantic arm up over his head and a straining grimace on his face. His sweaty, dark hair hung down in his face, and he had on a light-colored tank top, and the arm and hand that weren’t over his head was grabbing on to a bench of some kind, the fingers squeezing into the brown leather, fingernails white from the pressure.

I began to pore through the pages, devouring the pictures of these guys training and showing their tremendously muscled bodies, bursting out of T-shirts or without shirts on or flexing on a beach with mountains in the background…According to what I could tell…these men occupied a terrific kingdom all their own, out in California.”

ISBN 0-312-16855-1

FORWARD by Bob Paris

March 13, 2014 by Bob Paris

Whence

We ask

Shall strength derive

One moment mere

One blink

Shadow flung

Cry prayer plea

Heart tipped to overfill

Surge swiftened

In a course

Beyond supple breast

Past bellow

Beat beat flow

Ebb tide wanes

Flames alight

That far horizon

The one just there

Before us

After us

And in this instant

Once more

My fellows

We rise and go

Forward

EDGE OF A CLIFF

February 20, 2014 by Bob Paris

EDGE OF A CLIFF

Friday Evening, Midsummer, 1994, Seattle

“I once loved the sport of bodybuilding. In a strange way I still did. It frustrated me and at times I hated it, but for sixteen years I tried to balance love, frustration and hatred while watching both the sport and myself change. Convincing myself that I’d outgrown this obsession was impossible. One simple truth held us together: bodybuilding had saved my life. It was a guardian angel who found me at seventeen hazarding seas of inner struggle without a compass. I had the luxury of distance, remembering those struggles that had led me to want to be big and strong, but I couldn’t run from the truth of what had happened along the way. My frustration may have grown into hatred, but the love came first. It began simply. I found authentic purpose the moment my hands wrapped around a cold iron bar. All else fell away and my spirit knew it could do anything. I built my American dream one repetition at a time. That much could never be taken away.”

The Balance

February 19, 2014 by Bob Paris

“We are no longer at a time when we can hold our desire for freedom and justice at bay. Those who would try to stand in our way can yell and scream all they want, but we cannot go backward. Perhaps we may experience setbacks, but even in setbacks we can find experiences that will lead to greater freedom. One usually learns as much, or more, from mistakes as from successes.

To experience freedom, though, we must be willing to fully accept the delicate balancing act between rights and responsibilities. There cannot be one without the other. The very notion of freedom conjures for some images of license, of being able to do anything, at any time, without effect or consequence. The universe does not view this as justice or a high spiritual truth, but as selfish and the opposite of true freedom; license is, for many, a jail cell. The freedom we seek lies deep within our own heart and it is through the eradication of fear that our hearts move toward justice. It is less important to have our rights on paper than to believe—fully believe—with every ounce of our hearts that we all deserve to have equal rights...”