Thursday, April 25, 2013


In a frenzied state,
The barrel of a gun,
His eyes entranced
This not perchance,
The removal of waste
The shifting haste of unexpected new space
Another case of downward spiral,
His indecision, what to do with it—
As if an agitated mule, a distasteful spit,
A defensive kick,
Quit this shit
Preserve the lesser self
He tells himself,
The selfishness of steaming stealth
Most obvious to everyone
Gun pointing
Out into the world
Unfurling curl
Rising from the temples of his head like smoke
Cooking mind
Craters already formed
Seeming deeper
Darker keepers
Of too painful
Truthful secrets
Stored away,
Trigger left
Vultures fleeing the remains of body left unpicked
White sands rolling over
Filling up
The holes in his logic,
A trick the mind has not pulled off,
Soft, smooth undulating calm,
Desert balm,
Buck puts down the gun,
An appearance of grace
Erases grimace
A smile forms upon his face,
Inside and out,
The quiet mind,
Sifting through white rolling sands of time,
Texture fine,
A glistened shine,
He has come to appreciate
Like hope and fate
Only looking,
Letting go.

Thursday, April 18, 2013

My True Love

You’re a vision running through
The clear blue yonder, flying over mountains high
Swimming searching swimming in search of, yearning
For the touch of tiny earthen hands, fearful of the sway
The way it settles, is here to stay, the water makes you wonder,
Wander away,
The swaying stays
You swallow days
And stay away,
The ceiling says it’s here to stay,
The bay becomes
The howling bay of wolf
In wear-full way,
The way you arch unnerves the bay,
Along the bending birches, wind,
A walkway forms, you walk your walk,
You dive right in
And dream it
Do it
Live it
Are it
For me, my freeing flow,
In that I know
Love shows me life
Life shows me love
Dormant slumber on basin floor
Feelings store
And sore to great heights above
On white winged tips of paired up doves,
You and I
One coursing force,
Me and you,
Still we are two.

A Resting Change

Like a mad scientist trying to manufacture
He rises,
Will resurrecting
Need dissecting the cycle of life cutting into this down time
The surge still present,
The urge to do
A question of
Self dog dare
Double down
Truth in new
For the locomotive turn
The burn
Barn on fire
His problem with tiresome ire provocational, mire
His whole life this desire to do
Purporting it as part of anew,
The mind in line with a doctored lie
And like flu season though a dozen times more appearing each year
This need to do gives into his fear
By shear virtue of strength in conditioned brain
He cannot abstain from rising,
A setback surely awaits
Repetition in kind cannot be fate,
Not this folly,
Upholding its active civic duty
And then folding up again only to later unfold is not beauty
Rather bad habit,
Is not happenstance,
Something part of though more than his circumstance,
The body under spell
Of mind in a trance
The need for a rest
The dance of waves,
His age saves him,
Mature, concerted flow
Slipping into a thoughtless haze,
A daze he allows of himself,
A new phase,
The moon shining bright
A lunar eclipse
Dark patterns,
The ego fade into night.

Wednesday, April 10, 2013


Catch yourself,
He says, these thoughts come too fast—
Firing flashes of fury
Dots hazily scurrying
Mindless fall from grace,
Brain waves never win this race
Cannot outpace
Their other selves,
Trying to outwork like Santa’s little elves after Christmas,
Forgotten, the point is that they’re gone, replaceable,
Logic hardly ever traceable
Affect always erasable
With recognition,
A sliver of remembrance
Breaks his trance,
Breath fills the lungs, not by chance,
At last, the body is free to dance.

Tuesday, April 9, 2013


From the lips of purity pursed
Words, the same as life,
Stinging, strong, uncertain, hopeful,
The body vessel
Trembles as if a trestle
Co-constructed  by ideas,
Wooden beams and nails,
Society, institutional lessers
Limiting scope of growth
Strength to weight
Of return to birth
Naked Earth
Where nothingness rests, empty,
Devoid of projections—
Piecemeal sanctimonious, this weathered keeper false,
Kept out of rain and sleet the mind trying to secure
The chance of un-embrace
Laced up, his belief,
Inside entanglement
The spider waits to pounce
The heart beating to trounce
His tongue tasting the season’s last fall of winter
Knowing it is now or never
Letting go
Touching snow
Free to flow
The weight of the world on a man’s shoulders,
The ego slinking away
Lifting up his heart
The break of a ray through northern cloud
His judgment clear
Her beauty dear to him
This life near to him
Heaviness disperses
Expectation and response
No longer holds him down like curses
The mind makes room for acceptance
Whatever that should mean,
Love, life, in every scene
Are the vows he takes
The meaningfulness of words to him as vast as the Great Lakes
As small as food for backyard garden snakes,
It amounting to a whole lot of nothing
Allowing room for everything
The very fiber of true being,
Her words, life,
My love.

Open Ocean

Sadness comes in
A monsoon
Tidal wave,
A boat
The waterfall ahead,
Accepting rapids
Neck of impasse
Jagged rocks
Unsure footing
The residue of resurrecting waves
Saves the face from turning,
Unbuttoning his life preserve
Throwing in the blowup boat
An open throat
This feeling cannot cut,
A smile forms
This refusal to shut off
The emotion
Of out alone on the unsure ocean
Aids in its formation, an easy coast in mind
The turn of tide
To nothing
Drawn to everything in
Her nature,
Open to this feeling
Flooding in,
The boat lands down below
He knows not what it means
But lets it go
The paddles of his boat still row,
Mindful oars
Bring him to shore.

Thursday, April 4, 2013


A golden leaf, that has dried and now dips inward,
Dangles loosely from a sparse tree
On the cusp of hibernation, and
Is shown in the waning moments
Of dusk to quiver, as if about to fall.
It had never dawned on him,
This perpetual motion.
Winds from the South kick up,
As the sun rises in the East.
Our golden leaf falls, lands perfectly,
And glides as if helped along by tiny
Little hands unseen.
It had never dawned on him,
This perpetual motion.
Down the calming trickle
Of slow-moving stream,
To where a man fishing for leisure
Has just hooked his first
Catch of the day.
It had never dawned on him,
This perpetual motion.
The fisherman’s line
Now entangled in muck,
As he rips through ground
In a fury of lustful wantonness,
Very much unnerved.
It had never dawned on him,
This perpetual motion.
The canoe leaflet shores
And comes to rest on fisherman’s boot.
It reads like life, perennial.
His heart opens, his breathing calms, and his motions ease,
In knowing she is the dawn of something new, of something perpetual.

From This Point On

I treat myself kind,
Fears about her float away,
My love here to stay.

Who am I?

Who am I?
Sometimes a blade of grass
Cut down by metal,
Blowing freely in the wind,
The weather dictating movement
The mind in line with natural forces
The Earth a bloodstream that courses
Through my shortened self,
The mind it thinks that way some days
And tries to fight emotion off with a stick,
So quick to deny
To try and justify with why
To lie
To die in some ways
A poison, these thoughts,
All emotion
In all land and in all of the oceans
The piece of blade cut down
Kicks up
The wind
The ground
Is just enough
To blow,
As if a horn of truth
A silent muse
No longer refusing
No longer self abusing
No longer using the shortcomings of
Others as if a stick to beat myself down with,
Justification, why?
Acting out of anger
A cry for help—
To accept my truth,
My blade of grass cut down kicks up
The sun breaks through
A reflexive hue
To change
To see if I can undo
The hurt
The pain,
Either way
I vow to refrain
From the fire
Outside of desire
The evil deed
The deadened seed
That which sprouts the deadened weed
And leads me in err—
Outside the devil’s lair
I see my other half,
Still planted in the ground
I do not pound my chest
Instead my heart just rests
The pesticide inside me has not fully died
But I know that in the end I will have tried
To abide by the maxims I ascribe unto,
The sun breaks through
A reflexive hue
To change
To see if I can undo.