A teacher said:
"The only constant
In the cosmos
Is Change."

A student asked:
"And what of Being?"


- fr

I designed and built this valley mansion
   obscuring a view of the mountains -
A magnificent multi-storied structure
   with many rooms dimly lit or darkened,
A few rooms admitting a minimum
   of filtered starlight.

In one room only
   is there occasionally
   direct blazing sunlight
And this is the room of longing.



- fr

Over Clear Creek bed
rolling artisan
sculpts smooth a pebble


- fr

Ease into silence
healing reprieve before
life's cacophony





- fr

These atoms the earth's -
       not mine -
This life force carries on
       without my conscious control -
All universal law is
       perfectly executed
Minus any command from me -
       and yet I embellish
A focal point
       with end all egotism.


- fr

October 15

Seated bedside at
my father's corpse -
with whom to philosophize?

Las Cruces

Red deep in purple
sky fire illuminates
last rites at sunset

July 26*

Death weeps in despair
eternal battle futile
desert rose blossoms



- fr

What causes your anxiety
   is not that it
      may happen to you
But that you may be
   the unwilling vehicle
      through which it happens
And a new religion
   will be born.


- fr

River glides
perpetually
beneath ice


- fr

Lovelorn youth vaults
to her death  -  river bed
grants forgiveness

- fr

Blue jeans and lipstick
she awaits her beloved  -
sirens in distance







- fr

Rock as blade -
mountaintop punctures
cloud cover



- fr

When the dimensions of space
Again come to confuse
Your perspective
And time is used
Once more as a gauge
Of what is lost
And what is unborn
And you find yourself
Driving deeper
Into a nothingness
Disguised as life
And the projection
Of your dreams
Into reality
Seems but a dream itself
And all that you
Are within
Must assume the shape
Of all that you see
Then should you
Think of Love only
             - and blink.

- fr

Churchgoers
sing certainty hymns while
heavens weep

- fr

Dig maniacally
with fingernails
to Earth's core

Proceed banging,
bloodying the skull
against the iron sphere

Still, the question
"Substance?" remains ringing
through pulsing headache.


- fr

Biscuits and tea -
abstract girl entertains
Victorian ghosts





- fr

Awkward - as the infinite
Black of night against
A background of baby bonnet pink.
No sustaining verse issues from
An unreflecting pool
Stagnant from deprivation of
Refreshing waters of life.
Cold intellect attempting
To compose poetry alive with
Crisp sunrises, rolling streams,
The perfume of a bashful girl -
Cold intellect, anxious and sad,
Desperately trying to
Regain a solid footing on earth,
Make its stand in a world
Of daisies and mockingbirds
Before it's too late.




- fr

Searing time droplet
on earth's shattered glass mantle -
new creatures appear



- fr

Blissful happiness
when the mind
is evading thought

Is absolute hell
to whom thinking
is bliss.


-fr

A form emerges from the darkness
Raising its head and opening eyes
To perceive the lighted world
In which it is a necessary manifestation.
The form desires expression
And so composes a few verses
Describing the lighted world  -
Before dissolving back into
The darkness.
Though while the form was
Briefly perceiving and composing
It referred to itself as
"Immortal Poet."





- fr

A set of verses finished,
assigned to paper  -
though read, now or later,
remain strangely incomplete  -
neglectful of some
important addendum.
   There is always
an undefined
element missing  -
as if the soul were not
properly emptied
onto the page  -
always an
elusive sun-ray
gleaming just outside the
poetic endeavor
that written words
can never fully capture.




- fr

Quiet prayers
sheltered within
candlelight  




- fr

A particular preacher
Delivered the words
  Love your neighbor as yourself
Using the commandment
As an empty axiom
To establish religious superiority;
As a knife in the gut
Of non-believing neighbors.







- fr

A form is perceived  -
Then all of the additional baggage
Your memory, imagination
And emotional inclination
Hang upon and drape over
The perception  -
Yet you point
And tell me this is
   the truth of Reality.




- fr

Concepts are only
     in the mind
     and after the fact  -

Love occurs
     here and now
     as dynamic action.

Simply discussing an
     idea of love
     is classroom dissection
     on a corpse  -

Love is
     the living, breathing
     impulse
     to the inquiry.





- fr

My fascination
with a spider  -
old hag kills both







- fr

Subconsciously, perhaps,
You knew from the beginning
This point would be attained  -
This awareness
Wherein
I would question and
Ultimately disprove
All you have ever believed
As truth  -
And, in the process,
Rewrite and recreate
Myself.



- fr

Passionate yearnings
rise weightlessly to caress
starless space above









- fr

Gather and concentrate
     all inane trivialities
     of a superficial world  -
Make an assemblage of the shallow
     trifling nonessentials
     describing the tedious rounds  -
That which daily contributes to
     irascibility, animosity,
     elevated blood pressure  -
Group these ever-present torments
     into a single image
     held in supreme contempt.

Then cultivate a gentle scorn
     for even the act of contempt,
     the very inclination to contempt  -
Wholly displace
     the despised solitary image
     and resentful reaction  -
Demystify and purify
     the reflection perceived
     only
     in the headwaters  -
Make lucid and sharp
     the awareness that is
     oblivious to
     entanglement.






- fr

My home.  Behind dumpster.
Live there.  Sleep with gravel
     tearing my cheekbone.
Get work sometimes  -
     not enough paycheck
     to move out.
Food, cigs, quart of beer.
Money spent.

Need to use facility.
Some businesses just say "no."
Others have restrooms that read:
     "Customers Only."
But money spent.

Go back home.  Behind dumpster.
Doin' my business.

White car pulls up.
Officer steps out.
"Urinating in public."

Fifteen dollar fine.
Fifteen dollar court costs.

Thirty dollars
     for *******
     on my own home...






- fr

This is my narrative  -
     writing only
     to clarify for myself
     a conception of the world,
     my own self-conception  -
This should hold no value
     outside of me....
Save that all narratives
     seemingly overlap
     tend to meet and embrace
     seek interaction
By some unconscious urging
     or primal need.








- fr

"Shut up!"

Something raises my guard  -
     I begin to bark.
Immediately a human feels
Obligated to shout at me:
     "shut up!"

I'd like to speak your language.
     Just once.  I truly would.
The language that you obviously
Are so very much enamored of  -
     you utter it even in sleep.

And all of your waking hours.
     Talking and gossiping.
     Speculating and chattering.
     Jabbering and yakking.

Talk, talk and even more talk  -
     you must be infatuated
With the mass of gibberish
Belching forth from your mouths.
Morning, noon and evening  -
     through the extended night  -
All of you, constantly talking,
     gabbing, talking, babbling, talking...

And how rarely you communicate
     anything of any importance.

Shut up.









- fr

Darkness envelopes
river basin odyssey
leaving no guideposts








- fr

Newspaper, radio, television
Regurgitate
- by choice or default -
Gory deeds, misfortunes and
Dark tendencies
Of humanity.

Contrive justifiable
Dwelling exit.

Respite on curbside
In sweet, cleansing
Early morning drizzle...










- fr

So we begin dismantling
     and whittling away at
The prime protection
     for threatened creatures who
Share our world  -

As the cold overlords
     have determined that worshiping
The almighty dollar
     is of more value than
Preserving
     the essential diversity and
Divine sanctity of life.









- fr