Selected Poems

Moon Tells All

In tune with the weight of the moon
Even in the morning there is light
A way to pass into the realm of waves
If I stare hard into the twisted shapes
Sense can be made of a day
Sense can be derived from a universe of misalignment
Turn the malformed mass on its side
A new birth awaits every solitary station
Look into the eyes of a statue
A soul is frozen in every stone
Look deep into the eye of dear moon
She is telling us we’re not quite alone
She is telling us there is solace in cyclical motion
Telling us the story of all incantations
That the bright shines behind our eyes

Cyclist Hit By Car

I see the cyclist propelled through the Summer air.
His Brooklyn frame lands with a fleshy thud.
He slowly arises with a passive aggressive smirk.
The perpetrator checks the state of his van first.

Socrates Versus Muse

The muse are often a flighty band. Some days they flitter about in far away neighborhoods. Others they will hover in silent stares, casting shadows on my tombstone, withholding all information, letting one think. The inflicted occupation of thinking has caused many a malfeasance. In this neighborhood it spells death. The friction of the feet must generate enough heat to keep the children from freezing. The reflex must be honed as the switchblade sidearm is, ready to strike with fists of hardened bone. To stop and figure is a gesture to the predators of submission. A confident tone and sharp intuition goes a long way here. We are the warriors of understanding, letting the information wash over when it rains, following the patterns that it paints for our sake. And when the sun shines in its unsettling silence, we wait.

Interstellar Saviors

In the middle of the morning
At the start of a day
I saw the beaming lights of distant
Loving people finding long waves
From celebrated corners of the fairest stellar side
They came to give us pleasant dreams
Came to help us find
In those beams of blistered vision
Pulling up to heaven
There was no resistance from the lambs
Floating into mother ship’s wombs
Landing in new feet again
This is the future we had dreamt
A utopia of science and emotion
The religion of standing still
And the blasphemy of angry will
Sent this vessel first to extinguish
Now to experience a wandering flight
Into what was once considered night
Now it’s seen as it unfolds
To be a long story not yet told
Our insignificant stance in the infinite dance
Of matter and importance none
The energetic transfer all to one
In magnetics we find solitude
Or disperse into a wash of atomic color
I await this coming wave
An invasion of the norm
The mighty ships of pirates
Arrive to free the earthly slaves.

Black Godess

Coffee makes me love
Even before I stir
My heart is open to the world
I take the medicine for being
By the mouth without seeing
The true glory of the day
It always comes true
With the mouth watering ensues
The brilliant awakening of cells
The super heightened manic bend

I give myself to you black goddess
My occupation depends on your benevolence
Your encouragement is sweet
It glides and softens too
I find my way through
An otherwise foggy day
Far from the San Francisco Bay
Where I first saw your face
You were everywhere in my way
Helping me to stay awake
Through the trying days of twenty-three

Now we’re an undefeatable team
Sometimes in true true black
Accompanied by a snack
Or augmented by sugar and cream

Giving Ghosts Gifts

I smell fresh roses on the subway
Are my ghosts here too?
Can they visit inhospitable places?
Pass through me drawing out memory

It’s always unexpected when it happens
An overwhelming sense of calm
More than déjà vu or melancholy
It’s the wave of true sensation

It passes so brusquely
As if only to taunt my motion
Leaving only memory, a pale emotion
Compared to time and space travel

Thank you for the flowers
On this grey Spring day
Even if their presence quiets
A disillusioned way.

How can a mortal give gifts to a ghost
Passing things across the ether
We can only accept
Until the great gap is bridged.

The Separation of Time

It often starts the same way, with no thoughts and no direction. It’s almost like a prayer: I am open and willing to be led into the spirit of giving. Sometimes the thread weaves into a beautiful web, intricate and decidedly serene. Sometimes the wandering lust manages a coup, and away to the battlefield we go. Today, I don’t know. It seems like we’re just here. We’re here in the train going nowhere. The distance varies in theory, but the destination remains the same. It’s not the philosophy of present moment hogwash. It just the kiss of time as she breezes by. She leaves us with debris and belongings. I often forget to thank her for the living gifts. Today it is still and right. Each moment a fluid circle.

Howling Wolf Blues

It takes courage to sing
To let out the wolf’s blood
Let it rain into the mouths of prey

Accosted by naysayers
Yet still unwavering
Into the moon’s waning ear
The strains of earthly summer tunes
Improvised by shutting out the noise
From the orchestrated blues

Sometimes she must run
To escape the mounting tension
And build up the well
Until the levees burst violence
Spray the walls with blood red calm
Wanting to do no harm
But the chemical is strong

As the pull of the goddess mothers face becomes undeniable
She reaches down into her belly
Where the fiery pain burns
Where the gestating movement approaches critical mass
Stand straight, here comes the rain
And a thundering howl claps across the American sky
The ones who were waiting the longest
Are satisfied by the sound
And the beast deflates into a shell
Defeated in the true glory of nature
The sounds and the cells absorbed
Into a stark, silent western landscape

It Takes All to be All

There are so many things to consider when being a human in this life. The speed of thought and travel velocity is become the topic of concern. Where is this madness taking us? Where are we going at such a rate. Some will always say its toward our own demise. Others will argue its evolving into a better life for All. It seems that acceptance comes more easily to some, and the death spiral is still the path of others–all wanting simply to be loved, appreciated, useful and secure, no matter what the outward elements betray.

There is no answer because there’s no question. There is only life as its always been since the inverted vortex unbeginning.

There stands a monument, in the mountains. It is but a flick on the continuum, but it’s meaning is everlasting. The pervasive entirety is good. It persuades a cynic like me to surrender. It fills the void or vacuum with intangible wellness and safety. There’s a medium of chaotic bliss. We are blessed with never, ever, having to know or understand. We shall always retain at least one mysterious non explicable notion in the theater of All.