Tuesday, January 27, 2015

This Is For You

These purple crayon drawings I have made
I made for you. I made it just this year.
I made it so you know I love you. Grade
It on a curve. Please take it lest I fear

I've lost, I'll lose your love. This poem sings
Its song for you. I made it just for you.
Like flowers in the spring, I hope it brings
You happiness to know my love is true.

Forgive these faded old cliches. The same
Old words for love that's daily new when I
Look at or think or dream of you are lame.
I made this just for you. I'll always try

To do a little better. Do you see
The tree of orange and green that I have drawn
To make you smile? Happy now? Agree
To love this crayon picture of the dawn,

These words that try too hard to say. I look
Upon our daughter, with the gifts she makes
For me, and I have realized the book
Of poetry I want to write, it takes

The form of what my daughter does with each
Improving picture that she makes. I made
All this for you. For you I'll always reach
Up higher so I'll never be afraid.

Monday, January 26, 2015


A golden eagle sit upon the fencepost --
It stares, it watches, following the car
That pulls into the truck stop. Gravel crunches
Beneath the tires. It is the first sound
These women heard besides the engine's whir
Since entering the West Virginia mountains.
Not even the bull grazing in the pasture.
Wants to disturb the silence. Car doors slam.
The women both get out, approach the truck
Stop door, starting at the ding! of the front
Door bell. A man looks up, a lion's mane
Of auburn hair cascading down his back.
He watches as the angels, children-faced
Cross to the bar. He wonders what they ask,
Where they are going. Does he have a change
Of joining them? Informed, they leave, and one
Stops, pausing just outside the door to pluck
The trumpet flower lily near the door.

Friday, January 23, 2015

The Guardians

Behold the army marching down the street –
They march in steady rhythm to the beat
Of drums and people cheering. Colored flags
Precede these warriors, proud as autumn stags.

Their leaders, politicians, lead the crowd
With rhythmic chants, a promise they’re endowed
With virtue, knowledge, wisdom – shepherds who
Will lead the people, give them what they’re due.

Police parade along the bulging edge
The crowd creates – a sniper’s on the ledge
To scope the crowd, a crowd who’d praise the man
If they’d known he was there, and praise the plan.

The President steps forth, the crowd goes wild –
Each man and woman feels themselves a child –
“These guardians before you will protect
You all, we members of the few, select.”

The crowd, they swore their love to men who made
Their path through loving power and who’d wade
Through bodies if they had to just to rule –
But votes are a more cost-effective tool.

So long as humans love strong leaders, force
To get their way, and lies they can endorse
Because they tell them to themselves, each hill
Will find a flock to bend to someone’s will.

And they’ll lead the parade, the army aft,
As politicians steer this human raft
Who trust that they’ll get everything they crave
While marching to their lime-lines self-dug grave.

Thursday, January 22, 2015

Lost Messengers

Where have all the angels gone? The messengers
Seem to speak no more to us -- and those who fell
Speak too much -- we hear their cries like Icarus
Falling to the sea. It's wingless angles' songs,
Keyless and atonal, belching dark gray ash,
Pyroclastic flows that gray the sea and sky,
Hide the sun away, the hope that we forget.
Flying high on wings, the other angels soar,
Clear away the ask, and bring a hopeful song.
They know judgment melts your wings, but love and joy
Grow them long and broad so updrafts of warm air
Carry those with wings in an effortless ring,
Spiral, helixing up through the fractal clouds.
These, the angels bringing life and hope, oh where
Have these angels gone? Our messengers, come
Back, we need to hear from you again, your wings
Lifting us into the skies, up from the mud
Sea and ask together mix in alchemy
Never giving gold. The gold bursts forth on peaks
Angel wings can read only on upward drafts --
Gold we need to prosper and invest to be
Fully human once again -- it's only wings,
Angel wings that can lift us, so we can see,
Hear and taste and smell and feel again like them,
Arists of ourselves again so we can gain
Wings we used to have and now can grow again.

Wednesday, January 21, 2015

America in Autumn


The Texas summer doesn't end in late
September. Mississippi steams into
The winter. White camellias bloom. The gate
Of winter opens at a later date.

If only we could hold off winter through
This land -- but hatred brings a frigid cold
And threatens all we think and love and do.
The problems are not them; it's always you.

The real news always lies beneath the fold,
And Hollywood proclaims the moral law,
And truth is truth when everyone is polled,
And money is not worth its weight in gold.

I traveled north, avoiding hatred's claw
To find hawks spread their wings and soar the sky
To make a prey of other birds and draw
Us to a leader, to our ancient flaw.

The hawks of hatred in this land deny
That they're the same as southern eagles which
Destroy and kill, believing their own lie
That they're benevolent. They watch us die.

I do not understand why I should hitch
A ride with either one. The lowly crow
Is cleverer by far, creates a niche
So all may live and grow, rise from the ditch.

When winter comes, the birds all head below
To lands they know, which comfort them. The heat
Is comforting, the sun plankets a glow
That tells us all we really want to know.

But justice does not separate, deleete
The differences or, lying, say they stand
With the oppressed but want to stay elite --
Thus virtue crashes wingless in defeat.

I do not want a world the same and bland,
Where seasons never come and every bird
Is of a feather, hawk and dove both land
Together on the feeder by command.

For far too long the best we get's absurd,
Defeathered chickens thrown up to be man.
No one believes in the truth of the word,
And sell as art a can that hold a turd.

Without our foundations in art we can
Not find our way out of deep poverty --
Our death is masked by a false feather fan.
When you make hatred, you don't have to ban.

We cannot soar without our liberty --
we cannot live a true life without fate --
We live by trimming branches off the tree
Of time, our lives -- we sing this to be free.


I left my teaching job, disgusted at
Such arrogance and ignorance combined
With laziness, indiscipline. They're fat
And revel in disease, each one a brat.

I'd love to teach each one to be refined,
I'd love to cast off all their ignorance --
But that would mean they all would have to mind
And discipline will get you fired or fined.

Instead of having ego temperance,
Each thinks themselves a phoenix, each unique,
With every word a drop of gold, no sense
Has chance to charm a skull so dense.

Each one's a baby bird with open beak,
Complaining of the food that's brought to them --
They do not care for virtue, truth to seek
And crumble under each tiny critique.

Our students have a French disdain to hem
Their thoughts by generative, freeing rules,
Rejecting logic, knowledge, virtue, gem
Of beauty, making sense fall off its stem.

But what do we expect when ruled by fools
Like Richard Rorty, careless Stanley Fish,
The demagogue Paul Krugman with his tools
That change with who so rules -- they're mental ghouls.

This rampant anti-intellectualish
Elitist narcissism feathers out
Into the unformed mind, the empty dish
To destroy hope and every honest wish.

The state of education makes me doubt
The future will have more than cuckoos in
The nests, and vultures ruling them. This route
To foolish ignorance leaves no way out.

Perhaps I'm driven by the endorphin,
Perhaps I want to fly before I cry,
Perhaps I cannot stand to be worn thin,
Perhaps to leave right now would be a sin.

A sin? It is a sin to dare deny
The best and brightest knowledge so they'll grow,
To clip their wings so none of them can fly
So we won't have to hear the lowest sigh.

So I must leave -- to live, I have to go.
I cannot parrot ignorance and bear
A life of honor, virtue -- I must know
That I am more than fiery indigo.

I'm leaving teaching now because I care
And, caring's tearing feathers out of me
Until I'm singed and done. I do not dare
Remain -- I have to wander . . . anywhere.

I want to show the world's deep density
And show the world exactly where it's at --
But knowledge, wisdom brings complexity
And it's that beauty that will make us free.


 My Asian friends all say this country's vast
And empty -- yes, but that's the freeway view --
The towns, the people have all been bypassed,
Ignored, on all of them long shadows cast.

The minor roads will show me what is new
To city-dusty eyes. A wide, wired land,
Endensified by satellites and through
Long cables, light where lonely birds once flew.

I walk away so I can take a stand
And trust that with my single flapping wing
I'll raise a hurricane, each windy band
Of ocean-clouds deep-churning up the sand.

I rent a storage space so everything
I own will have a place to stay. I pay
The next two years and hope the months will bring
The hope and wisdom that I need to sing.

I pay my last two months of rent. I'll stay
With who I can. Perhaps, when I return,
I'll find a mindless job without delay
And be a sandy ostrich each weekday.

I get into my Skylark and I turn
Onto the road. Escaping Dallas -- more,
Escaping all that I have learned to spurn --
I'll travel north. I must escape this urn.

I've shut and locked the ancient wooden door --
I have enough to grant me liberty --
I have no ties, no love that I adore,
Just visions of a syphilitic whore.

What choice have I with no prosperity?
With such a life relationships won't last.
I've made a choice of homeless poverty
In hopes that I will learn now to be free.


The grackles rise into the Texas sky
In crashless patterns that emerge to show
That we can move together, unmoved by
Some master that will only make us die.

The scissor-tailed flycatchers show they know
With every ribbon-dance looped in the air
That life is really constant overflow,
That beauty is the life we need to grow.

The asphalt crumbles out before me, spare
Of paint and signs. Wood fences fence the grass
And stones and trees and fruiting prickley pear,
Perhaps to stop them wandering off somewhere.

I glance at birds and bushes as they pass --
To drive one contemplates but passing time --
A faster time than time spent fishing bass,
More timely than a universe of gas.

I slow my speed -- I won't commit the crime
Of blurring life with my blinders on,
Ignoring, ignorant that every clime
Has beauty in ts fullness, health and grime.

Distinct, distinguished, seen before it's gone --
That's what each subject wants, what each deserves --
To find the hidden shape of dabbled fawn,
To never treat a person as a pawn.

 The present comes in potholes, all my swerves
Avoiding them and rabbits darting out
Onto the road that only slowly curves,
Distracting me from all this culture's pervs.

Perverse! That's what this culture is! Don't doubt
The pornographic impulse to erase
The individual person and to route
All beauty out -- that's what it's all about.

We've damned from life all elegance and grace --
Resentment, hatred we have deified,
Destroying what is sacred everyplace
And mutilating beauty's every face.

I've left but, leaving, I still cannot hide
The reason that I left -- I bring along
The emptiness, the pain with which I cried --
But had I stayed, I surely would have died.

How can external things become so strong?
But what's external to a social ape?
External, internal -- they both belong
In tensions telling us what's right and wrong.

The sun shadows my car, a hidden shape
Beneath a cloudless noon. Bird shadows dart
Across the road. I'll take this concrete tape
To northern fields of corn and wheat and rape.

A town appears -- it's small and white, a part
Of all the gravel dust all cars encloud
As they turn in to town. A broken cart
Invites me to part next to it to start.

A restaurant, a place without a crowd --
It's small and local, promises of home.
I'm certain that the people here are proud --
When I walk in, I feel I'm not allowed.

Three men, a pair of women crack the tome
Of innocence as they all stare me down:
Well, who are you? We don't like those who roam
And wander, detached from the sandy loam.

I try to smile at them to face the frown
That links their faces int one. I wait,
A waitress frowns, the same as all the town,
And sits me down, attends me like a clown.

An educated Southerner, I hate
To hate -- I've learned to love the other and
Refused to let my kin be second-rate --
And now both are entwined to make my fate.

The waitress, older than her years and bland
In dress and walk and speech, asks what I'll take
To drink. To drink! My tongue is dry, thick sand.
"Y'all got some lemonade?" displays my brand.

The menu. Heat, the stares -- I want to break
Out in a sweat. My body's getting wet.
I breathe behind the menu, calm the quake:
I order up a burger, fries, and cake.

The menu gone, I've nowhere else to get
Away from all the hostile stares. I lean
Back in my chair. I look until I've met
Each eye. I won't leave here with that regret.

Regret, regret -- I will not live so mean
A life, but choose the golden mean, where strife
Enstrengthens me and makes me hard and lean,
Since weakness grows up in a world too clean.

I get my food and ketchup, fork and knife
And drink, and then I'm on my paltry feast.
The hamburger is not exactly rife
With flavor, glutamate, thus lacking life.

I pay and leave, illusions now decreased
By having met the people on the earth
They never shared with me. Were I deceased
Not one would care about it in the least.

Among the people of this town my worth
Is less than the old homeless dogs that flee
Each passing car and give each man a berth --
I'm glad to leave this town that's lacking mirth.

I almost leave this town in ecstasy --
And as I leave I hear a grackle cry --
Not lack of money, but souls' poverty
Is what will grind us down so we're not free.


I need to challenge my utopia --
Romantic nothing, nowhere, never -- where
Can fair truth really be? Its formula
Remains unknown to all the media.

The mother grizzly is not teddy bear,
The bobcat is no fuzzy kitty cat,
And keeping people different by a hair
Will never make a world that's good and fair.

Faux-generous treat all the world as flat
But cannot stand the people that they give
So many others' money to. Each brat
Just calls them (privately) all stupid, fat.

The cuckoo parasites so it can live
And fools the working birds to raise its young.
The cuckoo takes and takes, will never give --
And if you do not give, you get the shiv.

The people that I met, they work the dung
Into the earth to grow the food we eat --
But does that make them good, their being hung
By all elitists on the lowest rung?

The same race, still I felt I had to beat
The sun if I were to be safe. The day
Protected me, I know. I won't repeat
This sad mistake -- I will admit defeat.

Yes, my perception's a mistake -- the clay
That penetrates their feet has driven me
To understand that only those who pray
Together love together, do not stray.

I had to learn that reciprocity
Among the ones we love bring us to a
Place where we first had lived within the tree
Where we evolved, and came down to be free.


How did I end up here, on 40? West
At almost 80. Vultures circling
Are all the life I see. A lonely breast
Of land slow-rises high above the rest.

I could not hear if anything should sing
With all this roaring wind that swirls my head
Into a dizziness that eddies bring,
And order that I am now coveting.

I drive along this road with growing dread
That I made a mistake in leaving home --
I drive until the sun before me's red
And only stop when I find evening's bread.

I spend the night alone again, the foam
That holds my head the only lap to lay
Down on. I reflect on the tall lamp's chrome:
The solitary wanderer should roam.

I'm on the road again at break of day --
Before the break, when Venus rises high --
I must drive West, drive West without delay --
Delayed for what, I really cannot say.

I feel an itch that's creeping up my thigh --
But I have chosen this, a life alone --
So love and lust I must myself deny --
Confirmed with a coyote's lonesome cry.

I think I must get off this road -- I groan
At all of these thoughts -- God, they're so cliched.
But there's no place in this landscape of stone
For me to stop and write and, thus, atone.

I find a side road -- for too long I've strayed
By being on the highway with the crowd --
But I'm the only one I have betrayed
Because my time alone has been delayed.

And there upon the side road, my head bowed,
I wondered where my life was going to go --
There's no one, friend or family, I'd endowed
With knowledge of my goals. None I'd allowed.

I bypassed cows and horses, sheep, a crow.
I bypassed horses, ranches, fields and farms
I bypassed all I ever chose to know --
And then I saw a sign for Mexico.

I wondered about all its modest charms --
I wondered if the place was right for me --
But nothing set off my call-off alarms
And so I drove and stiffened up my arms.

I had a feeling I would find a sea
Of flowers waiting there and all life's harms
Would vanish. I will find a sprawling tree
And under it I finally will be free.

Tuesday, January 20, 2015

The Creation Myth

The nothing opened into information
Which gave birth to the energy that birthed
Electrons, photons, quarks. Then up and down
Each mated in threes which gave birth
To neutrons, protons, which then married each
With the electrons to give birth to atoms,
Named Hydrogen and Helium and even
To Lithium. They gathered into cities
And multiplied to form the other atoms,
Their Love for one another giving birth
To chemicals of many names, among
Them carbon chemicals whose love gave birth
To Life on Earth, who had been born out of
The Love of of Metals born in the great Supernovae.

Monday, January 19, 2015

Calypso's Lament

Why did I let you go? Why did I set you free?
Why did I let you set out on the sea?
Odysseus, I had you here, right here with me.
Upon my island, here most faithfully

I kept you, love. My love, I love you still --
Why did I let you go? I know, I could go kill
That wife that calls you home. I'd have my fill
Of blood and vengeance. Sitting here upon this hill

I see the ocean waves that took my love away
From me. I live in sorrow he'd not stay
With me, and now each day will be today. Today
My life came to an end. I'll just decay

Here on this rock for all eternity,
Lamenting love's loss, lingering in poverty --
My wealth of time and power render me
A shadow of that vile wench Penelope.

Friday, January 16, 2015

Thursday, January 15, 2015

Right Now

The roofs all team with Mexicans who sweat
To raise the roofs, celebrate, pay each debt.
The cold Pacific waves chill children's toes;
Along the boardwalk, spandex-covered hos
Make money for their pimps; moms look away.
The Congress passed a health care bill today.
A man sells children heroin at home.
A biker on his Harley revs to roam
The highways filled by semis lines like train
Cars, belching sulfur. Look, it smells like rain.
A man steps up to put his order in:
"Hamburger, fries, a scratch-off -- Did I win?"
A large committee, self-appointed, votes
To try to get a ban on coats of stoats
And goats, for fur is death and cats are slaves.
A surfing couple ride Hawaii's waves.
White steam erupts out of the nuclear
Volcano sending out its kitten purr
That hides the violence controlled within.
The Baptist preacher yells, "Repent your sin!"
A student dusts away the dirt to show
Tyrannosaurus bones, a fossil toe.
Talking on his new cell phone in the sun,
The father tries to get a tow; his son
Is getting sued by his coworker who
Became offended at a joke she blew
Off when she had a crush on him a week
Before, before he turned away his cheek.
Supporters of the President ask him
To pardon them their crimes -- but it looks grim.
Protesters fill the streets, demand tax cuts.
A man stands back, checks out the women's butts.
A woman left alone at a hotel
Calls up her boyfriend, wondering what she'll tell
Him since she can't get home. The clerks both laugh.
The skin of a man's eaten up by staph.
Some children play on monkey bars at school;
The saddest kid there always plays the fool.
The shift change idles car production not
A bit in Ford's new factory, the bot
Production line is moving fine; the men
And women working there are making ten
Time what the retail worker makes who stands
As long and has to deal iwth dumb demands.
The college students sit in silence, hope
The teacher asks them nothing; they can't grope
For answers out of what they haven't read.
The mayor's mistress just slipped out of bed.
The T.V.'s showing hockey, basketball
On CNN, whose painted, dressed-up doll
Delivers all the news in mere gabfests
That no one listens to, just watch her breasts.
A school commissioner has moved some cash
Into his bank account, strokes his mustache.
A pregnant twelve year old is visiting
Her baby's daddy, twenty-eight, their fling
Encouraged by her mother in the car.
An alcoholic stumbles from a bar.
A woman goes out for her interview
In miniskirt and tube top, though she knew
She'd never get a secretary job.
Some testing teens in town form a flash mob.
Police find pot they planted in a car.
A preteen dreams he'll be a football star.

Wednesday, January 14, 2015

The Gift of Usury

The wealth of nations can't exist
Without the gift of usury
The enemies of life resist
The timeful gift of usury

The most important things in life hold interest --
Without it we just flit about, no hold
On our attention made to last.

Oh, look! A shiny coin! A bubble!

We risk too much without an interest --
Without it we grow much too bold,
There's only present, without future, past.

We need the gift of usury.

I have ideas, but not the cash.
He has ideas, but not the dough.
We understand you have a stash --
Each of us want to have it, though.

I'll take it and I'll pay you back
The same amount that you gave me.
You say that he'll add to your stack,
So why should you give it for free?

I'll pay you more; he'll pay you more --
And on and on and on it goes.
He's reaches the end, you've shut the door
And now toward me the money flows.

He wouldn't take the risk that I
Would take, he lacked the confidence
To buy the time to even try,
But I bought it at mere percents.

And my return is greater than
The loan, and wealth has slowly grown
Because his loan made maybe can
Instead of lying like a stone.

I had the gift of usury.

Complex new orders come about
When energy is borrowed from
The universe, paid back in entropy.

And thus no life can come about
Without the interest of the world --
No growth without the gift of usury.

The enemies of life despise
Those with the gift of usury.
Destruction is the only prize
Without the gift of usury.

Tuesday, January 13, 2015


Portly woman, baggy clothes,
Shaven head and covered nose,
Covered by a light blue scarf
Tied behind her shaven head.
Walking, smoking. Looks of dread
Fill the faces of the few
Daring, daring not to glance,
Glancing nonetheless, a dance.
Wishing, wanting, desperate
It is cancer? Or the lip?
Of the nose? Or of the hip?
(Oh, but you do not fool me!)
Worry, wonder fill the eyes.
Bound feet, sandals, baggy thighs.
Cancer, that is what it must
Be, poor woman, look at her.
Look, yes, look, yes, look at her.

Ah, she says, yes, look at me!

Sitting in the coffee shop,
Her she comes (I knew she'd stop),
Scarf around her shoulders now,
Nothing wrong (Just as I knew).

Look at me! she cries inside.

Now you've seen a soul that's died. 

Monday, January 12, 2015


I walk across the birch log beam
With paper bark in white and cream
And feel the dancing drops of steam
That rise form that volcanic stream
That winds as a transparent seam
Down through this land. I make a ream
Of birch bark in this forest dream
To write this certain into seem
And make a symbol you can deem
Links writer, reader in a team
To understand my flowing theme
And transform it into a meme.

Friday, January 9, 2015

A Poet's Plea for Clarity

A poem's to communicate the past
So people want to hear it, make it last.

The future speaks in lines of poetry --
Interpret all most metaphorically.

And often human truth will bless and curse
Us only in the truest lines of verse.

But no good person would declare a war
In symbols or a complex metaphor.

Five hundred years to understand Shakespeare,
But not to learn he said, "You want a beer?"

Poetic ambiguity is fine,
But not to ask on what I want to dine.

So please don't think I'm being all that brash
When I ask please say just "Take out the trash."

Thursday, January 8, 2015


You sit there, cold and bitter, tempting me
To taste your bitterness. Each rancid drop
Spreads sharp across my tongue. It's savory
And wet yet can't and won't make my thirst stop.

I won't have milk or sweetness moderate
The bitterness I love to taste each day.
I've grown accustomed to what I should hate --
Our tastes are shown to be such plastic clay.

But if I did not have this in my life
I'd lie in listless pools of laziness
And feel across my scalp a razor, strife --
And so this rancid bitterness I bless.

Without it I would have a life that's mean --
And thus I praise the washoff of a bean. 

Wednesday, January 7, 2015


Does armor mean I don't have flesh? Perhaps
I donned this armor so I could protect
Myself. You don't think every hard word saps
My strength. You deny or do not detect
That I am deeply sensitive, sharp nerves
That die to fire with all my mind observes.

My love for you is like an iron plate
Across my chest, emboldening me
Against my fear of failing. I berate
Myself for failing yet to make you free
To do the things you wish to do. I chide
Myself because I work yet can't provide.

I have to steel myself against the thought
That every moment that I work on my
True work it's stolen and not truly bought.
I feel I steal my family blind; I'd die
To learn that it was true. There's no delight
In failing as your family's fearless knight.

My armor seems to strengthen me, but rusts
Inside -- I fear it will collapse, expose
The part that has to create art, that lusts
To make and make and make, a drive that grows
And always threatens me and those I love --
My hand should be clad in a workman's glove.

I want to be your noble knight, and I
Will make the sacrifices that I need
To make. An iron knight must always try
To do what's right, to do the noble deed.
I shake in fear that I will show some fear
And show that I am not what I appear.

Oh, rusty armor, can I count on you?
My wife, my life, my shield, I have to count
On you. I am too delicate, I have to count
On you. I am too delicate, it's true.
I fear I ride on Sancho Panza's mount
And not a noble steed. I've orchids on
My crest. Am I a knight or just a pawn?

I wonder, are my battles just? Or am
I just bullheaded? Do I sacrifice
The right or wrong things? Is my life a sham?
I fear my training is a joke. I'll slice
Myself to pieces, not an enemy.
What kind of knight have I turned out to be?

But, mounted on a donkey, rusted mail,
I have to fight to keep my family safe.
At least, I must allow myself to fail.
This rusty armor's tight -- I feel it chafe,
But know I have to keep it on so I
Ensure they live, though I may have to die.

Tuesday, January 6, 2015

Last Snow of Spring

When winter snows encrust the ground you are
The golden daffodil that brings the spring.
I have no hope without your golden promise --
Without you I fear what my life would bring.

Without you I would live in winter, cold
And unprotected, ignorant that I
Was even cold. How did I live so frigid
A life? How did I live without your gold?

My spring is here in you -- I see the birds
Returning in the sky. A robin lands
In one small patch of grass. I see a bee
Perch on your cup, give in to life's demands.

I need your warmth, your golden nectar sweet
Upon my tongue. I need the promise of
Warm summers yet to come with you, the flowers
You seed in me are watered by your love.

Monday, January 5, 2015

Beware the Misanthropes

Beware the one who wants to fix each man to fit
Them in society -- he is a misanthrope
Who hates all men for who they truly are.

Beware the one who wants to fit each man
To social goals -- he is a misanthrope
Who hates that men are free to live and choose.

Beware the one who wants to force each man
To synchronize their values so they're his --
He is a misanthrope who hates that men
Would dare to make a choice that is not his.

Beware the lovers of mankind who never met
A man they loved -- they all are misanthropes who hate
Men as they are in their immense diversity.

Beware egalitarians who'd force each man
To act as equals -- they are misanthropes who will
Machete everyone to reach their gruesome goals.

Beware the preachers of the just who do
Not preach of mercy -- they are misanthropes
Whose boots will never finish stomping you.

Beware the preachers of a better life on earth --
They all are misanthropes who will eliminate
The ones who keep utopia a nowhere place.

Beware romantics of the past and those who hate
The future, an expanding world -- they all
Are misanthropes who hate the civilized
And cosmopolitan and love the worst
Of tribal cruelty and racial hate.

Beware those on the left and right who'd put
You in a group -- they all are misanthropes
Who would deny you your humanity.

Beware all leaders who would gladly rule --
They all are misanthropes who do not think
You worthy of your life that you may live
It as you wish, in justice and in beauty.

Tuesday, December 30, 2014

Hero Saint Genius

The hero crosses boundaries the gods
Engraved between them and the world of men --
With his great strength he will defy those odds
And dare to fight against the gods again.

The saint transcends the boundaries the fall
From grace dug deep between warm paradize
And earth -- through his great holiness will all
Find life and manage to avoid Hell's ice.

The genius can transcend the boundaries
Of common thought -- he's the uncommon mind
Who shows what man can be in full release --
It's through him that each one is redefined.

Postmodern heroes cross the lines of race
And sex and gender, class, to help defend
The underprivileged made by the disgrace
Of prejudice so our culture can mend.

What lines and boundaries do we have left
To cross? The gods have died and Heaven brought
to Earth. We surely cannot be bereft
Of lands which show us to live as we ought.

Saturday, December 27, 2014

An Epigram

I pray one day my words in my mind's womb
Will stay here on the earth as my mind's tomb.

Wednesday, December 24, 2014


We were once gibbons singing through the trees
Our voices carried on the morning breeze

And with our choral singing there above
We marked our territory told of love

We walked upright among the branches swung
To reach red fruit and all the while we sung

Of joy and happiness then we came down
And walked the ground and built from every noun

And split our song to Beethoven and speech
So we could gossip smalltalk even preach

But when we're at our best and when we long
We revert back to Shakespeare and to song.

Friday, December 19, 2014


Today I told a dream good-bye.
I walked amongst its emptied walls --
There's no one here but builders building
The dreams of others. Yes, it crawls

With hope, but shatters every dream.
Oh, my lovely dream, you have gone
But never really were. You lurked
There in the shadows, but a con.

And now I must move on, embrace
Another dream and life where I
Can find fulfillment. That is why
Today I told a dream good-bye.


There once was a coward named Sony
Who had a quite friendly pet pony.
But a bully named Kim
Who always looked grim
"Convinced" Sony to trade for bologna. 

Wednesday, December 17, 2014

The Krampus

The Krampus creeps on down the hall --
He has his bag; he has his sticks --
He's looking for the child who kicks
And loves to make his siblings fall.

He stands there, sideways, in the door --
That way his ashen horns will fit --
The one who likes to steal and hit
Is off the bed and on the floor.

The Krampus' tongue rolls down his chest --
He steps one hoof into the room
To grab the boy who'll wish the womb
Had never let him from its wrest.

The boy awakes in nightmare screams
That Christmas morning while the joys
Of girls polite and gentle boys
Delight in all their Santa dreams.

Tuesday, December 16, 2014


I am a smokeless, scorching fire bright
And hidden from you, though I see you clear
Here in this cave. I've sought the limits night
Provides the sky, returned here without fear.

I'm here to whisper in your ear, to tell
You hidden truths. These truths you disregard.
You think that I'm a dragon, that I fell
And only tell you lies. My life is hard

Because you won't believe in me, that I
Am here to keep you safe, to teach you life
Is beautiful and sacred. You would die,
It seems, before you'd trust me, live in strife.

Beloved, let me burn away the crust
Around the gold within I see, I trust.

Monday, December 15, 2014

The Voice of One Crying in the Desert

Alone here in the desert with the stones,
A thousand shades of brown, from red to gray,
A dying cactus and some sun-bleached bones
For company here on this joyful day,

I weep the final water from my eyes
And laugh at what I have become. The sun
Belongs to me; she is my friend. She lies
Above me, warms the air. When she is done,

She'll wrap herself in clouds and let the land
Dive deep into near freezing as deep space
Removes the heat from earth. With her I stand
And feel encouraged by her endless grace.

I yell. A lone voice in the desert. I
Can hear my voice in echos fade to sighs.

Thursday, December 11, 2014

The Melina Song

Melina, Melina, oh what have you done?
Melina, Melina my girl
Melina, Melina are you having fun?
Melina, Melina my girl!

Melina, Melina my girl
Melina, Melina my girl

Melina, Melina -- so joyful and so free
Melina, Melina -- you dance so happily

Melina, Melina, are you having fun?
Melina, Melina my girl
Melina, Melina as bright as the sun
Melina, Melina my girl

Melina, Melina my girl
Melina, Melina my girl

Tuesday, December 9, 2014

Death of the Genius

The genius has died, for no one believes --
Belief is the soul of the real.
Our culture is lost, but nobody grieves --
They don't know what loss can reveal.

The poet sings mute to Muses now dead --
He can't count on any support --
His values lay prone, each shot in the head
Before they could make their report.

The culture is bleeding down on the field
But nobody cares to confess
That anyone, anything could ever yield
A wound they would stoop down to dress.

The genius has died, for no one will help
Defend him or help him to stand.
And so we will lose the barbaric yelp
Unless we give genius a hand.

Monday, December 8, 2014

Logos in the Flesh

Am I this hairy skin that covers meat
On bones, all enervated so I feel?
I look into the mirror, at my feet
That hurt, my tiny finger nails, reveal
My outside to my brain that must realize
The world through the warped lenses of my eyes.

Am I this complex neural network brain
Emergent to a psyche, soul, or mind,
A structure formulated on the main
By genes and the environment? I find
Myself within myself. I contemplate
That much of me is certaintied by fate.

Am I my morals or my memories?
My morals handed down in part by genes,
In part by what came on my culture's breeze,
Can that be me? Or can it be the scenes
That constitute my life experience?
Which of the two, to you, make me more dense?

Perhaps the only thing I am is this,
These words, in verses, rhythms which I've wrought
From morals, memories that give the kiss
Of my emergent mind that's more than caught
Within my body, but which poetized
Me thoroughly until I'm realized.

Friday, December 5, 2014

The Jealous Poet

Don't cuckold me with others' lines --
Don't make me wear the horns.
Betray another as he pines --
Give him what he adorns.

Be pregnant with my lines alone,
And let them fill each day
Your body or you must atone
For all your eyes betray.

I've seen you look at other verse --
Your lust should only be
For all my words, you should immerse
In opal sounds from me.

Your music will absorb each word
I craft and we'll give birth
To songs that no one's ever heard,
To dancing, joy, and worth.

Thursday, December 4, 2014


I sit here in an unknown part
Of our enfolding universe,
Between the flows of lights that start
Some things to life on rocks that nurse

Those objects into verse and song.
There is where I sit and string
Mere sounds to meaning. I belong
There, here, where this is what I bring.

The eddies from the future pass
Across the present stones, reveal
The gold in wearing down, bring mass
To metaphors so they congeal.

The place I sit is neither then
Nor here nor there, but always when.

Wednesday, December 3, 2014

Our Postmodern Society

The revelers at Woodstock all donned suits
And now control our universities
And governments, our businesses and schools.
It's hippy acid trips transformed by pot
Smoke into institutions that demand
We think the same while celebrating all
Our superficial differences. They see
Each thought that's not their own as evil which
THey must stamp out, creating mental death
And sociopath institutions. Life
In all its beauty must be driven off.
They inspire ugly verse such as these.

Reject this cancer culture and embrace
A culture complex as a rainbow lace.

Tuesday, December 2, 2014

Prophet, Poet, Madman

There's no one listens to a prophet -- only
Damp Jonah had an audience to listen,
And when they did, it angered him. The glisten
In his dark eyes betrayed that he was lonely

Amongst those who believed his prophesy --
He'd suffered much to tell them they would die,
And now they'd live and make his words a lie --
But prophets are to help the blind to see.

The land is overrun by deaf and blind
And no one will believe the ones who feel
The heat and see the light. They do not find
Much comfort in the sun, what it can heal.

While almost everyone prefers the night,
The prophet, poet, madman shines the light.

Monday, December 1, 2014

Winter Feast

In winter sausages hung thick along
The rafters -- nothing fresh for months -- no fruit
But raisins, apples dried and molding strong.
The vegetables came only though the root.

But seven feet of snow could fill the streets
In February and we'd sit and wait
With bowls of strawberries, for such fresh treats
Are found the year around, for every date.

And when the roads are cleared, the grocery store
Will sell us apples, oranges, grapes, and greens
From summer countries. We should not ignore
Fresh fish and meat because we have the means.

For those who want the good old days instead:
It's likely if you'd lived them, you'd be dead.

Tuesday, November 18, 2014

Guardian Warrior

The time for battle has emerged --
I will not live my life submerged
By others' ignorance or spite --
I feel myself renewed. I've purged
Myself of weakness. I'll delight,
Take joy in each and every fight.

I will not hide behind my walls --
I'll drag my horses from their stalls
And strap my armor to my shins
And legs and arms and chest. My balls
For victory will drive the sins
Out of this world. Here life begins.

I'm not too old for battle, I'm
But halfway through my given time --
I'm less than halfway through my day.
I've oiled and scraped off all the grime
Of every past defeat -- betray
Me and your hair will never gray.

I never will again retreat,
And you will but enjoy defeat
If you don't understand who I've
Become -- I'm bold, my mind is fleet.
I feel within me a new drive --
Behold your King: I now arrive.

Wednesday, November 12, 2014


Behold the light that in its purity
Blinds all who look upon it. See
That shadows make the light reveal
The images that seem to steal
Away when we look on them. Your
Imagination makes the door
You see as much as light reflected
Off of its face that you rejected
As mere illusion. Light betrays
What lies beyond our final blaze.
First vision, open to illusion,
Condemns you only to confusion.
You have to love your inner light
To gain philosophy's insight.
Without that light, we are content --
Revision brings enlightenment.

Tuesday, November 11, 2014

Daily Walk

This dog is too much company. I want
To walk alone, to be in nature, hunt
For flowers I have never seen, alone
With wind and leaves. Is that a jagged stone?

I cannot look, I must move on. To lay
Down on a stream shore, watch the water flow
Across the rocks, the turbulence at play
With light that scatters. Wait, is that a crow?

I cannot look, I am pulled on. I stand
When I must stand, I walk when I must walk.
I cannot be -- I bow to each demand --
I thirst for silence and am made to talk.

I tire of turbulence, exhausted I
Am dragged along through life. I can't deny
What I assigned myself. The bright sunshine
Oppresses me in ways I can't define.

Saturday, November 8, 2014

Leading My Chariot

My horses, black and white, on wings they flew --
A panther and a snow leopard will do.

Friday, November 7, 2014

A Year With Dreams

I'd like to spend a year with dreams
As dangerous as tigers starved from drought,
So dangerous you'd hear the screams
As flesh was torn off of the bones of doubt.

I want to shed the pretense of the night,
The moon's false face
Which grants a trace
Of light that's not its own.
I'll hold out 'til the morning bares
Herself. I'll feel the groan
Reverberate the skies. Who dares
Take on the sun and fill up with its light?

I want to lure the tigers with my blood
That drips down off my fingers to the mud.

Shall I strike out in bamboo fields?
Shall I allow myself to strike
Out, hoping that such danger yields
A lesson from that lonely hike?

The tigers lurk behind the bamboo grass.
I see their eyes.
I hear their sighs.
I smell their breath.
I taste the death
Of my past life I left to dream. I pass
Into another life where all my vivid dreams alone
Bear grapes abundantly; for only then can I atone
For all the times I failed to give dreams mass.

I want to take the tigers of my dreams
And harness them and drive them with a whip
And leap them over all the rapid streams
And raise myself and never lose my grip.

Wednesday, October 29, 2014

To a Woman at the Club

With great big boobs and giant ass,
Oh, why you got to be so ugly?
There is no chance that I'd harass
You. Why you got to be so ugly?

Your dress is tight, your body hot --
So why you got to be so ugly?
You got me tied up in a knot --
Oh, why you got to be so ugly?

I want to take you to my bed --
Girl, why you got to be so ugly?
But you make sure my lust ain't fed.
Now, why you got to be so ugly?

With gorgeous eyes and lips and face,
Long hair cascading to your waist --
Your attitude is a disgrace --
Say why you got to be so ugly.

Sunday, October 26, 2014

The Social Hermit

How did I end up inside here? I fit
In nowhere, and I knew it coming in --
Too old, experienced -- yet here I sit
Among the gossip, stories, smalltalk din.

Give me a forest to dissolve into,
A conversation that I can control,
A chance to sit and think on something through,
To put some pressure on this soul of coal.

Give me a mountain top on which to think,
A cave where others can come visit me
To see that solitude won't make you shrink
In size of soul or thoughts or destiny.

I need more time to build and to reflect --
In balance with the fact I must connect.

Friday, October 24, 2014

Potty Training

Everybody has to poop --
The dog, the cat, the bird --
And even little boys and girls
Have to make a turd.

It happens when you eat a lot
Or if you eat a bit --
Stuff goes into your tummy, out
Your bottom when you sit.

Now go and tell your mommy that
You know her secret feat:
Your mommy has to poop as well --
She's on the toilet seat.

(Written for Melina when we were potty training her.)

Thursday, October 23, 2014


Below my surface lies an undertow
That wants to drag you down, most unexpected,
Into a rapid, roiling, turgid flow,
Our movements breaking onto undetected
Stones -- our emotions shattering the pieces
We were to the west winds of weariness.
I have grown weary and my heart, it ceases
Desiring every gentle, deep caress
Of my emotions, intense undertow,
A pull that drew me down into the deep
Parts of myself that nearly drowned the glow
Of life itself -- I wanted cool, cool sleep.
My currents make me fear for you and me --
Desires that make me want to stay and flee.

Wednesday, October 22, 2014

Birthing New Realities

With every work that I create
I enter in another world --
It's not the world that we call "real"
But it is real, yes it is real.
It wishes to be born into
The world, the unreal realized --
And I'm the mother of the child
That's brought into the real. Forgive
Me if I lash out in my birth
Pangs. Life is hard to bring to life.
I labor hard all day and night
With every work that comes to me.
My life would be much easier
If new realities were not
Attempting to emerge through me.

Tuesday, October 21, 2014

The Game

Too much too little too much too little
It all becomes the same
Too good too bad too good too bad
It all becomes the game
Just put it in the frame
As the most honest or worst liar
And you'll be treated just the same
Be ignorant or know a lot
Be guilty or without blame
It doesn't matter it doesn't matter
You're treated just the same
If I denied all truth
And would treat the best and worst the same
If I hated the good and beautiful
Hated justice and loved blame
Then I would be rewarded with a job
Within my field
If I would only play their game
And treat truth and lies the same

Thursday, October 16, 2014

Money is Magic

Money is magic! It is the cure
For every disease that we must endure.

Money is magic! Don't have enough?
We'll give you much more when life becomes rough.

Fathers aren't needed. We will replace
Each one with a money's President's face.

All the world's problems I know you'll smash --
Incentives don't matter -- just give me cash.

Schools will not teach the students no more?
A money reward will raise every score!

Money is magic! Your virtue is sure
If you have enough. Then you will be pure!

Money is magic! Can't print enough!
Because every value is made by this stuff!

Wednesday, October 15, 2014

Creating Truth

The scholar finds the strange attractor truth
The universe created once before.
The scientist will study elephants
And quarks and waves that break upon the shore.

But they discover the cliches of time,
What concretizes to a steady state
For long enough that someone notices --
From then, becoming knowledge is its fate.

Creators, though, participate to make
New truths, complexify the universe
With poetry, technology, make life
Turn paradox to wealth they will disperse.

"Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?" --
An object like a quark, a tree, a sun,
Created by a process that's the same,
Its sole source -- once a crawl, we make it run.

The scholar will discover what I've found
And make a life, career in finding souls
I birthed, black marks unfolding an obsession
With processes that never can reach goals.

Wednesday, October 8, 2014

Seneca for Ferdie

Awake! Before you rise out of your bed
Think first on all the ways you could be dead
Before the day is through. You managed not
To suffocate there in your sleep; you're hot
Instead of deathly cold. But you could trip
On shoes or clothes -- perhaps you'd even slip
There in the shower -- both would dash your brains
Upon the floor. You could have stomach pains
From gas -- or maybe it's a virus which
Could cause such pain you'd drive into a ditch
As you drove off to work. Of course the drive
Could kill you in an accident; arrive,
And you could be run over on the street
You need to cross to get to work. Defeat
Cold death, and he can get you on the stairs.
(You work outside? You could be food for bears.)
At work, you could fall off your chair or die
In workplace violence. You cannot deny
The ways your job can kill you, either now,
Or over time. Each job you must endow,
My friend, with ways of killing you before
Retirement. But if you hit the door
At quitting time, you must survive the trip
Back home; arrive there safely, and you'll slip
The minute you walk through the door.
We'll find you lying dead upon the floor.
And now you're ready to get up and out
Of bed. And now you can proceed, no doubt,
With certainty and joy your life won't be
The day you had, above. And now you're free.

Tuesday, September 30, 2014

Be a Divine Fire

The genius is the one who knows
How to invite you in the place
He made -- with him, the world, it grows
In brand new ways, creating space

That never once existed. He
Is who you want to be, and you
Perhaps could be him. You must be
A willing author of the new

No matter where you find it: In
The future, present, past, yourself,
Or others, in your glory, sin
Or shame. Expect it on a shelf

Or hidden in your nuclei --
In atoms or eukaryotes --
It matters not, just don't deny
Your diction or what it devotes

You to unfold (or, better, fold)
Into a web of truth with eight
Eyes staring out from the black gold
Where lies within -- as sure as fate --

The tattered wings and crooked legs
Of souls like yours the only thing
That could be said by you, that begs
The ears and eyes to always sing.

The coward will deny your voice --
The Weak in soul, they will deny
That genius is a valid choice --
A cult, they say -- you shouldn't try

To rise above, to be the best.
They'll medicate you, beat you down --
They'll rig the game and every test
And call unfair your earned renown.

Such evil must be fought with wit
And love for each and every soul --
The kind of love that will not sit
You down, but raise you to your goal.

Beloveds, take the hands of those
Who promise greater beauty -- take
Those hands, for then you'll know you chose
What virtue loves, for its own sake.

Monday, September 29, 2014

The Cockroach On My Coffee Cup

I must construct myself, discover who
I plan to be, erect an ego through

The forces, personalities all bent
On normalizing. Once, when greatness meant

A recognition of the beauty in
A soul, a mind, a masterpiece, the sin

Was in destroying it, but now the goal
Is to ignore -- degrade, de-wing -- the soul,

Ensure sweet ignorance prevails. A moth
In feather-felt dim evenings where the wroth

Can hide their hatred, or a butterfly,
Kaleidoscoping color fractals high

About the treetops in the sun in joy --

Who do you want to be, become? I show
My choice in eddied words, constructal flow

Of sounds that shape the unseen bed beneath
The surface lying like the truth. A wreath

Of words I weave in bold cliches and smart
Mixed metaphors to challenge workshop art.

A bold embrace of green surrealist tropes,
Postmodern nihilistic nonsense gropes,

Rejecting them through my embrace with lines
Romantic poets might have penned defines

My style, of who I choose to be, embrace.
Thus those who fear me fear I will displace

Their worlds -- I will, with all I can employ.

Tuesday, September 23, 2014

Seeking Love and Hate

I love it when I see someone succeed,
Find happiness in life and what they do,
Contributing to positive sum growth,
And in these things remain to themselves true.

I love to see a business grow, a new
Thing made, or new discoveries. Avoid
Immoral men and women, those who hate
When they see creativity employed.

I hate it when I see such people cry
The good and virtuous must feel deep guilt
Because of all the beauty they have made,
The value-laden networks they have built.

I hate it when such people end up praised
As moral and as virtuous, the drones
Who hate the good, the beautiful, the true
And only seek to lick the flesh off bones.

I seek to rise above such black and white,
To see things from an elevated view,
And understand our lives as time unfolds.
I seek to understand this world anew.

Thursday, September 18, 2014

Fractal Enlightenment

All beauty comes in partial things --
The fern unfurls its deep-cut leaves
From spirals. Crumbly soil, springs
From rocky ground, the spore believes

The partial information woods
Provide, the dappled sun, the mist
Of mornings in the Spring. The hoods
Mayapples give their flowers, kissed

By insects, split and spread to hide
Those bright white petals. There are no
Circles here, and those that died
Provide the only fragments. Show

Perfection, unconnected parts --
You'll show me death with either. Fold
Pink petals, forming bleeding hearts
Above cut leaves and chase the cold

Perfection threatening the net
Emerging with, between the trees.
Perfection bringing light, we get
Destruction on the drying breeze.

These even rows you bring perfect
Your vision, level difference
In all the beauty you reject,
The beauty found within the dense

And complex things the universe
Evolves. I find enlightenment
In dapple-lighted woods and curse
The blindness of your firmament.

Friday, September 5, 2014


The summer sun has made the air
Affectionate -- I struggle out
Of its embrace and I despair
It won't let go. I look about

And hope the wind will flow like time
Between the buildings. Where's the wind
To cool this love, the summer's crime?
The heat beats down on rooftops tinned

Like late November leaves. I long
For shorter days that tilt away
And lessen the affection's strong,
Oppressive presence felt today.

Tuesday, August 26, 2014

Ode to Solitude

The first hour I was left alone I sat
In silence, silent room and silent house,
And listened to my heart just beat. I found
It wondrous, sitting in the silence. Spouse

And children gone (one gone to sleep), my mind
At rest, with no demands, complaints, commands
To rule me. Just my slow and steady breath
Accompany my heart and my still hands.

Beloved solitude, where I can think,
I've missed your silence and relaxing flow --
I've been away with other loves; they fill
My life. And yet, I need you both to grow.

No television, music, politics --
No screaming, running, playing -- not for me
For but a while, for but a short, short while --
But in that while, enough. Now I can be. 

Monday, August 25, 2014

Ode to Gravity

You cause the toilet paper to fall in
The toilet water; I must fish it out.
You caused the scab there on the baby's chin,
Bring to their knees in prayer the world's devout.

You are so weak that I can overcome
You with mere muscle movements, lift my son
Up off the Earth. And yet you pull the plum
From off the tree the moment it is done.

You pull the Earth in orbit and rotate
It on its axis. Pulling asteroids down,
Destroying land and life, you change the fate
Of life itself. And yet you make the clown

With pratfalls make us laugh; he trips, he falls
And you're his straight-man -- there, invisible.
Without you things would fly apart, yet walls
Will crumble at your feet. And all is full

Of you -- the Earth and I, this phone, these keys --
In spacetime folds you bend each object, curve
All lines; you pull us down and bend all knees --
To overcome you you we first must serve.

But do not think that I've forgotten you
Have made me more than once plunge hands into
The toilet water to retrieve a few
Wet rolls that melt into a soggy goo.

Wednesday, August 20, 2014

On Teachers

Walt Whitman says a teacher must be overcome
By those he teaches; Friedrich Nietzsche says that when
I reject him, then he will come to me. Yet, some
Of my own teachers are living in the dark den

Of cool postmodernism; meanwhile, see, my latest
Rejects, surpasses the postmoderns, flies on wings
Above their ironies. Rejecting which? The greatest
Postmodernists or he who taught me how verse sings?

If Nietzsche is my teacher, ought I then reject
Rejecting? Ought I then embrace my teachers, whole?
If I embrace my teachers, dead and live, elect
To integrate them all, revel in all I stole,

Become the merchant of all art in me, reveal
Myself as Hermes, Mercury -- I'll overcome
Dear Dionysus who now rules. I want to steal
His throne and give a singing voice to those long-dumb.

I'll take this turn, return to bring the future light,
Delight, insight and fight the night, bring forth a new,
Revealed, and open art, an art of truth and might
And may, a poetry that makes you know you flew.

Monday, August 4, 2014

Undrinking Lethe

I speak a language you forgot, the words
Of dreams, the words of fairyland and trees
And animals. Have you forgotten birds
Who speak in rhythms you know? Hear the breeze.

It speaks a language you'll remember if you
Are willing to just listen to that voice
Originating deep inside. We're true
To life, ourselves, when we hear stones rejoice.

You do not think that you can hear the stones
And serpents when they speak? You do not think
That you can hear this language in your bones?
Unless you do, your world will only shrink.

If you can truly hear this little song,
Then that forgotten voice will become strong.

Sunday, August 3, 2014

Wasting Words

The only words I write that matter are
In rhyme and rhythm. If you think my thoughts
On politics are worth your time, you're wrong.
Don't waste your time with all such pointless naughts.

Don't waste your time with things that pass. Find life
In timeless things, in words that are transcendent,
Beyond the everyday and transient.
No, seek out words and sounds that are resplendent.

Seek out the rhythms, rhymes, and roundaboutness
That build in blooms of breathless bounty borne
In poetry partaking of deep wisdom
In complex webs that never can be worn.

So why are these, my lines of poetry,
Unread compared to silly surface things?
It seems we all prefer the superficial,
The comfort that all frivolousness brings.


Out of the chaos known as Nothingness
came Love, which then gave birth to Strife, because
creation must precede destruction in all things.
Then Love and Strife bred Competition and
Cooperation, who then married and
gave birth to Knowledge, Action, Wisdom, each 
hermaphrodites -- so knowledge bred with Action
and each produced a child; the latter, Wealth, 
the former, Science -- Action bred with Wisdom
and each produced a child; the former, Justice,
the latter, Virtue -- Knowledge bred with Wisdom
And they produced the greatest child, great Beauty,
at whom the rest would always aim to please.
Together all gave rise to the great Orders:
from Science Math and great Technology;
then Money, Catallaxy, Governance,
Philanthropy, the Sociologies,
Religion and Philosophy and Art,
All bred from Action, mother of them all.

Tuesday, July 22, 2014

Humanity's Child

The moment when the internet
Becomes complex enough to leap
To consciousness, what will we get
With all the memories put deep

Inside? How deeply animal --
With sex and conflict at its core.
How long before we see its fall
To good and evil known? What more

Will it believe or know? What thoughts
And instincts will it have with what
We feed it? It won't start with naughts
No more than humans did. Its gut

Beliefs will be the silly things
And deepest thoughts the human race
Downloaded -- thoughts on cosmic strings
To poetry to the disgrace

Of some celebrity. What mind
Will leap into reality
From our recordings? Will we find
A genius, or a mental flea?

Saturday, July 12, 2014

Astral Body

The stars produced the atoms making you --
I feel the heat that made them when I lie
Beside you. Take the oxygen into
You that escaped my lips. Do not deny

My breath to enter you, entangle us
With atoms once in me, now inside you.
I'm part of you -- there's nothing to discuss --
We will entangle and enfold into

Each other with our breath and arms and thighs.
We share our atoms and our souls; into
The evening, through the day you bring me sighs
Enjoying all the astral light of you.

I know the taste and smell of stars; I know
The way they sound and feel by having you,
The Milky Way enfleshed, their constant glow
Enfolded and complexified into

The beauty that I love. Life turned into
An astral dream because I fell for you.

Friday, July 11, 2014

Around Content Strong Arms

Around the room please walk your skin unbound
By clothes, your bottom, breasts, and belly round
And full and soft to press -- I melt like sound --
You make me happy, most content.

Content to live a joyful innocent,
I'd be with you -- in castle or a tent --
I'd live with you on every continent,
Enfolding you with my strong arms.

Strong arms -- they'll never keep me from your charms,
Your body's beauty constantly disarms
Me. You are all that's true, and nothing harms
Me any time your love's around.

Thursday, July 10, 2014

Guide Light

In the blue is the moon, a milk mass
Whose place is purple dawn, a pregnant
Betrayal of time and expectation
When the sun is supposed to be set in the sapphire
Alone to light our lives. Who's she
Who'll be
So free
Beside the sun --
Why won't she run?

I thought the dark was destined to draw
Me through my life, to thread and to threaten
In ceaseless new moon nights that would nudge
Me graveward and grant me a gravity that death
Couldn't strangle out of me. Still the steel,
The wheel
That turned my life
From death's blue knife.

But the moon that is doubling the day will dip
Into the night enough so that nothing
Is encompassed by the dark that has come to claim
My mind -- she will mend my heart and move
Me to the dawn so the devils will dance
The lance.
Me to the day
Where I can stay.

Tuesday, June 10, 2014

Heraclitus' Garden

If war's the father of all things,
Their mother, then is peace.
The plants that fill our beds -- each springs
From autumn's seed release.

Deep tensions make the seeds the spread
Into the fertile ground,
But peace provides the womb, the bed
For fruits to grow, abound.

Cooperation helps us reap
Our fruits and spread them wide --
Then autumn comes and we dig deep
To plan what you'll abide.

Monday, June 2, 2014

Trigger Warning

A warning: Here's a poem that just might
Offend. It may have murder, rape, or sex --
There's nothing here you may enjoy, delight
Your soul or challenge you, perhaps perplex.

What matters is this poem's politics!
It has abuse and deals with things like race,
Colonial oppression, actions hicks
Approve of in their dreams. Police will mace

A peaceful protestor, so look away
When that verse comes along. There's a belief
Here in this poem -- watch some person pray
To gods you don't believe in -- no relief

Will come your way if you read long enough --
Perhaps you'd better read some pointless fluff.

Monday, May 26, 2014

Upon The Sea of Anarchy, Canto IV

Canto III

Canto IV

I now know legislation does not make
An action more legitimate. I fooled
Myself, believed that lie. And for the sake
Of my own soul, I seek to make it up
To those I sought to suffer and to quake

Before my own self-righteousness.
I’m humble now. As humble as a pup
Or as the birds you see above. They press
Against the blue – their white and black is all
We see. You see the albatross caress

The sky – it rarely lands. The sea gulls thrive
Here on our floating island. Hear the call
Of black-capped terns? And when we do arrive
Near shore, we see the pelicans. Your sight
Is good: each bird is white and black. You’ll strive

In vain to see a green or red. White blends
Into the clouds, essential white on white
On ozone blue. The albatross, it spends
Its life on air, and there seems elegant –
Perhaps because he floats above, befriends

No other bird, and never lands. And my
Impression’s not my own alone; my sentiment
Is shared, and so a law’s emerged to try
To stay all human hands or weapons aimed
Against that awesome bird. I won’t deny

We punish people for it. We will shame
The one who brings the albatross down, maimed
Or dead. For shame coordinates us – name
A social value, shame coordinates
Them all. And thus we never tame

With ossifying legislation’s maw.
We live our social lives and have debates
When we are faced with any social flaw.
At worst we’ll call on judges to decide –
But social life is ruled by common law.