Orion… A nights walk
while silhouette cloaks eclipses light
no pair can see past the edge
of the dark wintry night.
Oh starry silent hungry hunter above-
my audience of lonely trekked streets with me,
let us loft our look toward the horizons
upon this cold clear crisp eve.
Past nights shadowy shady curtain
lovers cradle in the halo dawn bed;
we loft our hungry eyes toward horizons
the dawns host shall keep us fed.
Twister
\ softly spoken tentacle machine /
\ bundled entropy membrane /
\ cop kill a cop /
\ boiling point /
\ liar /
\ TV /
__Smash It__
ghosts in their day
Its not easy being a ghost in their day
From along time ago, from miles away.
I’m a fading memory
from the way things used to be
They can see right through me
I’m a translucent mystery.
I am not how they remember me.
I’m a photon on a beam
I’m projection on a screen.
…the morning after a dream.
Things are never what they seem.
Its not easy being ghost in their day
From along time ago, from miles away.
Not a role I want or wish to play.
Bid farewell to the past, and I am on my way.
Hurricane Brews
a hurricane brews within my head.
thoughts, like waves thrashing against rock,
of the living and the dead.
a thousand indecisions
drowned quietly in the waves,
just then a thunderbolt of urgency
unexpectedly invades.
S.O.S i am the admiral of
this ghost ship that’s sinking
the water here is frigid
and i don’t trust my thinking.
a hurricane brews inside my head
my Ghost Ship is tossed and tumbled
i withdraw my rusted anchor
from the lonely seabed
i remember Elliot’s Wasteland
so perfect.. so barren.. so dry..
i set my mast and sail away
to where the sea meets the sky
Cat and dragon (Haiku)
(apologies to ” Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon” Fans)
Dragon wings whipping
Tuning in
Letting go
most merciful messenger
the demons I know
The Book the Dead
The Book of life
The World I Pen
Shall be my wife
Tuning in
Letting go
The Dragons left
New seed to so
**
**
StrayCat
I am a stray cat.
A lone creature scurrying for scraps
Of knowledge in life’s back alleys.
Midnight choruses with kindred souls
Fill the cold night with songs of restlessness.
*
*
Claustrophobia (no. 2)
**
The origional post with this poem Claustrophobia has a typo in the image that I was to lazy to fix.
this the poem again with a new image, just in time for halloween!
claustrophobia
Gothic nightmare of Edgar Allan Poe:
Trapped in a pine box six feet below!
Tranquil sleep awakens to fright:
No more movement, breathe, or light!
Gothic nightmare of modern day life:
Material, personal, emotional strife.
Hypnotic routines are suddenly broken:
No more freedom for the awoken.
Infants are comfortable in the womb:
Isolated slumber in safe cocoons.
Then their eyes open to the black,
Provoking the flight to human contact.
Babe’s first reach toward mother’s breast
Is his hands first stretch away from loneliness.
When babe grows up he’ll perceive a shock,
Of other hands squeezing him into a box.
Surreal illusion of Edgar Allan Poe:
Dead and alive at six feet below.
Claustrophobia is in the conflict
Not in the structures of boxes or crypts.
firefly friends… (from a child)
fireflies
in my glass jar
you do not `luminate
for me no more.
,
we’ve been friends
of the lonely night
you speckled the dark
with wondrous light
,
I kept you safe
in my glass jar
from the lonely night
So I may wish
upon tiny stars
,
fireflies
my little stars
why won’t you `luminate
for your friend no more.
Anger o motive
Locked in—-
a hundred miles an hour
down a cattle shoot path
Grab Hold—-
wearing razor wire armor
tearing hands reaching toward me
Night fall—-
the ashes of day fires
weigh down tired shoulders
carrying burdening thoughts
Barometric compression
Barometric Compression
***
Squeeze a cloud to tight
And it will blacken with rage
Crackle and spark
Bellow and bleed.
Hey Henny penny
Run for your shelter
Alert the neighbors
Fall out, fall out.
Clench a fist to tight
And it redden with rage
Thunder and snap
Bruise and bleed.
Hey Henny Penny
Run from your shelter
The neighbors won’t answer
Fall out, fallout.
‘
Hold in the Fear to tight
And he’ll wither with rage
“…A bang, but a whimper…”
Prickle and bleed.
Hey Henny Penny,
they’ll tell you its your fault
They’d Blamed it on Atlas,
If he dropped what he shouldered.
‘
Squeeze a cloud to tight
And it will blacken with rage
Crackle and spark
Bellow and bleed.
Hey, Henny Penny
Beware of the low
The consuming winds of peril
Stay out of the rain
*
*
poem written 2005.
Original Image source: background-wallpaper.110mb.com .
National Domestic Abuse Hotline.
Wall Street Doo Dah
Fear and Greed
Fear and Greed
Conditioning to succeed
It’s all happening down on Wall Street
`
Taught our children
to ignore life’s simplicity
confusing ‘desire’ with meeting needs
conditioning to succeed
conditioning to compete
Its all happening down Wall Street
It’s all happening as we speak
`
Fear and Greed
until we Bleed
I’ll teach my children to succeed
far away from Wall Street
with the earth beneath our feet.
tonight i am a failure
tonight I am a failure.
I’ve convince myself that I keep my hand out stretched to others,
That sooner or later everyone will
have there hands stretched out
But if I look beyond my own limits
I see a lot of people with
hands clenched in a fist.
and soon or later I ask myself is it my hands
that are clenched in fists.
tonight my hands reach for surrender.
tomorrow is a new day to reach out to…
imperfection is the most beautiful thing to reach for.
*
poem for Fisher; Pennsylvania
I can tell you
what i believe is right
i can tell you
what you do is wrong
i can give you
all my judging opinions
in poem, prose or song .
*
but a single
act of valure
in an unscripted
unreal day
shocks the soul
with a heroic standard
my finite words
could never say
. . for Marian S fisher
(heroic choices)
Pennsylvania
these woods
I have protected these woods
for as long as i can remember
the rains drops of April
to the leaf fall of September
The secret trees have grown
and I’ve defended their splendor.
But I could not have predicted
my woods sparked into a blaze
but the random storm lightening
leaving darkness,smoke and haze
And i was cast out of Walden
left with nothing but dismay.
With no living timber to guard
With only dead ash to defend
I could see no real purpose
No meaning to comprehend
I wondered if , like my Walden
I too should meet an end.
Whether provoked by perfumes
Or a feeling deep inside
I really don’t remember
But my eyes opened wide
And began walking towards
the foreign horizon with each stride
I walked through the tall grass
over the flowering landscape
then I stopped to watch the herrings
fishing on over a blue lake
In my woods i never saw them
my woods had never had a lake.
And i looked at the flowers
and I looked the tall grass
And i realized tall woods
That were so guarded from trespass
Had blocked off the sun
From new splendors in the past.
Leaving behind me-as-defender
In the past smoky ash haze
I have become the explorer
New landscapes i will blaze
The world is to be discovered
With infinite pathways.
monster
"toxic"
hidden deep away
From uncaring eyes
beneath the earth
in cylinder tin drums
Haz Mat sealed
Radioactive repulsion
dancing and churning
In cylinder tin drums
forces pushing outward
against mineral resistance
against better judgments
Till the Earth burst open
Releasing the Monster
Radio active magma smolder
Resentful Atomizer
Hell bend on getting even
Hunting its imprisoners
Grabbing up its imprisoners
to carry back to its grave
Its mineral grave
its miserable grave
This door has been shut
opening the front door
and stepping outside
to smell the morning air
this door has been shut
for such along time
i had forgotten the taste of dew.
walking outside
to check the mailbox
seeing the neighborhood kids play
this door has been shut
for such a long time
i had forgotten the taste of laughter
taking a stroll
with you my life-love
holding hands in the park
the door has been shut
for such a long time
i had forgotten the taste of your lips
laying in bed
alone in my room
staring back at the means
the door has been shut
its has always been shut
I have given up on tasting life.
*
“baby Steps! Chris”…advice from a friend in the early stages of my Mental health recovery
Mania poems: Hurricane to Rabid Cycle
hurricane brews.
a hurricane brews within my head.
thoughts, thrashing like waves against rock,
are of the living and the dead.
A thousand indecisions
drowned quietly in the waves,
just then a thunderbolt of urgency
unexpectedly invades.
S.O.S I am the admiral of
this ghost ship that’s sinking…
the water here is frigid
and I don’t trust my thinking.
A hurricane brews inside my head
my Ghost Ship is tossed and tumbled
I withdraw my rusted anchor
from the lonely seabed
I remember Elliot’s Wasteland
so baron… so dry…
I set my mast and sail away
to where the sea meets the sky
Dream awake for
what dreams can be
a blizzard of nothingness..
flames of desire have arisen
in me like the first
sunrise in spring,
easter is the season of rebirth
*
*
Rabid Cycle
Shades drawn… lights dimmed
The Beast outside has been fed.
Fade deep into the Armchair…
~~~~~~
Elegant burning within my head:
The flame upon a vigil candle
In a draft-less corridor.
Feeling and daylight make
Up a waxy fuel.
~~~~~~~
Night evanesces into day.
The hungry beast calls out,
Like the divine to Lazarus…
And feeds on Legion’s despair.
Vague silhouettes flash by when I close my eyes
Quick images in black & White…
Thought race fast…
Flowers burst with color…
The world is alive…
*
Two poems for Julia
We leave from this world on an Exhale…
A lifetime riding the wave of Breath…
‘
Enticing atmosphere that we share
Entwining, overlapping, breathing Air around us
Invisible, un-tasted, abused, taken for granted…
‘
But always around us…
‘
Between us…
‘
Within us…
I wear your medallion under my coat.
So free and weightless I forgot its presence
But now that it has been pulled away
And lost forever
I can feel the tug of Earth’s gravity’s pull
An empty void heavier then lead
Treasure what here
Before it is lost
Treasure what is lost
As if it where here
*
Julia’s Weeping Willow
Julia (1922-2007)
If I Could
if i could
if i could, I would,
pluck the stars from skies
A bouquet for your weary eyes
and smother every tear that you’ve cried
–
if I could, I would,
mend the worlds great divides
honor every child who has died
and dry every tear that has been cried
–
if I could, I would,
wrap the globe in my arms
ask all of the legions to disarm
Shelter the vulnerable from harm
–
but I am mere man
and the world is the so grand
and things seem out of hand
i cant see where to stand
–
–
…………then, I Stop
…………and think of you
–
I remember that i can
become a better man
start inward and expand
from the heart to my hands
–
If i can, i will try
to bring hope to your eyes
to start chain world wide
one person at a time
moving outward,leaving behind
–
all the tears that world ever cried
*
*
***************
“freedom of youth”
*
As a friend, as an old enemy
As a friend, as an old enemy
Sometimes I hear Memoria,
echoing from my troubled past,
through a consciousness portal
the expression is immortal
the songs of life burnt too fast.
Angels are occasionally trampled,
when sharing heartfelt lullabies,
but their song resignates
over all past mistakes
and their spirit never truly dies.
for kurt cobain(1967-1994)
*
Barks and Howls