Four From Lescatre

middlin'

easy slides the trombone

with the gutteral

honesty of the throat

squeaky of tone or

gravelled

textured as sound

with truth

a point to be made

while you

tap toe

turn leaf

take hand 

type text

tiptoe like right hand runs

to memories

too magnificent

in their

rear view mirror

hum

bob and clark

mellowing but bringing

questions with easy answers

more mining of my memory

that faulty system

adjusting the hue

of phenomena so familiar

a flugelhorn and a trombone

of one family but

such distinctly

differently

dealt with

drivers

destinations

derived due to

deemed deliverance

from what, no

to what

now only

and your smile

as you bob your

head

sending blessings

to your fellow beings

true story

intent is too often 

defined after action

and that's just time

doing it's hide and seek

never being where you are

because everyone's already

there

realities abutting endlessly

and always able to fit

made to

unquestioned spatial definition

because that too is unknowable

intent is unknowable

hunted, studied, questioned, raked over coals

and even truths derived

by sheer might of evocation

seem false in quiet

thought

perfect day

she broke the news

so quietly I had to

ask her to repeat it

and then I didn't

want to believe it

the memories

attatched to his

work and play

flooded me

but the acceptance

followed swiftly

like the next

line of a song

gratitude to a universe

capable of housing

such a soulful son

so sharing of his

scope and sense

she and I spent

the earlist morning

sining and saying

smiling

she'd be sweet jane

sweet nicky

cassandra

give it a name

sweet lou

Poems: Rob Lescatre

Painting: "View of Ute Mountain from McElmo Canyon in the Winter" By Derek Alvarez

natural mystic

natural mystic

through the redwoods

my first time

she's showing-off her

grandest creations of growth

we drive through one

and dip and swerve

as the sunlight flickers

through the canopy like

celluloid in the booth

off the screen and

through my southern searching

down clear to the Sur

where men made mindful

of years which echo

heard symphonies and surf songs in so many pools

sunny days and the end

of anticipation

Poem: "natural mystic" by Rob Lescatre

Photo: Pittsburgh Plymouths cap 1957: Jack Kerouac’s typed, handwritten and illustrated fantasy baseball league was extravagantly detailed in old-fashioned composition notebooks. His players have distinct histories and personalities. Cities lost and regained teams; rosters and batting orders changed. A single season lasted 40 or 50 games, with an All-Star game and a World Series. His teams, mostly named for automobiles, included the Chicago Chryslers, Boston Fords, and Chicago Nashes. When Jackie Robinson broke the color barrier in 1947, Kerouac added a black Cuban shortstop to the Philadelphia Pontiacs. Navy Pinstripe Round Crown, Embroidery on Navy Felt Logo.

of a wave

without thought

the meanings slide into

deeper understandings

words thought become heard

laughter in the wake of

simultaneous combustion

eyes up, face front

guard down, acceptant

willfully unarmed

knowing that intention and

realization are planetary

constantly in rotation

about whatever looks

like a sun

something to dance with

an opposite that breeds

itself through exposure

teachings untethered tide

XLVII

I was born just thirty years ago, 

but I've wandered a million miles already. 

Along the River through the green grass on the 

     banks, 

out to the borderlands, where the red dust roils. 

Chewed herbs, cooked up alchemical elixirs, 

trying to become an Immortal. 

Read all the Writings, chanted the Histories 

     aloud, 

trying to learn them all by heart...

Today I'm on my way 

home to Cold Mountain. 

There, I'll bed down in the creek, just to wash out

     my ears 

LIV

Sun's yang light failing, down the Western Peak;

the grasses caught the light, and flowered with it. 

And again, the dark came on, moon waiting like a 

     hidden dragon, 

among the intertwining branches of vine-covered 

     pines. 

Here, just here, a tiger waited, 

bristling, hackles up, to meet me. 

Not a pen knife in my hand, 

I tried, I tried to know no fear, 

but my heart was all ears, all ears. 

Poems: "of a wave," by Robert Lescatre; "XLVII" and "LIV" by Hanshan from his collection "Cold Mountain Poems." 

Photo: Rawlings "Ozzie Smith Gamer" currently valued at $12,500.

dowson shadow

a flash of teeth

across the street

and up your alley

how far to be determined

though control is unobtainable

at least not sought

to seek one goal

many worthy instances go gone

like the wind in decadent days

roses not smelled nor wine

what is not sniffable

visible, derisable

the unheard orchestra

waves internally crashing

reverberations veering

and careening to be poetic

it is

what it is to

dip your hip to the swaying

of the ship that

surely goes only your way

when sunday sundries

and so-called political parity

part red-faced in pro-people pose

peering unending into eyes

less than an inch deep

thoughts whose reach exceeds

inevitabilities of existence

or inches toward them achingly

seems if your radar

picks up anything which makes

movement for it's sake

decide then

what it is too

Poems: "dowson shadow" and "it is" by Robert Lescatre 

Painting #1: Sam Flores 

Painting #2 Sarah Jackson 

meaning

take a walk
framing and phrasing
sated in silences sweet
seeing your smile in reflections
occular, other lenses
for framing the dead and furry
for familiar and friendly
reasons enough monday
after all now and naught
not yet unshod but
close enough for a few
whisking away fruit flies from
cazadores amidst the middle
as always
the fatty part


Poem: "meaning" by Robert Lescatre
Totem: Unknown artist, Sitka, Alaska

Lescatre and Fechin

it is

what it is to
dip your hip to the swaying
of the ship that
surely goes only your way
when sunday sundries
and so-called political parity
part red-faced in pro-people pose
peering unending into eyes
less than an inch deep
thoughts whose reach exceeds
inevitabilities of existence
or inches toward them achingly
seems if your radar
picks up anything which makes
movement for it's sake
decide then
what it is too

purity of essence

propulsion of etheric origins
energy only percieved overtly
overheard perspectives easily o'erlooked
punch ouch poke easy oops
older predilictions offer exactitudes

Poems: Robert Lescatre 

Drawing: "Manuelita" by Nicolai Fechin, charcoal on off-white paper. 1930

8 - count

On a clear night you can see for days
While cloudy drinks lick your lips

So tasty

On a journey, once, I saw the moment
Though only once, it's momentary

Repetitive

On a binge you can find small truths
But clouds don't distort, they block

Gigantic

On a train your mind is soothed
This allows one to fully enjoy movement

Kinetic

On a park bench lay the oxymoron
Cloudy dreams crystallize in the daylight

How complete

On a stage all movement is false
It can find no justification for existence

Cynical

On a clear day you could see mountains
But be careful not to strain in vain

Rhymes

On a dare once, emotions shared
And a glancing blow staggers the champ

8-count.

Poem: Robert Lescatre
Painting: Charlie J Sprenger age 3

smell you later

soft winds

start without you knowing

and when they're done you

wish you saw them sooner

but no surrey on top

despite miles' many allusions

leave it alone

while it can be handled easily

the trick of waiting is

not wanting

but who does that

without running yourself over

twice

blow Hank blow

so the breeze

will pick me off my knees

chin raised in triumph

of urge over efficacy


on transience

They change,
though you don't see it
in the color of their faces
these blossoms that are the hearts
of the people of this world.

Poem: "smell you later" Robert Lescatre
Poem: "on transience" Ono no Komachi
Photo: Jennifer Mapes

this poem is scratch and sniff

first day off without a plan
in the sometimes
no baseball to watch either
and searching I go
to find substantial entertain
meant for mental me and
the beastly competition craving
before I get four blocks
"Can I take that for you?"
a Mailman with hair invading
his face impolitely
from the north and in rank
but this stranger in blue shorts
took my Netflix returns and made
the rest of my day a complete disappointment
who peaks before 10 a.m.
and lives to tell about it
and why haven't I read them
this poem is scratch and sniff

Poem: "This Poem is Scratch and Sniff" Robert Lescatre
Photo: Jennifer Mapes

watching dog star man / 'pressed

watching Dog Star Man

desirelessness by rule
most deem unattainable
I won't argue
because I don't desire
small gains or certainties
the desire I maintain
is that of true existence
surrendered to the cause
of making as much of
this as we can
but not for ourselves
individually
but us, we
there are mere formalities
of constructive thinking
that shield many from
reali\zing their true tangible
tenuous relationship with
each and every object
they sense solely


'pressed

a smile under blue eyes
on the constitutional course
one of a multitude missiles
whose meaning I'd prefer to
remain in self-insistant mystery
for revelations read like
new sets of rules or possibilities
while my pose ping-pong's 'tween
placid and 'plosive
or orgones gone soaring
so far from somewhere
and yet found readily
through reflections
soulward
that is to say
back and forth forever
so just smile back
splash without rocks
on each shore as if it
were an undiscovered land

Poems: "watching dog star man" "'pressed" by Robert Lescatre
Icon: "Kateri Tekakwitha: Icon of Otherness" by Robert Lentz

living for the weekend

walking through weirdtown
two gallons of 2 percent
around the corner from Hawthorne Strip
for some reason I wanted to
scribble that
still walking ten minutes later
and the connection comical
what a pair of jugs
and hearing the crack of a can
beer being opened by a bearded man
then within a powerplay's time
an eerily similar bearded man
imbibing with a bottle in a window
two bearded beer drinkers
what a pair of mugs
the world handed me these silly things
and so I give them back
like trading rugs

Poem: "living for the weekend" Robert Lescatre
Photo: Tony Rohrbach (Rider: Matt Olsen)

beatific

silver on ivory
que pasa
big toes keep time
thoroughly comme un citroyen
and films not fantastic
realite
listening and watching
earlier, to petit jean
in his mother's tongue
still adept of mind
but poor nonethless
full perhaps only of purpose
and for that pure
like the rippling solo
of Roach
coming up broadway
like a cannonball Adderley
star falling

Poem: "beatific" Robert Lescatre
Watercolor: James Gagnon

pixotic

sometimes they smile
and I see chains
ready to encircle me
invitations to inconceivability
consequences well defined
not incongruous or illegitimate
but equally uninteresting
bothersome as punctuation
in spelled out matters
v-e-l-o-u-r-i-a

Poem: "pixotic" Robert Lescatre
Painting: "San Francisco" James Gagnon

what she said

longish friday dougin'
curious what I'll be charged
but warm welcome and wary
on normally neutral ops
casual can only capture
so much in this low light
asked about authorship
and ample asuasion afforded
so I can finish fiddling
with my ultra fine tip

Poem: "what she said" Robert Lescatre
Photo: Robert Gagnon

notes on messengers

to search is to find nothing
or live
semantics, ce soir
or do you wake soon
'neath nearly nine noons
the thumped chest of
cartoon macaroons
tuned to swoon on solo
bassoon bah duhm duhm
sell my soul to Gerry Mulligan's muse
but save these outlines for
firey fittings at best
there are so many ways
to end up right where you
started, and you spend all your time
getting there
welcome

Poem: "notes on messengers" Robert Lescatre
Photo: JG

'07 finals

with seconds to go and the ball
saying nothing in falsehood
strides of ease and memory
handling no worries
controlling effort like luster
the bucket looks oceanous
and the waves sing in syncopation
gathering glances gotten greedily
sharing for sheer wantonness
connected consciously and yet
conspiring always for contradictions
and just inches from the cup
shadowing successes in soft suffering
swish

Poem: "'07 finals" Robert Lescatre

16 bars

16 bars

old tunes become new
then unpopular and faded
and we sing them solely
to remember ourselves
as we were yesterday
entirely
because that's the magic
they carry
and we too soften the burden
with our echoed emotion
for something we may only
know in bounced sound
cross times tenorously
or more clearly
in our soul
yesterday I had the blues

Poem: Robert Lescatre

Photo: JG

to the bank

poem: Robert Lescatre 

photo: JG

Ku'ing

Poem: Robert Lescatre 

photo: JG 

$.50 shampoo

$.50 Shampoo 

touch me, tease me, love me, leave me, 

half a buck worth of common sense

Julie Christie getting her hair did

flipping and flopping like a new kid

lather bound like a novel

sleekly designed, like a new age brothel

eighteen years without a bra

all you have 

is what you are 

silly rhymes 

in worn out time 

and everyone gets sleepy 

a moustache is the kind of thing 

which lures you in discreetly 

Lee Grant in anything 

leaving me to pieces

count another weekend out 

forget about the thesis 

natural light 

all I can afford

a t-shirt skirt 

posteriours preferred

what do you do with stars and stripes

one or the other

he's the type

Poem: Robert Lescatre

Photo: JG