Monday, December 21, 2009

A mouse’s tale

Did you see me
you winged creature of air?

You danced on the wind,
traced clouds with your arcs,
spun and shinned within god rays.
You bravely circled storm clouds,
rose up into her arms,
and from there you were vanished.

Through the squalls throws of passion
I stood watch,
but never saw you again
until the rains subsided.

You grabbed the tallest tree branch,
scanned the horizon and the lands beneath,
and looked outwardly into the vast fields.

To where I hid in the dirt, fascinated
between tufts of grass
and crooked arms of willow trees.

Friday, December 18, 2009

Starry Eyed

On this mountaintop, I am alone
I am not compelled to speak
To hide emotion
To entertain no other but myself
And if I grumble a word
It is a gasp!

It is here I am to be amazed
To be let out of my inside
Into the outside

I find too much just enough
and too little, a waste
I am compelled to gamble
To leave this mountain
So that I may return

As a starry-eyed child is fascinated
Like new is fuel
The more, beautiful
The less, satisfying

Stream warbles
Wind chimes
Forest hymns

Your mountainous eyes
so wildly feral
demonstrate to me
your true colors

I hum a song
as you glide to sleep
Me awake, imagining
You asleep, dreaming

Out beyond to the heavenly lands
The color of my eyes reflect
A million adventures
A million lives

What is Beyond

Life begins and ends, simply. Though what is simple becomes complex when you fight the reality of it. You can drown wondering why, where, how, when. But I'm comfortable with that. We all should be.


Blend into the gray earthly tones of the pond mud
Look up through those misty water-skies
Wind up your imagination
“What is beyond?”
Swim from shore to shore
Jump above the surface for a fraction of time
Before you are pulled back to the mud

Wednesday, December 16, 2009


When something bad happens, it is often hoped that bad will dissipate, so good will reign, but that isn't always the case. Not knowing eats at you. This poem is about that lack of control and helplessness.


Raging windswept flames burn mindlessly,
Contorted engine of anger hurls the moment forward
To benighted hope

Egress, whimpering arms of salvation,
Entrance through your door beleaguers man, empty
To temper his heart

Vengeance visits the wounded and the weak,
For knowing’s peace and restitution employs reality
To visit him

Monday, December 14, 2009


Without struggle you are nothing
without fear you are nothing
without emotion to drive you
you are NOTHING

Without pain you have no pleasure
without hope you have no courage
without life breathing inside you
there are no tears to blind you
no mistakes to forget
no wrongs to make right
Nothing, not a damn thing to hide from

No skeletons in the closet
little children to fear bedtime stories
no buggy monsters in the closet
no ideas or art; hell or heaven
because you are nothing

Only at birth do you become something
only at death discover your measure in life
until then you are nothing...

Friday, December 11, 2009

The Woodworker

A brave butterfly
flew into my wood shop today
and swooped down to my shoulder
to say,
“Good sir, good sir
can you build me a meadow?”

Who me, a meadow?
What do I know of fashioning
raw earth and seed?
My tools shape the wood
into long pine tables,
into fine oak desks.
How can I plane and chisel,
saw and hammer
as Mother Nature intended
a meadow to be.

“Mister Butterfly,
I am not fit to fashion
a meadow for you.
There must be another,
some other to do this work,
this magic for you?”

The fellow, he flew off without
so much as a word.
Perturbed, I continued my work
through lunch, through dinner
'till darkness enveloped
my lantern.

When finally I was done,
my fingers raw,
eyelids heavy,
I had formed and wrought
an exact replica of the butterfly
I had earlier met.

Wiping my brow,
I brushed dust aside
and placed it on my shelf
next to my other whimsical carvings
of those who had come before.

My favorites
- the gray wolfs,
great white bears,
and colossal whales.

I shake my head and utter,
“Now the brave butterfly
set’s out to build
his meadow?”

Leaving my shop,
I watch
a million butterfly’s strong
rise up from the land
by moonlight,
traversing warm currents of air
to fly south
in search of meadows I'm sure.

Eyes vacant, I sit by
and watch
wondering, too,
how I would carve them all.

Wednesday, December 9, 2009

Skeletons of our souls

I went walking
And dreams they are on my sleeves
I went far, far out to sea
And dreams they are sailing with me
Friends I haven’t met
Haven’t seen
But know I will

Cause I know for certain
That the world spins
On my fingertips
So young then
How could I ever trip?

It was with my dreams in my pocket
That I went to the city
There to get my due
But dues are met with past dues
So I went to the shiny towers
Where small men with bald heads cower
And big men with wide shoulders hover
To strike a deal

And if I’d known it then
The soul had been bargained for
That dreams are his to store
No dreaming man should be a pauper
Milked dry
No dreaming man should be poor
As I

Up in his castle
Found no longer useful
I am cast away
Dreamless, rotten, full of decay
I panned for dreams
And dreams they came my way
Friends I haven’t met
Haven’t seen
But know I will

It was then
On a midnight hour
I stormed the dragon’s lair
where freckled moonlight dancers
Glinted off coffers of his gathered wealth
And every bit of it I saw
a toll for dreamers
Gathered skeletons of their souls

I went walking
And dreams they are on my sleeves
I went far, far out to sea
And dreams they are sailing with me
Friends I haven’t met
Haven’t seen
But know I will

Cause I know for certain
That the world spins
On my fingertips
So young then
How could I ever slip?

Tuesday, December 8, 2009

Forests of green

It is easy to escape, easy to leave behind the weight of our social lives. There is simplicity in the actions of merely surviving and not burying yourself under the strain of existing within the constraints of work, city or town, and home. Easy to linger where there is no responsibility. You simply exist. Any temptation to forsake it becomes more and more powerful, cause you ache for familiar connections. In absence of them, you create others to replace. Less sentient, but in your mind, alive in these 'forests of green'.


It does not matter how
I came to these
Forests of green

For when eye peers through
foggy rhymes
into lucid features line
over line
I am rigged with awe
and allegories of dragons here
and magic’s I cannot break from

Of form and function I am
a man still
but my words
they are no longer - desirable
they are now images of
aromatic fragrances of
and no longer useful except
for recalling
what I was many, many moons

This place has changed me
from what I was

I now meet and discuss ideas with
Elder Trees
Mossy Rocks
Crooked Streams
And Walking Meadows among so
many, many more like the
Lost Wolf and Shy Bear

And among all I am
known simply or not
so simply
as, “Snowbound Dagger
of Fire and Ice”

It was along this same track
I became lost
this track I travel now
and even if memories remain
I have changed too much to relish
for time is a turning page
and my chapter is fixed
every word read forward
becomes magnetized backwardly
to the now I have languished in among these
shadowed and silent
forests of green

As swift as I loom over enlightenment
and escape
night's arrow of darkness hides my
way forward
and I slip back from this track I follow
back into the leaves
back into the moss
back where eyes do not linger
that do not understand
how I came here
or why I remain...