The Somnambulant Solipsist

Dissipate

2011-11-29T08:54:00.000-08:00

A yawn away from nightmare slumber,

the moon descending

obscured by clouds.

The brilliance of another wonder

fades to pitchfork

prodding embers.

Dreamt the sun was trapped within

the shrouded word

would come alive.

Poems like clouds to catch the din

a flash of wooling

on shorn black sheep.

Fleeting fables to light unseen,

I don't know clouds

forget the dream...

Mortal death wakes upon sleep.

Fall

2011-10-04T05:10:00.000-07:00

Filtered muted sun
watches cool October rain
flowing emotion.

Auric Reverie

2011-09-20T15:17:00.000-07:00

Thoughts dissolving
into a listen-
dripping rain
on damp pavement,
a lonesome coo
of a huddled dove,
swishing tires
of weary traffic,
distant church bells
chiming
an undecipherable tune...
in a moment of auric clarity
I forgot what it was that
I was thinking about.

Diversions, distractions, delivering disaster

2011-09-20T09:44:00.000-07:00

The lizards lick their scaly lips
the beady eyes don't lie.
They do not squirm in adversity
they plot, they whisper..."die."

'We have all power in our grasp
let's scare the docile sheep,
now don your terrorist masks
and strike, then put them all to sleep."

Media is there with untimely news
(the wealthy, the corporate
paing their dues)
laughing at peasants
who just need some hope,
their wise man has spoken
and here comes his rope...

"fear for a moment
will trump his mission,
then ads and football
will surely dismiss him."

You sorrowful creatures
who can't make connections
but cower in fear with your
petty protections.

Let lizards win then
and be happy with crumbs,
your apathy will unseat you
and all your loved ones.

Shorin' up the Capital

2011-09-03T14:30:00.000-07:00

The morning sun is gleaming
and shining on my face.
The jobs are overseas now...
it's a National disgrace.

Two pennies rubbed together
does not produce two shoes.
Tell that to Nike and Coach
who haven't paid their dues.

Or what about the networks
and their golden TV shills,
with hard gut wrenching stories
of the hard pressed country's ills.

Coupons here, coupons there...
here's how the Kardashians
comb their hair.

The bedouins always follow
the camels unquenched thirst.
The tents of greed they carry
shows their gloating wurst.

Capitalist pigs and pork-bellies
a dining of the past,
a revolution's coming...
the spoils of their repast.

Lambs of Slaughter

2011-08-19T18:09:00.000-07:00

Do not go gently into the night,
lambs of the slaughter
the meek of the blight.

Raise your voices
loud and clear
let the oppressors
know you are here.

The new day is dawning
the die has been cast
you need not be victims
from a time that is past.

Share with each other
ask no mark of greed
the Internet calls you
in a time of need.

The moneychangers of old
are alive and well
as they seek to scare you
to a repentance of hell.

Give up your talents
give them for free
it's the only hope
for your soul's liberty.

The angels will guide you
with love and their laughter
you no longer need be
a lamb gone to slaughter.

Ripped Apart

2011-03-05T08:49:00.000-08:00

A lone coyote howl;
tame, plaintive, cool,
wafts over the desert plain
under the glow of the setting sun.
The furtive scout disappears
behind the brambles
of mesquite and creosote.

Later, under a lashed and lurid moon
a band of howling hunters preys
on a mammal small.
Sinister snickers surround
piercing childlike screams
in otherworldly madness.
(Oh dread, it must be a rabbit)

The pawing, snarling, ripping
of flesh sounds ripely perverse
in the silent shadows.

Hours later, under the waning stars
the blood drunk banditos
are whooping it up
over the night-time spoils.
Their victory hoots are fearsome
and sickening in that early hour of gloom.

By the first peek of the sun's streaming
over the brambles black
I could only think of the lone
defenseless rabbit,
dead in his innocence.

Boomerang

2011-02-12T17:35:00.000-08:00

Two sides of a painted curve,
one is green of bile
the other mambo black.

A heavy handed thrust
into the thinness of airs
("to no one in particular, she said")
seeking solace from despair.

Vicious, vehement, vomitous velocity...
... specious, speedy, spinning spear
gathering dusty spectacles
returning to choke its sender.

A blunt clobber to the jugular
in an unaware instance unguarded,
just shy of a heartbeat.

"Let out the poisons honey," he said,
"let out the poison."

Bubble

2011-01-25T07:50:00.000-08:00

A sensitive soul
wrapped in words
like a bubble in isolation.

Sparkle, dance, shine...
effervesce to dissipation.

Everglad

2010-12-26T16:12:00.000-08:00

Sun stained set on old mahogany
wispy dance of Spanish moss,
diamond point of faceted bay
convergence of Atlantic and Gulf
as hand holding hearts.

Splish splunk of pelicans fishing
face plant on rippled sparks,
prairie whimpers of reverent crows
childlike and quiet coo replacing caw.

Stealthy sidle of black vulcans
circle swoop to picnic table land,
hopping like chickens looking for remnants
nosy pecking at charcoal and grill.

Sunrise starburst, cirrus breezes,
milky illumination surrounds Venus's glow.
All is well in the Florida Everglades...
Everglad, everglow, evermore.

Night Train Terror

2010-12-15T07:01:00.000-08:00

In a darkened room where a huddled mass of ignorant eyes
lay fearful, yet trusting among compassionate caretakers,
muffled words babbled of solace..."we're in this together."

A hissing screech from a hazardous face
closed the room in tightened grip...
there was moaning, lament, grief
as the last freedom was carted away
in a crowded freight car, emblazoned
with worn out logos mirroring billboards.

The tossing tempest of a night tale was stifled
by rising words softly spoken, "you are safe."
From the green glow of creation
the seas calmed... warmed by the weight
of a wooly, woven blanket.

One Day...

2010-12-08T06:58:00.000-08:00

I ask myself on a day like today,
what would a sage like JL say.
Only one word comes to mind-
IMAGINE... one day at a time.

Trainward with the Sun

2010-11-04T16:38:00.000-07:00

   It was a dark quiet ride through sleepy valleys and misted hills. The waning crescent moon shone through the outlined orb of its containment as faint stars salted the midnight blue morning. The station was brightly lit with a garden of overgrown floor plants, where occasional sad blooms mirrored the faces of an array of seasoned commuters, mostly working class.
   The train pulled into the station and we mounted the rust laden steps with the jaunty step of tourists and chose our seats in the 'quiet' car, such labeled as a reminder to turn off cell phones and whisper only out of necessity. With a low blast of melancholy horn, as if weary from monotonous use, we settled ourselves as the train, replete with coffee clutching and parceled passengers, did the same. They looked vaguely familiar.
   Dawn teased slowly with rosy wisps upon the veiling of grey clouds that followed our journey by way of an eastward facing window. Rolling hills cloaked in chill dawn gave up its frozen fields in fits of frost. Ragged leaves of indecisive colors of Autumn solemnly awaited the rise of sun to drape their garments with bursts of bold-hearted color. At one sweep of valley a small herd of deer was spotted, some leaping while others grazed under a frosty field of matted grass, the early likeness of a winter lake.
   Around a curved bend we headed in a more easterly direction where a hewn lumber pile offered up white tufts of smoking heat against the chill. Modest farms with prim and just saltbox homes and cheery red barns mingled with the more rustic and weather beaten dwellings of families and beasts. Wooly black bulls, blanketed horses, and a scattering of goats grazed unconcerned as we rode by.
   Suddenly an attentive horn blared and soon the flashing of worn grey metal flashed by the window with a speed that seemed twice that of our own. Glimpses of the whitening sky and meadowed landscape were seen as glinted images through the closeness of the metallic screen of a passing train.
   As the stops were announced by an unseen spokesman, more familiar passengers ambled down the quiet corridor of the train.
Faces in mundane repetition of the morning commute focused on the task of finding a suitable seat partner. The seated politely made way or offered their own window seat for the newcomers. It dawned on me at a moments notice of hat, hairstyle, backpack, briefcase, or pocketbook, why the expressionless faces looked familiar... it wasn't really the uninspired faces at all. Rather, it was the stereotyped nuances of baggage and apparel that adorned the commuters that revealed the familiarity of character judgements
that I had been collecting for a long time since.
   The sun burnt its arrival at the edge of a stern cloud and reached its fiery gaze directly into my own, shedding some much needed daylight on my worn and outmoded conclusions.

Presence

2010-10-25T16:01:00.000-07:00

Spotted red leaf on blacktop

white dog on green patch of lawn

silhouette on white garage doors

shadow, mine.

Funny thing about the shadow

are you forward or backward?

Hard to tell at a quick glance

no pretense, no afterthought

just there

present

now

and now is good.

For the record

2010-10-04T07:32:00.000-07:00

I saw it as a sandstone dome
of yellowed stone.

August 29, 1957
October 13, 2010

No name attached,
only the days in between
were numbered.

It woke me as a concerted
disconcertion.

A door closing?

I do not believe in death per se...

decay?

Quite another matter.

Beelzebub

2010-09-24T09:46:00.000-07:00

Jazz beat, rap sheet, workin' overtime.
All the flowers never plucked
whispered through the pine.

A cauldron of bubble
with tumblin' jacks,
ribald kittens in burlap sacks.

Sock eye salmon on plum fleshed puce
spinnin' on a fly reel
in stiletto pumped truce.

Silence is molten in a riverbed sigh
kiss ass can wrath
without knowin' why.

Scratchin' sound of chatter fleas
on bear clawed bread...
nevermind meaning of what's been said.

Laughin' at four corners
writhin' words for fun
singin' in shadows with wicked silken tongue.

Upon a beach of mossy peat
I feel the cadence, hear the sweat...
O Beelzebub, my buzzled bee
you haven't scared me yet!

(now I won't share your secrets
or tell you any lies,
just let me melt slowly
in your fire breathing eyes).

Night Owl

2010-09-08T18:20:00.000-07:00

It was the glare of the 3 AM streetlamp
casting its phosphorescent shade of
green doubt through the webbed
veil of the menacing hemlock.

Curling wisps of smoky waft
drifted upon a b-minor fretboard...
the watery chord was held captive
in an icy stare showdown

until

sweeping gestures of love-lit glance
graced the gaze to the triple pink glow
of the charmed faux gas lamp up the street;
softening, soothing, satisfying.

The new moon sleeps soundly
under the cloak of velvet darkness...

lullaby, bon soir.

Bittersweet Joy

2010-09-02T17:30:00.000-07:00

She lay in my arms having her ba
in blue eyed contentment.

Gently rocking
I thought my heart would break
from the last day of this precious feeding...
when a dimpled hand reached up
and gently finger painted my face
with my own tears and then wiped them away
on her own little head.

She looked into my swollen eyes
and kicked a chubby foot to my lips
for a monkey toe nibble, pulled the ba
from her mouth and gave me a new tooth smile.

Together we shared our giggles
in a moment of joy meant to last forever.

Shriek

2010-08-11T04:13:00.000-07:00

Ah! Whee! Yikes! Oh!

Yeah! Eek! Whew! Yo!

Hi! Ooo! Yay! Go!

Stop! Bye! Fuck! No!

Yes! Hey! Eww! Whoa...

What would you exclaim

as a flash in the pan?

Summer Symphony

2010-08-06T09:13:00.000-07:00

The humid night hung heavy-
a damp velvet blanket of black
dotted with firefly sequins.

The cicadas have retired
their incessant shushing
which drowns out meeker insects
with volume braggadocio.

Long after dusk
the night time choristers
crescendo in stridulation
to a nocturnal overture.

Flutey chirping crickets
hum-clicking katydids,
raspy buzzing grasshoppers,
ticking tapping beetles...
all contribute their individual
song in harmonious melody.

In the dark, I wonder
if the collective chatter of human sounds
reach the ears of an unseen deity
and produce a sonorous sigh
of appreciation and amusement as well?

Revelation

2010-07-31T05:07:00.000-07:00

Within stone weary walls of a crumbling castle
there is a staircase, circular but linear,
once thought to spiral upwards
towards the balistraria window.

Light filtered through dust mites
in the rise and fall of days, seasons, empires
and crept away with the waxy wane of predators.

Arrows shot out at the imaginary birds
and beasts, and quivered to the ground
to the sound of a sorrowful trumpet.

The staircase is grey and damp, yet
light meets darkness in the twilight dawn
and turns upon itself, as a mobius strip
meeting an infinite joust.

The crumbling stone holds the sands
of a makeshift hourglass
waging war upon itself.

In silence I surrender.

The Spy

2010-07-27T06:55:00.000-07:00

Warmly wrapped in a cloud of comforter the body lay still
waiting for the slumber that would not come,
the mind ticking away the minutes to a restless hour.

Slowly, to alleviate the disturbance of the rising trance
I crept across the darkened room searching for the doorknob,
quietly opening and closing the squeaking door,
then wafting down creaky stairs to the porch rocker
where I can usually expel the thoughts that prevent sleep.

In the top of the maple as seen through the hemlock branches
the blinking began-
a steady rhythm, continuous, winking in uncanny standstill.
Minutes upon minutes of relentless blinking...
Was a firefly caught in a time space continuum?

Mesmerized, I rose from the rocker for a closer look
when I was struck by a cold hard familiar fear-
this is no summer firefly, it is an alien
spying, winking, pulling my attention to its eerie signal.

In a mute zombie stare-down, I mustered my courage
to self exclaim, "have no fear"... my angels as back up
were hovering, protecting, and encouraging.

"Have no fear lest it steal your light." The words
directed their aim in a telepathic chant at the blinking.
It grew dimmer and dimmer until in a final faint flicker
it disappeared.

Then I returned to bed and slept very well indeed.

Pulsar

2010-07-24T12:01:00.000-07:00

Pointed fingers of a channeled light

Undoing time in the reaching.

Linear tracings are swallowed in...
Silent darkness, if only for a moment.
And between the breath of void and light
Returns the Now of human existance.

Ebbing Away

2010-07-20T05:19:00.000-07:00

Tentacled limbs clutching
sweat swollen pillows,
a restless churning
of buttery goodbyes.

Hollow is the echo
in relic chambers;
vellum turned parchment
into cackling sighs.

A tawny drop falling,
spotty reminder
of what will be missed...
crimson salt tides (no more).

The mermaid sings softly
from milk foaming waters-
a hymn in her heart
from a far reaching shore.

I don't care

2010-07-15T05:53:00.000-07:00

The phone never rings
and I don't care.

The mood swings confound me,
and I don't care.

My lunch crowd deserts me,
but I don't care.

Dark clouds surround me,
and I don't care,

Endless cycle of denial
to a cruel perceiving,
a lonely liar's words
become self deceiving.

Night Vision

2010-07-14T09:16:00.000-07:00

A stroll across the dark neon studded street
where crimson and clover reverberates
from fuzzy DJ speakers over and over...
spilling vibrato on the church lawn.

Over zealous zombies gawk at vintage vehicles,
as I hear a warbled slur of accolades, worn jokes
and yearning for good old days.

Lightly stepping out across the white lined pavement
in a legalized jaywalk
without a sidelong glance at gawping headlights
I stroll... unconcerned.

Hair once glimmered in gold
casts tawny shadows streaked in silver.
Slender and lithe as a sickle moon,
the invisible sylph saunters
in graceful sashay from the waning revelry,
her black dirndl skirt swaying
with star studded sequins
twinkling in frozen time.

Down the dark ally I stroll
past the dusty waxen faces
that stare in glassy disdain
from the stoney throne of a steepled banner.

A flower upon a stained glass oculus
is not sacred when it hides so much misery...

... and still I am unconcerned,
as sandaled heels clip clop over cobblestones.

It was the briefest of moments
when I saw that shadow of a woman
whose life I had lived
in a million moments
between laughter and tears,
as the night fair spectacle folded
into the parking lot ahead.

A hazy spotlight cameos
my own chivalrous chariot.

Flash Back

2010-07-10T07:39:00.001-07:00

I saw it from a downward hill,
a uniformed patrol car
lit up and blinking
in rotational blue-white-red...
like a buzzer at a restaurant
signaling the table is ready.

There were back thoughts:
lectures on bike safety,
penny or porcine quips,
hidden baggies of herb,
daisies in narrow barrel shafts,
stripping macho dancers,
big guns in holsters,
partners in CPR...

the mind roared in rapid fire succession
to the syncopated rhythm of the blinking flash.

As I pedaled by the car,
jaded green met worn flannel
and we both just said a weary hello...
greeting of the damned.

The Pilot is Out

2009-11-27T12:33:00.000-08:00

I think if there was a real possibility

that there could be a possibility,

that possibility would go on the back burner.

A Ruby At... Remembrance

2009-11-24T17:54:00.000-08:00

"Write what you know

in the life you have lived."

All else is false pretense...

words wasted in a fleeting dream.

Thank you Grandma... I remember.

Balance

2009-11-23T14:55:00.000-08:00

There is a blackened balance

in the silver scales

of the yin and yang,

when the dew of foam

meets the ticking clock...

in that moment

of shorn wool and velvet plumage

time freezes still...

upon a gilded frame.

Harvest Home... Revisited

2009-11-22T12:37:00.000-08:00

Somewhere there is an Eden

of sorts... utopia for

the purveyors of science fiction.

It's an overflowing

of the ancient cornucopia,

a horn of plenty...

not for the Roaming elite,

they're never happy.

It's a celebration of harvest

and plow... the reminder

of workin', and playin',

and livin' in the now!

No smoking of your fallow deer

or boiling of a parrot pet...

entertainment is what you are...

not slaves brought in

from lands afar

performing in exotic dance,

enchanting songs

and limericks,

to a den of gaudy knaves.

The lazy elite won't understand-

their kind will fall

out of supply and demand.

The peasants, as always

will celebrate...

they ask for so little

but their thanks are great...

to Whom, who cares?

that hierarchy

can certainly wait.

The revelry will continue

as the lazy feasters

lose their guts to

vomitoriums.

No wonder history repeats itself in a burp of belch.

A Second Coming

2009-11-20T18:14:00.000-08:00

Green eyed leer above

a camel colored peach

with it's nectar dripping

into sweet rivulets of juice

at the edges of a full moon.

A teasing of honeysuckle

to an entreaty of tease,

a rollicking surrey

with fringes that bow...

to a red-lipped oval

that quivers somehow

and the earthshaking

beckon that shivers below.

A second to gasp

a vowel's uttered praise

a panting,

a psyching,

a musing...

Cupid's spurting arrow

and Kewpie's sultry gaze.

A wolf will wait his turn to pray.

The Conquest of Nothingness

2009-11-12T23:51:00.000-08:00

What do I know

and what do I see?

Nothing and everything

in sweet mystery.

Eyes have the nerve

to connect to the brain,

windows that mirror

the human terrain.

Ripped from their sockets

they're just balls of gel,

the heart gives its meaning

that the brain tries to quell.

Beyond physical places

where a human abides

something remains

when the body subsides.

A flicker of flame

beyond the intention

ignites intuition

of etheric suspension...

submerged in a shadow

of a dark lonely quest

lies the answer to meaning

of a pulsating jest.

I know I came

in sweet memory

to conquer nothing

of all I can see.

Autumn Spiral

2009-11-06T08:13:00.000-08:00

A golden spotted leaf

with wry crinkled edges

spirals to the gutter

and takes it's rightful place

amongst the decay.

The Littlest Voice

2009-11-05T16:19:00.000-08:00

In a leaf cupped world

that swirls to a fretful eddy,

Thumbelina in a grimace of gas

and the need of a Mother's suckle

opens vein lidded eyes and mewls

into a window of brown-eyed hope.

Music as poetry in entrainment

mirrors the water colored view

of an artist's communion

and summons a pink sleep

that coos a lilac prayer.

Maia is waiting to fulfill the hope

and then flit with gossamer wings

to cornflowers and bluebells

where she'll tender the hearts

of an unsuspecting clan.

The Return of Mr. Roboto

2009-11-04T12:52:00.000-08:00

It was a frivolous disco moment

on a dance floor of absurdity.

We laughed at the face of a technology

yet to to come,

a robotic voice speaking

in a condescending schmooze...

how cute and kitschy.

Now in the kitchen

with less food in the pantry,

and jobs gone overseas,

and families in chaos...

he shows up in a phone call,

the Do Not Call list

is out the window.

They plead in wealthy tones of white,

"vote for our contender."

I slam down the phone

on the robo call and fume

as I screech...

"Fuck you and your techno lies!"

just leave me alone with my wallflower stare.

Conjured

2009-11-03T16:39:00.000-08:00

The jury is out

in dark chocolate

deliberation...

vanilla creamed tongues

are waggling a noose;

a saviour is smeared as a wanton

spender, as an insurance policy

is cancelled by foamy mouthed liars.

The paling is rampant

with pointed fingers,

blaming the mess

on shit on a shingle...

Hello, it's white sauce,

and chipped beef on toast points,

and houses foreclosed

in a white collared debacle.

The spirit lives

in sacred darkness,

your papal drunkenness

is our only schism.

Up from the ashes

of a smokey pier,

zombies will applaud

the darkened angel...

and the meek will indeed

inherit the Earth.

Not Even in the Moment

2009-11-01T14:38:00.000-08:00

I read Toffler this summer

and could not believe my eyes;

did he, could he, predict a time

when you could not, would not

be in the moment of your own thoughts?

Now, the Facebook of movements

births quirk and savvy... hey I'm adaptable,

did he study Ericsson?

And then a moment of humor

was lost to a foreign homepage

that took days to download...

Frustrated, I thought, I'll go to

tweets on twitter;

as the trump feed of a brain fart.

Now, if everything has to be captured

in a shuttering speed...

I'm done...

Friendship is worth more

than the parabolic permutations

of a bitwise life of shocking snickers.

The Comfort of an Old World Charm

2009-10-28T17:20:00.000-07:00

It is gray, damp, blowsy,

and cold upon on an October

hearth of unwashed ruddy stone,

illuminated by the crinkled

lore of a child's knotted art.

A spiced orange candle

flickers in the light

of a setting sun, not seen.

The smell of an old book

devoid of linear logical thought

tangles emotive emissions,

unleashing the saline dripping

like a wash of unsobbed tears.

Rain lashes at windows

in tapping cadence

with the swallow of

a drainpipe's belch;

a backlash of rushing leaves

is heard through the windowpane.

No clocks are ticking

in the timeless luxury

of a plush pillowed couch.

A stoic velveteen rabbit

twitches as the yellowed pages

are lovingly captured and turned

into a tapestry of transcribed loss.

A sonorant sigh acknowledges a sentiment:

Ah.....Proust take me home.

The Screams of Attention

2009-10-26T09:57:00.000-07:00

In a cold hearted world

of unfulfilled dreams,

androids seek their claim

to a promised land...

fifteen minutes of fame.

"How can I assure

my rightful place

in the televised majesty

befitting a royal flush?"

Shakespeare and Verdi

could not see it coming,

when everyone would get into the act...

high drama of tragic consequence.

A hungry world eats it up

on crumb laden couches;

dramas composed by lesser maestros

delivering popcorn stanzas and arias

devoted to misfits of ill-fated greed.

Thousands, nay, millions

worship the failure of

lives lived in plunder;

from a pair of crazy eights

to a jiffy pop launch...

now that's entertainment.

"When is it my turn?"

they wonder and munch

as they stare at the spectacle.

Tune in to your own tale

of woe... advertise, then broadcast

the last rite of despair...

they're at least clever plots

befitting a banal twitter.

Are you too waiting

for your own demise?

15 minutes of fame

isn't worth the wait,

of a lifetime of hope.

Sleep lesser gods of splendid drama,

you were trumped by a soup can.

Parade of Wonders

2009-10-22T09:19:00.000-07:00

Oh the clock ticks moments

in precise progression...

marking a moment that leads

to an end... somewhere.

The parade floats by

in a waving procession,

a wafting of hand

signals a vacant stare.

From the memory of lilacs

and hawthorne in bloom,

nothing compares with the

wonder of an innocent youth.

We live in our cork lined rooms

watching the parade of parody

march by with flags, and bugles,

and banners of bravado.

It's no wonder that the wizened cry

as the drumbeat of the past

dings a harp string and clutches

the last sobs of a distant bagpipe.

Silence is an answer too.

Spilt Milk

2009-10-20T12:00:00.000-07:00

A dreaded howl already known

lurked on the horizon,

a storm had passed... or did it?

Inklings of dark clouds wafted past the pastures

that reeked of manure and primroses...

The first clue... a simian screech

igniting a headache

of pubescent misdemeanor.

There were soothings and smoothings,

as a lowing cow grazed on

in numb and utter resistance.

"Seek the high road,"

the gentle and kind Guru chanted

as the forlorned bovine

looked for answers in the cumulus.

In the chewing of dumbfounded cud

the Vichy water would not digest... I digress.

The eye of storm transcended

over pastoral plains

and rose colored glasses

were donned in the milking.

The screech of an owl forewarned

of a sorrow's melancholy,

the sleeping monkey has awakened

from a slumber of revenge.

A high road of victory has washed away

in a gully of mud and stones

to the hey of a delta.

A mournful lowing

will not share it's misgivings,

the cane will hurry

to it's sugary conclusion.

The plains will lie bare,

quiet, and contented

before a house built on straw.

The high road continues...

yours was a climb to a polar capped trove

not worth the expenditure

of a drop of soured milk.

The path to the least resistance

will continue.... unencumbered

by the vanity of a perfect reunion.

Tenterhooks

2009-10-16T10:06:00.000-07:00

The carcass of a flesh eating behemoth

swings in the frosty flash-room

to the swing of a butcher's shining knife.

Marbled in grey and white

with blood clotted... it hangs,

no longer dripping

from a sacred slaughter.

The spatter of drops wasted

on an industrial washed apron,

as beefy banter of clobbered bull

blows frozen in breathy puffs of bravado.

Refrigerated caravans are coming

to take the crude hunks

of sculpted meat to the overfed.

In a darkened corner

a young mother cries

as flies feast on her offspring...

as the offal of beasts are offered to a wasteland.

Last Man Walking

2009-10-13T03:41:00.000-07:00

A lone vestige of an old world order,

slumped and domed

he seeks revenge on a world out of order-

chaos really.

Holding the reigns of a glorified Dog...

a Loki of sorts,

as his wife chattels about,

while a daughter once pixied

broadens in horizons

of a designer label...

a harangued husband

is nowhere in sight.

A stoic banner of resignation

is no banner for a Hierophant's

cry in the wilderness...

he seeks a jungle of woman's despair.

If only he could have snared

the dusty relic of Lucy's bones

and pulverized them

into a gentleman's snuff...

he would still be a contender.

She Rizes

2009-10-10T13:30:00.000-07:00

In the soft blanket of a black wool sky,

she rises, as clouds drift below

offering white clasped hands

to hold her esteem...

The poets and dreamers and children

can see her sadness,

although she is smiling

in the melancholy colors of autumn.

Upon a leaf-strewn bed of crumpled leaves,

an offering, a gratitude is whispered...

"they know not what they do,"

and a clouded sky protects

by colors of graying wisdom.

A shifty preamble to scientific skiffs

in search of water ships drowned...

a blast of bussed explosives

shoot to silence her in a plume

of vomit smoke, not once but twice.

I watched in spite of my sorrow,

as images sought were images lost...

Alas, a Mother's forgiveness is boundless.

Life is an Onion

2009-10-03T14:17:00.000-07:00

An orb of thin skinned parchment,

a velum of belief

which coats our past.

Peeling the first layer exposes

the white lined flesh,

layers of thickness

like the dendrochronology

of trees...

somewhere in the undoing

of rings is a core,

where tears were never

meant to be shed.

An Eppiphany

2009-09-30T16:55:00.000-07:00

It was an offering of Agnus Die,

a love of lamb gone to laughter.

The sharing of a last supper,

a rabbit who held the fast

of a petting, in stoic silhouette

under the table.

The light of a feign shone

clear as a candle,

waxen point of an alchemist boil-

disseminating gentle bubbles of hubris.

A symbol shone bright as a shield

of remembrance, diamonds gleamed shyly

from eternity.... eight up-righted

from a bottle of broken glass ... green

as the color of healing demise.

Two bubbles teetered from a prism of light,

a curtain of orange sarcophagus liquid

of a laid to rest Psyche. Cupid slinging arrows

to the partaking of body and blood...

and the wafting of apple-nut muffin...

Aphrodite was lost upon a sea of reign.

He beats his rose colored window

in a tantrum of arrogance,

as she in bucolic fragrance

of milk and manure feeds her lambs,

while his sword protrudes cold and hard

from clarent waters to a stone hearted lair.

Falling Softly

2009-09-28T04:59:00.000-07:00

In the chilled blanket of an ever darkening night

still cricketed with pale murmurs of pleading chirp,

a swarm of rustling lives beyond the misty leave

of a wispy ghostly breath... I listen stilly

to the eerie sound of an unseen screech-,

owl wooing and trilling into a falling kiss.

Leaves by day tipped in colors, grave and orange,

of jams, preserves, and marmalades

now settle for slumber at an early dusk.

The drowsy colors of imagination

are asleep and drifting skyward

into the black, and white, and gray

of a nightly settle.

The Moon, in golden yellow,

her pesky arc is the lamplight,

shedding her gauzy mercy

upon the sleeping calamity of colorful lids-

just before they're dying.

Flower Girl

2009-09-24T11:33:00.000-07:00

The frosty memory of an opaque invitation,

the bars from a moot paned past

sang in strangled cords

leading to a webbed site seek-

the park, the rain, and other things-

words not found in a memory's title search,

but recognized as true, from the words of import

surrounding bovine images of aging glances.

The sharing of a fragrant puff of past

delivered as gently as the passing of food

from a mother bird's mouth

to the sigh of an open kiss,

tasting of moss from a darkened cellar.

And then the thought of O'Briens,

the ramshackle tavern visitation

where pig tails, and hopscotch

and cotton mouthed briefs

were readily tainted

from the stained glass window

of a lip glossed swallow.

Victorious is a Feminine Word

2009-09-20T15:12:00.000-07:00

They swill, and spit, and run

for bravado,

to the heights of acclaim

of everyone's desire...

a kicked ball of father,

mother, community, and

the voyeuristic world

of a televised match.

Simmer on a playing field

of pinny, too demure

for a tackle, we were

taught to succumb,

and a Succubus was born.

In the afternoon math

of the locker room chatter,

a slut became the victor...

as the showered men of soap

wore rope, as their greatest rage.

The Tuna Sandwich

2009-09-17T14:17:00.000-07:00

She nervously nibbled a crust

of the whitefish mountain of

diner sandwich,

as he looked on

with a sultan's glower

over her innocence,

and a bit of lettuce in her teeth.

The napkin became her fan,

as her eyes lowered.

Fast forward 35 years...

Alone after the sultry glow

of his innocent eyes,

she devoured her whitefish sub,

licking fingers,

catching fragments in her palm

and then popping them

into her mouth.

Only when she felt

the dripping juice

of milky nectar,

did she wipe her mouth clean...

a coquette's fan was not essential.

Swimming in Seaweed

2009-09-16T07:14:00.000-07:00

The ocean beckoned

in rolling wave

of rippled tongue,

foaming at the mouth

to the parch

of a hungry shore.

"Too cold," he said,

from the mouth of Jersey,

"not fit for swimming...

those oceans of the Pacific."

Hah.. I thought, while

stepping into my

shrunken shadow,

as the curling nip

of a dappled lick

lapped my toes.

A cool, clear stride into

the shallow, with the

burnish of orange plaited

bamboo, and nippled puck

of green flapping appendage

lurked as a scrimshaw

pattern etched on bone.

I plucked the vilified tangles

of eww, and waved the slimy

waxen fronds overhead

to a voo-doo beat

of the drums

of sacred drone.

Then gliding as a feckless

and freckled purpose,

kicking in twisted

dance, waves frolicked...

then lifted me to

greater heights of jump

than could be

rendered on the grainy patch

of a sun kissed beach.

I Have Seen Mountains

2009-09-12T11:31:00.000-07:00

They stand in sloping mounds and points,

undaunted by the floating of clouds, mists,

flocks, and darkened torrents...

Whitened and glistening of sugar, coated

twinkles in the honey kissed shade of the sun,

or dark and loamy lurking across a desolate landscape,

the majestic mystique of barons and baronesses

watching sheep graze scrub on the fragmented

land of ancient peasants and listless fairies.

Gliding down a blue ridge of brontosaurus back

under a darkening skyline with a setting sun

as a spotlight on a fading day of yesterdays dream.

They rise illuminated and unfettered by the wily jumping

of creatures of the night below or the creeping of headlights

under their incline of caution, the descent of terror

rides with the pump of the pedal.

And Oh how the sun sets on table tops in the distance

redden unashamed by the lowering and hiding of the sun...

Another world away, over the dusty scrub of prickly cacti

who scatter before the mounding of boulders awash

and bleached white by a noon day sun, cordoned behind

the barb of a wire fence, a tawdry necklace for the mighty ones.

At the end of a land, the friendly smile of guards on the border

greet the passing presence of those who belong...

Among the salty sand of towering peaks and grainy beach

an arid question is begged... what is there to gain here? Really.

And though I've seen these beauteous beings who make me feel small,

and mock at how far I think I have come... I keep searching the world,

my oyster, for the pearl of wisdom I lost somewhere.

The Launchpad

2009-09-11T06:07:00.000-07:00

Raining tears as a cleansing goodbye,

farewell from dusted sills

and lacy languid curtains

that whispered the secret...

it's time to go... somewhere... West.

In a packed caravan with baggage,

and boxes, and pictures of places already seen

in memory of the many hangings.

A catapult to the future, stretching

the canvas of imagination and intrigue.

Two men sat in syncopated rhythm

of their shared lifetime, in uniforms

of their generational divide.

Only the eyes foretold their

shared conspiracy, as a woman

of chance was comforted by

their sidelong glances of dimpled delight.

She sat musing in quiet song

amongst the cargoed stuffing

of a one-way trip and the return duffle...

her reptilian travel bag relegated to the back.

The drops fell cool in the pelting

of the vessel of launch,

as the once proud house with a

For Sale sign bid farewell

to this final launch...

the last refuge at a point of no return...

The launch completed with the release

of a brake pedal

laid down towards a western sky.

A Token Moment

2009-08-26T15:04:00.000-07:00

Take me away to the land

of sun drenched cotton sheets:

white, crisp, clean, and cool,

to wrap me in cozy comfort.

Let me live in a land

of baby kittens, fuzzy bunnies,

and lovely lambs who stay

cute, cuddly, and curious.

Fly me to castles of mist,

floating through magickal chambers

where dreams come true

in the wink of an cloudy eye.

Wash me in a gurgling stream

of chortled laughter

and then dry me, gently,

in petals of wild meadow flowers.

A simple return to the sweetness

of being alive...

if only for a moment,

now and again,

as I gaze through a grimy prism,

squinting for rainbows.

Joni Mitchell is my Heroin

2009-08-23T12:33:00.000-07:00

Down by Sea, in a colonial

living room of plaid

middle class disdain,

a teen lit a candle in despair,

woo'd by a voice in breathy

soprano and mystical chords

of a strumming guitar...

she sung my resonance.

She knew the way down,

the darkened ladder descending

into a marrow bone of waves:

I was a bleacher blond living

in a concentration camp

of mediocre canyons.

I followed the pan flutes

of her voice, the flickering

Glow

of her enlightened chanting.

The soul-less grunts of

yesterday's hero:

of an unmatched cynicism

shook his patriarchal head...

"turn that shit down"

"the dark ladder," I retorted?

A roofer-sider

out of work from falling,

out of work and broken.

He hated her singing.

She warned me it would be like this

as I swayed and swam

in her spirited enchantment ...

the bass of piano chords rowed

me away from my dulling future.

Her neon beckoning...

I knew she was knowing ,

the candle never fickered

as my mom peeked in

from a distant room...

"leave her alone,

she's different"

was all she dared to say.

The only thing I have to give;

"morning in Morgantown"

lulled me to a silent acceptance

as wind rushed around our dirty town.

Now, I hear the voice

graveled in a paved paradise

of fuzzy croon,

warned us not to lull in the

wooing of an unfeeling world...

tears fall as I tune into my fix...

her voice

wafts through our bedroom...

conscious sedation and jungle

rhythmsmmmmms...

quietly in the darkness

still blow a womanly jazz riff.

I love her dearly. I love him too...

A Whitechapel Moment

2009-08-20T17:17:00.000-07:00

A fog of incoherent descent

on the impoverished streets,

alit in the glow of gas lamps

and the whetted stones from

Clydesdale hoofs on the

dusty, drury, cobblestones.

A trellis of bloom in a night's

tethered earning in tawdry

tulle... red, ripped, and spent.

Pollyanna walking to a brindle

of a hazy birthright writhing,

then marching in stride to macadam.

Each step a drunken death march

to a barren chatter of a silent surgeon's scalpel,

eviscerating a soul with no known enemies...

The silence was deafening.

The Bite of a Klondike

2009-08-19T17:00:00.000-07:00

A silver cloak of Arthurian legend

with the Nordic lyre of Runes...

Unwrapped in the biting

cold of a milky melt,

covered in hard, dark, shell

of chocolate...

a brittle break of ice floes

and Aristocracy, once known.

I bit in...

candlelit envy

of a partaking,

misunderstood as

sweet flowing cream

encircled the wrists.

A cow formed in the silver cloak

without a wrestle. A hedgehog

in misty melt of pagan mist...

Avalon calls in a druid dream,

fluid as juicy remembrance

biting at the bit; the bark

collapses in cream and a licking...

a paper fragment

of a dancing palate

melts

to a clock of

sleeping babe...

a pig in nestle smiles;

sleeping sure solace

of a delectable future.

bang! crumple and kiss

in the shadow of a

flickering flame,

swanning dive

in a bracken pond...

The crickets sang for me-

those who remember

a stock in trees and

wood hugging.

I believe in miracles,

and magick...

i don't wonder why.

A Gypsy's Life

2009-08-17T16:47:00.000-07:00

It's a rag tag tale of talisman...

roving and wondering

what went wrong...

awry, askance, avarice

for solace,

and then the slide off

of an elliptical moon-

them not me...

They want sense out of

nonsense...

I laugh and writhe

to a comical find,

bodies are not night

of the living death.

A moment , a flicker of firing

and a nap...

oh, all the world could be

summed up in a map

and sown to cover; a featherbed of fret...

Pithy and poor pithy me,

is shrieked in quicksand corners,

pointing a glued finger to toddlers who

merely ask, Why?

The sap of the past in dismissive,

says it's not really so...

An antichrist who dares question,

bold faced and unabashed

in the drinking of an innocent

fountain of thirsty question...

I'll not be condemned

by a chorus of dead scholars

or those who seek answers in ashes...

Your Phoenix has no wings to fly...

it's all the same to me.

Cry of an Apache Rain

2009-08-17T04:50:00.000-07:00

A soft spoken mountain man,

a real butte

dusted in coal clad dreams

of a pipe and a fiddling,

a nursery rhythm of

flowering trees

in a rebuke of nitrous

manure; the playing

of pinochle from

a pasty of pope

in a shale filled lunch box.

Edgy in a mumbled sentence

of illogical rightfulness,

swaying in balding

sad eyed wonder...

what went... wrong?

as the world raced on,

he slowed to a crawl

of cynic lefty,

shouting slurs at a TV

that no longer cared

bout truth...

Rain on an Apache plain...

it was supposed to be palliative,

radiating a scalp of speculative

knowledge in an excruciating

twist of a broken neck...

Tuffs of hair fell out

as a second torture-

I felt his pain in the recapture

of a howling cry.

We as dancing Matildas

relied on morphine and grace

to set things right...

we shared a Guinness

by the light and song of a rose

garden and fallen tree...

There is peace to be made

in this broken world,

at least he knew the meaning of pal

if only for a moment.

A patch of forgiveness

and acceptance is all he sought

from that fearful cry.

Dry eyed, I kept his promise secret.

The rains will come again.

The Tease of the Updo

2009-08-06T18:46:00.000-07:00

We the downtrodden,

try to make pretty sense

of the world marching to the beat

of squeaky enamor in horny

tunes of dissonance,

the chaos soothing...

a men's club and a

hair full of female undoing.

It wreaks the havoc of

a good coif and a teased bouffant,

we know they like the subduing

in an up-do tourniquet.

We linger in wait, as waifs

on a wharf of retching barf,

in submissive undoing

in the mission of a position.

Name me one female jazz musician,

respected in a man's nested nurture-

and I'll rest my casement.

A Quickstep to Your Dirge

2009-08-02T17:05:00.000-07:00

I hear the gravely nostalgia,

an inarticulate genre

of American roots,

strumming kindred

rolling blades...

A sharpening awareness

butter churns a wink

and a slow dance;

cheek to nipple, delivering

raised upturned brows

and crooked grins to

speak in silent tongues.

The swaying dance

of a token minute,

precedes a tidal moment

of a savory minuet;

timeless in fetching clutch

and whispering touch-

un fait accompli

head to head,

pinch and tweak,

thrust and squeak...

we save the sands

of the hourglass

in flip tide and green grass.

There's no sleeping

in the daylit hours-

efficiency has its just desserts

in rocking shores of an easy chair.

Lord of the Man, or..?

2009-07-28T15:30:00.000-07:00

They lord like flies

over why, why, why

in crying caterwauler,

when what is, is, is...

is the feast of now.

In disco ball vision

the dancer of wily writhe

happy claps in the patient

wait of the next move.

The preying mantis

cavorts in green robes

of his regal imagination,

in hindsight misgiving.

Crack a gentle whip and hear

the thunder of mortar and

pestilence grow silent

in a bottoms up world.

The praying man-

tis stifling rubies..

One over on me dude...

the woman is standing

on the bridge wondering,

should I take you back

for all of your preying?

Conversation on the Deep End of a Chance Meeting

2009-07-25T13:21:00.000-07:00

HI there... how are YOU?

"Who are you... what is it that you do

to send me into the wild wet frenzy

of my desire?

Oh no, you don't know me... yet

when you read me in the meaning

of your soulful smile, I know you.

I like what I see, I hear your style-

sing to me, you wily coyote.

I'll be taking you in on a pinnacle

of a shimmered, silky, spin...

I have no answers for where I

am going or what you are,

I just resonate to your beat-

I know my own heart.

I feel a dizzy relief of flapping wings

in deep places with you next to me.

Funny feeling, it's up a tide

to the ocean of your being,

where in this moment

somehow you belong to me...

tongue tied in my lipping,

a sweet and coy wonder of the words-

the meaning not quite clear, I

sing to your mournful soul.

(praises in the winds of belonging)

I ask no more

than a simple sigh

upon the plain shore

of a mystic sea...

will you taste the salt

of my tears shed for you,

sweet mysterious?

will you sigh contented

in the morning afterglow,

will it light your soul?

To my knees I fall in the grace

of your forgotten desire, so

in a bargain of hope and chance

will you know me?

C'mon angels are watching,

but then again,

you may be disappointed

later in the day."

I'M fine... how are YOU?

Sloshing Around the Soup Kitchen

2009-07-19T14:38:00.000-07:00

My cauldron is your crucible,

a hot pot of burnt porridge

dished up in the smoldering

crockery of our grueling truce.

We swim the thinning broth bath,

in a wonton spare of salt licked simmer.

Serve up the usurp of our souls

to a bland humanity of hungry trolls

and trippy trollops in search

of the eternal bitter green.

We lick a lollipop of watch and wait;

two serfs in a soup kitchen for the regal...

"No seconds on the gruel sir?"

"Please sir, have some more-

(we snicker in deference).

Soup... our salty brothel

in a slippery bubble of crafty sin...

a chive or two and the old shoe

of roads that lead us away

to the bare bones of wander.

"Please sir, is that so wrong?"

Green Snake in the Road

2009-07-18T14:34:00.000-07:00

A downhill glide by sunlit glade

of a streaming water,

muddied and soft... beneath

the shady vegetation

in a hidden gulch.

I saw him on a blackened pavement,

in wriggled repose of respite-

no slither, no malice, no intent.

I passed in an agitated avoidance,

his stillness touched me,

no pity, no sorrow, no mystery...

A beautiful creature

lying on a darkened street,

green and vibrant

on the dusty road...

I loved him.

Wanderlust

2009-07-18T09:28:00.000-07:00

Caught and cocooned in a tangle

of outmoded commitment,

light of the unfiltered judgement

glistens on silken threads

that hold me in the animated

suspension of a whorling turn.

Absurdity earmarks the capture

in noisy disarray, the clamoring

for the feast of a slow deafening

death of yawning boredom...

a longing for the winds

of a dangling temptation

to free the threads that bind.

The shroud is a molting cloth,

frayed at the edges of despair...

metamorphosis of the leave

is still in the making.

The inky jet of a spider waits

at the doorstep with clamping

pincers and hungry mouth,

he is patient and so am I...

he will wait until the gelatinous

remains of my past quiescence

synthesize to a tasty morsel of adieu.

The freeing of the sunlit spirit

will flee to greener pastures,

tempting a liberation

far away from yesterday's tomorrow.

Fodder for Folly

2009-07-16T17:23:00.000-07:00

The jolly trolley snipes the trollop

in romping roominess...

Ruin the day in deep dather

shiding shingles in mayhem...

mayhaps?

Work me over in the wonder

woo hoo, you who doo wop

to the head...

Jingle, jungle tribal tribulation

in jubilant juxaposition.

Angling a lure... firefly

feasting in smoldering frighten;

light a lamprey lampoon...

Reading here, go away

little Sheba, come back

when you've grown.

Groan... a rolling eyed

teeny bopper,

do do do and a rampant

rap in the head.

Jiggety, piggedy

pudding and pie,

make it a creamy dream...

Waltz with me babe,

in three quarter dime,

as the sole of a shoe...

kick it up a notch!

The home fire's a burning,

a touch of the torch...

you've met your match.

The Peacekeeper

2009-07-15T16:02:00.000-07:00

The peacekeeper goes about life in a quiet way, with the grace of a dove, with a song in the heart that beats a steady tune. He gives up the struggle of conformity. Her fear has flown over life's cragged course. His trust is complete, unfaltering, unending, unmistakably a part of a source greater than All. To the power within she keeps the steadfast vigil, knowing all is possible within the circle of Light. A light that is visible to those who realize there is no greater reason for being than to reflect light and be One with All. His inner soul is not a mystery to the peacekeeper. He knows where he is going, is thankful where he has been, is content with who he is. As he was born of the light, he will return to the light that is forever and evermore. The peacekeeper sees time as a gift, an orderly progression of learning, which is crucial to her mission. She holds no malice, no judgement, no regrets. She knows not of death. She clings to the truth as her mentor. Her love is immeasurable, unassuming, untouchable. She is the essence of all she creates, reaching out into the harmony of all that is. Who is the peacekeeper? He is you She is me, hiding as a human... free as the soul.

Foaming at the Fancy

2009-07-12T13:26:00.000-07:00

Illustrious elevator illusions

in orangey fits and flights

of a lascivious leering,

olive sea eyes watching within.

Breathy echos of ancient chant

in clandestine chants

through bare wood bannisters

and mirrored raptures.

Silky filtered smokescreens

portend savory bits

in lushy fleshy pink,

drawn shades hide

tremolo tapping beats

of chaotic chords.

Bobbin weave of liquid writhe

massage quavering mountains

and velvety valleys in coo.

Mind's eye rising wide eyed mist

in peaked pungent pursing;

a taunting in unfrocked opening

surging stifled oceans

in foamy lace and tangled coif...

sending ripples to a sunlit window.

The Green Man

2009-07-09T17:37:00.000-07:00

I chirp and flit before him,

in words... of my own make believe.

He watches and smiles in savory color

and thinks as deeply as a lamprey

at the bottom of an subconscious sea.

I don't understand his words...

only the essence of his mirrored frame

pulsing my desire.

Moonglow

2009-07-07T02:38:00.000-07:00

Riding high and proud

across the studded sky,

bathing me in pregnant possibility...

Staring in open air wonder

in breathy darkness

the delight is scintillating...

Catching her moonbeams

within a goblet of water,

a slow drink empowers this goddess...

Seeing is perceiving,

feeling is believing.

I Remember the Wishing Well..

2009-07-05T13:46:00.000-07:00

We meet in the lust highway...

Distant voices call to you,

now you're free,

who do you want to be?

Now we part,

I will keep some small of you

in my heart...

dreamers that lovers dream...

Your love and affection turned

my love around...

You're sailing to salty seas,

not my tears...

a beginning..

from the rote of rot,

unsettled, unscathed..

They will never know

in the scorn of our snarls...

We'll laugh our last dying breath

knowing we seceded over the sepulcher...

Truth can't be wrestled

from the dying...

Be brave.

Grinding Chaw

2009-07-05T12:35:00.000-07:00

A shift of the mindset...

no more a friend sought

in strife, in sorrow, in boredom-

the veins pulse in agitation,

the lungs long for the dusty inhale

of that long lost ghost of a passing

light... one twenty pack of de-light

from adolescent angst... loved

the light after the heat, the stab

of an ending... exhaling satisfaction

in the disgust of stubbornness.

Time lines tell tales in circumoral

bleeding of lipstick...

not ready for cotton candy hair to match...

vanity wins over fear.

Chewing like a drug store cowgirl,

swinging a foot, tapping a pen,

nodding a head to a knowing finality...

done dude, you're too expensive a gigolo...

could'a had a car payment all this time.

Yeah, rockabilly seven nights to the first step,

chew and chew in time with a rabbity sniffing,,,

My god, my bunny is with-drawling too, he glares...

some example I've set, thank goodness the children

have more sense...

Twelve weeks to freedom.. twelve step?

I've got life to live,

songs to sing,

dances to complete...

I'll not be tied to a corporate package of lies.

I quit... I chew... I could just spit

at my stupidity.

They Live by Rote

2009-07-04T11:59:00.000-07:00

She's so angry, the hair

burnt off her head.

The hattered cat

frisked the Calvin smote...

he lost in the sub-dewing.

An open mouth gape

in demonic demise...

he gloried with ears

of the dead

to her incessant chatter

of doom, in a sorry rosary

of forgetfulness...

biding time,

to deliver her a stinging

punch line.

Unto them a savior was born...

Just Listening...

2009-07-04T11:47:00.000-07:00

A wild thicket of white laced

clover lies baking in the sun,

waiting to be rolled upon by

the fuzzy fur of the buzzing bee.

Trees whisper their secrets

and wave for attention,

as nonplussed tufts of cloud

float by... unconcerned,

yet deeply committed.

Chippering cheeps and squeaky squawks

trill quietly... only the wee ones

remain alert... the old and jaded worship

in early morn and at dusk... they are mute

in the work-a-day of adult endeavor.

No matter how hard mankind tries,

his cars, and mowers, and chain saws

do not engage the senses in the peace

of the moment... even his songs

become lamentably trite

against the glare of the noon day sun.

Night Dreams

2009-07-03T10:30:00.000-07:00

Eyes close in weary anticipation

of memory unloosened

in floating pictures,

of unspoken gestures

freed of time

in spacey disarray,

the Watcher hovers

as guardian of the otherworld

of hidden mystery.

Scenes of a movie

center, shift, and weave

through thoughts and

emotions where a blend

of past, present, and future

emerges from the womb of the mind.

A lesson lingers

as the eyes open,

the message only known

to the one who sleeps.... elusive.

Only the Watcher knows when it's time to understand.

Spawned by Yesterday's Sorrow

2009-07-01T11:58:00.000-07:00

Such high hopes in a world of rules and order,

they celebrated in a park (metaphor for lie still)...

Milky swans swam silently as the geese cavorted

in raggedy weeds and dewy grasses...

an ethereal promise of flushed devotion

from a shining Chevy of their desire,

rebels without a particular cause

sought the making of a dream in the pie,

crisscrossed in a crust of manifold baking.

She danced in purest Salome sexuality,

he drank the light and sweet of her wiggly soul...

she was not a substitute for the Mama of listen...

his sensitivity had been beaten out of him

from a drunken father's painful disdain.

In a jittery bug of dance they sought the destiny

of dream... in American Pie lattice.

Flash flood of sorrow for yesterday's tomorrow...

the five peppers grew, not fast enough to weather

the storm of a mismatched discontent.

The jaded one loves both in their estrangement

of the regret I saw, I was a hope...

damaged when eyes were closed in the dark,

we all hid from the violence, it still hurts...

There's love for all in this damned mess of dreams...

The youngest butterfly is elusive in the wetting of wing,

she will know the beauty of their dance one day,

they just forgot how to fly along the way...

the endless hashing of past disappointments

was their captor in a noose of their undoing.

The future weaves us into the loom... as promise of your own doing.

Peter Pan Grows Cold

2009-06-30T11:43:00.000-07:00

Born into a world of promise,

a wee robin crooning for girls

he would never know.

Growing to adoration

in an era bent on motion

he deepened in manly grace

against a wall of his own confusion...

bow-tied against a wall.

A thrill of the dark side

sliding from the moon,

riveting to the shrine of bad...

the boy lingered, wanting only to please

in fragment pose of ghouls who sought

and sold his soul.

A genius hiding in glittered protest...

small hands in glove

briefly clasped the world...

we sang, and in line of his vision,

held hands in his innocent view.

Flying high to expectation in a never-land

of lost paradise, the cynics biting at the chew

in frothy sensation found the chink...

in off the wall antics... a boy who never

meant to harm pleaded in soft-spoken whisper...

He fell from grace in blazer and PJ's,

a face chiseled beyond recognition

by the brutish hook of fame's desire.

A heart breaking stigmata

makes one grow old..,

"I won't grow up, and if someone

tries to make me, I will simply run away."

There are many ways to run away

in the warped world

of adult illusion...

The hearing is the last sense to go.. I'm told,

a shattering chandelier in silence,

disseminating fractals and fragments

in the dissolute tears.

The horehounds will always snarl and fight

for the afterbirth...

they already devoured the child.

Mother of the lost boys

could not save him here.

The Call of the Wile

2009-06-29T12:44:00.000-07:00

A coy and cozy afternoon,

child-like shuttering

at Nature's peak,

clouds drift without a care

he reads... I play...

Ohhh to capture the gypsy moth-

easier to find a quad of clover... mayhaps?

A little bite to the belly

from an unknown innocent beast,

a stinging diversion...

flit snap, flit snap, flit snap...

then the wile in a drooled trance-

fingers of a leafy sunlight caress

these strangers on an old blanket.

Wiling, an extreme sport for dreamers and poets...

Later in play, entranced in entrainment

the strapping lad subdued

in lascivious snarl and knotted necktie,

we meet in gypsy moth dance

and gyrate in slow sultry intent...

film tap, film tap, film tap...

a minor key of suspended disbelief,

a sacrament of sing in a hologram

of filmy reversal.

Afterwords, the glow reverberates

in a nestled pulsing,

a hunger is satiated,

it's time to graze... can you dig it?

Hmmm, he knows I adore

mushrooms on my pizza.

Unsettled

2009-06-26T09:09:00.000-07:00

Falling as dust through

a hazy window,

it settled on such a shiny veneer.

Too many times mocked

and taunted, that face

a reminder... skin shedding

thin in the distance.

Laughter and jokes belied

the heartbreak, one so close-

yet worlds apart... he looked away.

The past not repeated in

breaking search,

dust settled in corners of memory-

the mirror haunts still.

In veiled jest of parody,

the present called to the past,

punching thoughts ease clamor-

a longing heart knows no revenge.

I carry you to a worded soothe,

we share the heartbreak unbearable...

fingering cobwebs from the corners.

I'll always be there for you

dear Brother,

it's no matter to the things

that do...

Give me your heaviness

and together we'll laugh

as we shed our skin.

Dust doesn't define us,

it's meant as the

whiteboard where

we write our history...

then we'll blow it away

to welcome the Sun.

Now Where Was I...

2009-06-25T07:19:00.000-07:00

Waving from a plastic past,

was it 86, before

the unladylike fall from grace?

The radiostar didn't die,

the video did...

Spinning on a dance floor,

stilletto's cursed my feet

in purple bruise... the ball

fascinated in fascination,

Proud Mary in drag lured,

as we pounded the beat.

He swayed and purred,

as diva of the underground

NYC warehouse set.

Pursued by a mad hatter in hot pants

in closeted chase... pretty in a top-hat,

I couldn't be sure of the alluring intent.

Pumping in a frenzied dance of spectacle

to Palmer... looking for clues.

Smokey mist... ABC

brought him home when he sings.

Sychopop came on strong,

with one crazy flying Dutchman...

had to keep a blind vision during

the line hell of a fascist march.

Sashay to the powder room...

whip cracking obsession,

danger in the metamorphosis,

the butterfly has landed.

Yes, I would love to be young

at heart, in the mountains...

The dirge pours forth as the rain descends,

the Passions precede Ockenfold,

they were moved in love.

A blip to extraterrestrial French

in a fade to gray... no way!

I dance to the dead...

men at work

I'm an imbecile

safety dance...

I don't think so.

My friend, if you think music

hasn't shaped you... you're sadly mistaken.

The disco fries were delicious,

as the sun rose over the horizon.

A Quiet Understanding

2009-06-24T09:31:00.000-07:00

In the slow progression

of the inner search,

the small candle burns

it's brightness...

without the flicker of thought.

Restitution comes freely

when gazing at the reflection

of your own contented Soul.

The sharing then becomes

more truthful than life itself.

If Only He Could Talk to Me...

2009-06-23T14:44:00.000-07:00

He stands solid and strong

holding his ground;

a century of silent growth.

The eye stares cat-like at me,

lichen crusted within

the wrinkled skin...

he's seen his share of tears and death,

but in grace and steadfast watch

he holds his secrets and never complains

at the scratching scamper and pesky pecking

of his children.

His glory is resilience against all elements.

The finery of his verdant lace in canopy,

covers in cool content; he conducts the wind

with swaying arms that shiver in delight.

He's seen many moons of my mood-

never judges, but shares his breath with me.

If only my gnarly knight could share his secrets...

but he can't, so I'll be content

to love him with a heartfelt hug...

he could probably use one about now.

Treading Water

2009-06-22T14:55:00.001-07:00

Suspended in murky waters

watching flicker of

hope light upon the ripples...

a lingering lightness

of choreographed flail

paddling time;

a waving beseech

of welcoming arms...

There is no fear, no sound,

no illusions;

a mermaid quieted

by the milking of

distant foam churning

to an uncertain shore.

A heartbeat echos

as the mind stands still...

Four Red Flags and a Blue

2009-06-21T11:36:00.000-07:00

The manicured lawn

in perfect plant

supposed the wild

in suffused perception...

the soya of cover

will creep to corrupt.

Watered and mowed

in the cuddy moors

of shared misfit,

a coming together of

misconstraint...

the smelling is sweet

in the laughter of youth.

A stab at the gist

of a disciplined disciple

who knows the share

of divining light...

at the base of a pentacle.

I A Muse

2009-06-20T05:08:00.000-07:00

Rocking in a straight back chair,

I sit cross legged

and pen my time in biding wait...

Music blares a daring dirge

of yesteryear's angst,

I succumb in numbing,

trussed in darkened doily

under the chenille, my rabbit

waits in stare... we both wait.

In a glare of celebrity screen,

(an appellate taunt) he teases

his fashion born of a new found freedom

on literary pretense...

the meta-foreplayed is never literal...

a dancing thought that delights in

rapturous laughter.

I know the cleaving-

sex, and religion scoffed,

which reigns in harmony

of a dissonant reasoning.

We wait... the mute and beady,

the blurred and bleating

who lives in a silent splendor

of rocking and charity.

Those words that hook and play...

a veiled mystery to Salome's dance.

The marooned head will meet me

where words have no meaning,

and a soul patch is a badge of honor.

Mock on... the crockery

awaits the next melt of the buttering.

Slide the slope, it's just a musing.

I'll meet you on top of a creamsicle dream...

The Visitation

2009-06-19T10:01:00.000-07:00

A drop off to destiny,

a flight to the past,

a visit to a relic

that won't be forgotten

in the graceless forage

of clinging age.

A trip in silence, rehearsing

the kindness in feign,

the patience in honor

over and above the frustration

in noise and drone.

A cab pulls in, a quiet ride

ignored in favor of a cell phone

and foreign whispers of endearment...

perfect, he knows I don't feel like chatting...

I will have my fill soon enough, he likes

the tip and will repay with a pleasant pick up.

Call me - private cell- hmmm, an offer

I won't refuse.

The hovering bird sits in stoic smoke...

feeble in slow teary recognition,

I forgot how old... a kiss and light of a smoke,

the last bond of unspoken acceptance.

By day the busy of welcomed helpfulness,

the child still feels every direction,

correction, and admonition...

as if in stupidity I can't manage.

In quiet protest and terse grin

I let him feel big and whole again,

in his youthful remembrances

and dull TV chatter.

I welcome my demons... spirits of

loosened tongue and insolent disagreement

where the crooked path of patch

gently denounces the utterances

of bullshit... his thoughts are born

of a TV addict..

he hates my addictions, or pretends

not to notice or hear.

"You're black and white"... I say,

"No, I'm gray, although I know stupid."

I'm talking ideology, he's still talking about

a movie, acclaimed and deep... but stupid.

Crash... the car wreak of my past

has hit me...

he loves me,

he's proud of me,

he'll never let on

in a way I'll understand...

I don't cry anymore at good-bye.

In the taxi ride back... I chatter

and tell stories to a thankful stranger...

happy to be going home,

finally at peace with were I came from.

The Weaving of Male Patterns

2009-06-14T11:57:00.000-07:00

They come into your world,

shyly... in sly intent.

A wolf in the sheep with sweet talk

and sensitivity...

Gaily you step into the wild

seeking attention and security-

and a best friend who won't stab you in the back.

You do the dance of the feline

to sharp pricked ears and glowing eyes...

and in the womanly wile

and sacred sacrifice,

you tend to the mending of ways,

sowing of pretty little seeds,

dusting of the shadows in corners,

to realize your ill-fated reasoning...

the wolf sits

you stand

he waits

you suppose

he sleeps

you dream...

he hunts as you gather.

He will be a friend

who stabs you in the heart.

Kiss Me In A Whisper

2009-06-13T04:46:00.000-07:00

Look upon the moon in full delight

from a darkened window of peer,

gaze in wonder as she was meant for you,

distant and hallowed in the glowing.

Hush a bye baby, in pursed lips and

murmured mystery, tears will come

as tides pull heartstrings, there is

hope in haze from frosty winters.

Send a whisper of kiss

into the darkness...

to fly over sultry seas

gathering salt of unfulfilled wishes...

it will not linger there.

The smooch of sound continues

at daring daybreak, upon clouds

of fluffy pink and silver tinge

to mountains that smile

at the desert of sandy dreams...

continuing on a journey of loving escape.

Over meadow and stream,

held high in esteem by treetops

who rivet the hush to a waving pendence,

where wildflowers add in dewy moist

the fragrant following of caressing candor.

The whisper in silent flow will echo

from gulch of canyon, to reverberate

the message.....

stones have compassion too.

And from a window in delirious wander,

the kiss is felt, brushing longing lips that wait...

hair blows back in the night-time breezes,

the whisper is clear-

The message was meant to be.

Parking in Slow Glinty Gear

2009-06-11T14:30:00.000-07:00

Sooo tired in heat glare and tanned heat,

squinting from darkness in the bright;

the luxury van of yesterdays's tomorrow... a suburban,

pulls into the lot where I waitressed in ice cream dreams.

Hidden from windows by the back door,

my stop obscures and blocks a young driver in white...

from his parcels of perishables deliverance.

I look away in awe and fatigue,

backing blindly in slow retreat,

pulling up before tinted windows...

a worrisome fret... who is looking out

and watching my maneuvers.

The exit waits and beckons...

the road is clear...

stubbornly a k-turn is fashioned

in opposite park... facing the woods

and stream , I pull to a spot

to a workman's truck... almost perfectly.

Too close, my side mirror rests

within the flatbed of rear...

he'll never get out if I stay here.

The slowest back-up comes crookedly,

almost a back paneled scrape

to the reddened quarter panel-

shit- watchers can see the fuck up.

White lines are no longer visible

as I inch and crawl forward

and back... not too close to his door.

The weary face looks through the wheel

that juts from a dashboard...

dammit, I'm in my spot.

Give me the energy to go in

and scoop my ice cream sundae...

heavy on the whipped cream,

with a cherry on top.

*** I'm synthesizing.. see Wendilea speaks 07-11-09.

Woo'd by a Failed Abandon

2009-06-09T10:39:00.000-07:00

Nestled in retreat of a newborn

fawning, the unravel of a secret mystery

is stirring in tears of understanding.

The game is played with words,

colors, numbers, metaphors...

anything to veil the truth

from a mind bent on knowing.

Numbing from concoctions of

cockamamie contentions,

the woe-struck wanderer

hides in swaddling again.

The blue dawn fades to bleak-

no tears are left in the welling.

Dry toast of burnt bitter

catch the throat in stifled sob

where ears are deafened in silence.

A flash of black is painted in

the paining... a calling memory

to what it is or lack thereof,

no more mystery, just a

gaming for abandon, a part

to be played in the villain.

Rushing of pensee, throw clouds

and covers to the wind,

it's all clear while seeking a victory

of stoic cynical pretense.

I'll play along til the tire takes,

and in a spectacle of reverse

rules .... the victor is victim

in search of a canopy

uncovered by veil and abandon.

A Wayward Upheaval

2009-06-07T23:03:00.000-07:00

My cony love monkey

hid neath the table...

A long lost neighbor visited

with baby in tow-

oohs and aahs in remembrance

from Crony perspective,

a babbling coo both foreign and cute.

The past in reminisce revisited

and talk of aging parents and DNR,

the dying forest as a humorous

glint of the inevitable... and baby cries.

In burping sit and football fly,

I could not console the child of the future,

what once worked for mine failed to soothe

but mother love is still strong in the quieting.

A sensitive man with soul of angel

takes a turn and crying ensues..

To him it's not personal, as he gives

back and into the Mother.

Snickering chatter belies reality

of economic decline, hopeless aging

of parents and us... the visit concludes.

The Doro Wat is wafting from the kitchen

in spicy entice as ancient cuisine...

a check to the webbed connection

of the disconnected... a door left open-

my coney disappeared.

First floor and under the table, no where-

second floor with weights holding doors to the top-

no rabbit , no movement, frantic calling...

the yard is alive with sunshine and mocking bird,

a grackle pecks dirt then snarks with food on a wire-

Oh Otis... otie, little bub, where are you? In fear

I check the street, the yard, the neighborhood,

the house several times more.

Daddy circles an acre with snacky snacks,

he knows if the rabbit is dead so is my womanhood,

he was my baby, my only charge... I cry and cry and turn

off the nostalgia of Carly Simon... defeated.

When mascara has creased the cringe of laugh lines,

a recovery of the beady eyed hide in hands of the Savior...

he was under a futon on the third floor-

a sobbing relief and reward of carrots,

a punishment of Foo Fighters (loud for cony ears).

A big sigh to "Hanging on...

Dora Watt, a satisfied man, a squinty eyed nibbler-

womanly return from February temperamental stark...

he writes, he grooms, I thank my lucky stars.

My Morning Star

2009-06-06T23:29:00.000-07:00

Rising shine from a darkened dawn

gazing upon expectancy of desirous

notion in the afterglow of humming give.

The delirious watch an enigmatic

eastern sky in wonder and puzzle

for tell tale signs of westing rollick

within a jazz rift... begging for more.

There is less in the telling

of a bleached purity and

patch of soul... for Juno.

Heavenly bodies do not confabulate

nor share tokens of the inexpressible

under the goggle of a mortal peer.

That is why.... close to you.

When Aberration Was Understood

2009-06-06T03:16:00.000-07:00

The shiny young neophytes

were put to the test-

in Freud, Maslow,

and Jungian mystery...

The locked ward,

where offenders were

introduced as archetypes

of insanity's horror.

My interview with a

paranoid prisoner

held my sunny cheer

of freckled and white-capped

innocence in contempt.

Mephistopheles of motor gang

told me he would

"solder my anus in rape."

In fearless compassion, the question

of why escaped... I bit my lip

and stayed put...

"are you crazy, I could kill you,"

he shouted. He didn't know

I already died in a dream.

The child of god, a convicted fabulist

spoke in tongues and a grandiose

salad of words. I jotted and listened...

between the lines there was poetic justice.

The zealots in arduous promote

of limbic unfettered, told secrets...

we are ALL god... they whispered in chant.

In catatonic slump and stare, the

young one liked my music in the

final dance party project...

no believed when she moved with

me in a swaying embrace.

The insane back then

seemed normal... elevated

in a solitary confinement of sentience.

I've since learned

that the truly crazy

have made peace

with the surrounding madness;

coaxed by accolades of masked masses.

Not locked in their knowledge,

I throw away the key.

On the Fence with the Offing (apologies to Dorothy Parker)

2009-06-05T09:03:00.000-07:00

It starts with a flash of heat,

a flushing, begging for mercy;

a grimace in anger

over some small deceit...

misperception as mountainous

insult and flagrant degradation.

All was well a moment ago,

but weather and loneliness

and a sagging ego got in the way...

a messy disaster of a mind in clutter.

The festering smolders in a feisty

festoon of fisty cuffs... fuck it...

yes fuck is the only word coming...

taking aim in the spurt and sputter.

Why I oughta...

what? (jeers in mocking)

kill yourself? but how?

An explosion of gas and molotov,

with me as the centerpiece

of the blaze-

no, someone will have to put it out

in front of the neighbors (fuck them)

Diving headfirst into rock and shallow brook-

my luck, the neck would break without

the ending... not quite ready for pathetic

paraplegia in the maiming.

Pills and whiskey-

what's available here would only cause a

long sleep and a wake of shame and body

fluid exudates.

Guns are out, I don't believe in them. Period.

Nooses are complicated, I can barely tied my own shoes.

Asphyxiation - no garage... and besides, where do the

rubbers tubes go anyway?

Train tracks - it's too long of a walk for now.

A slashing - I faint at the sight of my own blood,

and I'm not a real masochist anyway.

Car crash - no, someone else might get hurt. How

would I forgive myself in the afterlife.

No when all is thought and done,

there is no good way to escape

the slow pain of simply existing

in a private hell of sorts...

cigarettes and whiskey might do the trick

eventually... it's the coward's way out.

Tread Mill

2009-06-03T12:38:00.000-07:00

When i tire... there's treading

in a a downy cloud of retreat.

A fan in pinwheel shadow

and spin, silently paddles

a pristine orb in darkness.

Closing time in fetid aging

of cheese, dreams and waits...

for the five o'clock somewhere.

If Stills Could Talk

2009-06-03T07:09:00.000-07:00

Flesh of dewy wetback drying in the dusty sun,

native tourist wonder in fertile valley of privilege plain-

mashing madness hiding in the toil of broken picking still-

O I hate the wine, whose bitter bash of flush blooms

dreary on a palate of prickly tongue of acid announced.

Crystal goblets tink in heady talk of pompous plump,

extolling slithering gams in full-bodied elixir of bokay-

swirling harvest from sweated toil forgotten from one eyed

slurp in the mixing, swallowing in fragrance or a fine spit...

Distill me this distaste, from within the contours of label

discreet and no making of a good year... water and ice

forgiving in the dilution of taste extraneous, yet effusive...

whisking into the golden swirl of a hippocratic oath of hypocrisy,

I nurse in stillness and envy.

I am a Ghost...

2009-05-31T15:50:00.000-07:00

Two eyes of utterance

can't stand to be seen

in a the shuttering of disabled...

I know where I stand.

Disabled in the search

for the meta-for of mail.

It is gone... the last connection,

and cigarettes to boot,

a lasting impression,

one who hates the snark,

the other who won't see

the writing on the wall...

remembering the music.

The light is perfect

in an uncanny shine

of keyboard memories...

the smell of charred meat

will meet the glowing

of the unsuspecting

guest...

I know i am dead...

the haunting will last

til whenever...

Wear it Well

2009-05-31T11:59:00.000-07:00

Anger in loss of control...

is a fringe benefit of love,

otherwise who cares

in the braiding of the

past...

too trite for words,

the future... too old for

memory of fondue dipping.

Pinch me in tweak,

I know I'm alive

in the featherbed of dooming,

I've learned to survive...

In so-so sewing

the seams of a trout

jump hither in rainbow,

a reeling of color

and flipping in frenzy...

Shout a silent scream

and all is forgotten,

spin to dizzied fizzing-

sits upon a spam of laughter.

The emoticon wears it's quell

in springing torture

of all is well...

drink deep draught

and despair in hell.

A clash of fisty-cuff

is still a lashing

of terror

in knuckled bleeding...

I saw the face of an unexpected

death, in clarity and clash of platter

I bid it...

go home ... all is well in sweep keeping.

The light has no bounds,

nor energy to sustain it.