#poetry tomorrow has been found

drive to plymouth, after lennon

skyscrapers sink
and the red sun is gone
cloudburst on winter trees
cloudburst on winter trees

plymouth rock
in its glory is an ant
icicle air grips
icicle air grips

upward toe steps
and coffee house spills its guts
eyes fixed contact lens
eyes fixed contact lens

appetizers-bar
and plymouth people swarm
older than we are
older than we are

if they could see then
they would want it back
the gift of knowing
the gift of knowing

but they are blind and
so we can avoid
knowing showing
knowing showing

the wood of ship
became the wood of house
in the beginning
in the beginning

and in this house
the secret has remained
and now its ending
and now its ending
and now its ending
and now its ending
and now its ending
and now its ending

#poetry - soul of promise

value in a promise
is null
but for only deliverance

energy invests in
what matters most

action demands and
the more response
the greater matter

action determines

the soul of promise
is alluring
with words resounding
need

but the soul waits
for corresponding
action tasselled
in the garb of deed

but woe
mister forest man
mister forest man
mister forest man

woe!
mister forest man
mister forest man
mister forest man

animal is a fast moving
animal is a fast moving
animal is a fast moving
animal and

dear me
i do hope you protect
my interests in all this
Mr. Far East man

trust you will
i am
your window to this world

what you see
you see
because of me

what you know
you know
by what i show

information junkie you
luminous detail seeker
the shades are down
the lights are up
everyone's home
and shining

pervert of this
cosmos infinite
every possible moment
everything possible
everyone's home
and shining

here i report
to you where i
report to you
but i report
to you
everyone's home
and shining

neither one of us
has any meaning
of purpose now

yet what?

#poetry - Heard this Word

between Father and Son--

Jesus Christ,
I gave you guys mental telepathy!
What more do you want from me?

across national, religious and familial borders

we are much older now
   our kids are grown
      and they are friends.

we have had more than
   one conversation
      concerning our children.

unspeakable now, but we still imagine
   how these particular lives
      would together blended be.

our lines together always
   added up nonsense
      but that is what we are.

knowing this with full acceptance
   how can we continue
      to sleep in separate beds?

our children will learn
   to take our nonsense language
      and become our poetry.

a matter of spiritual affairs

they say weed will give a man boobs,
       i'm pretty sure its the pizza.

they say weed can not kill a man
      under any circumstance.

now, i stand by my green dragon
     and my green-orange dragon,
but i know my survival now
depends on my will not to ride them---

for three solid weeks,
each night a hell of mind,
                a heart beating 3X fast
skin on fire, testicles retracted,
musculature failing, pain in all extremities,
vision bubbled, loss of speech, and spasm.

heart attack symptoms, stroke symptoms,
        the creme de la creme of fear!

three vendors, four bud-types,
eighteen trips          the same horror

all my angels renounced me,
the mystical door shut on my fingers,

a spiritual lubricant, sure
i've said hello now to mr. ice cold darkness.

this may be my reward for wanting proof
      of the divine realm,
for navigating by increments of science
and leaving faith checked at the door.

through it all, i am ever weed's friend,
it wasn't you, my friend, it was me---
it is me who must say 'farewell dragon'

i knocked too hard on the cherub's door,
i woke the cause of the door
i am stalked now, stalked---forget sleep,
       the nightmare is alive and well
       and i must try to remember how
to be brave, where i put fearless,
why i thought so towards divine things
and how i swam in boiling seas before
      how it was i spanned the spiritual
                       walked the spirit walk.

all this will return, i am sure, in time.
for now, well, for now i need no more
lubricant, no more step ladder---
      this is not a schizophrenic episode
      this is not a bad trip
my delta waves are normal, i would bet,
this is not product of fast turning thoughts,
this is real, by god it is real!
and i am comfortable knowing it so

phase in, phase out, man boobs, pizza, haunting.
                                                      c'est la vie!

anyway, middle-aged woman sits alone on bench,
talks to herself and bites whipped cream,
                                       i step on my cigarette.

the bloodlight below

swords fall on worm holes---
thin lightstreaks on rusty poles
russet blood sparkles.

worms below worms squirm,
blood frosting on rusty urns
knock! knock! knock! fingers.

green oil yellow soil.
blue tea kettle steams then boils.
strawberry crushed on toast.

dark poet storm

"dark poet storm, the calm has come"

dear dark poet friend
                     let me
draw up the night shade for you
and paint the tale of eternal light---
i have been with you as you in the
                     seem of
perpetual shadow, in the cold grip
of the rain that storms, with friends
who speak and do not listen well,
with a lie that observes no bound
                     but slithers
round the neck and feels thick
to the life pulse, and have asked
where is that giddy up i had yesterday
when the day was long and the eye sharp
and all to feel was right and sound
and all to know fit right in place
with the next brick lying in wait
and the next breath dying for taste---
                     my dear dark friend
stay on board a moment longer and spare
me the sound of your awful splash,
i know the world with whom you clash,
i know the way the world holds you back
and the fear you feel when turning black---
just stay a moment longer and be silent still,
let me mend you by my quill, for indeed
there is rain, but have you noticed in the mist
that falls wave on wave of rain and cloud
the symphonic bow section, that strings weave in
close and afar and clearly with a long view,
to play you chamber music in the open day---
close your eyes, hear the wave after wave
say that we are not what we seem---when light
does shine an empty beam, walk off stage
                     the audience is not brave,
they will stay sat in an upright chair
and wait till your bow flats them your brown hair
let them stare and do your work's end,
a bow at last, applause to send a thrill through
your crooked spine---this is promised every time.
when your sun has set, let your moonbeam shine
when your eyelids have met and in your long thoughts
darklings creep and emote you an ocean's wavy sleep
and in No Time the eye you dare not meet
by daylight people on day time street
comes as Peeping Pete and feels like iron wrought
tick tocking mock---feed that steep rock fear a sock
and rest your tangled muscles and your restless bones
                      let loose the tension
in your big toes, oh i know (i know!)
how the fear within you grows
how walking a mile wrong runs the heel hard and ruins
your twisting hip and grates your vertebrae
how the closed eye in pain sees blue light
how the silent voice inside you screams I AM RIGHT
and the echoes are louder than the shock felt
by the one you love most and how you know
your blank look Ex Press Ion writes
                       i, ghost, lovely host
                       i boast and i toast
                       but i do love the most
don't you know? of course you know---the eye
of Peeping Pete is your friend on the rise
when the sun is set in the west and your weary eyes close
the sun is high in the east and your sun friend,
with whom you share the long daring stare,
stands up and with care takes the walk along the wall
and the temples that surround the city of your brain
bubble with flame and burst wild a stain glass pain---
this is the poet's call, but you must know,
                       neither of you walks alone
for when in your wavy sleep
the blue light becomes the fire
when in your eternal rest your right angles
best the bishop's mitre, when you do walk by the stair
and see the arching torches below become blind
by what forces mystic shadow or look high
at the arching brilliance like a Luther
light bringer of light brighter and brighter
                       when you remember how
you can see the sound, how a wave is a wave is a wave
and at the center of the spin spinning round
how a cave is a cave is a cave where Time is but
a measure and Distance cannot be found but
the heart's beat is the treasure that sends
the fluid within and without you rushing in a trend
of sin and circumstance---this is not Chance,
nor his magic cloak Fate, this is not Chaos,
nor his bitch Order, this is not Colour
                       this is not Odor
this is not a handful of dust or air---
this is nothing, this is not there, so have no fear
have no care---have no fear my dark friend
                       ask only of this
What is that One there? in whom do i trust,
by whom do i fare? who's heart is beating now!
who's eye has no brow! who's smile can't be found.
                       who for a while has come down
to walk on the wall bridge of Why What When and How.
                       you are asleep now
your sleep walker is roused. your dream shadow lines
his foot-steeping beams and finds truth in each
cobble crack---what you have in your claw!
                       he does not lack.
but what time you keep will keep him back,
what friend ship prow that mermaids ride upon
that stream the curvature of the ocean skin
and crack on rock and break on sin and break
                        and break and break!
what force you cannot control, what precious oil
you have in your hold---what butterfly wing dust
is, on your wicked fingertip, sulfur's coal
what sludge you find to warm the hearth in your
winter's cold, what rape by Hobbe's Leviathan
you do not challenge, what malice you see and by
silence condone, what field of battle the North
army sends, in what spring of doom the South
army dies, by what stiff arms dead sons beg
the tears in your country mothering cries---
what peaceful sleep you crave when peace is but a
ceaseless wave and not material as diamond
nor a jewel that crusts your rusty crown!
                       i challenge you poet
in your dark sleep when your light walker planes
the light of the eastern day to scream his name
in the light to your warring west ward by day
                       and say This is Who i am
herr scientist, dear needle man, do not presume
to scan my brain, do not send your policeman
to ask my name, do not give your ambulance driver
a pink slip to give your doctor friend a pass
to skip the simplest game of ask, listen, learn---
do not yearn to know my mind if my words while
turning fast seem to burn in a wild way,
for i am the being amok, yes, but i am being still,
sit there quiet if you can and practice being just.
ask me questions if you must, ask again if you miss
my point, my words do not rust, words are just noise
and wax in your ear should not become
                       lithium in my vein!
                       your leeching me is insane.
we will be destroyers before we bear shame---
humiliate me as a king feeds tulip petals to his knave,
your queen hates you. your prince usurps you.
your people loath your prince. and your priest, ha! your priest,
when channeling powers to his dark lit chamber, bowers
with boys he finds along the way, is cancer on your skin,
though he claims, while he feigns, his book is complete
                       his testament is sound
                       his gospel is valid
                       his eyes are round
he has found the way, what proof has he and in what language
says it when he too turns from what he says
and by his actions rends it?
                       tempt me as a king to betray
my conscience and look away from the mystic eye
beaming at me through the glass of the window
without a shade---and command me to obey, sit down clown!
in the town of chains, warm on the backside
whipped and whipping a red burning fire
sipped and sipping by an alcoholics’ pyre
zipped, unzipping the term slave, un-asking why i came,
for Beowulf's fame? to think Washington-Achilles, same?
eagles eat serpents, fool king, neither know better,
we can eat eagles if we want to and do.
the great white bear will always stand over you
and suffer no moment of your blank what-stare---
for your momentary reign and sad torment of mind
and your eternal disgrace, i have but one care
                      that i remain as i am
                      the eye that watches you
the judgment of your day. the voice that is true.
do as you do, right just or not. i have come at last,
you know who i am and what comes next.
good night sweet princes, dark poets too,
dear father's rest, what is done does not come next.
and dear mother's do not cry, your boy will not suffer
                     this time---your boy
                     who carried afore
the light sword of truth, carries now the fruits of peace
and is walking in the west an apple, in the east a peach---
you can see your twin sons now if you rush to your beach
and take an ax to your un-mown field and become
to your unarmed boys a shield. your man will moan
when you stand in his way but feel no power
to point his sword to your sway---mother, sister,
you are the peace i claim---walk in advance of your coyote,
line the street of the mystic mist
the ocean tomb has sent floating
clear to the mystic cave where we will meet
our guru friend and have a chat that has no end---
                     avant garde ladies dear
                     clear your fear, arm in arm,
while the storm becomes the calm. and i will anoint you
each with a kiss between your eyes, each with the balm of cries,
each with the mist that shall never die. we are the guardians of grace---
                     and this is our place
                     this, the stronghold of peace.

prayer for divine human potential

"prayer for divine human potential"
(requires two voices)

ready? one two three four---
i am great, you are great,
we say this each out loud,
and know that it is true.
now there is nothing left to do.
                               amen.

loven foravan

loven foravan

van deer coom exelend seerprese
frome deer touren land uv eer eese
dan deer be oon momen on eer skeen
deer ood be gran bawbles riseen---
     seegnachur momen, too mahch
     loven momen, gawd touch.
dan knows you love
dan you kin dee
dan you be loven foravan
dan you wit me.

My Response to Death’s Pimp

The pimp asked in his unassuming tone,
‘How was life for me?’  Oh just let us see—
if I’d been simply made, of brass or stone,
I would not mind about Death’s perch on me.
Yet I was flesh and for free reign I yearned.
I dreamt, like the smooth waves on a rough sea,
to charm Death’s hand, to break his chain, to burn
as the sun and teach his callous hold on me
Life’s truth; a spirit is—not flesh not bone
not brass not stone—but miracle! that I am me—
But that which lacks matter cannot be learned
till we dust the coffin or scatter from the urn—
and while we miss this light, eternity
does pass, high on gas—and we? the dead? Gone.