Every Step of the Way

Life is a drama every step of the way!
Intensely fought battles for                                                                    roles, ideals, conceptions, perceptions Aberrations and                          the like!
It comes in sin and love with                                                                  neglect and passion, disdain from                                                              hard fought battles to conquer
             baser instincts from                                                                                              the onslaughts of others with                                                               Similar instincts, roles, ideals Passions 
Excitation’s ordeals and                                                                    whatever other forces circulating about 
Are Happening at the time                                                                             That tell us
who we are 

The Web of Time

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We are a travelers moving along

a web of time within a mist we call

life.

We see with light given from somewhere,

outside, within, in-between, seldom seen

at best,

reflected.

We make decisions;

where to go, how to get there,

what to think and feel;

assuming truths, affirming movement

we’re not sure of, through space most often

blindly.

Life is like that;

crossroads, turnings here or there,

seconds late determines fate,

returns returned again and once again

returning

to differing paths we navigate through

endless toil, obliteration, sensory pleasures,

death, fulfillment or broken hearts

(to learn or not to learn (that is the question … !?)),

wandering paths we roam through space

unknown, face to face with

those we think we

love?

We want to love but, is it love we crave more than the ones we may or may not love?  For, don’t we give love to those we may not love at all?

We drag through murky spaces,                                                                     love’s truths obscured, half known half

not knowing, unknowable, self importance, interfering combat, crackling static,  white noise, huge space separating single spaces, seldom crystal

clear.

We take our chances.

We make our choices.

We fill our lives with dreams? Or are they fantasies?

 We self induce our misery.

We thrive on living pain.

And who’s to blame?

What’s In A

adorable baby baby feet beautiful

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

What’s In A?

Spent the day just giving 

giving giving money money money 

Getting food food and coffee.  

Part of the day I spent 

spending, speaking speeding soaking 

walking wet in the rain 

past 

endles endless rows of things.   

Things and things and things with 

different names 

every name a different thing every 

thing a different 

story.  

Never-ending names and names of things 

it seems names get made for 

every little thing a world of names that 

brings great things to my 

surprise  

describing things and what they do that 

I can’t even 

Remember.  

…..

Tell A Story: Tell It If You Can 

Tell the story if you can 

tell it tell it

Tell any story  

If you can 

tell the story 

tell me the story 

tell me If you 

Can …

I can tell it.

I can tell my story 

I can 

tell it when I can ‘cause 

I can tell it 

when I can! 

You bet I can! 

I can tell my story 

better than 

anyone can.  

…..

It Could Be Anyone’s Life 

They found they liked their bodies they 

liked their bodies they 

LOVED their bodies 

They loved each others bodies 

given getting gotten touching screwing 

all they can.

Joined in holy matronly malformity  

In the church speaking while 

speaking then speaking 

In return they 

told their future lies unspoken 

future truth that’s broken 

breaking breaking breaking 

future lives 

marking nine months to the day 

 baby’s life is on the way 

that very day 

born into 

the morning dark.    

Eating fingers, fingers twisting 

Twisting twisting fingers rapping 

rap rap 

Rapping at the door//

thinking, wondering if you please 

as night moves forward on  

the breeze 

moving moving playing playing touching 

loving locking flocking heaven’s verses versing 

curses comely searching touching 

nine moons to the day giving 

birth, born and born 

and born and born again and again 

each and every single day 

touching touching touching 

born each day until 

the very 

End.  

They’ve Stolen My Serenity!

I told you yesterday
that spring had sprung

and i knew because
i saw a fly and a bull ant

on the floor by the fireplace,
a tickling on my arm as i wrote this piece

not fifteen minutes ago
a tiny spider had invaded my space!

There are gnats and mosquitos
and other tiny things

i can’t imagine
sharing air that a week ago

floated crystals of lace like wings
each a drifting masterpiece

floating down or streaming sidewise
with crystal clarity seen

within air that was
mine to breathe

while witnessing the beauty of
each and every living thing

stripped bare of
all distractions;

Air that I’ve shared
with no one

now,

that I share with all
the little things

that come alive each spring.

My life more complicated now
no longer distraction free

avoiding their lines of intersection
between the search for

whatever it is they’re searching for
inside purest air I’ve been breathing,

air i’ve shared with no one.

The soil fecund now … i do not use that word lightly!

Stored snow or frost grown permanent
five or six ‘moon go ’rounds’ ago

where all these beings waited within
their clear winter amber

quick frozen in gathered humus
or crystalline within the muck,

the eggs of their existence
captured when sun’s light slowed

to dim orange

when trees released
their bed covers

to darker still intensity
captured by cold stillness

within their sleeping spaces
during gestation’s time

to lie in wait, for
warmer sun’s return

to free the life within
those amber spaces

not sleeping
having never been alive (as such)

waiting to emerge
from broken water,

released by whiter light!
These creatures that

surround me now
within my sight!

that feed upon my light!
that touch my flesh!

that share with me my breath!
my choice bereft!

the world no longer stripped bare
of all confusion and complexity

black and white and
clean and fresh!

They’ve STOLEN my

Serenity … ! !

Rooster Speaks/Sun Fan

Rooster Speaks

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Ashes pure as light cast off                                                                                                                 at early morning’s flight

the day of my departure from                                                                                                                     the land of Midday sun where,

skies are rarely gray mostly every day where,                                                                             rest assured your health will be ok

you’ll find a Walgreen’s store every which way                                                                                                                           no matter where you look

where four corners can be found.    

If you love palm trees, slash pine, oak and                                                                                   saw palmetto you’ll

enjoy the scenery for                                                                                                                     mile upon mile upon high mileage (Double your pleasure)

on both sides of the street for such long distances!

If you love it’s unabashed sameness you’ll think you’ve died and gone

to heaven;  

“’But, not I,’” pipped up the cock eyed rooster with                                                                          strange reply

I had never heard him speak.  Still, I had to agree with what he had to say.  

Sun Fan

“I’m not a big sun fan anymore.                                                                                                             I prefer to walk on the shadowy

side of the street where I                                                                                                             belong since, basically

I’m just a shadow looking for some shade  

to lie down under and sleep

beneath a tree I know

I’ll

someday

  find.

 

Recycled Pap

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It seems I’m more creative in 

many but not ALL ways …

Or always.. 

But at times more than ever 

maybe because i have 

more to draw from or 

it’s natures way of giving a little 

‘kick back’ for all the shit .. 

whoops … sorry …

whatever life is whether it’s 

made up or fate or random acts or 

we are beings manipulated by 

the forces around us with 

consciousness only an illusion; 

light reflected onto the back wall of 

some cave.

 “Cave light”

the world we live in

the world outside and

just below the surface;

light Spinning by

 for us to hold with

brief struggles to 

make the experiences into 

something we think is

good.  

And so we go stumbling down 

The hill of life trying to 

catch up with ourselves 

the light that’s spinning by 

too fast for eyes

to see.  

We mold our lives from 

stories stored inside

and 

the ones we get from others.

We make life, story with 

beginning middle and end that won’t 

hurt us or hurt others but 

in the end

it’s 

all the

same.

Fragments Of A Dream Long Forgotten Revisited

Fragments Of A Dream Long Forgotten 

An old man remembers a dream he had as a boy.

One day he thought back through time and 

A dream about a fine and beautiful place.

fragments of a beautiful stained glass 

Upon contemplating the memory, the man realizes,

window of untold beauty began to

that for fifty years he has

slowly reassemble itself piece by  

searched for the place of his dream.

piece until the   

He was never sure the place existed.

window became   

Now he sees its golden glow on the

whole once again and the 

near horizon and he is

structure and the 

walking toward the glow and he yearns to

meaning captured within the 

be there.  But a forest with a beast lies between the man and the

reassembled window became 

golden place.  He wonders if he should

clear and its meaning formed a 

go through the forest or

magnificent and 

postpone finding the place he has dreamed of

great, intricate, light filled 

all his life.

complex thought. 

Ghost Trees Wailing At the Wind

 

A picture couldn’t do justice to

Arctic wind’s ferocity

blowing across the

great lake thirty or forty m.p.h.

white caps rushing toward shore

water, trees, sand and leaves …

combined

Shhsssshing relentlessly,

my hoody inflated into

a reverse parachute

pushing my head and

body backward.

Dots of rain prick

my face

the occasional

snow flake spirals by.

 I’m forced to retreat

to calmer climes

along the road where

not so long ago it seemed

cold before cresting

the hill at the shoreline

facing Arctic wind’s

ferocity.

I make my way up the hill to 23

turn left onto the bike path for

a mile or so, past

the alabaster pipeline then 

return 

the way I came

to 

the top of

the hill.

Descending the hill I hear

the SNAP CRACK! of dead fir trees

breaking like sticks

the bottom half still attached 

to the ground

The top looking like a snarling beast, suddenly 

Escaped from 

Inside the tree 

patches of bleached wood where bark had fallen 

with jagged, pointed, dagger teeth 

An angry beast released from its confinement within the tree 

Splintered teeth pointing skyward

still attached to

roots rotten and brittle below ground

(the only force keeping it 

from tipping over)

the broken trees are pointing skyward

with snarling fury

the soul of each tree’s pent up frustration

raging at nature’s forces

finally allowed to express

their furiosity at

the plague of beetles who caused their

demise, long gone now

off to greener pastures.

The fir tree’s plaintive wails,

their pent up frustration,

their solitary ghost sounds

their howls of pain

unheard

in their after lives!

The fir trees wail with silent fury now,  they’ve become

ghost trees wailing at

the wind!

Their pain punctuated by

SNAP! CRACK!! SNAP!! SNAP!!! CRACK!!!!!

the initial sound

of ultimate

rot …

Nature’s Life

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She looked with cold indifference 

at His efforts to teach us 

the connection between

our lives and

nature.

Bridge parties, the daily routines of life and of course 

her afternoon naps,

were the essential

components of Her

life.

He gave us the freedom to

explore the sandy beaches, 

the dunes, trout streams and 

The Great Lake where

I spent my days

submerged in glacial ice 

melted to

65 degree water for

hours at a time, running through

the woods exploring, or 

camped out alongside windbreaker trees  

stretched 3/4 of a mile along the shoreline 

in sleeping bags next to camp fire embers 

staring at the stars

through crystal clear skies blown clean by 

on shore winds  cold or

chili at times even during the summer.

fishing off the end of 

the Coast Guard dock 

stretched a hundred or so yards into 

the bay where

the “Amphibian” and smaller 

rescue boats hung inside the boat house at

the same place where

he learned to fish as a boy.

He taught us how to

fend for ourselves, to

catch food, to

make fire, cook outside, provide shelter 

if necessary.

He gave us opportunities for unique forms of thought patterns deeper sorts of problem solving more essential the world around shown wider in scope made more real; how to live impeccably in the natural world parallel to and inclusive of the confines of life in the everyday “real” world.  

One day,

temperatures in the ‘20s

the ground covered by

light wings drifting 

like feather’s down 

falling,

I followed his tracks

through

two feet of freshly fallen snow to 

a row of scrub pines bordering

the back side of sand

dunes running parallel to 

the lake where

left alone with

shelter, warmth and

food

in a world of 

muted silence 

wrapped inside a black and white shell

the ground rising

upward before me

I pondered without 

words or thought 

the timeless mystery surrounding me 

in a world of

liberation …

They Call It Turtle Cove

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..  They Call It Turtle Cove ..

What I’ve been doing?

I’ve been

working on my dock 

terracing slopeland for

boxed steps made from

two by fours carved and set

into canal soil with

aloe plants showcased ’round 

boxed, steps, leading down to 

shoreline dock I built 

at water’s edge where

looking into 

canal water  

through water’s window from

where we stand see

tiny fish and 

many turtles, a baby gator one day!

The fishing line with 

rod and reel 

stands over there 

waiting for the time

when young hands learn

to use it. 

..  Sight Breaker Heart Breaker ..

I built a 

‘sight breaker’ to 

hide natures pile of debris 

I add to constantly at the 

back corner of the 

yard 

the fronds of palm and banana, slash pine 

needles, fair size limbs, nice looking pine cones from 

fifty feet pines , 

(squirrels who feed on 

pine nuts hardly ever seen), 

I either burn just for fun or use to 

fuel more s’mores for Becky.   

I mulch the needles with the mower and 

spread them fine 

among the aloes, ferocious foes appearing yet 

most beautiful healing plant in fearsome disguise  

a helpful friend 

that I adore.    

I put them around the pines  

along the paths aligned 

designed with rip rap in mind

the best way to hold the soil

you’ll find them where 

sandy soil needs support, holding it in place 

by various means from many sizes 

calcified shells of limestone each piece heavy with  

Its own density at work within 

whatever space it occupies, steady and

strong but

not very 

Pretty.  

..  I Tried To Make Soil One Day ..

I tried to make soil one day at the 

corner of the yard that 

leads on down to the 

canal where there’s debris  I 

I call it my compost heap

which, is a lie.

One day I carved out an eight by eight plot,

threw down some black dirt and cow manure 

staked it out with four by fours and repurposed two by fours thinking I’ll 

make my own soil from scratch, with 

lots of organic materials, I’ll gather and choose from this 

jungle in disguise I live in and 

make it located exactly where  

 I discard all my 

yard debris.  (killing two birds with 

one stone?!)

I try to make it look nice and 

generally succeed.

(I don’t think you can even see it!)

So I don’t think anybody really 

gives a shit.   

Except those who are bothered by the 

Word and nothing more since 

no matter how you look at it 

it’s still called 

Yard waste!   

..  On the Dock/Arctic Winds ..

On the dock at times I find the 

peace I’m looking for the 

wind and trees joined as one 

a gift I feel from 

 Arctic winds blown in from

Arctic north

where I come from (and

would rather be)

up there in that north country

where those air filled Arctic winds come

nicely heated along the way

their freezing gusts tempered by their

rush to blow all the way down here.

How often I feel them?  Not nearly enough.

I wish I’d feel those air filled breezes  

down here more often.

… Summer …

In Summer air most often down here dockside

I see

canal water standing still,

reflecting white light from above

I see

heat air water rising steaming upward

reflecting white sun above,

canal water raining upward all day!

then,

 coming down again and

again

day after day after

day …

We call it Turtle Cove … 

Hideous Nature, Life

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Hideous nature,

life …

Ghastly in its death bed/its beseiging compass

run its course.

Bewildering with its struggles/

writhing in its pain/

desire seeking fire/rifting

terrorism’s claim.

Severed thinking/

thoughts of creepy crawlies/

struggling through night

against

all reasoning.

There’ll be no full moon tonight to guide

the single masted ship

sailing saw tooth tiger’s biting cold/

forces wrought by ghastly winds

likely to prevail, tonight.

Tossed about by nigh time breezes blowing/

dark clouds racing toward

every horizon filling every void

every which way/all shades of gray/

lashing tempest breezes

blowing light’s deepest freezes into

nascent; sadness into dreamer’s hearts

with misery’s delight.

Hideous nature,

life.

Even the Crazies

 

I’ve been to the monument 

I’ve seen the inland sea ..  

I’ve walked between

the rising sun  

among the trees 

of blackest night

beneath the moon and 

star filled sky 

and midnight sun’s 

reflection.   

I’ve heard the diesel’s mournful wail 

along the rails of time 

the trail of tears I walk alone

now, sadfully reflecting, mine.  

Through tears of lace 

and wicked armor 

I see tears of endless treasures  

wrung from faultless lies.

Shameless tales of sacrilege and greed 

told with hapless glory

‘midst tales of cold belief;

The lost objects of our affection

seen rushing hrough abandoned buildings 

interiors with scorched walls 

through rooms and spaces, hearts and reason,

through mirrored ceilings hanging

scars of pain, lost inner light.

reflections wander aimlessly in

sightless worlds of virtual 

fantasy.  

 With love no longer 

the object of affection even 

the crazies 

can get 

crazier.

Two’fer

Two F’er

– Two –

I was flying sideways in my car

along streets full of passers by

looking for tomorrow

and a day that will never come.

Past fields of wheat and flax I drove

past lines and furrows

along roads well traveled

where spiral masses lie in wait

for early spring

past the mystery of silence

so near, but yet

so far …

– F’er –

Within the rural sun

mornings arrive

and day is nearly done.

Sun and moon and in between

miles along the roads of time.

Too much distance

too little time to make

the world my own.

Too much time to never see

everything between

growing in the sun of

tomorrow’s

destiny.

Ultimate Rot

A picture couldn’t do justice to  

Arctic wind’s ferocity 

blowing across the 

great lake thirty or forty m.p.h. 

white caps rushing toward shore 

water, trees, sand and leaves … 

combined 

Shhsssshing relentlessly,

my hoody inflated into 

a reverse parachute 

pushing my head and 

body backward.

Dots of rain prick

my face 

the occasional 

snow flake spirals by.

 I’m forced to retreat 

to calmer climes 

along the road where 

not so long ago it seemed

cold before cresting 

the hill at the shoreline 

to face Arctic wind’s 

ferocity.

I made my way up the hill to 23 

turned left onto the bike path for 

a mile or so, past

the alabaster pipeline.

I turned around, for no reason

walked back

the way I came to the end of 

the bike path at the top of

the hill. 

Descending the hill I heard

the SNAP CRACK! of dead firs

breaking like sticks 

the broken half still attached to the ground 

looking like a beast, patches of bleached wood where bark had fallen with jagged, pointed, dagger teeth an angry beast thrust up from the earth

pointed skyward

still attached to   

roots rotten and brittle below ground

the only force keeping  

the trees pointing skyward

with snarling fury 

the soul of each tree’s pent up frustration 

raging at nature’s forces  

finally allowed to express 

their furiosity at

the plague of beetles who caused their

demise, long gone now

off to greener pastures. 

The fir tree’s plaintive wails,

their pent up frustration,

their solitary ghost sounds 

their howls of pain

unheard

in their after lives they had become

ghost trees wailing 

at the wind!

their pain punctuated by 

SNAP! CRACK!! SNAP!! SNAP!!! CRACK!!!!!

the initial sound 

of ultimate 

rot … 

Second Life

See the angry acts of many rich
too proud to bond

with mother earth
their caskets bulge

with stolen goods,

no thought to share their riches
with generosity, given freely

their greedy souls ever searching
their habits deadened, never knowing

thoughts worth thinking.

Some people care within their own demise
their envy keeps them living,

their thoughts so easily lead astray
their longing never ending.

It’s how falsehood gets passed down
from generations onto

those seeking
sustenance over fear,

plentitude over awareness,
bitter after the war to win all wars is lost,

roles played again and again
they sing their lonely anthems.

Their search for meaning never stays
the price too high

the road too steep and winding
the streets unpaved,

muddy ruts along the way
too deeply formed

too costly to repair with academic kindness

too easy to surrender with utter blindness.

The end result?

Blindness, winds its way along/its pathway leading nowhere/
no hope of rescue from their dying,

too lost to find/the road that’s never there/their narrow thoughts an outside force/that seeks to win the day/despite their loss of living.

Their fear? Death before living life.
Their regret? Unknown dreams and fantasies never lived/locked up crying within/never seeing the light of day/never real love finding,

a game they play with no winners.
except those few who find themselves

home at last
at journey’s end

at the place where life is

living …

Endless Possibilities

 

Driving out endless possibilities/pictures skating over thin ice/holes chopped through frozen reality/broken dreams in hospital/waiting for repair.

Unknown encounters passing by/sparks of visions wondering why/lives joined in sequence/the river meandering by/sweet and terrible waters.

Birth spring summer fall reliving/gifts supreme/singularly seen with double meaning/sun’s heavenly face moving/fresh air beyond belief/old worlds torn asunder.

Rising swells /moving sands/deadheads floating by/imagination captured by wandering seas/renewing themselves …

endlessly  … 

It’s Ironic

Something funny transpired today 

between my nurse practitioner Matt 

and Me after our 

consultation.  

He ended our visit saying,

“These are things you have to do when 

you start getting 

older,” and so

we had touched on 

the subject of

Life. 

“Men don’t live as long as women you know. “ 

“I know,” one of us said,

“It’s the payback they get for 

bringing babies into 

the world.”

(and then)

“Oh man, you mean they get to live in this shitty world a little longer?”

To wit, it was said,

“The high point of their lives is when the men in their lives are gone.  Way before then, men can be more than just a nuisance. “  

The “other” said, “Much more than a nuisance man!!

Many if not all of us will be blabbering fools by that stage! “

(then)

“Idiots even!!……no wait……….. “What was I saying??

“It’s ironic ..”

Hideous Nature, Life

Hideous nature,

life …

Ghastly in its death bed/its beseiging compass

run its course.

Bewildering with its struggles/

writhing in its pain/

desire seeking fire/rifting 

terrorism’s claim.  

Severed thinking/

thoughts of creepy crawlies/

struggling through fright’s night  

against

all reasoning.

There’ll be no full moon tonight to guide

the single masted ship 

sailing saw tooth tiger’s biting cold/

forces wrought by ghastly winds

likely to prevail.

Tossed about by night time breezes blowing/

dark clouds racing toward

every horizon filling every void

every which way/all shades of gray/

lashing tempest breezes 

blowing light’s deepest freezes into

nascent; sadness into dreamer’s hearts

with misery’s delight …………

Hideous nature,

life.

He Gave Us the Freedom

She looked with cold indifference at 

his efforts to teach 

the connection between

our lives and

nature.  

Bridge parties, 

the daily routines of life and 

an afternoon nap, were 

the essential components of 

her life. 

He gave us freedom to

explore the sandy beaches, dunes, trout

streams and 

the Great Lake where

he had fished and camped as a

boy.

We spent our days

swimming

for hours at a time,

we ran thorough 

the woods like wild 

Indians.

We fished in the bay 

off the end of 

the old Coast Guard dock 

at the end of 

the limerock road 

where he fished at 

the same 

age.

He gave opportunity for

unique forms of

thought patterns taken from

the world around;

deeper sorts of problem solving

made more essential

more real

  in a world parallel to but 

inclusive of 

the confines of

our ‘’everyday’’ lives. 

One day,

temperatures in the ‘20s

walking in his tracks through

three feet of snow

 the ground white 

light as feathers rising while passing by

quarter sized light wings 

drifting

slowly downward

 soft and mesmerizing.

We traveled past

the scrub oaks

a century or more

old

gnarly and twisted from

Arctic winds 

their rise and fall,

deadly cold fronts, biting winds,

great lake storms 

blown onshore,

adapted to biting cold

surviving.  

We walked to

a line of scrub pines

behind dunes running parallel to 

the lake where .,..

with food and shelter and warmth 

he left us for 

some indeterminable 

length of time

in a world of silence

to contemplate a world 

stripped of all conveniences 

wrapped in black or white

the ground softly falling through 

air 

from 

upwards.  

Ergo Again

Ergo 

i’m torn 

in many 

wonder ways 

captive held

by scalding seas 

narrow channels  

heights 

below

surfeit ever

changing seasons 

finding mark/steady 

back against

chest walls

contact surface

shot to shit 

with sweet 

nostalgia.

—————–

one single look of 

‘wonder why’ 

exchanged

was it that or 

or simply 

sad?

—————

contact!!?

spark !!!

breath alive ?

pre-existing

existence; 

live!!  

floating 

grains of sand 

fresh water 

sea

————–

new Light changing sight

no longer held 

captive … 

For tribalmysticstories: A Tribal Mystic Story; Poem For My Father

  • – Poem For My Father –

One day he took me to a copse of trees 

where we sat under a canopy of 

newly formed leaves  

above us a clear blue sky 

where he gave perspectives to me

different from anything I had 

learned.  

Thoughts from the other side of

what we think we know.

How wind and leaves 

are not separate forces rather 

part of one single entity

connected to an infinity 

of larger and larger wholeness

stretching outward from 

the air we breathe,

beyond heat and light 

from the sun then, 

further into space and time until  

I saw myself in a world 

quite different than my own,

a world I’d never seen before, 

of single limitless form.  

He drew my attention to 

the random movements of 

the leaves

rising and falling, relentlessly 

shooting ‘round and ‘round,

limbs branches leaves and needles 

the grasses and saplings below 

touching one another 

sharing unique thought patterns 

not unlike the synapses 

of our brains though 

infinitely more complex,

not confined by 

the craniums of our skulls,

gathering awareness,

from earth and sky,

the mysteries of the world 

above and below spoken to them

content to accept all that is true

without conscious reflection.  

“Trees are the supreme creation of life along the continuum of awareness, free from all bonds, able to gather all knowledge from earth and sky and share with one another.”

I listened and within 

the silence of my mind 

heard leaves and limbs 

whispering to one another,

their voices rising and falling 

in concert with 

the wind, 

it seemed I was watching  

a playground of laughing children. 

He told me all root bound life 

the trees and even the grasses reach 

the tendrils of their minds, their 

roots, 

into the planet where they feel 

the living vibrations of the earth and glimpse 

the secrets of life

“They know the stuff we struggle to understand.” he said.  “From the smallest particles outward, one long strip of awareness from where they are rooted, to the edge of the horizon and beyond, while we scurry about like ants grabbing pieces of sticks or crumbs of knowledge thinking how clever we are.’’

Without Love

Without Love

… we make our way across
the frozen tundra of
our hopeful desires

unaware that beauty rests
just below the surface of
our painful hearts;

a streak of light unseen
nestled within each throb of hurt
the light of hope

the knowledge that Love exists
only were it not for
the pain that comes with it,

verification of Love’s existence
its very presence the other half needed
to complete the whole,

darkness and light
giving form to our illusions
the clarity to continue unfettered

the price we pay for knowledge of truth?
the dark pain we feel
the price we pay to find life’s meaning.

We walk into the fuel can
of our hearts unknowing
the air stifling and flammable

pock marked faces
the scars of infidelity
the permanance of death

the knowledge of wasted time
the loss of hope
the bitter taste of lost love,

the random scars of life and love
all beauty and all pain

giving meaning to all consuming desire
beautiful with lust or anger
the call of bliss and freedom

the prisons of our minds
the sight of everything good given meaning

yet steeped in painful search along the way

the choices that we make
the human condition;

Are they real or an illusion?

Without love/life has no meaning.
Without pain/there can be no love.

 

FaKakda fakakda

Heard today downtown: “Fakakda this fakakda folker spoiling far a pongha fakakda, the fakakda fun a Yiddisha fakakda? that’s me!  I’m the number one fakakda fakakda best fakakda there is by far! Fakakda Me! Wooh woohwhoospuke spoof woof …. Oye veigh …. so

If you don’t think this is funny then I probably need to see a psychiatrist.  This definitely proves that stupid is funny which figures since, I’m the stupidest guy I know! oy .

Living most of my life within the Jewish culture taught me a very funny word and it popped into my head today … fakakda!  and I laughed.  So I scrambled around for something to write on when I realized the computer was on.  I had a V8 moment without the can!

So, I let my fingers do the walking through the sound within my brain.  Wanting to put just a LITTLE humanity into this ridiculous tirade of words I threw in the “Me” aspect … so fucking dumb …then, I had to immerse myself within the word world of “Me” (wherever that is ) and it needed to be in lock step with rest of this … I won’t say ..

See it’s all about rhythm to me.  Make the words skip across the page like flat skipped stones thrown across the water.  I may or may not know how to do this. But I have respect for what it is and how it feels to me!

To immerse yourself in the words is like crawling inside another world, stupid and asinine as often they are and I can be.   Really!  You didn’t know?   ok . bye .k

A Time For Sleeping

A Time For Sleeping

Saturday was a cold, gray day.

I lit the fireplace for a quick warm up.

Before leaving the warmth of
the cottage

I wrote a little more,
donned my hoody and coat

turned off the gas
grabbed my camera and

entered the cold but
beautifully pure, refreshing

northern air.

I walked up the hill,
along 23 to

the alabaster pipeline then
backtracked toward where

my journey began.

At the bottom of the hill
frozen water looked like a small stream

or a miniature river system or
what a large river basin would look like

from high above.

Two sets of raccoon tracks lead to
a fork along

the frozen highway dusted white with snow
where they parted ways.

My frozen world had become
suspended in time,

fully sleep within
the ground of shadows,

all things living
framed in shades of gray

naked, dead or
alive and

waiting.

But, for what?

For summer’s light to return
life’s burning ember,

for warmth to come again,
a time to grow

from liquid water sugar fed
the leaves and buds of trees absorbed

from sunlight stored
a hundred differing shades of green

their roots reaching deeper
seeking … seeking …

seeking to remember …

But for now?…

a time for

sleeping .,..

Serenity

 

I told you yesterday
that spring had sprung

and i knew because
i saw a fly and a bull ant

on the floor by the fireplace,
a tickling on my arm as i wrote this piece

not fifteen minutes ago
a tiny spider had invaded my space!

There are gnats and mosquitos
and other tiny things

i can’t imagine
sharing air that a week ago

floated crystals of lace like wings
each a drifting masterpiece

floating down or streaming sidewise
with crystal clarity seen

within air that was
mine to breathe

while witnessing the beauty of
each and every living thing

stripped bare of
all distractions;

Air that I’ve shared
with no one

now,

that I share with all
the little things

that come alive each spring.

My life more complicated now
no longer distraction free

avoiding their lines of intersection
between the search for

whatever it is they’re searching for
inside purest air I’ve been breathing,

air i’ve shared with no one.

The soil fecund now … i do not use that word lightly!

Stored snow or frost grown permanent
five or six ‘moon go ’rounds’ ago

where all these beings waited within
their clear winter amber

quick frozen in gathered humus
or crystalline within the muck,

the eggs of their existence
captured when sun’s light slowed

to dim orange

when trees released
their bed covers

to darker still intensity
captured by cold stillness

within their sleeping spaces
during gestation’s time

to lie in wait, for
warmer sun’s return

to free the life within
those amber spaces

not sleeping
having never been alive (as such)

waiting to emerge
from broken water,

released by whiter light!
These creatures that

surround me now
within my sight!

that feed upon my light!
that touch my flesh!

that share with me my breath!
my choice bereft!

the world no longer stripped bare
of all confusion and complexity

black and white and
clean and fresh!

They’ve STOLEN my

SERENITY! !c

I told you yesterday
that spring had sprung

and i knew because
i saw a fly and a bull ant

on the floor by the fireplace,
a tickling on my arm as i wrote this piece

not fifteen minutes ago
a tiny spider had invaded my space!

There are gnats and mosquitos
and other tiny things

i can’t imagine
sharing air that a week ago

floated crystals of lace like wings
each a drifting masterpiece

floating down or streaming sidewise
with crystal clarity seen

within air that was
mine to breathe

while witnessing the beauty of
each and every living thing

stripped bare of
all distractions;

Air that I’ve shared
with no one

now,

that I share with all
the little things

that come alive each spring.

My life more complicated now
no longer distraction free

avoiding their lines of intersection
between the search for

whatever it is they’re searching for
inside purest air I’ve been breathing,

air i’ve shared with no one.

The soil fecund now … i do not use that word lightly!

Stored snow or frost grown permanent
five or six ‘moon go ’rounds’ ago

where all these beings waited within
their clear winter amber

quick frozen in gathered humus
or crystalline within the muck,

the eggs of their existence
captured when sun’s light slowed

to dim orange

when trees released
their bed covers

to darker still intensity
captured by cold stillness

within their sleeping spaces
during gestation’s time

to lie in wait, for
warmer sun’s return

to free the life within
those amber spaces

not sleeping
having never been alive (as such)

waiting to emerge
from broken water,

released by whiter light!
These creatures that

surround me now
within my sight!

that feed upon my light!
that touch my flesh!

that share with me my breath!
my choice bereft!

the world no longer stripped bare
of all confusion and complexity

black and white and
clean and fresh!

They’ve STOLEN my

SERENITY! !

I told you yesterday
that spring had sprung

and i knew because
i saw a fly and a bull ant

on the floor by the fireplace,
a tickling on my arm as i wrote this piece

not fifteen minutes ago
a tiny spider had invaded my space!

There are gnats and mosquitos
and other tiny things

i can’t imagine
sharing air that a week ago

floated crystals of lace like wings
each a drifting masterpiece

floating down or streaming sidewise
with crystal clarity seen

within air that was
mine to breathe

while witnessing the beauty of
each and every living thing

stripped bare of
all distractions;

Air that I’ve shared
with no one

now,

that I share with all
the little things

that come alive each spring.

My life more complicated now
no longer distraction free

avoiding their lines of intersection
between the search for

whatever it is they’re searching for
inside purest air I’ve been breathing,

air i’ve shared with no one.

The soil fecund now … i do not use that word lightly!

Stored snow or frost grown permanent
five or six ‘moon go ’rounds’ ago

where all these beings waited within
their clear winter amber

quick frozen in gathered humus
or crystalline within the muck,

the eggs of their existence
captured when sun’s light slowed

to dim orange

when trees released
their bed covers

to darker still intensity
captured by cold stillness

within their sleeping spaces
during gestation’s time

to lie in wait, for
warmer sun’s return

to free the life within
those amber spaces

not sleeping
having never been alive (as such)

waiting to emerge
from broken water,

released by whiter light!
These creatures that

surround me now
within my sight!

that feed upon my light!
that touch my flesh!

that share with me my breath!
my choice bereft!

the world no longer stripped bare
of all confusion and complexity

black and white and
clean and fresh!

They’ve STOLEN my

SERENITY! !

Inner World

Inner World

Four square tiles, wandering spaces, shapes of faces, coffee groups of three and five talking heads saying

something.

A lonely person sits and dreams her lonely dreams outside the world inside her.

Couples grasping meaning wrapped ‘round shoulders in stages of adulation, their voices echo hands held in wonder, eyes roused with affection, drawn to secret dreams, the face of life’s intent.

While store front neon lights
surrender to

the cause …

Second Birth

 

See the angry acts of many rich
too proud to bond
with mother earth
their caskets bulge
with stolen goods,

no thought to share their riches
with generosity given freely
their greedy souls never searching
their habits deadened, never knowing

thoughts worth thinking.

Some people care within demise
their envy keeps them living
their thoughts so easily lead astray
their longing never ending.

It’s how falsehood gets passed down
from generations
onto the many seeking
sustenance over fear,

plentitude over awareness,
bitter after the war to win all wars is lost,
roles played again and again
they sing their lonely anthems.

Their search for meaning never stays
the price too high
the road too steep and winding
the streets unpaved,

muddy ruts along the way
too deeply formed
to costly to dispute

with academic kindness.

The end result?  Blindness, winds its way/along its way,
no hope of rescue from their dying]
too lost to find/the road they think/that’s never there,

Their narrow thoughts an outside force that seeks to win the day despite the loss of living.

Their fear? Death before living life.
Their regret? Unknown dreams and fantasy that never lived,

locked up crying within,
never seeing the light of day

never love finding,

a game they play with no winners.
except those few who find themselves

home at last
at journey’s end;

the place where

life

began …

When I Was Born

That summer hot and sultry
mid month mid year mid way past midnight
bright lights shining blinding
hands grasping fingers smashing
through the air

i did not really care
it was not my problem

i was their’s for the taking …!!

i heard the pain that wasn’t mine
explode into my space,
the air, the rush of light that came before the crack of dawn
exposed the ship that i’d been riding on
between the worlds where i once lived
when i was born … !

with great surprise i threw away my aqua lungs,
I sucked in air while water flooded,
breathing synapses firing new born pistons,
283 horses blowing streams of light
in all directions!!

so this is what it’s like to live in the land of milk and honey … !!!

Come time to leave for home
i looked into the sky i’d never seen,
acorns falling through the air,
cool harmonies on the breeze singing memories
from where it all began
wrapped around light
that fueled the seeds of future’s flight

while tightly woven earthly patterns
leading everywhere in sight
gave great brilliance
and such

delight .. !!

Each night I see the world inside my dreams

wrapped inside the morning dew;

Each morning my life begins anew,
never sure of all that i have seen
until i return

and do it all again and again and again and again and again and again … until i think …

therefore

i am …..

That summer hot and sultry
mid month mid year mid way past midnight
bright lights shining blinding
hands grasping fingers smashing
through the air

i did not really care
it was not my problem

i was their’s for the taking …!!

i heard the pain that wasn’t mine
explode into my space,
the air, the rush of light that came before the crack of dawn
exposed the ship that i’d been riding on
between the worlds where i once lived
when i was born … !

with great surprise i threw away my aqua lungs,
I sucked in air while water flooded,
breathing synapses firing new born pistons,
283 horses blowing streams of light
in all directions!!

so this is what it’s like to live in the land of milk and honey … !!!

Come time to leave for home
i looked into the sky i’d never seen,
acorns falling through the air,
cool harmonies on the breeze singing memories
from where it all began
wrapped around light
that fueled the seeds of future’s flight

while tightly woven earthly patterns
leading everywhere in sight
gave great brilliance
and such

delight .. !!

Each night I see the world inside my dreams

wrapped inside the morning dew;

Each morning my life begins anew,
never sure of all that i have seen
until i return

and do it all again and again and again and again and again and again … until i think …

therefore

i am …..

What I’d Write About

I stay up all night and write.

Then I sleep, get up and start over again.

 I take a notebook and write when I go to the mall or when I go to restaurants.

 I listen to people and write what they say.

 I write what people say when I talk on the phone.

 I write what flows through my head even though most of the time it’s junk and doesn’t make much sense.

 I look at magazines and write the words I see.

 I’d describe the granite counter top I’m writing on if I felt like it then, I’d describe the edges.  Or,

 I’d write about the plastic bottles I took from the garbage can at the gas station the other day and the crotch of that fat girl I saw bent over cleaning her car of empty plastic bottles when I pulled in to get gas while she was throwing them into the can.

When Night Birds Take Morning Flight

When Night Birds Take Morning Flight

I watched night birds take night time flight.

While breezes washed ashore

I walked the line where all three meet.

Sky within dark water,

waves of moonlight,

sparkling grains of sand

reflecting light

below/above …

between each other’s sight

within their kisses

of the night …

I looked into the grounds of sweet good byes,

the thought of daylight in disguise,

my thoughts on morning’s rise,  with

each new morning’s light;

the sky that touches deep within

the sound of inland seas.

I climbed back into bed and slept again.

With speckled stars above the nighttime breeze

with moonlight showing through the leaves

I’ll sleep ‘till morning light

when

daylight birds

take morning

flight …

 

Love Gone By

Songs of life gone by

Once familiar
faces, stored emotions

strands of light and sound
from long dead memories can return

to life with sudden force
from fields of color

passing by;

when first time love was in the air
loving words so dearly spoken return now

whispered in your ear when least expected.

Familiar faces clearly seen with
long ago shared feelings.

Forgotten strands of time’s light stored

that flood the senses .

Perplexed we ask …
how could dreams of such remembered

splendor

(the force of passion born anew, 
the scent of lover’s neck recalled, 

first delight shared when senses
came alive with life’s most precious

 pleasures)

life’s long forgotten treasures

have passed by so unseen?

Some thoughts come to mind
with sad regret:

the precise moment when
playful eye’s appeal once given

was stolen from sight
by random sound come crashing by,

love’s precious moment stolen
never to be returned.

(the seed that once planted yields
life’s sweetest fruit).

Precious time and light recalled
from special moments flashing by

can bring sad regret to life;

those fleeting moments

like specks of golden pollen
drifting clear

against a deep blue sky or

points of light seen wandering
among stars in the

darkest hours of the
night …

They Have Paid; They Are ‘Us’

A man who by his actions

does not care about the citizenry of

our country … got me

wondering

as I do …

the amount of

taxes paid by the 700,000 during their

lifetime

jobs well done and

voluntary support and building of

communities and passing on

the best qualities …  that the 700,000 have given to

the land … they have

paid their fair share they have

given their all to the country as have we all

no different them from

We … or even “He”

and those he’s captured

the minority among us.

.  They deserve better these 700,000 are

the people who make us great for

who we are THEY are

the results of our great quest for humankind’s best

 how could we turn them

away?

It’s the 700,000 who are the heroes in this

sad story given

the torch to carry forth

the dream that all brave migrants have

from families come before us

who paid their way with suffering

no different from you or I

they ARE

YOU AND I;

high school football stars and

valedictorians they’ve

given their lives for the land

they have sacrificed to defend the land!

They deserve detention?

Forced migration?

THEY are the ones who shape my dreams for

the future as were

the  dreams of our fathers and their fathers before

who shaped ours;  individuals created EQUAL

by “self evidence” as stated in the declaration of our freedoms.

The threat NEVER so great as now

by so low and vile a personage more

beast on prowl than gentle man’s gentleman.

From WITHIN he comes to steal thought and

high ideals from those alive

the right to be

all things

that they can

be

he

aims to destroy, to besmirch, to undo

the greatest human experiment in mankind’s

history!

With defication on our ideals

defaming those intentions of the

fathers,  he would

destroy, he would

take away the benefit of our

beliefs, the belief of freedom and democracy

stolen by their colusion, two

of the hungry beasts their

greedy talons seeking blood

given power by those who are

eslaved by doctrine

and blind belief.

 

Black Hole Sun

He lived within the half arch of light
clueless about space and time –

his simple thoughts were only concerned
with food, sex and shelter.

He felt safe in his world except for the force
of an endless dream.

An ancient story told to him
by rods and switchbacks buried deep within his being.

Little bits of a story passed on to him
from the trillions who came before,

an ancient story told and retold
countless times,each retelling

given a twist or turn in the plot
of a never ending story with one theme …

to stay alive, to survive.

He ventured beyond his world from time to time
driven by the mystery … to fly through space, to

discover another reality, to satisfy his craving, to feed his curiosity.

One day he passed through light
with gathering speed, confident to find

his unknown destination when he was swept within the grasp of a circular path.

He felt gathering speed driven
by an unknown force, much greater

than anything experienced in his world
as the energy of smaller and smaller circles

drew him deeper and deeper into
a darkening world.

In vain, he gave himself over to
the power before he vanished within

the blackest hole where not even
light could escape!

In the end he found himself
in another world much more profound in

nature where vibrations from the past, present and future

joined to welcome him

in chorus

to a new universe of possibilities
in the nebula of another galaxy, where

the endless dream of every flying
cockroach that ever lived

comes true within

the confines of

an underground

septic tank …

Making, Making, Making

 

It’s ok to feel good every
once in a while!

Life’s treasure doesn’t come along
that often!

It lies in wait for
the right trigger.

Or is it time, and
we all run on

cycles?

For me the treasure never lasts
as long as I want it to.

(which would be most of the time)

Alas, far more time I’ve spent with
the bad seed brother in:

days of functionless, boring self regress, the urge to make, not part of the scene to put it mildly,

disconnected.

Those long days spent waiting for

the light,

the difference between/the two places living (with and without treasure)

unequal in their
distribution.

The longer distance in between has got

the upper hand?  There’s only so much

time to live in Treasureland?

My only hope?

To keep on making, making, making

until

the very very

end.

Reflection: The Web of Time

We are a travelers moving along

a web of time within the mist we call

life.

We see with light given from somewhere,

outside, within, in-between, seldom seen

at best,

reflected.

We make decisions;

where to go, how to get there,

what to think and feel;

assuming truths, affirming movement

we’re not sure of, through space most often

blindly.

Life is like that; crossroads, turnings here or there,

seconds late determining fate,

returns returned again and once again

returning, to differing paths we navigate,

endless toil, obliteration, sensory pleasures,

death, fulfillment or broken hearts,

(to learn or not to learn (that is the question … !?)),

wandering paths through space

unknown, face to face with

those we think we love?

We want to love but,

is it love we crave more than

the ones we may or may not love?  For, don’t we give love to those we may not love at all?

We drag through murky spaces, love’s truths obscured, half known half not knowing, unknowable, self importance, interfering combat, crackling static,  white noise, huge space separating single spaces, seldom crystal clear.

We take our chances.  We make our choices.

We fill our lives with dreams? Or are they fantasies?

 We self induce our misery.  We thrive on living pain.

And who’s to blame?

Savoring the Melt

Snow covering the ground at 8 by 1 had

disappeared.

By 5 newly formed powder flakes/bigger than cotton balls/floated downward, /so light they rose and fell a second time/as I passed /turning my world white

once again

crystal flakes given form/from clouds high above/each its own and unique world/alive within the tiny gales/and silent currents forming/atmospheres above, 

given

gentle revolution, softest landing covering ground/like thin gauze stretched/within minutes inches deep/earth tones and/ green luminescence vaguely visible

beneath.

Above, afternoon sky darkening /moves toward night time light.  

Already giving their precious gift, the gauze stretched thinner/

shadows of color emerging from the

melt.

 

 

To Be

To Be

Childish to think that
everything’s linked

from centered soul past
the ID into

the land of ink and

despair …

linking oneself yup with
life never had nor

life never lived,
the moments between

the anchor that keeps  us from
letting go

the weight surfeit enough
to hinder flight

from taking flight enough

to pass letting go then all

the way

up

to letting

Be …

 

The Same Strange World

And so, he did. .. (go back to his room.)

He loved the absurdity of
these kinds of situations;
the startled first time behavior and
the look of surprise, like a kid finding
an agate in the sand
excitement, wide eyed, incredibly
amused at the absurdity,
a brief return to childhood wonder,
the disappearance of self characature
a re-surfacing of
the 16 year old smile,
faces dripping smooth then
frozen in time with
white teeth and sparkling eyes,
given color by their surprise,
a little extra light to
fill a few of the voids
past memories and such … boiling it all down distilled
rendered into unadulterated … laughter.

 

Three Musets

Three Quarter Seasons

spring time
trees grow green leaves
new life

bright sun
great days to swim
much fun !

snow days
light wings falling
skies gray

Winter’s Warmth

great lake
frozen water
skating

fire warm
skaters gathered
popcorn!

days end
hands held walking
best friends

Trout Stream Camp

cool stream
flowing gently
light dreams

shadows
sun dapples leaves
wind blows

sunlight
slowly falling
star shine …

 

Excerpt: Strange World

Excerpt

After the nurse left his room
he thought about what had occurred and
in a drug and pain induced brain fog,
pulled the tubes from his left arm and,

using the food cart as a walker
made a half assed attempt to escape
the hospital for
some unknown
reason.

From that point forward
the “real” world was
rearranged, reconstructed and
put back together again

when

the strange specter of a man appeared
moving down a darkened hallway at
two a.m. looking very determined,
pushing a food cart, (wearing
black shorts and t-shirt
a pair of white TED hose),
where he was seen
telling two nurses, a CNA, and a security guy

that, “I have every right to leave
the hospital if I want to.’

A short while later, after
some ridiculous displays of yelling

he returned to
his room and fell asleep
on a comfortable lounge chair
after the charge nurse downstairs
(an Air Force Academy graduate)
convinced him that it would be better if
he DID return to his room.

And so, he did.

“When unexpected events occur,” he said,
“Unusual forces come together

making sparks of
different colors never seen

ricocheting light in
all directions; mirrors reflecting light from

other mirrors making new connections
striking colors never seen

briefly explode
startling into higher awareness
thought, reason, intuition,

even dreams

crossing paths
with different paths

of thinking
fleeting thoughts of consequence and

reason

to people
normally grazing grass
turned brown,
bored and

lonely.”

I loved the way he described it.

Purple Words

Purple Words –

One late Spring day, my students and I
walked to the Dairy Queen with

the thought in mind that we would
capture unique experiences and

write about them when we returned to
the class room.

After lunch, we formed a single file line
crossed Monroe Road to the sidewalk,

walked west for two blocks, past
the house I grew up in (at the end off Mackinaw Street) then,

along the north side of
the fence surrounding

the big athletic field where all
the games were played on Friday night and

past the town park where
I played and

ice skated
as a
boy.

While we walked I roamed from
the front to the back of

the line pointing out details that
their eight year old minds

might not
notice.

I told them to listen to
the sound of car tires rolling over
the blacktop.

While stopped, we heard
the distant moan of a diesel engine.

They thought that
the groaning engine was probably

working hard to push boxcars to
different places at the ‘’rail yard’’.

One girl said, maybe
the engine was pulling a

quarter mile long
train of

boxcars.

I pointed to the diverse shades of
green and the different shapes of

leaves on maple or elm trees.

When a breeze gusted past,
i asked them how

the breeze felt and
what words they would use to

describe the sound as it passed over
their ears.

After a while they began to
glimpse the world between

the lines

pointing  out things
I never would have noticed.

Five blocks from school
at a red and yellow blinking light,

we crossed over Monroe Road and
walked two blocks north to

the Dairy Queen where I bought
each student a chocolate or vanilla cone.

We ate our cones sitting under a
huge oak tree.

Leaned against the tree I looked around,

marveling at
the sweet innocence of

my eight year old students.

At the right moment
I spoke about some of

the unique objects, sounds and
thoughts we experienced

during our seven block journey.

I asked them to describe
what they saw, felt and heard.

Once they began sharing stories,
their experiences flowed out of them

like bright streams of light.

And so I watched and listened as
the sun born from winter into spring

shone through the budding leaves
dappling their faces with

ever changing patterns of light as they
spoke of discoveries taken from

the world around them.

Their thoughts were fluid and
bright; sunlight streaming through

the leaves  knitted them together into
a tapestry of sorts.

As the sun rose higher so did
the details of their remembrances.

The tapestry grew more complex and
beautiful as the light arched higher.

When it was time to
return to school,

I told them they were to walk silently so that
their story or poem, would be

different than everyone else’s.

Later, with pencils, brown school paper and
their visions I watched them silently write.

One by one, they brought their their
papers to me and as they did,

I read each story.

Every story was beautiful in
its own way.

Unique reflections of each student’s personality.

Their words were like beautiful
uncut gems, some

the color of rubies or emeralds.

Others vibrated with sound, were simple with quiet emotion or
restless, anxious to please,

listing every impression.

One piece stood out from
the rest.

Written in purple ink by
the shiest girl in class,

her ten line poem captured
the essence of

the entire journey.

At the end of the day I
looked back at the experience with

a clarity of detail I had
never experienced before.

That night when I had dinner with
my Dad he told me that

a lot of people in town saw me walking with
my students and many of them commented that

I looked like the Pied Piper … but of course
the gentle side of the Piper …

The Light Within For Rahul Gaur

The Light Within

I fixate on time constantly

When i hear the wail of a diesel horn
or smell fresh mown grass

or look out at the inland sea i hear the sound
and i’m transported to the stored light of another time

each magnifying the other more deeply every time.

We build our lives on the memories
of the life we live

and the lives we live are built on
moments we have lived.

We live within the memories of
all there is … and all that came before

We are the instant and the infinite past and
everything between the vast vista of ever returning light.

Time.

My thought incentive is to
stretch time, to live within the moment

or as someone said of Love;
‘’Within the within within.’’

The world revolving then revolving within the
revolving … deeper movement into the

allusion of stasis between where
more awareness lies waiting for me to see

into the worls and sworls of the wood within the wood
i’m working with, between the spaces of the

fingers on my hand the swirls of my finger pads and
deeper still between the tiny beads of

salty brine into the plasma of the deep
inside, the sea within the

space between the blades of grass
where the fluoride and chlorophyl lies hidden

where tiny moisture droplets flood the subtle link between.

It’s all memory based from the
DNA twisting its way into our being

the mechanics of our lungs, the molecules of our
wakening selves … how could we breathe without

the breath that came before and before that?

Each breath remembers the heart beat
remembers the air within.

It’s all memory.

The planets revolve and
what’s beneath remembers what it knows

each experience resting upon the next.

A kaleidoscope of colors turning
twisting patterns and forms of light

creating new patterns and forms
from what came before connected

bleeding outward curling back to know
each moment of light filled memory.

The homes we live in
filled with memory of angles and

fittings and support from the dawn of creation;
cave man’s fire the furnace and the stove

memories from the dawn of time.
The modern stove a memory of the first fire given
to and to and to and

round and around the blocks are building
no different than walls or bridges or the spiral helix

past memories linking us all.

We are immersed in memory, our lives emit memory from
the light that surrounds us.

Light!

Pulls the memory from all things.

Light!

Is the road that memory drives on spilling outward
like a ripe orange.

 

Jigsaw

I thought I knew but
I knew I hadn’t found

the answer to my
question.

You know you know when
you’re spaced out and your brain has been

on cruise control for a while and
you’re still scratching your head wondering

why you can’t stop thinking because

there’s still a piece missing just below
the surface that you can’t remember when

suddenly …

from one instant to
the next there’s an explosion off

somewhere in the distance that
you feel more than hear and

it seems every bone and muscle and
the brain in your body

join together to create
zero gravity.

Because of zero Gs your eyes
fly open big and round;

circles within circles within circles
the answer makes itself clear

the frown lines disappear and
you see the world beyond

the flowing waterfall of your tears and
your face shines brightly at

full wattage and

while suspended in time
you understand

the answer so …

you stop thinking
altogether and

completely.

 

There Was His Face

There was his face …

A mixture of youthful mirth, his right eyebrow a calligraphy flare at the end of a sentence, his mouth twisted into a half smile, his head cocked to the side, mischievousness written all over the place; a question mark at the end of his eyes that said, you don’t know what I’m thinking do you?

He looked into her.  He saw the color and its dark circle corona and the black pool.

She stared back .  Her benign smile said, “What’s on your mind?”

Waiting …..

Tell me about your excellent day,” she said.

“I spoke softly and the vibrations went into people and made them feel good.”

Waiting …

“There were plenty of smiles and laughter.  It felt like I was spreading something around.  It seemed like people were flowers that hadn’t been watered for a week.  I gave them a drink of Miracle Grow and they perked up for a bit… took in a little more sunshine.”

Thoughtful pause …

“It seems strange that I can pass all this positivity around but I can’t spread it to myself.  Fear still lurks. Fear can pounce without warning.  A crystal vase that  can fall and shatter in a heart beat.”

 I know his states of mind the way he thinks … his moods,  both bright AND dark but I only see his light.   Only HE  knows and sees the dark.  

Waiting …..

So you were fearful a lot of the time?

“Fear!!… that common concoction that mixes so well with just about any occasion?”

“You have nothing to fear. This I’ve never understood.”

What’s it like when things are really good? Explain it to me in words I’ll understand.

“O.k. My feelings,  my thoughts are a river that carries a river boat.  The boat is my physical self.  It and I float along on the river of feelings that are beneath. They are the feelings you have at that moment  …….. but, no matter what you think you feel it’s bigger … It’s the river and then … well you know.  There’s so much more.  There are forces that control the river!  The river is a constant force … a powerful force but there are many other forces to contend with as well.”

Waiting …

And, when you have a day like today what’s it like?  

“The guys in the engine room had that engine running smooth.  The fuel injectors were working perfectly.  I was at the helm of the ship.  I took it to different places and I was in complete control although, I only thought I was.”

“The engine was still in control  but the river controlled the engine. Even the boat thought it was  in control but it wasn’t.  Still … everything ran smooth for a change.”

“But, it was so great!  I could steer into little coves and inlets.  I explored little communities along this journey …
I could stop for a while, and even get out of myself for a change.”

Waiting .…. Thinking …..

“Oh, you know … that’s when you stand back … apart from  your ‘ME’ …  you SEE the world …. not ‘ME’  … for what it is. That damn ”Me” … it’s always getting in the way things …

I can watch the river flow by and I understand it better.”

“I see logs out there on swirly sub currents.  Murky water, whirlpools for crying out loud!  I don’t even want to go there!”

“I don’t know where the source of that fucking river is.  I ask myself, what is the source of that raging river?  A little stream like the mighty Mississippi?”

“Or, does it bubble to the earth from some dark, black place within the planet?  Maybe I was born in that black place and bubbled up with the black water?

Waiting … Both Smiling ….

N. rests his head back against the palms of his knitted fingers. He squints his eyes and stares into space.

“Although, there are times most often when the river is clear and runs smooth and it’s a pleasure to coast along at a slow enough pace that the world looks beautiful and you have time to see it  as

a wonderful

montage.”

Run Silent Run Deep

Run Silent Run Deep

On waves of hope riding,
rising most often
crashing
smartly smashing wedded myths
exploding stars
somber chords playing rifts;
driving cool rhythms,
run silent …

run deep …

Fractured contagion relegated
songs of incantation learning
deeds and conflagrations
emerging, reaching
calmly waiting … total seclusion

Other modes of teaching:
suffocating group aspirations,
escalating abdicated pain, afflictions by
lack of reasoning
mythical separations,
reaching two toned sights unseen,                                   sliding, blending, polarizing opposites                     connecting guided opposition,
subtle compromise comprising
dull with shifting lenses
flashing brilliant meaning
giving nightly dreaming hope
opposing despair
triumphal patterns causing
change through darkest hallways                                 leading nowhere                                                                            the stars through navigation brightly
signing sighing slicing
the knowledge of repair
from shattered crystal fittings with                            crosshairs crossing
night time rays of wrath                                                           and fear to lasting words that foster
coming thoughts of dark desire
the mind could never fathom                                                    the lasting triumph needed having come?

With stars of night bright leading                                 avoiding dark holes unseeing
minor slips along the way,
comprising major slips comprised of,
never making matters right                                                     we make our way on waves of hope riding,
often crashing but finding!

The dream of life’s
full meaning
outside of pain and suffering                                              finally seen!!

the dreams of darkest night                                                within                                                                                                the light of brightest day                                                       giving life full meaning

after all …

Stooley …

They told me to take
a stool softener since

Roxies make you
constipated;

I decided to try …
those little gel caps;

gray and burgundy
(pretty colors that go together … )

that slip down your gullet pretty easily, so
I tore off a chunk of
Matt’s homemade all grain bread, started chomping,

looked down, saw the little Stoooley capsule,
popped it into my
mouth and said  ….

Oh fuck … !

i moved the little capsule around

defending it from the crushing blows of my molars

(which required a lot of coordination)

while swerving my food I

heard the name Donald Trump spoken

and

at that precise moment
heard a “snap” behind

my right molar.

Taking a quick pull on the water tumbler I quickly swallowed

the mostly chewed

piece of bread and

the deflated capsule and

 waited …

I didn’t have long to wait  …

A black inky, muddy taste
began spreading itself

across the roof of my mouth

and tongue

(directly below the roof … ) that …

“hurricane like” had decided

to stay in one place dumping its

vile taste  onto my

taste buds  …

and

that’s when i realized i’d had

a bad taste in my mouth for a long, long time …

BLEAH … !!

CONTINUED:

To Languish By the Sea the Sea

Have you ever … “It’s on the tip of my tongue,” before? of
course you have who
hasn’t when

something is gone and come and
gone again .. post scripted  or seen languishing with

endless superlatives where they’re printed,
worth zilcho
depending on
how many

fish you can get

 to climb to
the top of that tree … !

……

the sea the sea
the sea beneath
the sea beneath the sea

the undeterred sea

scraping … scraping …. scraping …..

the eternal song

scraping scraping …

eternal song …

 Evermore … Pain

To sit for

hour after hour

not without pain most of the time

the dulling pain that

grows sharper and duller in

throbbing proportion enveloping same time/opposing beat.

 The beast eats me with pain

its voracious teeth

pin needle sharp pin teeth sharp needles

slobbering hounds tooth flat molars grinding wheat and the bones of people  that slobbering thug

 that eats me!

when will it leave me …

when will it end ???

 

To Be Alone In Misery

On the third day after a terrible night, having felt pain all night and hardly sleeping, sick to his stomach and with a fucking headache that wouldn’t go away moving from room to room had become a painful process.

At one point, he found himself in the middle room when she made breakfast; two poached eggs on sourdough bread toasted in butter on both sides where they ate together, and with a good appetite he was surprised that the food tasted so good and he enjoyed the meal.

He didn’t notice that there was a distance between them because he’d been feeling fortunate lately, that she seemed to care about his well being.  She even said endearing words and made statements like, ‘’Look at you!” a compliment she paid him on his strength and determination in the face of all the pain that 18 staples top to bottom across the patella of his knee could bring.

Or he wondered, could it be, that maybe these condescending words are what one is supposed to say under those kinds of situations as a matter of good manners? He scoffed at the idea. “But what a great way to disguise yourself,” he remarked.

Often he felt lulled into certain states of mind … comfortable states of mind … and even though he reminded himself many times not to feel too complacent. “Sooner or later Maxwell’s silver hammer always comes crashing down on my head,” is how he put it.

After the incident when he thought about it he realized that when the hammer struck he was usually feeling vulnerable just like he did on this day when he sat on the edge of the bed sick and dizzy and in pain where, he had tried to get dressed to go with her to see B. but being too weak he had to rest and they decided he wasn’t up to the ride.  He felt even shittier because he wouldn’t be able to see B. too.

Forlorn, he told her of his sadness but at that time, he hadn’t considered the fact that she hadn’t told him in advance.  “Maybe if she had told me in advance I could have had a limping chance up a long ramp to get dressed instead of having to do it all at once on such short notice.  He wondered if she had planned it that way.”

He knew he’d still feel like shit but at least he’d get to see B.

She offered words of consolation and continued … in the same breath … to say good bye when he found himself sitting alone on the edge of the bed in pain and forlorn somehow let down, and dizzy from trying to put his jeans on.

When he said in a not too loud tone as she walked away … (he didn’t want to sound angry), “Don’t you know a plea for love when you see it?”

He had to repeat himself a couple times and he admitted to me that the low tone was used to lure her back since each time he repeated himself she couldn’t quite hear him. He was hoping that she would come closer so they could talk, so he could tell her straight out that he was asking for her love, an appeal to feel close to her because he needed her because he was in distress and had been for some time.

He told her how nice it would be that every once in a while he could feel as though his feelings were “locked onto” like you’d feel if another presence was inside of you since, “It’s no good to feel alone when you are in misery.”

When suddenly a picture appeared and disappeared in a flash within his mind but, he saw the picture clearly.  At that moment he had visited a place where unburied feelings lay sleeping; feelings that he hadn’t felt for a long time.

He thought about what it would feel like to be in misery but to share it.

After considering all there was to misery he told me, “To be locked into another person’s feelings would feel,” he said,  “like what it would feel like to be with a loved one on a cold winter night, billows of breath vapor misty white for a split second against the stark fingers of the black trees, powder snow sparkling on the ground each individual flake reflecting moon and stars everything alive sleeping their way through winter, at peace with dreams from Mother Earth, no sounds at all … perfectly quiet, the stars beating and shining and twinkling their various spectrums, each star’s individual spectrum as unique to every other star in the universe as each snowflake on the ground against the black of night … the black of nothingness. everything exteraneous  stripped away but for bare elements of life the beauty of the moment made more beautiful when shared with another.”

“How beautiful to feel that way!” He exclaimed.

He was thinking and seeing how nice this would be when suddenly, he realized he was sitting on the edge of the bed feeling ill and dizzy, in pain, a stinking headache that wouldn’t go away, his jeans around his ankles feeling forlorn, a little angry and very alone.  .

How Can I Take What You Give?

How can I take what
you give

your comfort or satisfaction
your inspiration

from what i give
so selfishly?

i do it because i have to speak
if i’m ‘liked’ or not

respecting those sacred few
above all others who

keep returning …

what kind of friend
am i who won’t go seeking/reaching

for the gold of other’s sacred thought?

for sparks of life and love and
the rare commodity

that which touches me?

that rare commodity
waiting to be explored

and discovered
and seen by me

returning the favor as
you have done with me??

I venture forth from
time to time behind my

self imposed gravity
to look around

to see what i can see …

and when i do it’s
not with usual finding …

I spend my time judiciously
but only there occasionally

do I find the gems that reside
within me comfortably …

gems with cutting edge design and ‘new’ surprise
that sparks an arc/that lights a light

that lets me see

something new within the light of darkest night;

a thought that’s new to witness or to think;
the spark of new creation

or new reality … or some new connection

i seldom find;

words that flow with rise and fall
that part the mist before it all

where truths remain
more clearly seen

that let me fill the space between
the place of my being

waiting to be filled … !

abstract thought to
plummet me inside

to places that reside
where sparks that

arc me, where

i find a place alive … a place

I hardly knew before that seems I’ve always

known

but never having

spoken of …

Far From Satisfactory

Far From Satisfactory

monoliths erected on
the foundations of

those that were
laid down as

foundations for
monoliths being
erected now ….

fortresses where
one can disappear

in embarrassment or
hatred

or sense of loss or
shame …

protective barriers from
the slings and arrows of

commitment or
the desire to

blame …

walled off emotions
living in darkness

hunkered down behind
(if necessary) for long periods of

time … until the coast if clear is
ever a chance to take on ….

the persona of
Kathryn Hepburn or

James Dean;

tour guides on some
high class cruise

answering questions giving

complimentary directions …

pleasant car hops and lawn boys
doing their jobs …

compatriots sharing daily
slogs …

skimming past
the ghosts of shared
allusions

connected by
the laughter

that ensues
when consuming

the living fruit of shared

existence … brief
respites but

far far

far from

satisfactory …

See and Be

Somber chords
short awaits
finish words
meaning too late
stolen and replaced …

stone cold vistas rock
slides combustion engine
seen to be heard
not listened to
material form dissipates  to
zero …

this is absurd … !

coal mine gone from
disappears … from
sight …

it’s not like frozen trust, u said
didn’t know … What ???

silent indignation
feelings advanced; taken
back frankly
a: a fascinating two toned
polar play

opposing
charges filing shifting
dynamo magnetics

dull/flashing/brilliant
night eyes …

sparks fly … !
arcs risen
space and winning time .. ? time and
lack thereof … ? so

night flight

be when,
starbright light
gives sight to
night time scenes
seen  … seeming, dreams …

night flights

inland seas
beneath
the reason Be

to see and
Be … with

thee ….

My Struggle: A Lamentation

My Struggle

The Worlds I’m Seeking

I struggle …
I search for …

I see a flash of flowing colors that
quickly disappear;

The allure of light
but,

with words unspoken/their sound

unheard

 Stolen lovers sometimes rarely seen

The light beneath
the bedroom door

the room of sight
I sometimes sleep in …

The other room I
laugh and cry in …

The other place
I sometimes dwell in …

The other space
I think and feel in
at other times gone by

under other moonlit skies …
on other darkest nights

in different lunar cycles
I wonder why …..

where are the words I need that
spark the night (?) that
clear the sky (?)
the light within
the colors
that make it all so
right (?)

Those words and light
that set me

free … ?

 

When Daylight Birds Take Morning Flight

When Daylight Birds Take Morning Flight

I was up before seven
I made a pot of coffee

I swept the floor
I listened to the radio

I poured the coffee
I put sugar and cream in

I climbed back into bed and slept
until the dawn of night.

I watched the moon arch overhead
from orange to milky white;

silver dollar sized
with full moon’s

full moon
light.

I watched night birds take night time flight.

While breezes washed ashore
I walked the line where all three meet;

sky within dark water,
waves of moonlight,

sparkling grains of sand
reflecting light below/above …

between each other’s sight

within their night time

kisses ..

I looked into the grounds of sweet good byes
the thought of daylight in disguise;

my thoughts on morning rising with
each new morning’s light,

the sky that touches deep within,
the sound of inland seas.

With speckled stars above the nighttime breeze

with moonlight showing through the leaves

I’ll sleep ‘till morning light …

when day begins

and daylight birds
take morning

flight …

 

Killers On the Loose

Killlers On the Loose

There’s a place where life
is never bare

of mice and madness,
where the world will

come again flogging itself
with delight every step

of the way;
made more evil

by men who besiege,
hold prisoners in bonds/of deepest despair;

their love warped

and cruel and rotten
with usury to the core;

Unstable men,
mean mother fuckers

users, abusers,

confusers,
bastard misers,

thwarted useless pliers
of love with
pain …

scorned hurters,
driven to kill/life’s most
precious gift.

…..

Will the end ever
be in sight?

Never!!

Innocent love will always die
by lies;

life’s most precious gift
taken and destroyed.

They’ll always be
the same, no matter …
…..
From summers lost
till spring

when you were me
and i and we;

the times we ran together,
we drank our fill never knowing …

There’s killers out there
the likes of which

you’ve never seen,
who lie their likes and dislikes,

who spend their false revenue
so freely to fuel their

selfish lust …

with platitdes of
loneliness and

despair.

Frozen Moments Locked In Time

Frozen Moments Locked In Time

No words to write/
no stories to tell now …

Only experiences that happened;

the day I looked into a nest with
eight gaping mouths,

the eerie sound of baby robins
begging to be fed/

the night our house burned down
and dropped into the basement.

The reality of what I remember/
the words i yearn to write/

the forms and spiral hectographs
that make my days so bright

that make the world so real

now lost

behind the smoke
of distant silence/

the fog of stubborn beauty

unrevealed/

a gray curtain in front of a play
that was forgotten/

but will not go away.

The war of seasons past
lost somewhere beyond

behind a sun still waiting
to be discovered;

Too unsure of myself,
no light to guide my way/

unable to continue
what I hold so dear.

No arrows that I can fly
through space and time filled with color/action,
the innocence of boyhood thoughts,

the reverence for all
that is real,

lost in time now …  forgotten?

The glue that binds it all together
grown brittle, stuck to nothing …

The clouds above
merely clouds now, floating by.

I wonder if it will rain?

Within the Fractures of His Mind

He lived with Her until  she couldn’t stand it so

she relocated him to a room in an old house next to a

gas station …

…..

that house was consumed in flames one night in

defense – he said – of the

FBI lurking outside his

window …

…..

the court said he did it on purpose …

“Why would the FBI be there … ?”  they

asked …

…..

they called his demons

arson …

…..

they relocated him to the

county lockup for 60

days …

…..

after that, he took a

test …

…..

he passed with flying

colors … !

…..

they told Her he had a

schism of sorts …

…..

some kind of

void

in the area of his

pre-cognition …

…..

so he was relocated to a room half way between

Her life and the flames of his

past …

…..

that new place had some greatness to it

but eventually –

because of a variance of gender,  his curious desire

to peer through windows in the

darkness of night,

 his perverse intent,

his inability to

attach …

they couldn’t stand him any longer …

…..

once again he was

relocated …

…..

after that, he lived in four walled singularity

where he found peace

in the world of his schism

and the gloominess of his

void …

…..

She visited him

frequently …

…..

they laid about watching the

light while

sleeping …

…..

few words passed between

them …

…..

She gave him

sustenance …

…..

he accepted her gifts with

bland acknowledgement …

but

after death consumed

Her

his needs festered and

grew to phantasmagorical

proportions …

Desperate to satisfy his

need

 he stole

Time

from his

landlady …

…..

he milked it from the

telephone during her

numerous but

brief,

trips

away …

…..

of course she discovered his

deception …

…..

he hid behind his

deceit

but

it’s easy to see lies when they stand

naked

in the

middle of a

room …

…..

her hatred boiled

over …

it shattered his roomed

confinement …

…..

she couldn’t stand to be

around him  any

longer…

…..

she hated the air he

breathed …

…..

she gave no

succor

to his

loneliness …

…..

so,

she vanquished him from the

four walls she sold

him …

…..

she banished him from her

brick

Victorian space

and

when he turned his

back

she

burned every vestige of his

life in the front

yard …

…..

she watched with calm

detachment while every

remnant

of his history rose up in

flames and black

smoke …

lost forever to the

destiny

that awaits us

all …

…..

another death had

overtaken

him …

…..

another relocation awaited

him …

…..

Now, he lives within the

fire and the

demons

he could not

fight …

…..

he lives inside the

void

of the

schism

he fell

into …

…..

through windows into

darkness

he seeks

nothing

that can be

found …

…..

he’s a sad and lonely

little boy

who’s

lost somewhere in

time …

…..

an old and toothless man

who

wanders inside

rooms

within the

fractures of his

mind …

Voyage: The Flatlands of Ohio

*Photo above: Dayton, Ohio from I-75

Across the Border: Into the Flatlands

Across the border into Ohio
hard to keep my eyes off

the furrowed fields, sprouts of
corn, wheat or soybeans

lines of green velveteen beckoning
my eyes to distant silos
and barns …

beautiful country given
as secret knowledge to those of us
born inside the breadbasket

(boring as hell to those who aren’t)
our genes and DNA possessed of this

loveliness … given deeper sight to
know its vast beauty …

past Dayton, Ohio

into Cincinnati with it’s never ending
road construction,

the depressing sight of
mid 20th century decay;

towering church spires, five story brick schools
miles of deserted factories

block after block
crumbling shingle by shingle

worm wood burrowing water absorbing
rot taken into each

crumbling grain of red clay and mortar
separating once wrapped ‘round

the fibres of life within giving
animation and purpose

barely clinging now …
to the present

shells of the exoskeleton,
of a once great city

those fortresses of
sustenance where

generations of life lived and worked
and died within

the clay and concrete
the lintels and mortar lines,

those slate roofs, cathedral spires,
schools and factories now

turned brittle, the life within deserted
devoid of functionality, of

all humanity,
used and abused,

willing partners now
deserted friends

thrown aside/turned away from

the stories contained inside now
dripping with finality

the final insult to all that was
the past unknown to those who never saw

and will never know

the life that grew
and lived inside

the countless souls who believed
their city’s life would live forever now …

those outward stories slowly sucked
into the ground of obscurity ..

drawing closer every day to
the black hole of anonynimity

at the center of a world
no longer real …

brittle forms now
of deserted husks

the greenery of growing life
sucked dry by

the winds of time
unmercifully leaving

a cluttered tabla rasa
of ruin and ghostly silence

the cord with past life
broken by slow decay

all precious life forsaken
fallen seeds taken

from the distant past
and thrown asunder

the next chapter of our
destiny or ..

maybe the

last?

continued; Lexington and beyond …

Voyage South

After the Departure; The Road South

And so the voyage goes …

Uneventful miles rolled beneath
the balding tires of The Explorer …

along the Huron coastline
over the Zilwaukee Bridge past

Fisher Body in Flint a skeleton
of what it used to be

when time was ‘LIGHT’ where
i used to be when all was right

alive with simple delight and small town splendor

(… while, a lurking vision of a blow out tagged along
an anxious silent vision in the back of my mind
that dogged me

a sleeping spark of possibility
ever since

the tread flew off the D Mobile
2000 miles in past time on

the road north (away from the Tropics) … stripping
the back panel from the Mustang

knocking off the rocker … a
near calamity in

the third lane of
’75 rolling along at

80 mph … toward northern/ pine wood forests …

you’d be paranoid too!)

with all my barreling through time
i wondered

would i live a dozen or so minutes
or maybe even longer

in accordance with
the laws of physics

slowing time with all this
forward motion?

or …

with greater distance
traveld through time and space and

probability

would my life end
the next

instant!?)

past the Arborland sign,
(over Washtenaw Avenue) I continued

its lofty height looking down
a beacon of constancy

a point of reference
a sign post of history marking

the golden age of youth spent
in intellectual pursuit

the days of higher learning
Timothy Leary, the Fugs

Iron Butterflies, blues bars
shady characters, lost lovers

Viet Nam

the dog days of youthful exuberance
and experimentations

success and failure
triumph and rejection

faces of friends and lovers
roommates i lived with

in the house of
our endeavors

the beating heart
of shame and lost success …

the choices that i made wrapped
most often with

careless consideration
meandering roads along

unbeaten paths

maturing to regret … but mostly
grateful that i escaped the

doom …

continued … The Flatlands of Ohio

Voyage

My tasks complete
i rose before
the early dawn,

gave one last listen to
the great lake and
the wrangling sound of
ten thousand migrating geese and
mallard ducks

closed my eyes and
breathed the last
purest air i’d breathe
for months to come,

turned away from
the tree i’d lived within
and walked away

from the planet
i’d been living on for
two lunar cycles

into the surrounding universe i’d soon
be moving through inside my
rolling ship

The Explorer …

My destination 2000
light years
from this my
home away from
home back to

the land of the midday sun
its torpid heat
south of the border that
defines my

heart …

I dared not turn
and face that planet
and my tree
one more time.

Better to leave
well enough alone than
take the chance its
gravity

would capture my mind,
drag me back and swirl me down
another rabbit hole inside
some left over task … an
inevitability since

there’s ALWAYS something more to do … !

Much too easy it would be
to seek and find further excuse

to stay and find
another destination away from
where i knew i
had to go …

I needed to break
free(!) of the freedom
i had known!

My life of duty
would guide me
home …

all good things
most often end
and after all …

the other world I lived within?

i called it

home ….

continued; Past Arborland into the Flatlands

Song For My Father

First I heard Stan playing
‘one note’ with samba beat

in conjunction with
machiado, whip cream,

a chorus of shopping  murmurs
hello names … espresso pastries,

jive talk and solitary people
seeking dreams within
themselves …

When Diz joined in
i heard those

afro cuban rhythms and
lost notes grown along

the tree rings of
his later
career …

(So sad to hear those mighty
bellows gone
slack … )

Then came Horace’s silver notes
those repeating overtones

simple and
sweet

You’d think a  child
could make them until

you find yourself
floating through space

in singularity
with his

beat …

How grand to hear
such musical thought
pay tribute to one
so revered …

His

“Song To My Father” …

“… if there was ever a man who was generous, gracious and good  …
it was my dad …..
the man ….. ‘’

Ahhhhhhhh ….. !

I wish i’d have felt that sweet

adoration …

Our common denominator
in that relationship
we have with

Life …

and

Love …

The bond we all
hope for …

The place that
we all
seek …

The melody we hold so dear …

Through Horace
”the silver man” …

I share more paternal love
than i ever thought
possible …

Song For My Father written played so beautifully by
jazz pianist Horace Silver

A Single Soul With Many Beating Hearts

… we shared our lungs and
the soot upon our fingers …

the sounds of crashing cars at night …
their steel wheels spinning  …
the sound of dynamos coupling …
the lonely whistle’s departure
the sound of blowing steam …

(singing lonely notes to us
in our dreams)
or
songs of departure
for those of us with
longing hearts
who sailed the rails
for hidden treasure
to feed their hungry hearts

never to be seen again …

Those of us who stayed endured
the soot that lived within our
lungs
we slept on grey sheets
we hung
to dry in
the sun of
yesterday’s
light …

How could we not share
our commonalities in
the sooty air of that
little town?!

We were carbon copies
who saw each other
everywhere …

How could we NOT share
in large part the sums of
our greater whole?

With every single entity
an overlapping part
of every single mind

we shared a single soul
with many beating

hearts .,..

Songs Sung But Never Heard; Bits and Pieces of Verbal DNA; Words That Couldn’t Pass Muster Destined to Have Not Been Seen Now … Seen; Unfinished Thoughts of Suffering and Pain; #1 … #2 … and More of Same … (to come … )

 

#1

with sudden change
the air began to escape the float

the favor he thought that
he was making

the opposite of his
feat …

his generosity and consideration
like a sunken ship
or a puff of smoke

evaporating into

hardship …

further action that he needed
the wrath he would
endure

the first he knew
of many that would
reoccur …

the result of
what she hated the most about him

his sense of luck
and determination
reduced to

devastation …

He thumped his head with
realization and pain

his face contorted with
sameness

the awful froth of his
forlorn resolve
his time
to get ahead
now

forgotten …

#2

what every woman wants to say:

“Stop acting stupid
and get your hand
off my
pussy!”

Two ‘Fer

  • – Two –

I was flying sideways in my car

along streets full of passers by

looking for tomorrow

and a day that will never come.

Past fields of wheat and flax I drove

past lines and furrows

along roads well traveled where

spiral masses lay in wait

for early spring

past the mystery of silence

so near, but yet

so far …

– F’er –

Within the rural sun

mornings arrive

and day is nearly done.

Sun and moon and in between

miles along the roads of time.

Too much distance

too little time to make

the world my own.

Too much time to never see

everything in between

growing in the sun of

tomorrow’s

destiny.

Visions Of I Didn’t Know

There was that moment when

parentage grew wings;

when each gave their life
so urgently in exchange for
the others delight.

Then came storms and sorrow
for all the right reasons;

a child the only receipt that
they had paid for
their lives together;

like minded authors on
the road of their procession

on days they shared
the child of their creation;

brief moments clutched together
their pride worn like
the finest clothing among
like minded throngs;

watching them on
the field of play

through eyes of momentary renown …
the field they all had played on …

the field of youthful

glory.

It didn’t matter how they played …
all spaces counted when

seen between the lines of
who they were.

From pole to pole
they took their rightful place

in exchange for
the delusions they

passed on through
time and space.

Everything i’ve told you
could possibly be true

and i know you feel the same;

it’s not the knowing that
gives life its meaning.

It’s the life we could have lived
between the lines …

It’s the Life
we thought we didn’t have

that makes it all

worthwhile …

Stolen Serenity

I told you yesterday
that spring had sprung
and i knew because

i saw a fly and a bull ant
on the floor by the fireplace
and a tickling on my arm as i wrote this piece

not fifteen minutes ago
a tiny spider had invaded my space!

There are gnats and mosquitos
and other tiny things
i can’t imagine

sharing air that a week ago
floated crystals of lace like wings
each a drifting masterpiece

floating down or streaming sidewise
with crystal clarity;

between the flakes
air that was mine to breathe
while witnessing the beauty

of each and every living thing
stripped bare of all distractions that

Now …

I share with all the little things
that come alive each spring.

My life more complicated now
no longer distraction free

avoiding lines of intersection
between their search for

whatever it is they’re searching for
inside air i’ve been breathing

ALONE

i’ve shared with no one.

The soil fecund now
i do not use that word lightly

stored snow or frost grown permanent
five or six ‘moon go ’rounds’ ago

where all these beings lived within
their clear winter amber

quick frozen in gathered humus
or crystalline within the muck,

the eggs of their existence
captured when sun’s light slowed

to dim orange
when trees released

their bed covers
to darker still intensity

captured by cold stillness
within their sleeping spaces

during gestation’s time
to lie in wait, for

warmer sun’s returns
to free the life within

those amber spaces.

Not sleeping
having never been alive (as such)

waiting to emerge
from broken water

Released by whiter light!

These creatures that

surround me now!

within my sight!

that feed upon my light!

that touch my flesh!

that share with me my breath!

my choice bereft!

the world no longer stripped bare
of all confusion!

black and white and
clean and fresh!

They’ve STOLEN my SERENITY! !

That Old Clock and the Old Lady and the Old Clock

That Old Clock and the Old Lady and the Old Clock

The frame had a small dent,
the number four rested against six

after that old clock
on the kitchen wall

crashed onto the
marble counter top

because I opened
the cabinet door

too forcefully …

That old clock still ticked
so I rehung it

until I could find
a replacement

when a voice said,
‘’Get rid of it!’’ …

That beautiful old clock
is now a piece of detritus

keeping perfect time
at the bottom of

one of those large, green
Waste Management bins …

Like an old lady confined
to a nursing home,

its time had come
and then …

it’s time was
wasted …

Ergo

P1070701

Ergo

i’m torn
in many

wonder ways
captive held.

Scalding seas
narrow channels
heights
below
surfeit ever
changing seasons
finding mark/steady

back against
chest …
contact surface
shot to shit
with sweet
nostalgia ….

one single look of
‘wonder why’
exchanged …

or was it
simply

sad … ?

contact!!?

spark !!!
breath alive ?

pre-existing
existence

lives!!

floating
grains of sand

fresh water

secrets wash ashore;

light, new !

anon …

Light changes sight …!

Light changing site … !

Light,
no longer held

captive … takes

flight …