Dippity do dah
My oh my
Such a wonderful day
Speak the candle
Lighting your divinity
Category Archives: discovery
The Purge
I want to burn it all
The filth. The scum.
The self absorbed.
The haughty. The vain.
The rich. The sin.
Song O’ The Willamette
Seek ye sounds and hear the collective bugle calls!
O’ osprey n’ lumbering locomotive bawls
Hear its honking trombone plunger muted feature
Garbled warble like the voice of Charlie Brown’s teacher
Prosopagnosia
Night and day’s tied faces to the plainly hidden
Double helical wrapped Christmas morning gifts
Opened up like halos when street lamps kick in
A Love Letter To A Chameleon
Lets revel in this shared Bodhi
Dance forth with wine
And pull the moon
Down over our cheeks
If I Was The Planet Mars
If I was the planet Mars
I’d break free from the Sun’s hold
And escape into the dark cold
Forge a path into the vast black
and never, ever, ever come back
Song Of Fawns
Stained holy the color
A throne for august queen
This vale of hearth
My elegant womb
New Anthology
I am pleased to announce that my poem Some Kind of Blue will be published and included in a new poetry anthology by Ingrid Wilson called, “The Anthropocene Hymnal: Songs of a self-defining Era”
The Yawper and the Mute
Niches determined by force
Like the gravity of breathing
And the sounds you make
when you dream away from me
Our hand clasped curious souls
crawl from their human cages
tucked under cotton bed sheets
Re: Redrum
A carnival of meats
Creaky carousels of subjugation
of the tortured and sentient
Wide eyed and scared
Naked and bleeding
Braised and bruised
Animal corpses splayed
On dinner plates
Solvitur Ambulando
This is my journey
To this goddamn place
I pace just behind the edge
Or at least what’s left of me
This, my purgatory
My paradox
My gathering
My reckoning
The Staggering Marionette
If my poems had lips they would hide in your pout like secret honey
A whispered cache of melody dripping away in a sea of awkward noise
Men At Work
Curse the tailors
For theirs are the blindfolds and the mask of truth
Curse the steelworkers
For theirs are the bullets and barbwire
Fear Not
Please don’t tell anyone
But I have this secret
I’ve been meaning to tell
You see I am an angel.
Don’t laugh
Born Shy
I live on the wrong glassy frosted frame side
Of a Norman Rockwell doctor visit painting
And the museum security staff roping it off
Nostalgia Is Like Herpes
Nostalgia is like herpes
The more we get screwed
The bigger the chance
We’ll find a reminder of it later
If I can just get through this….
Honeycomb Pageantry
Her palace collapsed
Like a mini civilization
Amidst flapping wings
undulating in perfect pitch
along a downward,
spiralling trajectory
and a fusillade of rifle shots
My Hands…
Grasped thumbs
Cupped breasts
Rattled shakes
Played with dolls
Bounced balls
Jumped rope
Reached for love
Clung to sun
Armistice
Work is just a nervous glance, and a .357 under the desk
And the wafting smoke snaking out from bosses’ mouths
Memorialize this armistice between slave and charioteer
Between the elite few riding and the multitudes run down
It’s Not All Doom And Gloom
Cops push out addicts
Living under bridges
Then talk them down
From jumping off them
Suicide rates are jumping
But it’s not all bad news
At least the stock market
Reached another high
The Tigress Awakens 