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 paradise
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 where life complexifies through 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.