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M i k e R u d d i c k

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sheaf 3
the great question... 4
The Cornish Table 6
...built 7
dapple 8
‘boundaries (I)’ by alification 9
cloud 10
the poet cid corman and i 11
he isn’t going to say... 12
madam’s african cardigan... 14
wise mountain 15
how seen 16
occurrence 17
to a mind fishing elsewhere 18
way 19
fridays 20
‘boundaries (II)’ by alification 21
write anew 22
time less (haven’t) 23
nothing secured sacred 24
remember the straight 25
understanding the word symmetry 26
dark alley windows’... 27
like being in love anew see 28
‘they won’t always tell you the news’ 29
poetry reading 30
transcendence 31
desire’s light 32

boundaries by mr 2009.
thanks to alicia for allowing the use of her
photographs and the ultimate impetus

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sheaf

white

encourage

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the great question...

what is this for?


(do you need question marks?)
is the consideration of this a self-indulgence
is self-indulgence part of the answer
or even part of the problem
self indulgence appended by frank to miles davis
appended by mark to improvisatory pieces
appended via masturbation epithet to martin smither’s art
college work
why do it
to whom direct it

to myself – conversation, as if later i will see myself as others do. i


will see something true. something that my ego is unable to block. do
it because the run of words may be interesting in themselves
containing their own intriguing aspects.
to others - so that others may say – what an interesting fellow! or –
what’s he going on about – something chimes here with us – we are
being communicated to by a distant planet ( that being myself
beyond my ego)
but this is not because i want them to know who i really am!

the window. the curtain it’s got some net around the window looks
out onto the garden. shaded. small trees roses small garden bit of
grass going down to the back. over the bushes bright clouds loom
buffeted by high winds. changing constantly great rolling deep blue
between a chill in the shade the gate and some leaves whirl.
inside at the window looking out at all this if i was home early time
to kill in consideration in the darkened living room in the stone
cottage adrift

the grass is long and damp an apple lays rotting amongst leaves
wet earth dark worm casts

magnificent clouds whirling amongst the branches rolling and


tumbling carved against the very blue bright sunshine above
autumnal loneliness

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dichotomy monumental airy dank undergrowth
in the dark stone cottage cave dream of high blown clouds full of
light and colour

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The Cornish Table

am returned again
to the bright sunlit wood
round ablaze
of memory!

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...built
up cut into jointed feathered smeared re-worked re-named
re-invented inverted stretched spliced erased folded-anew put away
composted waiting on requirement re-

in the far away but are any jobs real? i get money. one of those
monotonous machine affairs. a tractor in the field. who benefits from
this? employer gets the product i get the money. i get to look at myself
doing this doing this doing. it is a pink book. shades to white under
the wedding finger. ‘chemie’. the measuring vessel. ’fizika’ had a
light bulb and was blue to white. hands splay across. scanner tracks.
language tracks. i will take some money from my savings and make a
list of things i want. with this cardigan i feel like a good boy. though
dad was disappointed in the metal structure and nearly rolled off the
roof. his discomfort palpable. radiations passing below. nothing
comes through the back of this. weird kind of prayer position. hands
splayed. no language seeps but retains itself. my skin encapsulation.
654.z molekuly etc. he leans over oh it’s not monotonous at all. i get
plenty of things to think about. and all the wildlife around here the
hedgerows and nature. even without taking my eyes away and falling
out of love. losing my way in the numbers of pages. the old hand
gives the low down on the depths of ineptitude. where the bodies are
to be found. under dewey’s decimal classification tree disseminate.
bring me the words that will combine all this. harvest. the high flying
bird the lowly worm. the liars and the angels. the lions and lambs.

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dapple

wide white trunk

other’s leaves Flickr

like alicia’s picture her world

map bits of scribble few lots

grown up cracked up impress

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‘boundaries (I)’ where i end and you begin by alification
http://www.flickr.com/photos/alificacion/3037934197/

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cloud

drift

across

a wooded hillside

as

the grey day


begins

light rain

uplifting

spirits rise

into nowhere

strange

as it may seem

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the poet cid corman and i

momentary impressions
where mentors
scribbled on leaves
leaving perhaps
a zero
the modern recluse
swarming on sidewalks
feels the same
disintegration

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he isn’t going to say anything about himself
you’re going to say
you are going to be made to think
things through
with him
or without
take a ride
the ice for a slide
you
are going to disappear
you
might not like

what’s the point of him


telling us
about himself?
what does he know?
what do we understand?
where’s it going
ice
sort of

but not necessarily


so
cold just
the way of reflect

shuns
really tells you [shut]
not much and
are you listening?

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madam’s
african
cardigan
brings
breeze
to a ragged
and sunlit grass
and purple grape-
hyacinth along
the Muller Road

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wise mountain

by emptiness within and around


emptiness interrupting
the interruptions
the sea of nothingness

mist of belief broken open before


and all was of equality....

wept down
moaned and wracked that
done and believed only this

that which is done

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how seen

about
having the space…

a window cracked
on
half-moon time
few blue flowers to the bush
things to be done
places
to be
in an unusual activity
momentarily clear
day bleeding change like
routine

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occurrence
ing la
natura appearance juxt
tex paints plaster brick
stone fun rust guts decomp
position landscape the
weathers light’n shadow
this is for me
the accumulation progress
now and then again
sciatic nerve history
acclimatises oh like pain

the crystals growing

tubes narrowing

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to a mind fishing elsewhere
my network my finer mesh

clouds

and the wireless cloud

monet’s flowers
water & lilies

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way

at the caravan window as if in bed the comfortable summer off the


page to a lazy one discovered who now was saved by the power of
words or was requisitioned to another master a dream of blue sky and
dark heavy fruit the horse in the field warm breeze delight of
solitariness and dark woods node or knot the vortex head whatever it
is that beckons across distance through the tangled undergrowth
where a door opened up to me then

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fridays

(Enrique may yet return to art school)

the experimental pianist in the hall


who's mind occupies itself with other things
provides a haunting backdrop
to Enrique's hesitant explanation

that like a restless overflow


scurries hither and thither
looking for repose
and tranquillity

a violin draws its bow across discordant thought


interlaced into the modernist world of years ago
the fiddler stands feet strangely splayed with calves together
so statuesque!

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‘boundaries (II)’ This is my own private space (show me yours) by alification
http://www.flickr.com/photos/alificacion/3037934209/

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write anew
though
thought
gone

the world
buried
under centuries
of

myself
where we lived
before
now raised

‘heretofore unrealised’

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time less (haven’t)

hoods up back to blast old couple huddle on bench where from the
vacuum she pours

gaze eastern side spread across vale a school appearing far below
between branches

a glove waved good-bye in spindle bush good-bye now in dalliance

down zig-zag path and sweep of hill my small boy arms akimbo

care-less and hot-head inside swims and palms it like one lost in his
own world

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nothing secured sacred

the emptiness nothing

holds on nor

is held

nothing is not

holding on nor

is not being held

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remember the straight
that led to the sea
either side low windswept trees
gnarled and indifferent
my problems growing
the hill always seemed
indecent or man made
we argued over it
my friend laughing at my seriousness
you take it all too seriously he said
and the road sombre
now I see a brighter light at the edges
the sun about to appear after rain
why was it all so wasted so wrapped
in dark hedgerows all the broken
splinters of fragility strewn scare-wise
scattered willy-nilly in our slipstream
i see the long straight road

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understanding the word symmetry

heart's lift sun's warmth

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dark alley windows’ panes grey sailing
sky canvas across brick not
what is to be seen within or sunset
face orange and rose but

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like being in love anew see
these people
with sympathy eyes
the woman who lurches
her car cross parking
her wedding rings and is
another’s delicate moment
of tenderness…

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‘they won’t always tell you the news’

anyroad she abandoned her means

and walked back over the ridge

‘its only water’

with her strong accent and fate

in her own hands

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poetry reading

captain cook
extra terrestrial

beads mirrors I give


who visiting who

dark planets
lost continents

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transcendence

mother daughter
sister lover

the golden traceries coalesce

around yr starry heaven you

continue on regardless

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desire’s light
at
the
margin
forest
sleep
complete
abandon

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