shortest days

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shortest days

john martone

samuddo / ocean

2012


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shortest dayscopyright 2012 by john martone

samuddo / oceanISBN 978-1-105-51884-3


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shortest days


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aurorasgoodbye

body parts

skyline

winters greens

rootstown

sycamore island

one hollow

medicine

cosmonaut

tonsure

quick-stop

carapace

muskrat

anatomy book

a blindness

one night for instance

Note on the Biology of Self-Effacement

rat nests

factory remains

beachcomber series (winter)

stationrelics


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consciousness itself is stainless

ajahn sumedho


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auroras


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11

alwaystalkingcircles

circling thatzero-word


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12

on foothow ancient

of you

crossinggrassland

thats whatyou are

winnipegnot evenhalfway

fell thru lake iceout there at nightimagine

walkingsooner or laterauroras


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radio nowlisten to that auroras


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17

up

hillwoods

hands&knees

still

knowhow


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18

if you

want

a treespirit

gethollow

itseitherlive

inthat caror

thishollowtree


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19

all thatsymmetry

deer sign

thin-stemmedfungideer sign!

2 toes how much morecan you tell

first lightwhere deerbedded down


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20

trespassing signwashed clear

downstream

trespassing sign falls apart when you touch it

trees growing in trees no ones alone

a tree-spirit root too much to carry

you fall where that sycamore fell

you fallface to facemycelium


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21

finding yr way

a small woodson the planet

really in the woods now w/out yr glasses

perfection itself a stem snaps

someday woodsllgrow thruyr sockets


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22

you thinkyou can just

leave yrbody here

w/ suchbad teeth

& allhis lies

goodbyegoodbye


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23

a full

lunar eclipsemotel room

he says the motel rooms nicer than home

motel room warmest youve been 3 weeks

motel room scratch-pad just what that you need


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24

not a bad walkmotel

to food store

supper too motel-roombed

their track cannot be traced, like that othe birds of the air.

walking homechristmas night under

a satellites arc


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all those legsspider at homeon a rafter

cobwebs

& now pinkinsulation

heres a childlost in atticcrawlspace


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rotten floor joistgiving you

a good look

window pane1923 falls out now

window letsthe cold in

all that light

put tools awayeach in its placeeach place a tool


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body parts


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29

wintermorning

dressed forthe woods

those woodsgods & buddhasunassuming

climb overtree the steamflows under

old headlightwashed all this waydownstream


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30

streamspreading out now

& what way out

fallen oaknow youre

home

look up from the streaminto those gills

wood-ear

yr fingerson wood ears gills

a harp!

rain pools

in whitewood ears


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scrubbing that rockfrom the woods

till you see

lake& lakeside

poor cranium

herons wingspanover lakeyr brow

river-islandyou disappearyou reappear

the whole lake one syllable & less

his eyes& teethsay it


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skyline


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prairie horizonquonset hut

no one stops

you cant get down the prairie skyline

the prairie lies down face-up

from somewhere else youre a prairie skyline

yr heightwhats left of thatprairie tree


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such human measurescountyroads

bouncing around county roadsare straight


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winter greens


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no christmas treewash hung-out

in his room

broken-downoverstuffed chair

dry blood color

finishingyr coffee itstime to pray

maybe

maybenot

a gene

silence

rooms notso cold

aftercoffee


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somebodys blueroof tarp blownup in a tree


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turnips so sweetcd eat em like applesif you had teeth

lettuce plants& wild greensunder leaf fall

wild greens on winter solstice

wild greens& cooking oil

his christmas

wild greens in a trailer home winter


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railroadtrestle

trailerhomes

frozenriver

trailer

homes

humanbodies

trailerhomes

trailerhomes


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gloves on insideeating

applesauce

house trailersfurnacebanging

eternal ruts frozen trailer park road


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rootstown


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old man all hethinks aboutfood

warmat last

fallsasleep


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family graveyard up to the interstate

no moreto breathe

how canthat be

wilbur wright road

white burn-pilewas a house

darkness

& fogrootstown

truck stopshower stallxmas eve


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motel roombulb burned-out

winter solstice

lost yr patienceretinaflashed & tore

vending-machine& interstatelights

sit &meditate

long hauldriver


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50

bridge acrossfogs crest

coal tipple

plywood-

sheathed school-

bus back-woods place

mountain trailshuman lifesimpossible

fog & coal one color

silos& mountain topspeople are small


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sycamore island


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they allgoaway

for goodnow

poppop

pop

bubbleson

a clearday


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sowhy not

sitat that

brightwindow&

closeyr eyes

sitting thereshes a brightwindow

couldntbeany

brighterthanthis first

daywinter


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55

birthplaceagain

wobblytable

trans

parent

tapeto mendsmall

tearsin their

vinyltablecloth


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56

hometownits the last

notebook page

hillside houses

all the way backin a dream

on yr island home breakfast figs

modest house the pines are tremendous

old placefull of modelboats & planes

(dec. 23)

a stonehenge photo in yesterdays paper


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walkings hardwanting to carrymother


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a root around that stone holds it tight

swansthe pondbends

2 swans

solitarypeople

old white-headbicycling

milk crate for basket

who else town park

christmas


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one hollow


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upriver

up mountain

convent

coal-guttedmountaintopchristmas day

miningmountaintophorizon

her death& a mountaintopalso gone


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trees

& peopleone hollow

rock-faceice howhuman

driving on --car window taped-up

winter rain

winter rainat least they arewool socks


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another

city

winterrain

everyones

onthe wayback

toa coldroom


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Not there for the funeral, you go to the cemetery later way inback, paupers section, by the groundskeepers shed, at the woodsedge no stone, but two ceramic figurines, such as she loved.

Another, newer still, with nothing but a tin marker.

nothing more ancientturningfrom the grave


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not one streambed stone out of place

stream-water my someday eyes

streambed

deertracks

stream& root

whichis which


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root-hold

eyesanchor

you step back roots are

flowing too

streambedpebbleear

houserafter

bridge

crossingstream


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crayfish hole esophagus

perfectly clearrivuletforearm

3oval

shadowsdeer

beddeddown

you carry the wood-lichen infant


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the last root you find is driftwood

washing in woods

& slowlya stain comes out


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medicine


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room so coldnearly forgetyr medicine

shaved his head & it all made sense

medicine bottleson her sillforty years back

his medicineswhere elsewindowsill


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all that looking yr eyes those rotten teeth

stand up straighta single line

in the spectrum


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another hollow stumpacorns sprout at bottom

rock cleft howlong for youto open

rock cleftstill in

silence


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cosmonaut


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distantthumbprint

silo

snow coming downhold onto that thought

falling snowall myrelations


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being a cosmonautsurprised

by snow

snow then sunthen snow

the same

snow doesnt have eyes to close

snow & hisopen mouthsmissing teeth

snowthe voidsnot nothing

snow learningall aboutskin


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snowmaybe

procaryotes

cause-&-effect

you seethe snow

kitchen clock cd learnthing or twofrom snow

rebornall those timesas snow


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tonsure


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bare

headednow

oatmeal&

applesauce


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oakroots

stream

pools

far intowinterferns

a streamwhere wondercomes up


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quick-stop


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full moonhouse trailers

even whiter

full moon

rolls of vinyloutside a trailer

contrails

& trailersall angles

listen to them play

other sidechainlink

winter contrailsmy shadowstretching out


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axles goin the house trailerscrawl space

concrete blockstrailerroots

every second trailer a handicap ramp

a mile walk togas & food store

a clean shirt this mornings cold

streambed stones spread out on yr table


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better-offtrailers have

tie-downs

you watchhorses fromthe trailer park

stop making things uprepot yr wintertomato plant


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riversidetrailers

a realrag

& boneshop

quick-stop shop

children waitfor someone

poverty growing transparent in plain sight brick school emptyclapboard houses a fortune more than anyone has to tear down &

steel-sheet wash-o-mat (warm lint-smell) ball-cap drop-outs onlyhang-out all winter. you are 57 years, 68 or 2 years old on local

papers last page, or at 103 she still made quilts friendly to all, anda last one forty years old w/a baby-bare head cold in winter.

teens on schooldaysthe laundromatwindows steam-up


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carapace


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As he walked and wandered in the park for exercise, KingPasenadi saw roots of trees that were lovely andinspiring, quiet and undisturbed by voices, with anatmosphere of seclusion, remote from people, favourable

for retreat. The sight of these reminded him of the BlessedOne

w/ mind aloof as a wild deers

Majjhima Nikaya 89


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youre caught

in thornsthose gods

trapped again throw yrself backwards thru thorns

dogs barking in hillstortoise shellhere you are

box turtle shell & a blue workshirt from woods

box turtle shelljust listento that heron

box turtle shell& raccoonshand-bones now


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purple berriesshotgun shell casingsa twisted white wire

gulls circlingriversee you

unzip yr parkaroom for thatturtle shell

raccoon hand-print2 human

maple leaf

full moon lights the deadbolt key hole


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first thingeach

morningwatch

thatani

mal getdressed

look howboxturtles

spine& shellbe

one

dont thinkthis skin

belongsto you


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stomachspleen

gallbladder

gorge& whatall

elseeverthis

be

all thosecavities nobody else

45-50years ago

broke that finger


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meditation

inover

allstoo

what ifinstead

ofwalking

backyou just

keptgoing

woolsweatersocks

gloves

& capbut

nothingfor eyes


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sycamore roots the streams good bridge

pin feathersnagged on a thorntaken home

spiderling

yr cocoonmy manuscript


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Ondatra zibethicus

to think to builda muskrat lodge

& no hands!

muskratlodge

probably

turtlestoo

muskratmiddenmorning


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wool socks wet& why not muskrats

webbed feet!

took you for

my own smell

muskrat

hairless peopleblind toomuskrat young

a muskrat hole my back door

gone into

muskrat hole nowyoure dreaming


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anatomy book


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from an overpass freight trains

stitching the night

one deep breath after another freight train

boxcar boxcar boxcar

blowing snowconfuses me

more snow a hole goes thruthis rock

look up fromyr anatomy bookits snowing


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snowall of it

unwashed

snow

its a biggarden

nights below zero

sponge bathat sink

snow she wont

let youtouch her

snow youmeditateon defilements


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snow here are

monks in knit capseating oatmeal

snow & one

of them gumsblack bread

snow settling down

to a life

snowdried figs& no bread

its easy enough to go somewhere else, but try to see where youare w/ imagination as if it were a dream place as thedream it is

snowthe kalestays purple


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bird tracks in snowyr boots havesteel toes

a wood-stove garage-home

factory nowa school forthose children

a laundromat yr sub-zero stopover

clamshell lawn-chairrusting outside3-below


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eyes closedthe after-image

ice

roofs ice-fall

all that noisein yr head

holding yr pen

right theresa blind spot

snow blinding

eye muscles reallyget a workout

feels good toosnows glaremaking you squint


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birdnestafter

birdnest

&

not onegrave

how on earth wound up in a prairie

a sod house or automobile cant see

damn eyeglassesyoud be dead by now

back ofeyes justmore skin


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a winter red face w/out a stem

sheet metal screws in a bare winter hand

sheet metal screws& icicles cometo a point

sheet metal screwsbut trailershave rivets

rusted out pickup

a thirdhis age

that last house trailer a lowering sky


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stateroads

dayold

breadstore

gonenow

walked all that way bedsheets for curtains

its a scarflong as the winddear sister


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justa handful

of aireach

lung

& allthat

sky


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one night an instance


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youre walkinginto the light

18 wheels

walk all that wayfor aspirin

& stars

smelling the laundromatyou watch a satellitepass under stars

food storecans fitpockets

his can of peascan potatoesfrozen pot pie

no labelsvegetable cansnext to nothing


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vegetable cansin yr pockets

its a cold wind

all that wind & its unvoiced

desperateas the windcant stop

way home tonightput something downpull up yr socks

looks like trouble black winter coatleft arm torn


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a squat bodys one point winter prairie

squat body of course the head is shaved

his squat body from an ice age brightness

squat bodyhuman garden toad

adapted to winter

this north wind opens the back door & pine trees


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Consider garden fauna rabbit, toad, squirrel, sparrow prey species. A good spot under the lettuce or giant zucchinileaves (dont forget the garden snail). Blending in or burstsof speed gone like that parasamgate, really gone. Theprivate life, private in a hedgerow or way up a hollow tree.Underground. In a cave, an ice-age cave theres the gene

for art. The paleolithic shaman summons the invisiblebecause thats what he is havent you looked inside?And should you anatomize him, that poor homeless cadavernow and find theres no empty space at all in the body,rather flesh, sinew, bone, marrow, kidney, liver, heart,stomach, spleen, bowel, feces, blood, sweat, fat, tears, lymph,grease, sinovium remember he was a fool and you are too all that camouflage took you in.


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itsthe sametime

allthe time

handsrejust

losingtheir

grip

bones ofthe hand

more thanyou know


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this fearof infinite

spacesisnt

just yr

genomeis it


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bought a capfor that beggar

on the bridge

but he wasalready gone

& a freight trains horn at the crossing no one

that mirage more than you hoped


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rat nests


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no mindbut

whatmattermakes

reflecting

light

little whiterat tailturnip root!

winter turnipsscrubbed clean hands too hot water!

theres a gene for this rats nest somewhere

winter worldsall onerats nest


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nothing at all& its stilla rats nest


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buddha-shapewinter tarp

tree bundled-up

grey hairshort jacketbicycling on ice


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factory remains


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no TVjust sitson his bed

2 tin canspotatoes

potato eater

yr morning pillsthen a factorysruins

you slip on ice in a factory ruins

factory window-glass the one green thing

no walls no roofrain freezingfactory floor


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snowy owlthe factory floor

an inch of ice

hills allfactory rubble

but a cave

factory rubblerags wereclothing

factory gone theresa watertower moon

loading rampa smallmammals bones

rubbish heapout of the windsomeones fire


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huge abandoned factory floor like walking off a cliff

thats a shaman living in factory rubbish


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beachcomber sequence

(winter)


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w/ a sackon his back

follows the river

beachcomber walkingall those yearstoward ocean

on a river island hollow trees too

just one dreamthat inlandbeachcomber

an inlandbeachcomberwalks a great circle


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three eyes

looking out frommiraculous driftwood

never too coldbare handedbeachcomber

a beachcomber limps on nowhere

beachcombersooner & lateralone

beachcomber even on lake ice

green glass a winter beachcomber


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beachcomber cant gethis eyeglassesclean

beachcomberbootlacesundone

driftwood shell weedbeachcomber finds everybody part

the sand tooall of it beachcomber

crinoid fossilsa smallfont


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trees ringing lakeits an oak

cup

river lake

forms ofsky

bet

youre a

bottomless

lake

closeshis

eyes to

re

flect onlake


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one lake summons upall the others like rain

gullscircling lakecircling the moon too

floatersin eyes watchingwhitecap lake

seagullscircling a lakespin it out


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station


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northward you come to prairie-stubble grave-stones

seeing a bum like himself a great big wave

someplaceto livesomeplaceto disappear

plastic bagin that winterbirdhouse-tree

corn-shucks a liquor bottle bag

bag of skin

winterinside & out


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deer scat just outside his shed

people trouble w/ beadswhile winter woods havedeer scat

winter gloves tune a stove flame

bus station lockedone carwaiting

cross-country bus

longer thanthe station

here you are

60 years oldcross-country bus


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cross country busthru towns w/out

streetlights

so cold butbody still

infrared


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relics


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However, I should say something here about the miraclessurrounding the relics There is an old tradition in Buddhismthat many of the bodily relics of the Buddha and his arahantdisciples transformed into small pellet-like objects that come and goof their own accord. The Theravadin version of this tradition dates

back at least to medieval Sri Lanka, and may go much further backthan that. There are old books that classify the various types ofrelics by shape and color, identifying which ones come from which

parts of the Buddha's body and which ones from which disciple.The tradition is still very much alive in Thailand, especially nowthat the bones of many of the dead masters of the forest ascetictradition have turned into relics. As for relics of the Buddha, I havetalked to many people who have seen them come and go, and I have

had such experiences myself, although nothing as dramatic asAjaan Lee's.

-- Thanissaro Bhikkhu


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none of usmatters much

winter sun

words to get usthru wintertelling

winter blowingnowhere togo back to

time youopen upnothings left

a flake-pointway back thenstill cuts thru


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poorbody

soon

headingoff

onits own

bye

bagof skinlook

paperbag

blowsaway

bodysearths

allalong


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whetheror not

you heapup stones

seagullscirclethe lake


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shortest days

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