Oh, life

10/12/2009 § Leave a comment

Oh, life

yes

oh, life

trying so hard to fish through its murky waters to find one thing

Beautiful. One creature swimming through endless messes,

Singing. Oh, terrible singing and.

Of course, off tune.

But still she swims

Blindly, happily. Blindly, desperately, alive

Through life.

Traveler’s Trance

06/08/2015 § 1 Comment

And finally, the sun’s fingers reach his skin
Warm caress as lullaby, wooing him to sleep and stillness

But the road’s feet are never wearied and on it takes him
In paths of cold and shade and foggy shroud
Seeping into senses but not like sleep
Not like sleep but like numb trudging.

Forward, through, and on, and on
To places where he has never known the love of sunshine
Never felt the stroke of a lover’s lips
To places where such things are further than forgetting,
Are too distant to recall except as a dream.

He does not want to go but cannot stay
The light moves across the sky without him,
A dance of ever-changing rhythm
For which his steps are far too slow

And on and on, and forward, through
The pangs of sorrow fading, too
Until the reluctant traveler walks alone
Too tired and cold to hear the tune.

Radical Dad

06/15/2014 § 2 Comments

I Love you, Dad.

Because Meat on the Grill doesn’t taste nearly as good as
home-grown vegetables
cooked (by you) into a poor-man’s stew;

Because you don’t bike to be the Strongest
but to respect your God, the earth God gave you,
and the lungs of your children;

Because you don’t like Fishing
(or fish), but you do like Green
though not for its manly sheen, instead

Because it reminds you of the forests–
of their beauty and their darkness,
of their aliveness;

Because Ties threaten the throat,
and Watches the wallet,
and Guns the peace;

Because I don’t need a Superhero to protect me,
a Warrior to rescue me,
or a Tycoon to pay for me;

Because I need a father to cry with me,
A wise-man to discuss with me,
An artist to read my poetry.

I love you, Dad.

Happy Father’s Day.

Oxymoron

06/19/2013 § 1 Comment

The ideas shrivel, like leaves in the winter,

unable to breathe for want of less air

which now swirls round in torrents

An ocean of thought sinks inside my skull

(or do I drown in it?)

I curl up, dried and dead like

thyme hanging by the window

(but I can’t even spice the soup)

I am forever fetal, never born,

and my heart aches like brittle bones

and hope is nothing but an empty well

in the Sahara

and I die of drowning in waterless tears

as strong as thyme

but weak as sand, blown

through my deserted chest

by too much atmosphere.

The Thespians of Fall

09/19/2012 § Leave a comment

Poetry runs deep under ice

Until the thaw

Rushing

And blushing with spring.

The thespians of fall – the leaves

Steal the stage set by summer sun

Almost as though masked by colour

(rosy, the cheeks and the

dead leaves dance,

Alive with the wind

And smiling)

How is it that inanimate breath

Breathes so vibrantly

In autumn?

One could never run out of air,

Not here

Not now.

the frost just begins to creep up chin

And mountain

Cold

But still the colours live

And poetry sings

On the wind.

pounding

01/26/2012 § Leave a comment

I just wanna go

pound. my. feet

on the stage in front of

emp. ty. seats

I just wanna go

pound. my. feet

in the street

as it shimmers

under mor. ning. heat

It’s all this hip hop

and slaaaaam

poetry – my heart is thumping

pound ing

inside my breast

my asthmatic chest

almost hyperventilates

with the rhythm

it sinks into my bones and I just wanna

dance

but I can’t

so I shy away

and pound

my

feet

with the rhythm in my soul

I tap my fingers

on the key – board

instead of my naked

feet on the street

tap/ping

poun/ding

fingers and feet and hearts and words

beat

beat

beat together

to write something beautiful

01/23/2012 § 1 Comment

this is my endless task

to fill that gaping hole

for th’audience – a cask

the size of human soul

 

To find something to say

that fits in rhythm or rhyme

a danceless song to sway

your heart – to find sublime

 

The words to move a man

to sing, a child the same

but best of all, to fan

in spirits deep a flame

 

So that they too can write

(or somehow make a pull,

a draw to take the flight)

from here to Beautiful

Run with me!

01/10/2012 § Leave a comment

Oh, fallen leaves

run with me.

Run with me

and the windy,

the stormy seas.

 

Oh wind in the trees

run with me.

Run with me

fighting the breeze

and the great big trees

and great big seas.

 

Oh, broken knees

run with me.

Run with me

and my breath-

ing heaving flee.

 

Oh, prince of peace

run with me.

Run with me

and my quandary

set me free.

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