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I write poetry about almost anything and everything. Here you will find some of my free verse.
Echoes Of Time
In this civilized life
You're either dinner or death
Breath or dust, buddy
Holding the spark of life
Ashes to ashes, dust to dust
Memory, rise up and be born again
In tomorrow's seed.
Buried in the
Mythtique of the mind.
What's my philosophy?
I haven't got one,
I've always been a fly on the wall,
The better to listen and learn
Bambi my dear
She who knows when to run away
Lives to play another day
No strings, No memories, No pain
The emptiness, the loneliness
The daily flamin' out
L 7 Gruel
How can a poet be a whore
A priestess, A mother, A deity
Are these not the most
Presumptive of emic labels
Where do we go from here doc?
How does a poet do
Archaeology and ethnography?
The stories told in
Picture books of stone canyon walls
Whose heavenly gate is this?
I would know
Questing into the mind of the other -
My Kindred -
Lost in the Echoes of Time
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Hermit's Realm
Rainbow-kissed, golden-orbed hermit's realm
No one may trespass here
Unassailable within my cloak of shadows
Guarding my life, my love, my insanity
From childhood have I dwelt
Within this blessed realm
Where naught could harm me
Catcher of dreams, weaver of health
No secret too deep to slip my grasp
No insanity unfathomable
Imagican quicksilver
Alone - never so sweet
Realm jigsawed out of time
Adrift, beyond consciousness
Soap-bubble bliss, pomegranate passion
Possessed only by my fantasies
I mystify the myth - reality
Artists' visions
Window on insanity
Realm of gods and demons
Commanded by my vanity
Collusion and confusion
Create illusory sanity
To judge the magic of profanity
Blasphemed by all
I do no wrong, but dwell
Beyond calamity
Within my golden orb.
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IN DEFENSE OF TRUCK DRIVERS
Truck drivers choose to be lonely
They should have been cowboys
Don’t expect them to stay
They only live for the road
Somewhere down tomorrow
They might stop in but
They don’t ever really come home
They only live for the road
Willie knows the secret truth
Locked in a cowboy’s heart
Loneliness is not a bad habit
It is a lifelong work of art
They only live for the road.
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DAYKEEPERS
Mothers are daykeepers
Keepers of the old wisdom
Sisters of the Shield
Rejoice at your Virgin rebirth
Sundered be chains of the Flatland
Selkies, mermaids,
Werewolves, vampires
Gypsies one and all,
Vagabond saints and sinners
Who traverse the borderlands
Ancient ways survive,
Truth is still known
Time is not a pie,
But a river of being
Aisha strokes the
Virgin's swollen belly
The new Millennia birthed
Natal tides cleanse all oceans
Life begins anew,
I serve the light of
Her candle twice,
First to honor her
Whose hands caress
My new life
Second to honor
The life within
Then life begins anew,
And there are those
Who understand
And they are called Daykeepers
Merely A List Of Things Dark hair Briefest of frames Thoughtful gaze Slender, bent neck Sweater-hunched shoulders Long thin coffee bean strands Pensive hands Silver daises Patient thoughts Perused page Clutched hankie Staunched sniffles Latte inhaler Drained cup Mind brimful
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UNINTENTIONAL FOUR LETTER WORDS
“Iki Kilo Peaches”
I piped
“No missy, no.”
The vendor backed away
Nerveous.
Yankee Go Home
“Where have you been?
What did you say?”
Asked my Dad.
“Iki Kilo Peaches”
I pointed toward
The vendor’s cart.
I told you just to point.
Yankee Go Home
He bought the peaches
Followed me home
Handed me our Turkish/English dictionary
“Peach” - s.o.b., bastard, scum, low life
Oops - Sorry
Yankee Go Home
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HELEN DON'T
Helen don’t
Utah field school’s
Of’t heard refrain
Helen don’t
Climb so high
Lean out so far
Go wandering alone
After dark
Helen don’t
Run so fast
Climb so high
Live so free
Helen don’t
You must be
Timid and tame
Just like me
Oh, Helen don’t
I get so tired
Hearing that
I’ve been doing
My own thing
Long enough to know
This goes beyond
Dysfunctional
I grew up in a
Junior grade,
Think tank
Loony bin
And they put
Me in charge,
Now that’s freedom
How would you handle
Having Francis
For baby brother
Helen don’t be a
Psycho Hippie Grandma.
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