Friday, June 24, 2011

What Value

As I come to the end of words
I realize the true worth
of my poetry
was to help me live
my own life
Not having any life
except in poetry

Beauty

Beauty, what have you here?
Why haunt this brain
where in vain
I thirst your kiss,
to quench the fire
of exiled heart, a dreamer
'mid the thorns of an iron world
of law that brings a miss
to heart-stabbed pain.
Perhaps a portion of this dream
of life lived full
in a glade supremely blessed
where you in court sit queen,
here Beauty I would seek,
and deem her home.

Wednesday, June 22, 2011

Ventana Thoughts

These are all ruminations that arose from my recent weekend in the Ventana Wilderness

Needing to bring spiritual realities
into the press of raw humanity
amongst the most humble
the dreamer seems visionary
Addiction is a mirror;
if I look into it for long
I will see myself
attempting suicide

With my conscious mind in tow
I descend into my heart
through imagination
there learning your memory
is the sunshine
each new day bears



A covey of fat
mountain quail and me
we surprised each other
on the trail this morning
at just past six
the significance of this not eluding me
having already had my manna


In a field of false lupin
spilling the earth

an unearthly blue
surrounded by young madrone

of vibrant green and neon brown
sprung from the ashes
of disastrous fire
i chanced an encounter
with One who has all power
in taking a chance
on His love


They are
perhaps not stars
but distant openings
windows to beyond
to back where i started from
ever His intention
i find my way home



It would make more sense
were my gray matter
yellow or white
with a goldenrod center
given the scrambled
and fried responses
it comes out with

To Fly

I'd like to be a bird
unconstrained at land's end
to rise and dip and dive
perhaps a tern or a kite
or a great soaring albatross
giving no thought to where to light
nor where to sleep tonight

The Sponge

Though beautiful,
she adorned herself
to conceal an ugliness
a sponge-like soul
that could render naught
when squeezed
but what it had sucked
from me

Skin Art

I would own a tattoo
if I didn't have to get one
not for loss of enduring sentiment
my children's names are permanent enough
nor for economic dis-incentives
how much could permanence cost?
or even that a strong discomfort
might rise to the level of pain:
it's much more to do with fear
that at my end they would say
"Was that the best you could do?"

Monday, June 6, 2011

Another Kind of 5th

I've done some horrid things
that others admire
and find but few

of life's conjectures
with which I am in harmony
my grand planned path to happiness
abandoned mid-draft
favoring another specious endeavor
the sought-after solution
only solving the equation
for the moment in which it made sense
still,
in both it's common usages,
my life not a waste
full-time a fool
and part-time poet

Sunday, June 5, 2011

Sit With Me

Sit with me here
for one last poem
our eyes connected
deep, as the bay.
Don't walk away.
Sit with me and listen
though I've nothing new to say.

The crazy bird that sang it's countless tunes
outside our bedroom window at dawn
has likely found new sky
another place to hide
new arbors to call home.

And yet the moon will rise
to linger over your shoulder,
to reveal the auburn hue
of the mis-placed hairs framing your face.
Even through my doubts
you have remained, a constant
either at my side
or in my heart.