The Birds are
on the move
Snatching up the
Last mating
Bugs of Summer
Slow
Oblivious
Fattening up for
Winter’s rest
Or supper.
Categories
Chicken Feed
Category: Poems
Categories
Head for the Exits
Anytime I Go
Anywhere, I know
Exits and barricades.
I have to know
Where we are to go
If you’re on a rampage.
Your second privilege becoming our existential threat.
What do I tell my children?
“There there little one, don’t you cry.
There’s ‘thoughts and prayers’ for us when we die.”
“Now, now, there there, don’t you despair.
Run for the exit, it’s over there.”
Categories
Piedra Lumbre
It’s easy to see
Why Georgia O’Keefe
Landed in Abiquiu.
All these cowboy clouds
and sunshine smiles
So much painting to do.
Rosie red arches
And sulfur burning
With Yellowing tongues
Rising, Lashing out
Lapping up lapis
Skies, with brushes swung
Heavy oil to evoke
American dream.
A land growing lost
To the lush beauty
She acquired on
blank sheets of canvas.
”Stone of lumination.”
Categories
We’re Done
“This is it!
We’re done.”
Morning shadows
Got the Sun
Edges browning
still green leaves
“Autumn’s coming”
Says, the trees.
A poet is a book of silent
words on a shelf
A poet is one voice
screaming from the street
stifled by the sounds of the city
Poetry is a prison ||| || /||||
Poetry is a privilege…
Categories
Poets Bureau
The poet stands sentinel, memory of the City.
I am needed in the streets. Town crier. Breaking Muse. Calling forth the words of this generation. MindScribe. Writing into the minds of the people; making them remember to be free.
We must compose a new poetry.
Democratic verses
aspiring towards
our words in
common.
Categories
Speaker for the Dead
We call for a new poetry!
We call for a new eulogy!
We call forth the Speaker for the Dead.
He will understand the lost as only the Ender of
Worlds can begin to grasp. He will tell us who they
Were, where They stood. You do not know nor could.
They never wrote it down for you. Never heard them say.
Admirer, lover, blinded still,
your pining overwhelming, what was real.
Their stories told without the Makar’s mark.
Stripped away, our own projections of glories old
And say the truth, no matter how dark.
The funeral can no longer be your poetic elegy.
It must be a poem of record telling the life of the
One who will be remembered beyond the grave.
Their stories a collection of Cities and States.
Categories
Burning your heart out
Old promises(*) of Love should be
taken from their dusty shelves
and Burnt!
Every autumn, like the raking
and the culling of the leaves:
stale promises!
Burning! Giving fertile soils to
new beginning and renewing vow
breaking ground
eternal flower
prescient poesy!
Categories
Heart’s Quartet
Categories
Psychí (1)
Blue-eyed Lovely Lady long Psychic connection
Dancing to the Blues Filial bondings going
little introductions led Well beyond the forms
to Feeling the of LOVE that
same groove came before
turned into turning 2
a life- to 1
Due to the nature of responsive web pages, the mobile version of this poem loses it’s intended shape. For readability, here are the stanzas in order:
Blue-eyed Lovely Lady
Dancing to the Blues
little introductions led
to Feeling the
same groove
turned into
a life-
long Psychic connection
Filial bondings going
Well beyond the forms
of LOVE that
came before
turning 2
to 1