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.

Friday, May 23, 2014

Engine Block

I like to put my poems in a box --
That's how they know just what to do. They bash
Their lines against the sides, and each one knocks
And knocks until a rhyme is made. They crash

Against the walls and tangle up. They crave
Their other lines and interact in sounds
That, when they all reverberate, they wave
In rhythms to make meaning without bounds.

Yet, should we not set free our poetry?
Let lines flow off the page if that's their wish?
And surely all we poets must agree
That rules are like a pomegranate fish.

Is beauty in the randomness of fools --
Or rather in the freedom made by rules?

Tuesday, May 20, 2014


The swordfish steak steams dew upon the dish,
A dash of dill, a dip of fig, the lights
Are dim to help me dig out of the din
That fills my life. A champagne fizz ignites
A will to fit into the fissures in
This life, to ditch all that I did, and wish.

* I wrote this poem based on this.

Friday, May 16, 2014

Fitting In

I must pretend to be the kind of mind
I'm not if others are to let me play
Or work. I have to hide myself and bind
Myself if I'm to find myself one day

Included by a world who thinks of me
As having a disease or deficit
Because I take their words literally,
Because the way I'd like to be won't fit

Their narrow view of normalcy, because
I think their smalltalk dull and want to talk
Instead (and endlessly) about the laws
Of nature and complexity. They balk

At my obsessions, wonder why I sit
Alone and rarely want to interact,
And wonder why I do not care to fit
With them, but rather work.If I lack tact,

It is because I see through the veneer
Of tribal signals, seen for what they are.
I wlll not lie, expect it from each peer --
Naively, every time. Can I go far

When everyone demands conformity
And I cannot conform? My mind's not theirs,
My brain's not structured so. My certainty
Is seen as arrogance. All of this wears

Me down, this acting I must do each day,
Pretending I am them, and failing at
The task each day. But if I don't, then they
Exclude me or, worse, treat me like a gnat.

And so I must pretend to be the kind
Of mind I'm not because I cannot shirk
Responsibility -- so I must find
A balance so that I can live and work.

Friday, May 2, 2014

Philosopher, Poet, Lover

Too often I'm a mere philosopher --
I'd rather be a teacher, telling deeds
And actions, showing fates and rules, confer
With deity in ways you can infer
The truth of things off of these phonic beads.

But who will let the poet sing the light
To them? Delight is found in simple things --
Complexity brings very few delight --
And simplifying but brings on the night,
Reducing everything to cosmic strings.

But what of love? Combined of chemistry,
Neurology, and culture -- these the hems
That make the dress of such complexity
As love and other forms of great beauty
That glitter, shine as this small planet's gem.

Saturday, April 26, 2014


It only takes a brand new bureaucrat
To twist your life around. She'll tell you what
You want to hear: she wants to use you -- look
At your C.V.! You start designing classes
She lets you think you're going to teach one day.
And after all, why shouldn't she? You did
Have high evaluation scores, so high
You went from adjunct to a lecturer
Under her predecessor. You don't know
That that's the problem -- bureaucrats dispose
Of anyone they didn't choose. She'll lie
To you while slipping poison in your tea,
Interpreting the past and all your actions
In terms as negative as possible
And seek the time to strike, to give the dose
That does you in. She'll smile and watch you die.

Friday, April 25, 2014


I dance upon the rock and flash
My feathers, orange, upon my head
In rhythms regular, complex --
Look where my dancing feet have tread.

The sun is shining on my face
Reflecting my immodest dress --
I can afford such wondrous waste
Designed to lure and to impress.

Behold me as I dance for you
And listen as I sing my song
I wrote for you in rhyming lines
To demonstrate that I am strong.

The jungle's darkness cannot hide
The boldness that I demonstrate --
The rhythmic colors, dance, and song
I make for you shall not abate.

My courtship of you shall not cease --
I'll dance upon my rock for you
In rhythms, rhymes, and patterns rich
In meaning, beauty -- all to woo.

But Loving You Is Easy...

It's not that I lack empathy if I
Should fail to notice you're in pain or sad;
It's not that I don't love you when I fail
To say it often, though I'm raving mad

In love with you; it's not that I don't try,
Not only when you are scantily clad,
To demonstrate my love for you; but it
Is hard for me off of this writing pad

To show you all I want to be to you;
Yes, it is hard to be the husband, dad
I want to be, to fight against my brain,
To make my mind give all I have and had

To you; it's hard to even add
Together all you do to make me glad.

Monday, March 31, 2014


I want to be Cortés and burn my ships
Behind me, force myself to conquer, win
Without another choice, declare from lips
Dried in the ocean air, above the din
Of fellow travelers that I will take
The risks I need to make the world quake.

Half-measures aren't the pathway to success --
The jungles must be lit by fires we set.
For then we'll find our fortunes will be blessed
When on ourselves we've made the greatest bet.
No doubt his men thought he had gone insane,
But Cortés had a continent to gain.

Cortés chose either death or victory --
And yet we fear the smallest money lost
To risk. Yet risk is how we become free --
The path to freedom always has its cost --
You must give in to all of life's demands
And fear not making tracks upon her sands.

Saturday, March 15, 2014

The Law of One Price

Another good employee gone -- he went
To a competitor who somehow can
Pay more for wages yet sell for much less.

I'll have to check my books, see what I've spent --
I don't think I can lose another man --
My finances have got to be a mess.

Thank God for double entry bookkeeping --
I've found the waste to keep my business sound,
To raise my wages, lower prices too.

Now let me see if these new prices bring
Employees back and customer around.
I think I can survive and make it through.

My best employee's back, and with a raise --
Now let my competition worry how
To bring their customers back home to them

The way I had to worry on for days
How I could with my prices compete now
To offer up the cheapest clean and hem.

Saturday, March 1, 2014


Each piece and particle's particular --
The universe is necessarily
In fragments, though we always much prefer
To act as though it's all a unity.

To analyze the world we break it up --
The data says it must be so -- reduce
To smallest small and understand the cup
From broken fragments -- thus we do deduce.

Yet how do we begin to understand
The unity we see? Inductively,
We bring the world together, see the hand,
Invisible, build all complexity.

Our theories bring together the diffuse
From all the data scientists produce.

Tuesday, February 25, 2014


I finally found my place here in the world --
A human not so human, so it seems --
An analyst among strategic minds,
Fragmented world sewn up in rhyming dreams.

I now know why nothing can touch my wrists,
Why lukewarm food is plenty hot enough,
Why I like eggs, but can't stand scrambled eggs,
And why bare feet find most ground much too rough.

I'm arrogant in my humility
And crowds of people overwhelm my soul --
Because I feel so overwhelmed by all
I meet, the feelings often take their toll.

I never knew quite where I fit. My son
Helped me discover who I am. I'd find
By learning who he was just how I thought
With this high-functioning autistic mind.

Saturday, February 22, 2014

The Geography of Nostalgia

I long for the familiarly unfamiliar --
A small city I lived in that has changed
While remaining familiar here and there --
An old green house, a stone-faced church,
A city square that lies about remaining
Unchanged -- the coffee house, the restaurant
Are new and still familiar. I tire
Of this changing changeless city --
The construction at the conjunction of
635 and 75 gone on
For far too long while the Starbucks
Remains the same, with the same people
There, and all the different identical
People working at the store (excepting those
Who are the same -- for four years now).
And the one place I want to stay
The same has changed -- the changed
Interior of my childhood home
Makes even the unchanged exterior
Feel indescribably different --
Though the bricks, the trees, the grass remain
The same. And yet I do not miss
My Mississippi home of two years --
I do not long for it, whether it
Changes or remains unchanged. So I
Do not know what it is I miss,
The familiarly unfamiliar I somehow long for.
I do not know, but I long to be there.

Friday, February 21, 2014

The Grub

My son comes running. "Mommy, Daddy! Come
And see!" We see a hole dug in the yard
Before we see what's in the hole. What could
A four year old dig up? We are on guard.

There, in the shallow hole, a writhing grub --
Long, thick, and white, short hooks up near its head,
Its head with angry eyes of orange and jaws
To make an ant or mother look with dread.

My wife recoils, steps back, covers her mouth.
My son says, "Look!" and gestures down. A lull,
My wife says, "That's disgusting!" But my son
Looks up, concerned, says, "No, it's beautiful."

Friday, February 14, 2014


If I were single I would live alone,
Just reading books. If I could live alone

I'd spend each evening at the Starbucks, drink
A coffee, write, and think, "Will I live alone

Without a love?" And I would then go home
To my apartment where I'd live alone.

But since I found you, dear, I read my books
And write -- but I don't have to live alone

To think and work. I'm more myself since I
Embraced you, love, so I don't live alone.

I melt into your arms, your eyes when you
Say, "Troy, with me you'll never live alone."

Sunday, February 9, 2014


Embracing me you ground me and the stone
Dissolves to feed us both as with the sun I feed
Us both, and thus we never are alone,
But symbiotic, transformed into waves
Of color rippling in the light. Who craves
Another as we do, yet fills each need?

And when the winter comes and all the leaves
Lie littered, layered, rotting in the sleet
And frost, the safety that your network weaves
Will comfort me, and you will dine upon
All I produce -- our love will warm us, spawn
Delight in us, create internal heat.

The two of us will feast upon the bark,
The stones, the leaves, transform the sun to live
Together, two become one flesh, our mark
In colored bans throughout the woods. We'll drink
The morning fog and tap the frost. Each chink
We fill is so you I, I you can give.

Tuesday, February 4, 2014

Rainbow Bunting

By all accounts the feathers on
Its wings belong on angels' backs,
Regardless of the dewy dawn
Delivering the sun's gold tracks.

Tuesday, January 28, 2014

To Those Whom I Make Bleed

I'm of the Gadfly Party, Socrates
And Nietzsche are my models, worthy friends
To help bring you, complacent, off your knees,
Your spear in hand. Oh, when your life depends
On laziness, when you believe without
A thought, then I will sting you with some doubt.

I'll contradict if I should change my mind --
Consistency is density -- I'll change
With every brand-new fact that I should find.
Give me your views and I will rearrange
Them into something new, with properties
Emerging from the ground like locust trees.

And I will lie beneath the trees and speak
To each who passes by, and I will not
Feel shame upon my death, for I did seek
The good, the true, the beautiful -- you rot
In valleys, too afraid to climb, to fly
And dance -- you live in fear and don't know why.

But when you're challenged, when you're asked to dance,
You find the fire to burn the locusts down,
To swat at those who challenge your romance
Of work and life and those who wear the crown --
You'll drive one mad, you'll make the poison drink
To make sure that you sleep and do not think.

Sunday, January 19, 2014


It started with a need to learn about
My son, his mind, cast ignorance and doubt
Away so we could help him speak and cope
And find in autism some little hope.

I shared my findings with my wife and brother,
The two who know me best, except my mother
Who is more sadly dead with children who
She wanted yelling, "Grandma!" at her through

The windows of our van as we drove up
The drive. The red brick house that filled the cup
Of me as I sat in my room, alone
And reading books and making lists to hone

Me into who I have become, the one
Whose neural structures, passed on to his son,
Intensified in passing on. I read
About my son, but then that learning spread

To insights into me. My brother, wife
Both saw a brother's and a husband's strife
In life explained. They told me, "You have that."
Impossible! No speech delay. A brat

Who threw himself down on the floor to scream
With every little thing? You could not dream
Of having children who behaved so well
As I. But I lived in a shell, a cell

I made myself. I did not socialize,
But loved to learn and oftentimes seemed wise
When I was very young. Obsessed with sharks,
Then plants -- the endless lists of orchids marks

Me with the patterns that my son will see
As he grows older. Cars lined up since three
The first to show us who he is. The stress
I felt through life make sense at last. I press

Into myself the more I learn. I found
Myself at last. I feel myself on ground,
Not sand, at last. I'm present to my past
And know the neural mold from which I'm cast.

What could I learn from mom, now dead so long?
What would she think of this? This woman, strong
In dying, would perhaps have shown her strength
In love and dedication. The length

I've gone to learn about my son to lead
To me to lead to her has truly freed
Me so that I can see how others think
Of me and of my son, to at last link

With all those people that I found so strange
So that I can expand myself, my range.
And what I learn for me I can pass on
So that my son won't feel a helpless pawn.

Saturday, January 11, 2014

Power Laws

I'll sing the song of anarchy,
Of polycentric polities
Where people live in freedom, vote
With feet when needed to be free.

We humans walked the earth in freedom,
Millennia of movement mired
By gangs too many have agreed
Deserve the tributes we must give.

Can I demand you pay me to protect
Your things and freedom from myself
As well as others? Or demand you live
Where I command you live?

How many men will make immoral moral?
Enough to transform murder to statistics?
Do we require the threat of death to love?
To merely get along? Cooperate?

Allow us all to move, to live, to love --
Allow us all to find our place, cooperate,
Discover what our values ought to be
From day to day. Allow us to be free!

Thursday, January 9, 2014

Winter in the Southern Plains

This time of year we sometimes get a thick
Mist settling on the skyscrapers and trees --
The whiteness will not burn away at noon,
And evening thickens without any breeze.

Is this the desert edge, the shortgrass plains?
The summer scissortails and grackles gone,
It feels like Limbo, land of Cicero
And Homer, land of light without a dawn.

Is this the place of shimmering steel summers?
The air is webbed with wet -- a dozen brews
Of coffee cannot crack the lull of sleep
That wants to creep inside these subtle hues.

A day of weight where impatience can wait
Beside the station where the trains won't run,
This day has slept, it's blanket warm against
The cold, hard air and ineffective sun.

Sunday, January 5, 2014

Health Insurance

The cost of insurance was such
Its price I could sadly not touch --
So I gave all of that
To a young bureaucrat
And now it costs three times as much!

Free Will

Am I my neurons, neurons I? Or are
We free to will what we would be? Are we
When we communicate just like a car
In traffic, part of something new? To be
Responsible and free, do we need all
The people who we know or walk the mall?

I'm free to choose when there's a choice, but I
Could not be me without the rest of you
And you could not be you without the die
Of culture casting you, so you are true
To who you are, the social making one
Unique, for when we're one, then we are none.

My consciousness emerges when my nerves
All interact and I become the tale
I tell myself about myself, which serves
To justify my acts. Succeed or fail --
It's up to me and what I tell myself,
If I'm a hero or a moral elf.

But what I tell myself is also what
You tell me I have done, which always casts
You as the hero of your tale. Your gut
Will tell you you are free -- that feeling lasts,
No matter if you say your life is fate.
But both are surely up for deep debate.

Saturday, December 28, 2013


The city is a slow-beat heart
Of autos flowing from the suburbs, glow
Of headlights fading as the sun
Golds high-rise windows. Plate glass in a row
Watch as the cars depart --
Whose drivers want to dart
In every gap that opens up,
But find the going slow --
Trucks creeping, making gaps, each moving slower by the ton
As they accelerate, one
Is riding on the bumper of a car
To try to pressure her to go
To fill the gap, though he should know
That doing so won't get them very far.
Each driver has a cup --
A plush white Snoopy pup
Is in a rearview window looking out --
Each driver has a cell phone on,
Up to an ear or glancing down to read
Or type, then slam on brakes. A couple feed
On donuts as the sun-bright dawn
Is blinding half the traffic. Others shout
At those who can't make up their minds. The flow
Is interrupted at each ramp --
It's worse when all the roads are damp --
As autos enter, exit, the flow's slowed,
Affecting all the network, every node.
And then the cars and trucks reach their day's destination
And then eight hours' work and auto's resignation
Before the autos all again depart
The city, flowing from the slow-beat heart.

Friday, December 27, 2013


I have released the kraken once, released
Its tentacles to twist and tear, its beak
To reach and rip. I can't control the beast.
The tears and sweat ran down my bloody cheek.

I was not good enough to reign it in,
And I have learned to fear it, keep restrained
The fearsome suckers with their claws of sin --
And since that time, Apollo's always reigned.

The Python's dead, the kraken tamed, my muse
Controlled (cicada's speak to her). I feel
As deep as ocean trenches, but it's hues
Produced by spray of rhythmic waves which peal

Across the public beaches which you see
And hear -- and that is all you'll know of me.

Saturday, December 21, 2013

On the Winter Solstice

The spirits on the longest night
Are sparkling with cold delight.
The sun tomorrow will appear
A little longer, do not fear.
The spirits dance on this long moon
Since spring will not be coming soon.
The winter spirits remain bold --
A longer sun? Ha! Much more cold
Will be a certainty. This day
Is but a promise -- cold til May!

Wednesday, December 18, 2013

Making Special

The bower birds bring bright blue berries, brush
Their bowers with the juice and decorate
The ground with cobalt glass and flowers lush
With indigo. Blue feathers act to sate
The bower bird’s base blue desires, sure
To lure in females who love deep azure.

The bluebird sings his property, each song
A challenge and a lure, a ritual
Denying entry to the threatening throng
Of rivals as his mate will feel the full
Attraction of each tweet and twittered line
Of earthly love that somehow feels divine.

The crane is dancing, jumping on his plot –
He will not let another cross his line –
He’ll throw his head back, dance a high-kneed trot
To demonstrate he’s strong and bold and fine.
And he will flash the red upon his pate
To show he’s worthy of a healthy mate.

This bower of words was made to lure
My love onto my land, to keep her heart –
I dance my words to make our love endure
And say to every rival, “Go! Depart!”
I decorate my words into a strong
And vibrant verse to sing where I belong.

Friday, November 22, 2013

For Anna: A Birthday Poem

My love for you fills all of space --
My love for you is infinite
(One of the big ones) -- and your face
Makes all my love so intimate.

I love you more than you can know --
I love you when I see your smile --
And every day will my love grow
As life goes by with every mile.

And on this birthday, first with me,
I want to say I love you so.
And in this love I want to be
In every birthday that you know.

Thursday, October 17, 2013

Rat Race

We have to pay the mortgage soon
One third of that is tax
We have to pay the day care, too
We never can relax

My wife and I each work a job
And contemplate a third
To pay the bills and student loans
Six-figure poor's absurd

We have to pay for insurance
For house and cars and health
We're in a higher tax bracket
Because of all our "wealth"

We have no money to maintain
Our cars, though they are old
But there's nowhere for us to go
With my empty billfold

This cronyist economy
Will keep you in your place
The regulations break your knees
As you are told to race

Tuesday, October 1, 2013

Outside Politics

I stand outside the city, thrown
Outside by those who fear the laws I make,
Disrupting with my rhytmic moan
The rigid rules imposed for power's sake.

I stand outside the city, thrust
Into the wilderness where words belong --
Their place of birth, birthed from the lust
That grips our souls with every mating song.

I stand outside the city, banned
Because chaotic order can't be seen
Within the walls -- unless it's planned,
Unnaturalized, my work is deemed obscene.

I stand outside the city, out
Away from people, ostracized, removed --
I sing, and in great fear they shout
My message will not ever be approved.

I stand outside the city, bring
A language which is slowly understood --
And then, I hear some voices sing
My song -- it's beautiful and true and good.

I stand outside the city, make
A new community, a city where
The poets rule, each has a stake,
And no one stops them if they risk or dare.

I stand within my city, live
Poetic life by my poetic rules --
In rhythms, metaphors I give,
And love all man, from geniuses to fools.

Monday, September 30, 2013

Wearing the Pants

When I was growing up, I went to church --
A church that preached that women should wear skirts
Or dresses only -- look the woman's part --
Wear blouses only, never pants and shirts.

We also learned that sex was bad outside
Of holy matrimony -- genuflex
Before your God if sex should cross your mind --
But tell us don't and all we think is "sex!"

You first take off her shoes, and then you must
Unbotton, then unzip, then pull the pants
Down over her wide hips, then pull her panietes
Down off before the two of you can dance.

Lift up her skirt -- that's almost all you need
To do. You want me to refuse to fuck
When you make easy access to the goal?
When she can straddle me, begin to buck?

Well, I'm no hypocrite. My sexual scenes
Were only with young women in blue jeans.

Tuesday, September 17, 2013

Fighting the World

I stepped out of the piney wood and stood
Upon a river bank. The river roared
In turbulent and white-capped green. A good
Eye could not see across, though deep it bored.

Yet, halfway out, a boat. A person rowing
And pulling hard against the current, aimed
Upstream, a Red Queen in the rapid flowing
At best, but often losing what he'd claimed.

"My friend!" I yelled above the roar and mist,
"Why must you fight so hard against the flow?"
A leafy log flowed at him, barely missed.
The low sun made his shadow slowly grow.

The voice that came upon the air was weak,
"I'm out of water, food. A town's upstream
Where I can get the nourishment I seek.
But getting there's a nightmare, not a dream."

"Why fight the current? Turn around and guide
Yourself downstream. You'll find another town."
A silence as my waves reached him. He plied
Against the waves, but answered, flowing down.

"I don't know where those towns would be, but I
Know there's a town ahead, so I'll go there."
He then lurched back, which prompted my reply,
"The more you row, the more you go nowhere!"

"I don't know if there's towns downstream. I fear
I'll starve unless I go with what is known."
"How long have you been fighting?" "But a mere
Three days in this same spot," I heard him groan.

"You could have found a place by now and gone
Three hundred miles if you'd gone with the flow
The river offers you. Another dawn
And you'll become a lunch for some sharp crow."

"But I'm afraid. Besides, you tell me not
To fight, to just give up. I must fight through!"
"To row within the flow's a fight well-fought --
That life will become beautiful and true.

Don't be afraid of the unknown. Don't fight
The natural currents -- they will ease your life.
You'll fight the rules of life in pain. Delight
Will come when you flow through, around your strife.

You cannot beat the river -- all your hard
Work cannot overcome the water; soft,
The river wears down stones. You've only marred
Yourself. When with the air, the crow's aloft."

At once, the boat lurched with the current, turned,
And disappeared so fast, I could not hear
If he replied. I walked the bank. I yearned
To see where he made port, if it was near.

I walked three days along the river bank,
In mud and briars which held up my way.
And yet, through rain, my spirit never sank --
I knew that I would see my friend one day.

At last, I came upon a town. A boat
Was pulled up on the bank. I asked around
About the man. I heard a rumor float
Through town of him, but he could not be found.

So I went back the way I came, my home
A three-day walk. I heard a croaking crow --
I saw him on the bow upon the tome
That only he and I can ever know.

Tuesday, September 3, 2013


A spot of warmth, tight twisting, rising air
Atop an ocean, sun-warmed. Rising air

Pulls water, molecule by molecule,
Reforming droplets in the rising air

Until the ocean Fibonacci spirals
Up -- reined, it rains down from the rising air.

The gray clouds rope in rapid rounds to reign
Within the walls that wound the rising air.

When air and water merge, new order forms --
I, Troy, saw ocean land from rising air.

Friday, August 16, 2013

The Tired Defender

In nothingness the universe began --
Asymmetried some 14 billion years
Ago into cascades of galaxies.

Must I defend this truth, reality?

Upon this earth, from molecules emerged
Evolving life from single cells to apes
With microscopes, who can write poetry.

Must I defend this truth, reality?

A human mind evolved, a social mind,
More instincts making actions more complex,
A plastic human nature in each mind.

Must I defend this truth, reality?

Subjective values, tradeoffs, human action,
The economic laws invariant
Creating wealth when information flows.

Must I defend this truth, reality?

When given power, guns to realize
Their wants, no one becomes a saint. They all
Protect themselves with force and rhetoric.

Must I defend this truth, reality?

The artist makes, presents what no one dreamed --
Their works cannot be planned but by themselves.
Demand is made once they supply the work.

Must I defend this truth, reality?

Creationists, intelligent designers
Must fall away in time -- they must embrace
More metaphors more true to all of life.

I pray this is the truth, reality!

Tuesday, August 13, 2013

Our Vampire Lord

The vampire living on top of the hill
Has ruled our town with terror centuries.
He tells us that he keeps us safe and will
As long as he exists -- and we must please
Him, feed his thirst or, we've learned, he will spill
More blood than we have given him. The breeze
From off his hill, his home brings down the lure
Of blood and death -- his poison is our cure.

No one dares speak or think that he must go --
Most cannot dare imagine such a life
Without our lord, who seems to always know
What each most needs -- with him, there is no strife
Between the citizens -- no vicious blow
Has come between a single pair. A wife
Each month is what we give our vampire lord
So all can plow and none will need a sword.

Before he came, the stories say, the town
Was poor, at war with others and within.
The smell of death and blood came not just down
The vampire's hill, but out of every inn
And from the alleyways and bars. A gown
Of incivility is what we'll win,
The townsmen say, if we give up the one
Who saved us from the awful things we'd done.

The stories from the time he came are hard
To hear and to believe. Our lord's demands
Of monthly virgins were first met, the bard
Here in the town confirms, with reprimands
Of those who dared comply -- they put  a guard
Upon the virgin women, girls -- no hands
Could find a single one to sacrifice --
The town was bleeding, infested by lice.

And yet, the town held firm and killed each man
Who'd send a daughter to the lord up on
The hill. Yet plague befell the town, began
To take its toll in lives and will. The dawn
Refused to break. They soon lifted the ban
On sacrifice, but rebels were not gone,
And soon a horrible solution came --
The outcome is our everlasting shame.

If virgins were the tax upon the lad,
Then virgins were what our town would deny
The lord -- each farther would ensure demand
Would die with no supply. The horrid cry
Of daughters, nieces, granddaughters -- the banned
Became one night the way the town would dry
The vampire lord of what he most desired --
But that is when our awful lord grew tired.

That night our lord swept down upon the town
With shrieks, the shrieks alone were bringing death --
Two women died of fear and terror drown
The town -- all but the famous warrior Seth,
Who met our lord, prepared to take his crown,
Prepared to fight until one lost his breath.
But little did he know no breath was borne
By his opponent -- his, though, would be torn.

Had Seth faced but a man, his victory
Would have been sure and glorious, his song
Would have been on the lips of every
Bard who composed and who could draw a throng
To hear him sing our language. The fury
Of Seth was not enough -- his arm not strong
Enough for one undead -- and so he bled,
Impaled for all to see, and all to dread.

For years our lord would make the townsmen raid
The nearby towns to feed his quenchless thirst --
And dozens would be taken for a maid
To be ensured. At last, the youngest burst
Into young womanhood -- our lord then laid
Down all the townsmen's swords. No longer cursed
To shed the blood of neighbors, virgin lives
Within the town were shadowed, until wives.

The law is all out daughters must remain
Pristine until she's married, and eighteen
Is when our lord no longer will restrain
Himself, and twenty when she can be seen
By men and made a mother, wife. Restrain,
And you won't be impaled -- keep your love clean,
And if our lord, himself, won't take her, you
Can have her hand -- but give our lord his due.

And thus our lord rules us by fear and fear
Alone, as we are told a prince must rule --
The rebel who dares speak will disappear
Unless the people think him a mere fool.
From fear, respect -- and then, to love. Our dear,
Beloved lord ancestors thought a ghoul
Is who has kept us safe, at peace, well-fed --
He cares for us from birth, until we're dead.

We look upon our ancestors with shame,
Cannot believe the weight of all their sins --
The cruelty of our lord, on them we blame --
They're why we meet our lord with careful grins.
We recognize our lord's eternal claim
On all our lives -- he knows all outs and ins
For each of us. We recognize he saves
Us from ourselves -- we're his delighted slaves.

I'm grateful that my wife was spared the spot,
The lottery that chooses, and may choose
My darling daughter, eight years from the lot
That may be hers, that may be drawn. I'd lose
My mind, my heart should I lose her, her cot
Made empty by our lord. But there's no ruse
That I could dare conceive to save her life
If she became our lord's, and not a wife.

But we are used to loss -- the stories tell
A contradictory mythology
About our past -- our town is poor, and fell
Upon hard times when we ceased to be free,
When our good lord provided us the well
We drink from all our lives. Down on each knee
We kneel before our lord, in constant terror
That we won't live our lives without an error.

Our ancestors, they say, once lived in trust
And not with the suspicion  we endure.
At least we live our lives absent of lust
For what another has -- it does ensure
Resentment won't arise, provide the rust
That clogs the village wheels. We pity her
Who draws the lot, and that's all that we feel.
We're equal, all the same -- that's why we kneel.

Perhaps our ancestors had wealth, much more
Than we have -- but what anarchy they had!
They warn us that we could have endless war
Of all on all. Our ancestors were bad --
That we know. The chaos at their door
Was what at first drove almost every dad
To one way or another violate
His family's honor -- there is no debate.

We live in virtue -- with each sacrifice
We guarantee our way of life will last,
That we will live in safety, that the rice
Will fill our bowls each day. Good riddance past
Of cold uncertainty and constant vice.
As many daughters as I have, I'd cast
Them all before our lord to keep our way
Of life -- I'd let each one be our lord's prey.

Monday, August 12, 2013

Cowards and Tragic Heroes

The coward destroys, despises, and hates --
Denies all virtue, knowledge, charity --
Empowers only hooded hangmen, debates
Nobody, certain he is right -- he'll flee
From love and risk and pain at any cost,
And will not suffer any suffering
To bring success, for that condemns -- he's tossed
The future into Hell so none can sing.

The coward hates, resents such excess love --
Resents success, ignores the failures, pain
The bold must bear. He'll smash them with his glove,
He'll poison, lie, condemn all honest gain.
The scientist, philosopher, investor
Is busy with the future, trips and falls
And springs and leads again -- he will not nest or
Relax for long -- he has to scale more walls!

The coward trembles at the fear of loss --
He cannot love, he dare not take the risk.
Inventor, artist, businessman -- his cross
Is borne if he knows that his love may whisk
Away at any moment. An excessive
Love, risk of pain, is necessary. Great
The genius lifting us, his love expressive
And delicate -- successful, seems our fate.

The coward, misanthrope wins but a day --
The one who loves to excess will arise
And reproduce the beauty and the way
Inherent in the kosmos. If he dies
For love, he dies a man who tried, who filled
His life, who shined and danced, who blazed a trail
That others, far less brave, may go. He tilled
The land for others who'd, without him, fail.

The tragic hero -- artist, businessman,
Philosopher, investor, scientist,
Inventor -- all who risk and love and plan,
Entrepreneur who, in pain, has kissed
The ground and from that ground arose again
And all too often lost and fell, were lain
Down by the world, yet some would sometimes win,
And when they won, it was the world's true gain.

Monday, August 5, 2013

The Orchis Enthusiast

At last, she had it all -- a maid to clean
And cook, a nanny who could watch the kids,
And cash enough for her to at last ween
Herself from any kind of work. Her bids

To empty herself of the misery
Of doing anything at all soon found
Their price in endless sameness on T.V.
And with her Facebook friends. The couch now drowned

Her worse than any job she'd hated. She
At last found someone local who would chat
In Facebook, private, promise heavenly
Excitement if she'd see him in his flat.

Her boredom dissipated with the risk --
Of getting caught, of pregnancy, his hair
Attaching to her clothes -- her breath was brisk
Each time she left her house for her affair.

She would not stay to get to know the man --
She did not want him to replace her life --
A roller coaster ride's what she began
And nothing else -- she was her husband's wife

When he returned from work. Her passion for
Her husband kept the nanny busy keeping
The children ignorant. She wanted more
Of him -- at morning, evening, even sleeping.

But when her lover wanted more (we seem
Unsatisfied when we have what we want),
She told him she was but a silly dream
And asked him not to make her be more blunt.

When he insisted, she found someone new
To be her danger, roller coaster ride --
A Facebook block from her, and they were through.
She never heard about his suicide.

Her second lover she discarded when
She found his techniques boring, and the third
When he grew jealous. She went through ten men
Before she found her hobby too absurd.

So now instead of taking daily showers
To wash the smell of sex away, she cares
For windowsills of complex orchid flowers
Whose seedlings she most generously shares.

Sunday, July 28, 2013

Finding Oneself at Home

A lyric on the radio and I
Am reconciled to my fate to live
In Dallas and to find it home. Yes, why
Not find my happiness, my want to give
In these, my neighbors. Why should I deny
These buildings, people, streets, and theaters
Who are and can be home? What in me stirs

To drive me on? Or did, before today?
If I am settled here, my balance lies
In bringing change to where I live. I'll play
The fool who speaks the tragic truth, denies
Solemnity in settled spaces day-
Light needs to shine onto so fertile loam
Can bear firm fruit. Yes, that's what I call home.

Monday, July 22, 2013

Myth Is History

A querulous old man with followers
Who ruled as tyrants found the poison cup
Pressed to his lips to silence all the burrs
That tripped off of his tongue. He was served up

To please Apollo, whom he had denied.
His ugly face and ugly words could die
From eyes and ears at last. The asshole died
A hated man -- that, no one could deny.

In wondrous words and images, a sage
Arose, reborn a winged soul of light
That shines through plane tree leaves as poetry.

Thus, time and word play have reverse the rage
Onto the people who would never write
Their myth and sing their song of history.

Sunday, July 21, 2013

The Flirt

Can he impress with Beowulf
And C.S. Lewis, fairy tales?
Her glasses, large, close-matches his --
But does that mean there's balanced scales?

He bravely tells the tale of troops
That Beowulf must bravely bring --
In lines alliterated long
Ago by bards who'd bravely sing.

Perhaps she has the interest
In myth; perhaps it's really him,
And she will happily pretend
Until it, too, becomes her hymn.

Saturday, July 20, 2013

The Door

You stand before the door of rotting wood,
All lichen-mottled gray and green, the stone
Wall matching. You knock. Do you know the words?
The door stand silent, then it gives a moan
That sounds like clippers rotting in their docks,
Then silence from the door, the tumbling blocks.

You do not know what you are here, why you
Must find the key, to find the words which mean.
The words which woo though too tough times, are true
Enough to let you in. You're sure this green
Dilapidated door will soon be breeched
And all your efforts to find meaning reached.

But will you mind the masters that you find?
The dragon summing all your fears may lie
In emerald scales that glisten, shine, and blind,
And fires of valencia will try
Your mettle, burn you, melt away confusion --
You'll learn to live by meeting your conclusion.

Perhaps there's nothing on the other side --
Perhaps an absent sea is all you'll find --
And, disappointed, tempted to deride
All efforts, you'll slam shut the door, your mind,
Refuse the secrets, say you cannot know,
That every light's an artificial glow.

Unless you love the word, you'll never see
Into the darkness, find the door remains
Forever closed (although it's yours), to be
And never not to be, despite complaints
That you are lost, that you're confused and hate
That you can't know if you went through the gate.

Tuesday, July 16, 2013

Creating Value


If value's made by laboring, the tree
Is valueless until I chop it down --
And with each chop I put myself, not free
But bound by labor to this leafy crown.

And when you buy my boards, you buy a part
Of me and nail me into crossbeams, house
My spirit in your home. You raise my heart
In walls, and when my beams are roofed you rouse

In me a certainty your house is mine,
At least in part, because my labor makes
The tree have value when I raze it, shape
The wood. I put myself in every line --
You cannot think my sale to you forsakes
My claim -- your every purchase is a rape.


I look upon my trees with love, the leaves
That quiver in the breeze. My neighbor drops
His trees he values for their wood -- his sleeves
Rolled up, he sweats to harvest all his crops.

An ancient tulip tree, two hundred feet,
Just barely on his land, with tempting wood
Is next. How can I let it drop? I'm fleet
To him and beg to buy the tree for good.

We walk away, both satisfied. The tree
Will grow its tulip leaves and tulip flowers
For me to see. His wallet holds the cost.
When all has value, nothing can be free,
From wood for homes to water brought by showers --
But each has what he wants, and nothing's lost.

Monday, July 15, 2013

A Poem for Our First Anniversary

I love you an infinity
In time, in space, in depth --
Your heart is a divinity
Of soul, of flesh, of breath.

You know that I will always love
The being that is you --
Your up and down, below, above
Becoming always new.

That's why I'll love you all my life --
If you are sick or hale --
That's why I'm happy you're my wife --
My love for you's to scale.

Sunday, July 14, 2013

Elizabeth and Campos

Oh, Muses! come to me and sing
Of Campos, a Trojan man, an Earl,
The last young Trojan left on earth
Except for his Elizabeth, the love
He had to leave a while
In his travels into Greece.
Sing, dear Muses, of his return
Back home to his Elizabeth, the flower
Of his heart and mind, her sweet scent
Drawing him home again. The strange
Beasts he met and battled with,
The angry oceans he crosses to see
His beloved Elizabeth once again --
A love much deeper than the sea.

Campos set out on the shore, his army at his back,
Sands swirled around his feet within the waves
Washing to shore the blood of the serpent that he killed
To get tho this black, sandy shore. He emerged
From the sea, goldened by the sun, great Helios
Drawing his carriage across the sky as he smiled
Down on Campos' men. Patroklos the Rough
Stood beside him at his right, a nameless giant
Shadowed his left side. Behind him stood
Other sons of Herakles, all sworn to always fight
Beside the mighty Campos, just and beautiful
In all things, a model for the world in all his deeds
And in his love for his beautiful Elizabeth.
"Are you sure that ths is where we must land
On this hot day?" the Great Patroklos asked Campos.
The nameless giant nodded too. So Campos turned to see
His men each in the eye as men should always do.
"I asked for you to join me in my quest to find my love.
This is a quest I only ask myself, not of my friends,
To fulfill into the end. There is no shame in going home.
But as for me, I'll carry on. Dear Elizabeth should never feel
As along again as she now must. She longs for me as I for her --
I will continue on." And with that said, a cheer arose
Among the mighty men, defiance shown against all odds --
Their loyalty earned in every battle won. And so they leapt ashore,
Weapons strapped on every arm, and every man
Strode behind their Earl, sure he'd lead them, to a man,
To shameless honors and victories. As Campos led them
Onto shore, the black earth rumbled at their feet.
A fire erupted into the sky and darkened Selene's lovely face
Just now beginning to rise. The men stepped back --
They were unafraid, just surprised at such a sudden burst --
They readied their weapons and their shields as Campos
Stepped out on the plain. "Whoever comes to challenge me,
Do know I don't for a moment stop. My dear Elizabeth
Beckons me, and nothing shall keep me away from her."
Then Campos heard a voice from all around --
So loud it must have been a god -- and all the men
Now trembled when they heard, "You set your foot
On sacred ground. You shall not pass nor turn around
Until the punishment has been met -- your blood for sacred ground."
But Campos raised his weapon arm and shook it
At the voice that came. "You do not understand my plight.
You stand within my way, and nothing on this earth of sky
Shall keep me from my love. Nothing on earth is as strong
As my love for fair Elizabeth -- if you don't move, then you shall die.
This promise I shall keep." Out from the trees stepped Luceron --
I light shined from his eyes. A serpent's tongue wrapped
Around his teeth that jut form his massive lower jaws
And under each bright eye. Muscles bulged under hairy scales,
And a scorpion's tail struck overhead. Eagle claws
On both his feet gripped the earth and dug out holes
Deep enough to bury each grown man who stood with swrods at sides.
He looked as red as the dark red clay from which he sprung. Death
Played across his snapping jaws. And then he shook his mane.
"You do not frighten me, great Luceron, as terrible
As you may look. If I must kill you so I can reach
Elizabeth, then that I'll do upon this very day. I say this
As a warning made to you -- for you must know I will prevail."
Luceron puffed up his chest and sucked the air
From out of each of the great warriors' lungs
And blew out a most terrible wind, an acrid stench
That knocked the men onto the sand and killed
The two weakest of the men. But Campos stood,
He held his ground, and waited for the monster
To blow out its blast of air -- and then great Campos
Launched a spear into its mouth, and leapt
When it held firm. The monster roared,
And red blood flowed, but Luceron stood his ground.
He pulled the spear out of his mouth and charged
Across the plain. Campos' men launched all their spears --
The monster's massive scales deflected all that came --
But Campos crouched and, when he came to see
The texture of the tongue hanging from the monster's mouth,
Campos leapt upon its neck and grabbed it by its
Shaggy mane. He climbed up to the monster's head
And with his sword he stabbed it to the hilt
Into the monster's shining eye, and then he grabbed him
By the jaws and pulled with all his might. Luceron
Had never known a man to be as great and strong
As Campos seemed to be. His massive jaws stayed open
As great Campos pulled back with both his arms.
And then the monster and great Campos felt
The monster's jaw tear, ripping loose, and Campos
Ripped the monster's jaw from off its angry face.
As great Campos ripped he jaw, he fell
Down to the ground. And with a massive tooth
From that very jaw, he stabbed Luceron in through the heart,
Between the plates that made his bellowing chest.
And with a heave and such a roar that one more man
Just died of fright, Luceron fell and breathed his last,
And Campos stood upon his corpse, victorious,
Yet ready now to move on to see Elizabeth.
For Elizabeth was the one and only truest love
Of Campos the slayer of the monsters and men
Who brought terrible things to the earth and men --
Campos, who sought good for all men and love
Most dear for his beautiful beloved Elizabeth,
Most fair and just of women on the earth.
Elizabeth, who Campos loved more than his own life,
Who he would make his wife upon his return to her,
Waited for her beloved Campos to return, certain
Of his return to her, his promise that he would always
Return to her, and never leave her again for so long.
So Campos led his men across the broad and grassy plains
And into the towering mountains, to uncertain dangers.
At a town they rested and were told of a w ay home
More quickly through the rugged mountains -- a path
Through, into a cave that tunneled all the way through
To the other side. A danger, though, they were warned --
A mythic monster no one had ever seen, for none returned.
"How, then, do you know the tunnel goes through?"
Campos asked the man. "The monster was not
Always there," the man replied to him. "There was a time
When we were wealthy from the trade passing through,
But now we have fallen to poverty, a city taxed
By this monster's presence." Campos made a promise
To the man and city: :This borough shall not be rued
By this monster's fickle ways. I shall free the cavern
And this city from his great oppression."
So Campos went and led his men from the town
And deep into the tunnel cave. They walked
And were surprised to find they traveled unmolested.
The light came in the other side and all
Walked with relief to the cavern mouth.
They came into an open field. Great Helios there blinded
All their eyes as his light reflected from the scales
Of the mountainous monster standing there
Between them and the other cave that led
Through the other mountain towering into the clouds.
The men stood firm, hands on arms, ready for a fight.
The monster opened its cavernous mouth, and light
Flashed from its massive temples as a soothing voice
Slipped off its tongue and the monster spoke down to the men.
"My dear, dear men, what brings you here
Into my humble home? Have you come to smell my flowers,
Seek my wisdom or my treasures?" But Campos said
In his mighty voice, "We came to open up the way
That you have closed so very long. Men have vanished
In this place and poverty brings darkness and despair
To the town that once traded through this tunnel I have passed."
"Have you come here, all this way, just to accuse me,
Having the voice of the accuser and ignorant
Of what I, the accused, have to say? This is just?"
The monster asked with a charming voice,
Convincing in its subtlety. "So speak, and let us hear
Your side, and tell us who you are."
The monster smiled its thousand teeth and spoke to all the men:
"I have come to make sure my men that live on either side
Won't waste their lives on frivolous things. I just let pass
What they need, when I've spent sufficient time perusing it.
All will pass that's needed. You may call me Kratic."
"Well, great Kratic, I've seen the men with whom
You've interfered. Their once-great city lies in ruins,
Their only food what they can grow, their goods
All lie in waste, all rots right where it sits. You seize
These goods from your own greed, all justified with lies."
"Do you not know with whom you speak?"
"Do you, great Kratic, know yourself? I'm Campos --
I'm protector of men. And I will stop the harm you bring,
By force or by persuasion. Which? The choice belongs to you."
Great Kratos brought out his golden wings
And flapped tornadoes with each great wing.
"I'll fly to see if what you have come here to claim
Bears any resemblance to the truth," Kratic said
And, with a leap, flew up into the sky. "I will return,
And if I find you lie, then I will kill you all."
He flew away and left silent Campos and his men
To wait for his return. When he left, one of Campos' men
Came up to Campos and said to him, "Master,
The great monster left. Let us go and continue on."
But Campos looked the man in his eyes and said to him,
"We do not run, nor do we leave poor men to rot
With such a wasting life. We will wait to hear Kratic's word,
To see what he has to say." Ans so the men stood firm
And waited for the monster to soon return. Campos
Stood, patient and impatient, for Kratic's return
So Campos could continue on to see his love. Their wait
Was not long -- the mighty Kratic flew at such a speed
That man had never seen, and he returned to Campos
And his men to report on what he'd seen. "I've seen
That what you say is true. My wisdom, it has failed.
I shall banish myself from this land and let men
Do as their follies will -- those are wiser, more than me --
My plans, they all have failed." And with a flap, Kratik flew
Up into the sky. "I'll rejoin my brothers in the air,
And remain, a star to guide men by. But I shall never
Err again and interrupt their lives." "Great Kratic,"
Campos yelled to him, "No greater soul now lives
In either man or beast as the one that lies in you.
Good travels -- I'm joyful at the thought
That reason won out over war." With that, great Kratic
Shot up in the air and vanished toward the sun.
And Campos led forth all his men, and finished
Traveling through the mountain's tunnels.
The city on the other side, on hearing of his deed,
Celebrated for three days, and lifted statues to his name --
But Campos stayed for but a night -- his love
For dear Elizabeth more precious than all awards.
That morning's parade escorted him back on the road,
And Campos set out for Elizabeth, the love he missed
More than all the world, if it were lost to him.
That night, the stars traced out her face, his dreams
Brought her to him. She walked on starlight,
Her black and wavy hair a halo on her face, a wind
Bellowed out her blouse, her breasts broke forth
In all their beauty, an image of Aphrodite herself,
Elizabeth, blessed by that beautiful goddess
With such beauty and sensual love. Campos reached
Out with his arms and took his love up to his chest
And kissed her lips and pressed her close, bare breasts
Upon his chest. But when he want to drop her clothes,
The sun began to shine, and Campos woke into the light
And cursed its early glow. But then he said,
"I should not curse -- no dreamy ghost
Can quite compare with Elizabeth in flesh and bone.
Dear Helios, do please forgive my curse -- you're right
To wake me so I can go and see my true Elizabeth."
And so great Campos woke his men to get them on the way,
And Campos swore love to the sun for waking him that day.
And so they traveled on for days, until they came up to a hill,
Steep and slick, of marble rock, whose path
Lay in their way. But when great Campos reached the top,
A giant eagle swooped from on high, and grabbed
Great Campos in his claws and lifted him to the sky.
His men flung spears and rocks and arrows,
All to no avail. And Campos few of from his men --
They thought a certain meal. Indeed, the eagle
Flew him to a giant nest upon a peak above the clouds,
Where eaglets lay in wait. But when she landed,
Campos leapt upon her back and, with his sword,
Stabbed through the neck of that great bird. She dropped,
Dead on the nest, and Campos stood up on her corpse
And, with a sword-swing, he killed all the young.
He pulled some feathers from the mother's wings and tied
Them to his legs. He cut the longest feathers from her wings
And shoved his arms into their hollow sheaths
And stepped out on the rocky ledge to catch
The gusting wind. He flew up on the fashioned wings
And looked down at the passing earth.
He found the way to get back home, and flew
On updrafts and on currents meant to bring him home
To fair Elizabeth. So on these currents Campos flew
Until he recognized his home and dear Elizabeth
Standing in the doorway of their home. She looked
And saw an eagle fly down to the place she stood,
And jumped into the house to close the door, not knowing
Who it was. But Campos cried out to his love,
"Fear not, for it is me. I've returned as I had promised you."
With this, most fair Elizabeth flung back the door and ran
To him as Campos lighted to the ground and shed
His feather wings. He ran to her and took her in his arms
And kissed her full and lovely lips, and swept her in his arms
And walked with her into the house. He shed his clothes
And took off hers and lay her naked in the bed.
And there he stayed with her until his men came by the house
To tell the news of Campos' sure demise five days
After great Campos came back to his love's fair arms.
And when they saw their leader step safe and alie
Out from his marble house, they cheered and yelled
Out so all could hear, "Great Campos has returned!
Long live his fame and his great love, Elizabeth --
Long live her lovely name!" And so the word
Spread through the land so everyone could hear
The love of Campos and his beloved Elizabeth,
A love with Campos fought men and monsters for,
A love with telling everyone who'd hear.