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


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

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

“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


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


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

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


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


There is a droplet of the universe
descending from the heavens—
A clear, luminescent bulb
of an electric orb—
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
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



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


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
in his heart
after living the loss of it,
and with absolute resolve
to hold peace close
and never let
it be pillaged


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
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


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


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


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
the forces of the body
and permeate every pocket of the universe


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
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


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
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
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              


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     

No comments:

Post a Comment