sank low on our
a four-day hike
from any civilization.
Earlier in the week,
Julio had guided us
into the secret-sacred place
to meet the medicine man.
This place was abundant
they topped the cactus tops.
Our intent was to
commune with the gods,
float outside our bodies,
intoxicate our minds
with ancient wisdom,
to learn more
about the creation.
It wasn't long
after the wretching
that things began to change.
Warm sweat streamed
down my brow,
became more astute
by the minute,
which seemed like hours.
a lone wolf howled with glee,
the stream nearby spoke
Horned toads surrounded us,
grinning with the
council of Gila monsters
who had joined them.
The moon danced
with our campfire,
stars sent divine-code.
I had transformed,
had become a coiled-rattler
with venom-filled fangs.
I rapidly shook my tail
with a deadly-tune
to warn the others,
who were enjoying
My skin was
rippled with scales,
covered with diamonds,
cold blood circulated,
flooded my soul.
I was kin to the kings,
the kings of the serpent world,
had become one with the universe,
I've never felt the same since
that cosmic-ethereal evening,
that now seems
like a millenia ago.
I meet other kings,
other kindred spirits,
slithering in human-form
upon God's Earth.
Once I undertook a journey,
Out upon and completely around,
the very face of our entire world.
To view for myself the many pictures,
And written descriptions of all the writers
In all those geography books and History Classes,
National Geographic magazines poured over
and movies seen.
My personal Quest to see with my own eyes
What I had only experienced second hand.
And in my mid twenties, like a dream,
One foot in front of the other,
There I was doing it.
I sniffed and tasted the scents of foreign lands,
Incense, Sage and Frankincense, fish curry,
fried snake and even monkey brains.
Walked in lush Jungle Bush and Desert sands,
Along the shores of many Islands and the coasts
Of Four Continents’.
Heard the voices of 30 divergent Dialects
And cultures. Smiling and laughing with,
The beautiful children of all of them.
Set beside the fires of primitive tribal men,
Heard their chants to their gods above,
Or upon the land and sea.
Clapped my hands and moved my feet in
Their Ancient mystic dances.
Drank their tea, Kava or whatever they shared
Grateful for their offered unselfish brotherhood.
Stood on the flanks of the tallest Mountains
In the world, on my toe tips, to try to see the
Face of the God of my youthful teachings,
Mildly disappointed when I did not see him, or Her.
Found instead an inner tranquility, imparted to me
By Red robbed Monks from within their chants of
Peace and wise earthly enlightenment.
Strolled the cobbled streets of two thousand year
Old Cities. Walked among the ruined remnants of
Nearly forgotten once great Civilizations.
Explored Modern Euopean Citiadels of wealth and learning.
Over time rode on planes, ships, buses, backs of open trucks,
Horse pulled carts and human drawn rickshaws, taxis, subways,
Rented motorcycles and cars. Walked perhaps a 1000 miles.
In all a journey of the mind and heart lasting for three years.
And why you might ask, "What qualifies you as a pilgrim
of any kind, to travel so far, for so long a time?"
"And what was I looking for, what did I hope to find?"
All indeed, fair questions.
When a boy, I read a simple five word line,
“Seek and thee shall find”.
And it stayed with me all my life.
I read books, saw films, did Research,
all in a quest to understand,
what those five words truly meant.
After a stint in the Military,
still wondering and seeking,
I embarked on my own personal,
physical and emotional Journey.
The next obvious question you might
repeat of course is, after all that;
“What did I find?”
Well I guess the answer is very simple,
after all that, I found myself.
Fashion this as liquor to give spirit to a song in write.
Seen seldom to weigh words at play in search,
sewn expensive for time spent in trust and recite.
Penciling not for profit so rhythmic this may show.
Find in the presence to open and reflect our woes.
Only prescription for uncommon those in write.
A same those who compose.
This on display is the compromise
of sheltered dreams ~ and the soul,
of rhythm in gentle prose.
This is the allure of the jewel of life.
Sent as promise a same a wish.
Stem those genes and make heavy this vision ~
and prayers in might.
These are our rays made ink,
to weigh the pressures of waves
constant in cycle, to detract from nature’s
Heavenly sight. Lost we shall dream
and ever so patiently grow old but in heart live bold.
Rugs were in Persia mathematically
correct and with an Indian craft
colorful, Heaven sent. Only captured in
a metaphor this day, so men do master,
so simple this way. Simple this as to
measure the years past, shudder away
tears, for the river purifies our passions
commandeered. So culture our gardens
to prosper and replenish, in the green
untamed, and natural in wonder,
Today we thimble a sew for tomorrow,
for our craft is spared only to simple ~
ness of editing, not journeyed journals
to an ever-changing composition
Perhaps unfamiliar this vest, this
life. Sample the living, in books that
inspire. Dismal I think the desire to
purify a pen in this heavy practice, a
dance an art. Time lends a flavor,
marinating appealing to a fashion so
Always calm to prolong righteous
reason, modern making, yet captured
still as storytelling. Uncommon to cues,
but refreshing at leisure, is now a
computer who makes simple what once
was wasted time. Measures made in
this art are laborious, the passion is for
the pen, reel it in as your tool, rations
will in turn ~ give as a well to nature
and sow, the seed of the write.
Refinement ~ un-forsaken, notes of
detail, must reinvent and inscribe in
ink. The bank of intuition lay tender as
our diction. Replenish in the soil of our
native grounds to seed another tool, the
luxury of our lingo. For inspirations
may befriend or become uncharted if
left in the cold. Sold but without a
surrender to all integrity, we will call
for many souls to ship and receive what
Forefathers intended. In over our
heads, over watering our behaviors,
half unknowingly over diluting our
mental treasures, is this the liquor of
life, all too fancy in measure but it was
the tea of rebellion ~ and so I toast ~
to a drink tonight.
Inherent as memories of a generation
now surely within time, we will fill the
promise within crafted lines, and file
away ~ many promises ~ many
revisions, many times. In spoil we shall
not surrender our bounty of honesty and
wisdom, so gray in years we
mend. Dent our self-serving self ~
respect, make and justify the wheel in
role common. Like a beard in keep,
intention is relevant. Surely women
refine makeup as to show beauty in
character. Thus what we intend to
refine is an endeavor to unwrinkled and
celebrate the qualities of growing
old. Time is of new defining, for the
times are naturally at all times ~ in
ritual of change.
Memories to grace the gift of sight are
the shades to carry our reflections
away. One, who trusts and so cares, lay
in the daydream of light. In a wish sent
salient, reference to eyes unveiled,
patiently as a seed shall ripen, the
flavors of life will flower in springs
day. We hanger thus shelter, the rags
made clothes, best when leather to
weather firm and tight.
Regift the promise, to harness the wind
and make words potent as those before
did without regret. Today in general we
lean and conform on the fundamentals,
too disciplined, mirror of stale
literature. Similar to wood varnished
but without the stains of life. First
revision is not for giving, only what is
taken, luxury of time. Color your copies
of the wood you talk in and pencil in
your pressures to relieve the pain,
simple ~ ness and cold feet lay sold, as
buttered bread to fill. But imperfect, so
forthcoming, wills the literature of today
finding promise in ceremony by
charting drafts and revisions to send in
message to those young in read.
This voyage is regretfully gentle as our host
made monumental any verse, so breathe
within the soul and hearts of men, to
find new styles to milk the mind of
reason. Leafs from the tree of intuition
censure the picture, sell in the filter of
Freedoms fight, not first drafts ready
Battered but purely by pace and
meager beginnings, the wave of
procurement in the arts of linguistics
will saddle and shelter the idea
profound. Don’t toss away the raisin of
a pen in hand, for we lean to easily in
bits and bytes. Promise of Heaven’s
pennies falling in rhythm will sing
tonight. Majestic in find, common in ground,
gift a find, in leisure, in time. Gather
they guard and uphold the greater good,
not to entertain but inspire. Just as
ones soul is when right. Humbled in
behaviors so chips in clever may
fall. But poker face we have
become, once centered in earnest of
essays in rent, now owners of ideas
embellished ~ in verse ~ our native
treasures. Second, we charter the raft
of ideas in mend, to conceive works so
aspiring as the poets and linguists of
historic claim. So riddled ~ so
mastered. Surely a new discontent shall
offer, in a pebble of examples met, with
practice and structure our youth will
Demand must be patient, for
procurement in the arts of linguistics
will nurture and mother our future
Leaders to a discipline in their own
right. Never forget the days of past
generations for they marveled in the
arts ~ and in rain it falls in our hands ~
to luster and defend. Poetics are too
political if not in share. Protection of
this is how Freedom was rung. The
hungry will maintain its resolve and
rightfully so. Riddled as sow ~ these
lentils, this meal, these feathers, this ink
shall fuel the fire. A dance in the
pillows of night shall brush the painting
in the autumn of one’s days. Flaccid in
so many ways. Glorified by the shadows of protection,
but only one day is stored for this
intention. Freedom is in the work
engraved beside it, within it, sharing we
celebrate it, and our Brave provide
it. Celebration comes by way of duty
and hard work, and it rises high and
early in the dawn. Yes, on the Fourth
Day of July. Food and pleasures are
gifts for price paid by our Soldiers and
Agencies who protect and defend our
freedom and intelligence, and calmly
watch over it as we carry along. All
under the calm watch of Gods
umbrella. Future dreams are blessed a
same, for all under this Flag by notion
alone, seam and dress and hence sail
with solemn truth. Trusting the winds of
reason to keep us Forever Free and on
course to replenish the soil, for those
young in years. Students in the day
dream of life are in the send to allow
their pen to charter this peaceful but
daunting Nation to one of peace and
prosperity. Willingly and calm the Lion
stares afar from American shores,
Democratic in nature and always
reinventing in this idea we call ~ the
the flood (or the greatest wish ever sent)
Stay far from cursed, caring
Wondrous and wounded by
Blitzkrieg bombs and cancer
Blind to the arm and the base
Of her neck
(Lungfuls and more)
Nine times stormed
And marred, or scarred by
Mistreatment and mercy
Tied off to the widower’s bend
Hidden, shivering, to stem
The flow, the ebb, and the tide
From shoreline to shelter
In heat and sweat, embraced
By no meandering hands
But for Death’s busy touches, often.
The skin of gods is the same as ours –
Stuttering across fields
Quick and light (as deer in the snow)
Radiant and white (as cleanly picked bones)
Pillars and poisoned blood
(I remember the flood;
And teeming with the flow of life)
When quiet became silent
And flew away
To some other place
If there is one.
(haunt me, haunt me, again)
Daughter of King Cyprus who had incestuous relations with her father and was changed into a myrrh tree by the gods. Their child, Adonis, was born from the split trunk of the tree.
They say he didn't know
who crept into his room at night,
lay down beside him.
But how could a father not know the scent of his daughter
or the shape of her hand in darkness?
Myrrha, how do I read your steady weeping?
Silenced as a homely tree, your truth
lies rooted to the split trunk,
its resin reaching far
into the familiar
when I turn in my restless sheets
to find what's
waiting for me there:
musk of bark chips
scattered in my hair
each time I take
what I shouldn't have.
Sick and starved for genius
He pushed harder than anyone has ever pushed before
Day and night
Night and day
The gods be damned...
No one can stop him...
We looked to our gods
As they stood
Upon pedestals of glass
Humming their lullabies
In our opened ears
We learned their prayers
Sang their hymns
Spoke their words
Knew their sins
We lost ourselves in their heaven
But were still standing on the ground
We marched to their beat
Keeping our heads up in times of doubt
They opened our minds
They opened our hearts
We flocked by the hundreds every night
To look up at the stars
So we moved as one body
When they said
Fall to your knees-- We knelt
Get to your feet-- We stood
Put up your hands-- We reached
Our faulted stars
Our pretty princes
Our virgin queens
We heard the word
And carried it to our world
It wasn’t long before we returned
With our friends close behind
We shared their stories and their lessons
As our idols stood there in angelic light
We flocked by the thousands every night
To look up at the stars
We flocked by the thousands every night
In the cities, in the streets
No one left in a seat
We placed our trust in the hands of prophets
Who told us that
Every decade is the Teen Age
So we drank their wine
Broke their bread
We took it all in
Buying into a new reality
Re-making ourselves in their image
We were lost
But now are found
And all the while
We’re still standing on the ground
Still waiting in line at the gates
Still paying admission
Still hoping to find our way to sainthood
So that we might
Laugh and cry together
Die, but live forever
At least in memory
And look down from on high
As they flock by the millions every night
To look up at the stars
pull me through time pull me through rips in the universe that my gods scratched with harsh voices
bask in the pale of ignorance and the lack of structure in my words
bathe in my pretentiousness
and look for the beauty
in the small things
the spot on her nose and the way a pine tree smells
scream scream scream because i'm almost something scream scream scream because i can't feel who i am from the inside of myself scream scream scream because i have lost so much i have suffocated a person inside of me scream scream scream
whisper whisper because i hurt myself today whisper whisper because there's ink in my veins now whisper whisper there's purple underneath my nails and it isn't my own whisper whisper whisper
i'm turning my suffering down so i can fit into the lives of others and be comfortable i cannot bare to take up all the space my body wants me too
what will happen?
i will slip under the quicksand and my body will go back to the earth
which is pretty okay all considering I CAN HEAR A CAR SCREECHING I CAN HEAR A LIFE FLEETING I CAN FEEL THE WORLD SPINNING AROUND ME I COULD JUMP OFF I COULD JUMP OFF IF I COULD FIND AN EDGE
I feel it,
like my body is on fire.
I feel you under me dying skin.
I swear you are lost on me.
I was your one and only,
and I used you.
I abused you.
I screwed you over.
And for some reason you stayed.
And now as I am no longer blind you stand beside her.
oh so gods be forsakenly slowly,
I move forward.
And with this new boy I find myself drooling and dumb.
I cannot talk to you, though.
No to my best friend.
He's a danger.
He's an ass.
But I find myself drawn in.
What am I to do?
Better Than You
I will kick you in your face.
I will leave you in despair.
You name the place, tell me the time,
there isn't a word I can't rhyme.
Not a chance, I will loose,
your words leave a mental bruise.
I'm gods gift to the pen,
you have smaller penis than Ken.
Don't hate the player, hate the game,
by now you all know my name.
I'm not a poet or a rapper,
just a rhymer, writer and a scrapper.
I entertain you with my catchy hooks,
it helps that I have sensational looks.
You're nothing but a fudge packing butt pirate,
oh I'm sorry, was that supposed to be private.
You can't mess with the rhyme master,
what a shame you turned into a disaster.
I've taught you everything you know,
but I left out the part how to properly flow.
You were my pupil, you tried to go alone,
like Medusa, I turned you into stone.
The shit you write, no one reads,
to me everyone eventually concedes.
You're like Pepsi, I'm like Coke,
I'm an unsolvable riddle, you're just a joke.
As I stand here waiting for the duel,
the longer I wait, the more I fuel.
I see you lurking in the shadows,
you're heading right for the gallows.
This is your last chance to surrender,
I commend you for trying to be a contender.
But as I suspected, I'm better than you,
I left your underwear brown, and your balls blue.