:::Greg Markee

I write about nature and participation. I like Walt Whitman and Allen Ginsberg and some classical philosophy. I have written several collections of poetry, they are posted on www.moonmuseum.org.

greg markee photo

and speculation

As to the boundless
I do not know.
And the surrounds of heaven
I am not certain
except for faith.
For there is no evidence to
eternity and
there is no evidence
outside of belief.
As to the endless and
its unfinished qualities
I say I
will be their intermediate if
nothing else.
I say I.
And if I exist, I
say I.
As to the soul and
as to evolution, as to that
which happens away, I
cannot create law, but
only theory.
As to language, as
to meaning, that it be
received as
intended I am as faithful as our
time spent together.
As to beauty between
I am faithful.
As to time, I grow

from: [APHTERLIPHE] © 2006

Sunday wormbirds

Abbreviated thoughts. And stops at open window
to air, the early light and fresh like silence newspaper
coffee danish time. Not a symbol here and things are
only, they only are. The patio wormbirds and hopping,
and sucking worms like straws. Coffee danish time
and watch a silly little thing imagine meals. Abbreviated
thoughts, and eyes arriving, a body and settled into
rocker coffee watch. Animation mug to mouth robin
freeze and sideways hop wormbird for acting like that
which it is. And Sunday then, it turns to thoughts a
way from sight, coffee last and start finally the symbols.

from: GEESE © 2006

For Monday, that

What animal is this?

of half-logic and rapid speech
of controlling features and
a hundred thumbs
a thousand thumbs.

Foreign, I say.

Which is not bad, mind you.
Not inherently in any case.

Time will be the matter of such
an animal mixed with
a medicine.

And compassion.
And trust. Words.

Society is near retirement, do you not know?

A man named Intuition
told me
of a greater animal
that was just

Hearsay I say I
      believe everything


a fire built of entire forests

and I retreat
because some things are greater than



Lucky, indeed, to have been appreciated for telling
a story of a people long ago who crawled down from
airships on hemp ropes into the plaza during some social
service with drums and wine.

I was there and I can tell you

that man is
many places.

And the logics will tell you that what I am about to say is
      just like red rain
      and desert melons and
      sea people and
      the way cultures grow smaller the greater the xenophobia,

      time is an ocean and time is redundant
      time is an ocean.

To the logics.


I know who can appreciate

theory. And I am not married

      to a theory.

And certainty, it is a theory. And certainty, it is a theory.

Doubled to matter,


Leaving leaves circling on the porch in
      November winds
like time itself retelling itself in spirals until
it dissolves

or either
the snow will come forgiving.

And the laws of biogenesis or either
quantum psychology, I am certain
      it will have been a theory.

For Monday, that.
For Monday, that.

from: platonia too © 2005