Poetry

1
There’s always been something about the rain

That tips and taps in all our minds

That gives the beat and rhythm to life

And allows us to indulge in a forgotten ecstasy

But as we watch these falling faces

Drip and drop through space and time

We disregard their evanescence

And watch them crash into the ground


2
When I wake

It is no fault of mine

That flowers, in full petal bloom

Drift upon the sky to meet the stars

When I wake

There are no dreams but the great one

The great divide

The great unrest

We can only for so long

Tip toe across the glass

And let our mind play games

            with an illusion

And then the worries fade

And the trees stop swaying

And I float to heaven as a God

3
I would give it all, not to be alone

Chances are the Earth will spin, but you won’t find me home

Arms outstretched and to the sea

Head back to the sun

I set out to find a light

Still my soul roams

I’m trying to hold on, to what I feel explodes the sky

Silently, on the wall hanging, as the lone picture passing by

I’ll stand here and watch the sun, and let my eyes go blind

If all it takes is a plea with God

And some test of time

What I can do now, is go to some forgotten space

And kill the madman in my head, which seems to be the last voice

Then, perhaps, I’ll find my HOME

And set the world ablaze

But all I hear is the repeating

Still my soul roams

Still my soul roams

4

“To Look Upon a Spoon”

To look upon a spoon and find

Likes that bear a fruitful mind

A happy friend; an evenings rest

An earnest heart; true simpleness

‘Tis not a state bequeathed to thee

Else bereft, forlorn and lost from ‘ye

Who choose not to search a spoon and find

A life discharged of misery

5

Requiem

Open up with a plead and solitary discourse with God:

The sky, visions of yourself and your younger brother playing, running in the front yard of your house on a crisp fall afternoon, throwing the football- outlining the moral pathways of life and love

“There are only two ways”

Walking through the streets simply admiring what it’s like to walk in the streets

The plately sun glowing orange, disappearing behind the Earth like a dying ember-

The web of life fades too someday

“I should get this all out on a typewriter, quick, else I’m gonna lose it.”

I’m sure there were lengthy times when Kerouac was without a typewriter and had to carry on in his long ramblic rhythmic scribblings and his hand’d cramp and maybe he couldn’t get his thoughts out quick enough to adequately express the improvisational prose rushing through his head- God’s expression of art embedded as cellular innate intelligence that translates to his spontaneity of words

Oh how the world’s color so quickly changes and we die

Death’s black pall is pushed aside and is forgotten for a while

A cell- the miracle

Life ain’t just one tunnel of a spectral cosmos travelling at warp speed-

interwoven in such a cosmic blur

All my dreams imbedded in a flame

What do we have in this world but a flame to hold amongst our bosom and safeguard?

An eye in a galaxy and a galaxy in an eye, lava and blood, veins of this Earth and mine-

The mist of the sky and that of my breath

I crying out for answers but they’re never supposed to be

“You spoke to me at first through her”

Like that day I knew to walk up to that hill, I recognized, I saw the spirit of that tree

I am walking

Same jeans, same green plain tee shirt

Same brown boots worn enough to know they’ve been worn enough

MAKE YOUR OWN CHOICES IN THIS WORLD

MAKE YOUR OWN CHOICES IN THIS WORLD

One day I will have my own special place with a backyard, where you can walk around in bare feet and hang your clothes on a dry line on summer afternoons and no cars travel past on the dirt road

6
As dawn breaks, a special silence comes-
     When the eye of the world returns
     When the eye of the world begins again

There is no way to describe the beginning,
     Nor is there really ever an again

The mystery
The untold eternity
We place our faith in a volcanic realm


7

I was daft to fall

     for the sky

Without a ground

There was no end to falling

I see that now

To be amongst the throes of young love

     the thrones

That illustrious red carpet

Of sweeping feet, of palls, of waves

I cannot bear the sight of reminiscence anymore

It no longer serves me

So I have found a new one

I hear the rallying cry

Dawn steps away

Through the ashes of health and healing

I'll ride the wave

8

There is a droplet of the universe

descending from the heavens—

A clear, luminescent bulb

of an electric orb—

Pulsing.

Beating.

I see its colors,

spreading out like veins

as it pulsates—

An image in my mind

of a cell

with infinite dendrites

all connected together,

all interconnected together—

the variegate web—

I see it coming

down,

to stroke my cheek—

the sweet shocking clip of a raindrop

on the jowl

it touches

and then is gone—

But I can’t stop thinking

about the fantasy
of it becoming me

9

SUN AND BUGS

So many a-bugs congregate beneath the lights of street lamps

Believing it to be their sun

Little do they know, that another

Rests 10 feet away

With a separate population

But all the street lights shine brilliantly

Beneath a vibrant half moon

Illuminating the sky

And all bugs that reside beneath each street lamp

Are in love with the same bright light

That lies within an even greater light, the moon

And that, to me, is God

The lighting of street lamps

And the shining of the moon

And it all exists so perfectly together

Without any streetlight having anything to do with the moon

And any bug interfering with the light except to bask in it

Because the unity underlying all life

Is that we all seek to bask in the light

With out ever really knowing

Whether or not the same light

Rests 10 feet away

10

War- in its cruelest form

gifts a man with conflict

so that he knows

the horror of darkness

and can make a promise

after the war has been seen through

to retire to a quiet place

where the birds can sing

and the sweet smell of spring flowers

can draft through the house

on warm, sunny afternoons—

but he never forgets

that festering whore of war

where the soul is lost

and mankind sees their most dreadful days—

except in the most extraordinary of ways

war is the only way

a man can know peace

truly

in his heart

after living the loss of it,

and with absolute resolve

commit

to hold peace close

and never let

it be pillaged

again


11

A Moment of Inspiration

The sun never sets on a September sky

It just keeps blazing

With that white golden light of eternity

And it dangles from pursed lips

Like the ember at the end of a cigarette

Waiting

Out

That slippery slope

Of inspiration and its translation

Into something communicable

That delicate balance of panic and patience

Not all of us have it

Some of us wish for it

Some of us let it fade away

That precise moment of clarity

When the sun hits the lips

And the world is speaking

Of a beautiful creature

That never dies

12

If time isn't this linear thing
and because you and I met at one point on this plane
then you and I
in some other dimension
could be living out a completely separate story
from the one we know now as real—
but all those stories
in all those other dimensions
which we discredit too often and label as dreams
are still part of the Great Story
of you and I

13

I do not know why my energy wanes
why my enthusiasm for God drifts off
like a forgotten thought
that gets lost in the sea of dreams
of everyday life—
I pray to be brave
so that I can harness the will of God
in every second of my life
so that every precious moment
burns with the eternal flame
of love, and beauty, and everlasting light—

14

there's a reason
we refer to electricity as power—
there are no mistakes
with the evolution of words we choose—
because within every cell
within every tiny little atom
are perfectly charged
electrical beings
called lifetrons
and these lifetrons
govern
the forces of the body
and permeate every pocket of the universe

15

the wind when its fierce comes howling
over the cliffs and through the fields like jazz
a melody of air in silence
the scraping of the brush on the tom
the floor tom
the sax man, yeah, he's wailing
as does the ki-yote (coyote) at the moon
it's all the same music
the same heartful mel-o-dy
waiting
to be blown out
on that divine silent canvas
of starry night
and wine
and dreams whirling (in the head)
oh dreams
you sweet sweet dreams
my prayer for the wind
to carry me home

16

i feel so lonely right now
like my only friend's the page—
my heart aches for a warm body
pressed against my chest
in the midnight transit hour
when the click of a hand strikes
and suddenly
the moment turns to yesterday—
but there is no time
there is no way
truly
to separate one moment from the next—
no way to fill the hole in our minds
the concept of time creates
from ticking clocks
and timetables
and timezones
and warm bodies of nothingness—
Oh God
just gimme a peak
into that game you let us play,
THIS game we so pitifully design
to chase each other around
this globe
like clowns—
yikes
I almost lost it there
so I guess it's t i m e
to close my eyes
and laugh
as I drift off to sleep              

17

rain or shine I show up to the keys
the smell of ink and paper my cologne
coffee in the cup on early mornings
wine in the glass on crisp afternoons—
I'm chasing it
that buzz
that elation that hits
when you piece together a killer line
or nail the perfect melody of a paragraph—
it's why poetry's so moving
because it works to capture the fleeting buzz of prose
all bottled up
and concentrated like
and helps carry you to the top of the coaster
so you can smile and feel the breeze in your hair