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JoeC's original poetry and photos about life and all things under the sun.

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Monday, August 31, 2020

Madmen and Monks


time . . .
there was a time . . .
all this time . . .
time has filled me . . .
beat time . . .
once . . .  upon a time . . .
fleeting time . . .
morning time . . .
day time . . .
evening time . . .
night time . . .
every time . . .
my time . . .
your time . . .
twilight time . . .
time and time again . . .
if time . . .
space time . . .
when time . . .
universal time . . .
what time . . .
historic time . . .
eons of time . . .
relative time . . .
clock time . . .
time out . . .
hands of time . . .
some . . . time . . .
time escapes me . . .
not finished in time . . .
sands of time . . .
undone by time . . .
time filling me . . .
time leading me . . .
watching time . . .
tic-toc time . . .
this time . . .
next time . . .
beyond time . . .
time and self doubt . . .

 


                  * * *

Sunday, August 30, 2020

 

if I can be open
and honest
with you
if the gods
will let me speak
I'll remind myself
and my readers too
that I'm really
mild and meek
if the world
would come
and take my hand
if the animals and birds
would come and listen
they'd find me
sitting beside a tranquil stream
contemplating life
and hoping to peacefully
learn my lessons
Al Purdy
who was so darn wordy
he wrote
enough poems
to fill
an Ontario lake
unlike myself
although I feel
and stand
on my own two feet
I feel
I'm fairly sturdy
but simply
writing lines
and rhymes
and words
doesn't necessarily
a poet make
there are things
in this world
that make me
want to write
there are words
that seem
to come easy
if life
weren't such a struggle
often a difficult fight
I'd probably be
just another speechless muggle
all that poetry
filling my brain
sometimes
seems to pour down
from the crowning stars
and the frowning moon
and the passionate sun
if I wrote every jealous line
that ever came
to my zealous mind
I'd have paved
an intercontinental highway
from here to continental Beijing
I'd have built
my own great wall
even though
every small brick and informal stone
would be
an imaginary thing
perhaps
Al Purdy
and other great poets
had some special
god given skill
if I could write
some handsome
even valued poems
I'd feel
like I'd made that poetry grade
that places writers
even faceless poets
on a park pedestal
but in those traces of poetic light
I'm afraid
I won't
I doubt
if I ever will
it's like
this baseless morning
when I woke aching
from yet another half-baked dream
in my racing sleep
I was writing
poetry
about dripping
wet vaginas
quivering female orgasms
I wonder
where that train of thought came
excavations from those remote
unexplored chasms
then I realize
I've been swallowing
another crazy pill
I'm sure
the world
wouldn't be a safer place
if she actually came
and sat on my face
though her orgasms
might be loud
and thunderously shrill
if my mundane world
were a perfect poetic place
I'm fairly sure
she'd be here still
if Shakespeare
could read the abnormal words
that I informally write
the former Barde
would likely fall
into an open grave
with poor old Yorick
those three witches
with their bubbling cauldron
would chant some lordly spell
then they'd roundly toss me in
I'd end up
as a bent and twisted twig
in a barren nest
being sat upon
by a long legged crested stork
those two towers that fell
possibly would rise again
in that mythical place
called mystical New York
so those distant words
that I insistently write
those resistant poems
that I dream
are like all the holes
that I've dug
and consistently filled
over and over
again and again
they're all just remnants
some venting creation
of all my silly relentless work
just ill-kempt segments
figments of my dilly imagination

                   * * *

Saturday, August 29, 2020

 

first i was a shepherd
then i was a hermit
next i became a gardener
birds came to sing for me
then day turned to night
my thoughts turned to the mystic moon
when moon beams struck me
i became a terrestrial insect
pupating within a chrysalis
i determined i was lucky
crawling upon the fluctuating earth
seeking sustenance and sweet nectar
when the conquering rain came
writing my cryptic name
on a slippery sacred path
i found my capitulated self
turning to the insistent east
praying the fastidious sun would come
assist me to some blessedness
when the uncaring wind arrived
urging me to my fate and destiny
corporeal stars came out
i knew that i had found
within my sentient breast
a smoking flicker of hope
rightly urging me
with some reasonable sense
to my sacred best
omnipotent God arrived
taking my patient hand
if potent God would lead me
to some sacred land
if my resistant insect heart
gave up a beat or two
if i died this very day
if happiness and joy
might take me away
i could close my insect eyes
accept that incensed prize
knowing my shrill soul and spirit
would shed this earthly shroud
forgive my furtive regrets
without any trill fuss
knowing life and death
had turned the universe around
to take me home again
accelerate me to that holy place
where true love is found
relinquish my unskilled life
i found myself in a watery marsh
painted turtle came to let me ride
upon that sacred shell
turtle came to assure this wasn't hell
but a sure and blessed place
where purity practices rituals and dances
a fluid place that truly isn't harsh
but a place where consecrated life
casts another brave new spell
God beats that universal drum
creation in this holy dell
maintaining a spiritual sum
sacred circle of life
cycles of death
when the sun goes nova
the sacred universe
will simply take
another sacred breath

             * * *

Friday, August 28, 2020

 

there's the tree
deep roots
one side of the tree bears needles
the other side grows leaves
similar to you and me
the leafy side sometimes decides
in its deciduous manner
to hold a residual referendum
not so different from you and me
whether that one side wants
to still be seen and heard
as deciduous and leafy
or to change its sheath to something new
and with that new addendum
not grow a cluster of narrow needles
a metamorphosis of sorts
changing from broad to something new and unseen
unbefitting to that thin slim needle kind
admitting a course to a some new existence
evergreen though resists a deciduous mind
spruce sap views every kin as green and needled
an intentional happy truce without complaint
untainted with its narrow existence
always resistant to change
remaining consistent in shape and colour
unlike the insistent leopard
changing from spots to stripes
never an easy thing to do
easier to remain rigid and static
similar to most of me
familiar with most of you
but stasis in general
mundane and boring
ever green needles
still glean atmosphere
over that smooth green surface
maintaining essential purpose
never changing always retaining shape
containing consensual function
beneath that waxy surface
not much range in shape and colour
change seems rather difficult
changing feelings in the stratosphere
extremely uncertain
but just the same
in any moral sphere
change can be impressive
seldom seamless
sometimes not coping
opening a new mosaic world
unfurling new waves of poetry
hidden twists unmistakably
behind an evolutionary curtain
actually nature's revolution
naturally defensive
choice is often deemed offensive
withstanding what was certain
changing one's colour
finally breaking away
straying in a new and different colour
expressing a new and different other

                    * * *

Thursday, August 27, 2020

 


what ever they want
their fanatic rant and rave
standing far behind steel ramparts
protected by steely lines
all their armoured security
those elitists kneel before their reprehensible art
to catch their fetid breath
reeling they scurry to their panic rooms
locked inside they gorge on destructive words
their gooey lies and divisive smores
spend relentless hours
admiring their demon killer guns
hordes of cached automatic weapons
adorn every guilty armoury
while their hired henchman
shoot and kill unarmed fathers
white washing stone walls
smearing more blood on blood soaked streets
hashtag in plain view
of traumitized innocent children
all that senseless public murder
elitists stand behind their porous credo
plainly stating in black and white English
rich and white upper crust
"WE do what ever WE want"
"where ever WE want"
"when ever WE choose"
"WE are the chosen"
stepping on whomever they want
wanton classic rule with certain intent
such oppressive and terrible force
raising THEIR false god
to bless America
stating loudly in every state
"WE are making america great"
all that slavery stamped with code oppression
no matter how many poor
people they kill and burn
no matter who they stomp on
their fascist and nazi heritage
as long as they stay rich
retain their stolen jewels
doing whatever it takes
holding fast to stolen power
hiding in their panic rooms
supporting outside bloodshed and hellfire
puzzled Americans of goodwill and conscience
are muzzled with all that hateful fear

when there is talk about mining sacred places
world conservation should mine each speaker's ass
unreserved deep penetration with jackhammers
another unsurvivable hurricane is forecast
when deforestation in the Amazon is lied about
when the world is told there is no rampant deforestation
out of control climate change and residual fire
tribal populations are warred upon and removed
carnal displacement and formalized destruction
vengeance should set fire to the liar's hair
shove charred hardwood logs down those lying throats
feed the ones in power
a menu of honesty and forced truth
when elitists fail to hear
those desperate shouts
cease and desist
all the world's downtrodden and oppressed
every endangered species
should grasp bone awls
pierce all those greedy closed ears
just like mustered Sioux women
did to yellow haired Custer
making that evil greediness
halt long enough to truly listen
desist with their lame excuses
about why the ice caps are melting
why oceans are abnormally rising
maybe then
there would be normal justice
maybe then
the world would change for the better
maybe then
there might be a glimmer of equality
in every public street
across every complicit land

                    * * *

Wednesday, August 26, 2020


 

I feel I'm a ghost
drifting across open water
I'm an apparition
crossing a forbidden sea
in the far off distance
I can see an open gate
but something is holding me back
and I cannot cross that watery expanse
for some strange reason
I just can't plainly see
a way to that elusive entrance
although I hear God beckoning me
still I don't approach that place
it's as if my spirit holds me back
as if the Universe wants me to remain
atop that deep water filled gully
when I peer below my translucent feet
I am sure there is no bottom
a never ending dark and cold abyss
when I gaze upwards
all I can see is sky
there are no clouds
there is no heaven
only the endless Universe
for some reason I can't speak
I have no current voice
my choice is to remain there
hovering like a fallen angel
no matter how hard I try
my world seems fluid
my body feels like a feather weight
my eyes are wide open
but the only motion is a liquid surface
for the quickened life of me
I truly don't know why
if the world ends today
if the moon finally marries the setting sun
all we'll ever know or say
will be that God has found us
brought us together to make us one
to grant us wings to fly

                  * * *

Tuesday, August 25, 2020

 

I'm writing poetry
in my dreams
words and lines
that sometimes rhyme
from some ethereal place
it seems
there's music in the background
glorious sun is shining 'round
the summer dew
is still quite new
and there are birds
flitting through
these dreams I've found
some themes
are bright and airy
there are colourful flowers blooming
cheerful flare and petals
are daintily frilled
somehow these dreams
are never scary
when I wake
I find I'm thrilled
those long gone poets
of yesteryear
might think
these dreamy words and lines
are bold and somewhat chill
besides these fruity lines
I've dreamt
they're so unskilled
even though they're childlike
master John Donne and theologian Thomas Traherne
might think
these poems
my trumpeted dreams
are vain
simply half-baked
and charred
released from Hell's hot fiery gate
my arms are aching
from the elbows down
my head is pounding hard
my face is wearing
an upside down frown
from all my petty work
I've gone and done
in my poetic graveyard
I pray to God
that I might find
some solace and some rave
from all my saved work
but oddly if I don't
I'll surely realize
that I'm just another
stale and foolish jerk
I lay here
farting in my bed
and I can't help but wonder
if those words and lines I write
are something that I read
still there's rave music
running through my brain
there are poems
reciting fantastic stanzas
in my fanatic head
those frantic words and lines
I find in my antiquated dreams
that mountain of brown beans
I ate for dinner
even though
they ran with rhyme
they aren't a major crime
they don't make me
a pardoned poet
or an ardent winner
I know
this is nothing
but a silly faze
I'm sure time will prove
these poetic dreams
shall never stay
all my toots and farts
my stinking poems
will never blow
the literary world away
I'm covering
my soot filled eyes
so I can't see or read
I'm shutting
my brutish mouth
so I can't freely say
those silly words and poems
a dilly-dally ass
would never dare to bray
I know these frilly words
are mostly
green eggs and ham
they're all garnished
with brash whatsit and whoseit play
these amateur lines
I've written today
Dr. Seuss
would be ashamed
to repeat or even say
if the muppets
made an appearance
in my ill-stared dreams
every reluctant muppet
would surely
cry and scream

       * * *

Monday, August 24, 2020

 

once there was a cruel heartless king
he thought he had everything
master of his land
commander of that realm
he believed he was loved
he thought he was renowned
his majesty wore a golden crown
but one unforgiving day
his kingly head held high
looking out his castle tower window
a small bird landed on the stone window sill
with a swift royal hand
the king lifted his gem studded scepter
and swiftly killed
that small helpless bird
its lifeless body
fell to the foreboding ground
no longer would that small bird sing
or fly free in the hapless sky
but the king merely laughed
no reason why
except the king thought himself better
than anything or any other guy
then a single rat
found the king asleep
crawling under the king's velvet hat
rat bit his ear
rat scratched his kingsome face
the rat left rat tracks
all over the king's coveted place
when the king awoke
he felt those bloody marks
in his kingly rage
the king ranted and he raved
shouting cursed remarks
from a dark corner
rat stayed perfectly still
biding its time
in that rich palace dormer
as night fell again
the king laid on his plush bed to sleep
when the king was snoring
rat carefully approached
climbed up from that dark corner
rat climbed into that cushy bed
quietly scurrying
onto the king's bushy head
as the musky king slept
that rat began to speak
into the king's rusty ear
rat bravely peeped
telling the rascally king
as a king
he was nothing at all
his golden crown would turn to lead
his glorious kingdom would fall
then the furtive rat crept away
down to the cold conclusive ground
there the rat found his dead feathered friend
that poor little bird
in the misty morning
the fussy king rose
he scratched at his mussy head
he felt blood trickling down
his wicked nose
as the morning grew old
the king's ministers came to say
rumour had this very day
remarks about an enemy's army
drawing near
all that they told him
sounded like a fairy tale
nothing was very clear
as the paunchy king ate his lunch
a staunch sound filled the air
from the mounded hills
where that foundering echoed
an army of rats raced
through the king's fields and meadows
the rats ate all the seeds
they chewed through the king's grain
when they were done
nothing looked the same
onward that army of rats went
storming into the palace
scrambling through every open vent
they ate all the bread
they shat on the meat
those rats took revenge
chewing on the king's stinking feet
the king cried in pain
as his soldiers and ministers took flight
but the rats kept attacking
all the fine food and the riches
ravaging everything in the king's palace
they found in plain sight
even the imported porcelain and the gold dishes
by mid-afternoon the place was a mess
the king tore at his hair
he screamed with his rage
as his queen prayed and confessed
that tiny precious bird
the one killed by the king
was obviously a messenger from God
but it had come just to sing
in horror the queen and king climbed
to the top of the stone tower
that army of rats followed
as the king and queen cowered
by that airy window
where senseless murders had occurred
the king and his queen
tore off their jewels
their sable cloaks and ermine fur
attempting to shoo
all the squealing rats away
but the ready rats kept coming
chewing on the king's and queen's legs
in horror that reckless wicked pair
climbed onto the stone sill
helplessly trying to escape
the rats who they just could not kill
finally their cries were so panicked and shrill
their faces filled with awful fear
the king tossed down his queen
midst the relentless swarm of rats
the king took off his golden crown
throwing it down with his final gasps
while the rats devoured the queen
her ivory skin covered in blood
then the rats climbed the wall
in their gruesome brutal flood
they bit and scratched at the king
biting him hard
making him bleed
making him wail
nipping at his skin
through every piece of his garb
as the local peasants looked on
from down in the square
the king took a dive
falling squarely to earth
where he landed
bruised and bleeding but alive
then the angry peasants rushed over
they stripped the king of his clothes
they dragged the king down into the town
where they hoisted him high
stringing him up
by his hook nose
as the army of rats
looked down from the palace
the peasants disemboweled their king
they killed him with malice
with no grain in the fields
all the peasants packed up their carts
leaving the king
dangling in several blood soaked parts
then the army of rats
came down from the tower
they found the dead bird
who had sung sweetly for them
the rats carried that little feathered body
away to the hills
and there all the rats
mourning together
they sang their rat hymns
for their sweet martyr friend
in time that cursed realm
that now tumbledown palace
every thing that fumbling king coveted
had forever crumbled
and that was the end

             * * *

Sunday, August 23, 2020

 

once I was smoky bacon and potato
spare the lettuce and sliced tomato
I filled a doughy perogy
along came a hungry doggy
chewing me to tiny bits
I wonder how that menu fits
with my borsht blood
drenching me in a buttery flood
all that melted butter
making my beet heart flutter
once I was a ripening apple
my tree and I we used to grapple
hanging from a young bent over sapling
I hung there contentedly for weeks quite aptly
then haplessly I dropped to the orchard ground
hoping that maybe one day I would be found
lying there as another neutered example
hoping I wouldn't be completely trampled
September sun broke through the dumpling clouds
while cuddling worms removed their coddling shrouds
surely then I was rotten to the core
scavenging wasps soon arrived in swarms and hordes
finding all my fallen relations
all that spoiled fruit from many tree nations
ecstatic nature had contrived that plan
we had slipped through the fingers of the orchard man
however wasps and ants arrived scavenging
enjoying the ground fall they were daily ravaging
sipping sweet juice hoping they would find more
wicked beasts scavenging to my rotten core
once the avenging birds had come
after black bear had eaten some
wasps and ants retreated home
eventually bear ambled back to his thunderdome
everyone back to their caves and paper nests
while victory raised its colourful autumn crest
bottom creatures happily scattered our seeds
sun rain and soil provided the rest of our needs
one of me grew into a fruiting apple tree
ants bears and wasps eventually viewed me with glee
while orchardmen picked my fruit for apple fritters
not everything in life is sparkle and glitter
sometimes it seems those things God creates
are simply meant to nourish other critters

                                * * *

Saturday, August 22, 2020

 

bow down to Sika deer
as they bow down to you
messengers of the Gods
in every sacred temple
sacred Sika deer show no fear
it all seems so simple
in that complex Japanese way
feeding biscuits to the Sika deer
it seems Sika deer are holy residents
they are there to stay
in Japan so much is tradition
ancient Shinto and Buddhist philosophy
courtesy and respect is evident
there are Zen gardens
meant to feature sacred mountains
evidence of sacred water
Zen representing sacred topography
all those hand picked rocks
so many individual grains
of raked and groomed sand
unlike Rapa Nui where volcanoes made it hotter
more essential nature
another Pacific Ocean strand
where all those stone statues still stand
without pardon on that pacific garden
Moai cannibals evolved blowing conch
wearing mother of pearl necklaces
strands of all those shining shells
unlike Japanese who bow down
hearing ringing sacred bells
bow down to blessed Sika deer
teetering on that narrow Pacific rift
such a testy volcanic shelf
bow down to Shinto and Buddhism
as sacred stars bow down to self
those Moai rise to tell us
they were there on Rapa Nui
both volcanic island her
and ocean going him
bow down to Rapa Nui
Rapa Nui won't make a fuss
birdmen on Polynesian islands
waiting for coming flocks of Sooty Tern
ocean kin of Black-legged Kittywake
giving life to statue Moai
waiting for kavakava to walk and wake
forced to bow down
to European and American treachery
driven to bow down
to nuclear genocide and smallpox
those feared sea going invaders
taking innocent Rapa Nui slaves
committing whiteman lechery
still there is Zen and ahu
alive in Rapa Nui's hidden caves
all those miscreant Christian priests
those misguided listing missionaries
cursed by heaven and God
lechers beyond imagination
wretched Good Friday on Easter Island
where treachery's scars
today they still remain
Moai lay face down in red volcanic soil
aku may still rise again
but in the end every Zen garden
bow down to Rapa Nui
bow down to Buddhist Sika deer
bow down to reconciliation
reconciling bowing nature
without showing fear or shame
those stony faced ancients
who have conquered certain death
bow down to ancient culture
constructing rock garden mulch
confined fragments of ancient culture
refinement is nearly still the same

 

 

                                                  * * *

Friday, August 21, 2020

 

there was a time
some time ago
when I thought
I might
make the grade
but then
mediocrity came
to take my ochre stained hand
walking with me
making sure
i wouldn't fly too high
making sure
that at best
i would only stand
amongst the wannabe crowd
amongst the billions of losers
and the millions of drifters
those that couldn't rise above
things that only crawl
creeping upon the earth
all those beings
that shall never lead the band
or shine
like a bright star
above mediocrity
that mediocre lot
where only mediocrity
reaches out
grasping at a mediocre hand
leading each one of us
through myriads of failures
to that inevitable place
where we finally rise to shine
face to face
with a faceless god
then we fall
no - we jump
into the unspeakable
take that fateful leap
and for some reason
God catches us
just before we crash again
in another mediocre land

                 * * *

Thursday, August 20, 2020

 

how dare I
think of myself
some rambling naked poet
so what
a few hundred half-baked poems
perhaps five hundred
maybe a thousand
or a few arousing more
fitfully pecked out
scratched out on litmus paper
on the old family Underwood
typed out again
like some intrinsic caper
trying to be understood
typed on humming electric writers
later I'm numb
trying to be good
punching words and lines
on nondescript computer keyboards
how dare I
think of myself
a lord of lordly poem
like a smear from gory road kill
so bloody what
I'm just a peasant farmer
delighting in gobbling turkeys
imagining lurking ring-necked pheasant
while I'm singing and sowing seeds
growing through decades of seedy life
rife words and greedy lines
all that needy life and death poetry
perhaps fifty or more years
seeking tearful sunsets
enduring seasons of eerie storms
smelling all those blooming flowers
climbing towering snow-capped peaks
heaping woven baskets with rapping stanzas
I'm at home again
aptly building towers
all those glad even unhappy words
in my sad and sappy head
how dare I
care or need or think
write daring poems
reading nature's poetry
how dare I
share my symbolic dinner
how dare I
hone or write another word
how dare I range
beyond the written page
for ageless poetry's sake
since writing's only kept me thinner

                        * * *

Wednesday, August 19, 2020

 

those fields of glory
each with its own rapacious story
some were battlefields
drenched in blood and broken shields
what element created each equation
determined men on every occasion
some were salt flats with mineral licks
others fields of worrisome stone and broken sticks
some were minefields filled with craters and death
other circular sacred sites where standing stones came to rest
one surrounded a stone castle encompassed by a deep moat
another a shepherd's place with herds of sheep and goats
some were simply fields of dreams
others where hopes came to rest and unfulfilled prayers it seems
one was a wild meadow where killdeer came to nest
there are those that farm folk thought they'd grow and invest
some were short grass populated with prairie dog mounds
some where popular festivals of song and dance made the sounds
there are those with wildflowers and aromatic herbs
some fields border public schools and cement city curbs
the one that I seek stands on an elusive edge
where God came to think and make his historic life pledge
I look at the historic sky
I study the historic earth
I wonder if God thinks his pledge still has worth
if the sun and the moon came to play in that field
I wonder if mankind's obstinance would finally yield
and realize all things materialize on the same playing field

                                       * * *

Tuesday, August 18, 2020

 

There's a virus out there
People are sick
People are scared
People are dying
Most everyone cares
I'm at home
Out on the home range
I'm cringing and trying
Some days I'm crying
Things seem so damn strange
I hope you are swell
At home in your garden
I wish you all well
God grant us pardon
God let us be well
Out on the farm
Cattle low in the dell
So low life in the jungle
Parrots squawking like hell
Reviewing jungle news
Rumbling elephant views
Pinging and squelching about expiring white nosed bats
Squawking about honour and lurking jungle cats
Musing about forest resource
Watching Earth's forests disappear
Chainsaws have no remorse
What plastic course now
We'll go on somehow
Perhaps the plastic moon will begin to cry
Perhaps the plastic sun will blink
Lest we forget the plastic sacred cow
At best the plastic thinkers will think
Plastic comets will come and go
We'll have to stand up to plastic and try
Plastic gods expect us to live plastic then die
Test all plastic things in this trim plastic show
It's not a trendy plastic contest
It's about bending true light
It's about being at one's best
It's about that crest of human love
Taking care of plastic peace and a plastic peace loving dove
It's about taking care of the plastic rest
It's about enduring plastic
Nursing from this plastic breast with plastic love
Hoping to finally pass this viral plastic test

                            * * *

Monday, August 17, 2020

 

I'm floating


in a sea of blood


my hands and feet


have been excised


my surly tongue cut out


I'm trying not to sink


in this horrific flood


I feel like I'm about to drown


in this crimson sea

 
of desperate blood

 

                 * * * 

Sunday, August 16, 2020

 

above me
only sky
no heaven
below me
no hell
only earth
beside me
you once stood there
but now
no one
as far as I can tell
those bells
those far off bells
tolling in the distance
mourning from the dell
all the birds are calling
hoping for some glorious fete
a sacred destination
for our raven souls
to rise and fly
perhaps some entrancing place
where we finally meet
maybe a garden or a nest
perhaps some golden egg will hatch
where love and peace will come to rest
and God shall speak to us
face to shining face

           * * *

Saturday, August 15, 2020

 

the vagrant moon
came down from the ageless sky
finding my aged soul
engaged by sleep
in my meek and blameless garden
all those riveting stars
staring down from on high
mistress Luna woke me
poked me with a flaming stick
first nudging me in my growing arm
then poking me without alarm
in my disarmed third eye
wonders careen from space and time
exposing all our resistant karma
formulating some new reason
dismissing all that old rhyme
forgetting the sun would rise
to shine a trident light
piercing our closed human eyes
although tired and depressed
I woke to find
no apparent distress
those moon beams
shining down
surrounding my stolid frame
and current solid frown
I felt no shame
as the fervent stars
created a shower of sparks
around my nodding head
something akin
to a torrid crown
for a starlit moment
I thought
I was dreaming
light streaming down
forming something
like some fragile shepherd's crown
I lay there
in that illuminating light
forgetting about the dark and seamless night
I rose like a budding plant
sprouting stems and variegated leaves
then a flawless showy myriad
of perfect perfumed flowers
my muse and mistress
squinting for a better look
mistook me for a legless gymnosperm
she rolled me over
lathering the dewy grass
at long last
I knew my reckless life
had finally come to term

  

                  * * *

Friday, August 14, 2020

 

I'm thinking 


my mind is muddled


I'm feeling


my huddled soul hurts


I'm  wondering


when all my cuttlebone teeth are pulled


will I have to eat like a snake


devouring subtlety whole


or will I befuddled


suck broken life up


through a token straw

 

                * * * 

Wednesday, August 12, 2020

 

those herds of millions
roaming free on wild prairie
all that thunder sends
that coming lightning day
when the righteous sun
comes to claim us
as its own
heaven shall applaud
creator god
resume the universe
men cross vast oceans
searching for all the last gold
hoping for some lasting faze
dazed by every mirage
all those greener pastures
eyes glazed over
those herds of millions
old streams raging
through the dying clover
like a steam locomotive
driven by dreamy time
you see where we're going
all those desperate people
knowing their country is full
of bountiful crime
borders overflowing with shame
suffer all the poor children
bells aren't ringing in the church steeples
criminals are herding the sheep
the church crowd is a coward
not standing up to speak
I don't want to lose you
but I know you are forever gone
thundering across the wild prairie
running with those herds of millions
waiting for the sun to come
to claim the earth
along with all God's multi-trillions
while I wait alone in dreamtime
wond'ring what the lonely rebel moon divined
hi diddle diddle
this revolutionary multiverse
revelation universally rehearsed
that's how it's designed
when the deepest well goes dry
when resilience is absolutely denied
no matter how hard we pray
no matter how hard we try
don't mourn for the earth
don't cry for us
don't weep for the fatally wounded dove
we can't get any higher
it's only fire
it's only love

  

                    * * *

Tuesday, August 11, 2020

 

chanting sutra
singing hymns
trying to speak to god
pray god is listening
such sacred isolation
heaven's incense
perfume for god
in that meditation
a breathing cave
that winding path
extraordinarily deep
within my monkey self
scratching sinful itches
wanting sweet ripe fruit
screeching at the haunting moon
like a gaudy banshee
circumnavigating the moody universe
chanting sutra
deep within the winding cave
singing binding hymns
expounding upon the confines
deep within the cathedral
expanding this oral human mind
moral faith
surreal hope
vocal humanity
like the errant stars
twinkling in the sky at night
singing about faith
praying for hope
living in a universal state
breathing at a normal rate

  

               * * *

Monday, August 10, 2020

 

 

 

when the fog lifted
I found myself
on a rocky beach
shipwrecked
I realized
there was that vast ocean
then the moon and the stars
seemingly too far off to reach
out on the roiling reef
I could see shark fins
knives and razor teeth
a swirl of ripe mangoes and peaches
awash in the moiling surf
beseeching the tenants
coconut and oil palms
reaching island sentinels
standing rough in ragged rows
awaiting the next big blow
the churning cyclone
the next saline apocalypse
every hurricane revelation
reveling in prayers and pearls
the salty sea reveals
all that salt running in our veins
rivers from elemental heaven
awake in a quadratic equation
residing beside me
while equatorial waves
roll in from the tropical east
Magellan himself
would have felt lost
watching all the flying fish
circumnavigating
pearl gated heaven and that mythic coral reef
where greater prayers are surely lost
what horse latitude relief
where surly hopes are drowned
where destiny comes at a frenzied cost
that far-off coastal place
just off that rocky beach
where shining pearls are sometimes found

 

 

 

  

                                                * * * 

 

Sunday, August 9, 2020

 

2020
vision
July 26th
envision
12:30 a.m.
Portland
Oregon
protestors
decisions
in the street
tatatatatatatum
drums beat out a steady rhythm
ready gas masks
protective head gear
hefty helmets
masked protestors
lines of masked police
ready to arrest
malice but steady
people spitefully yelling
fright night
one instance
in the black and white distance
a heady bull horn
intrinsic crowds demanding
instant justice
public standing
this street resistance
beat revolution
tearing up big brother
consistent
insistence
banging insistently
obstinate in the torn-up night
a rising chant
everyone surmises they are prepared
the peppered system
re-system
the salted system
resist them
their prepared mustard
assaulting tear gas
weapons of mass intention
unmasking big brother
crass police assistance
contrived zigzag patterns
mass really matters
when masked secret police arrive
what will be derived
what truly matters
when shots ring out
and everyone takes a panicked dive

  

                     * * *

Tuesday, August 4, 2020



there's the covid border

white and black order now

white flags are flying

everyone's naked now

bare knuckle trying

hunkered down

everything all in order

prophets vying for an elusive crown

a lot of death and dying

the world assumes trying

all is in disorder
 
                    *
                 * * *
              * * * * *
           * * * * * * *
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
                   

Monday, August 3, 2020



there are those conversations
we simply do not understand
sometimes it's an age thing
elder the sage
enter those ageist magi
sometimes it's an ink thing
all those prophetic tattoos
skin murals by a glitzy muse
there are poems and prayers and promises
hard to fathom at times
like mystical alien rhymes
foreign language
furlongs of intoxicating foreign designs
simply hard to understand
sometimes it's a mental block
we might rock
things could roll
we might talk a lot
but every word
stones and pebbles
alpine utterance
is like a tattoo
sometimes hard to understand
no matter the age
we all want to unmask the ink
lastly describing our lives
something others see
void of audible words
avoiding sentences
a mental thought
a wrought spark
perhaps some universal talk
conversations that walk the walk
a long haul in general
a lifetime of words that maul us
perhaps they fail us
buried by secular conversation
about unearthing life and death
even if we don't understand rebirthing
we understand the rationale
about living life and enduring death
conversion may well fail
but all those conversations
tales sage elders tell
as long as there are ears to listen
this novel life with its glistening spell
addressing the rising and setting sun
we do until we're done
could be heaven
could be hell
  


                    * * *