Noble, brown coloured birds
Falcons and magnificent Eagles
Flying in formation
In a bright blue and cloudless air
Soaring high above deciduous forests
Flaked with rocky outcrops and peaks so high
Flying freely, un-abridged with such nobility
A picture hundreds, thousands of miles or more
A scene so serene to grace my stained wood floor
A village of bears sleeps in the trees
10 miles North of a town called Amveese
The humans keep busy and away from the wood
If they'd desire to hunt, they certainly could.
The bears are afraid of the humans so close
And hiding is what these bears do most
But Billy the bear is anxious today
His teeth are a mess, a complete disarray.
“Bears need to toughen and deal with the pain.”
“Bears don't have dentists, we aren't the same.”
Billy was tired of all the excuses
For once he heard dentists that satisfy Mooses.
So on a cold night, as cold as expected
Billy crawled quietly, pray not be rejected.
A 10 mile walk in darkness to light
A new set of teeth was Billy's delight.
Upon reaching the town, the sun had arisen
Hustle and bustle blurred Billy's vision.
He hid behind corners and a big garbage can
The dentist in sight, he had a great plan.
Uprooting a bush, using cover to hide
He moved like the wind, in big bear strides.
He moved around back, and knocked on the door
A new aspiration for humans galore.
“Welcome my fury and large bodied beast!
Come in, take a seat, prepare for a feast!
While you are here, you will dream a new dream
For humans, pray tell, are not what they seem.”
The doctor moved quickly and dragged him inside
“There's no time to waste, my work I take pride.”
He danced and he moved like no human seen before
And snuck into a dark and closed wooden door.
“I'll be out in a minute, just preparing a sample
For you will be next on my prize winning mantle!”
The door flung open, the doctor stood grand
For he had an old fashion musket in hand!
Billy was frightened, and tried to retreat
But noticed a dart sticking out of his feet.
Someone had drugged him, he didn't know how
BANG went the musket, and then, no more sound.
So the days went on, and the doctor was pleased
A new trophy cleaned, polished, and seized.
See, the thing about humans and animals alike
They'll behead anything if there's an available pike.
Beautiful maple wood, undressed in cuts
of measure ~ with rings of melancholy ~
graced in grains of old.
By design and desire, it’s coated to
armor in blankets ~ rather cold wears ~
fitting un-pleasantries, erasing the
woods indigenous core. Such left
without its natural dressing, its fountain
of fortune and the promise of lacquer.
In new coats it concedes the culture of
the carpenter. Simply ~ to paint wood is
to dilute the piece of lumber. A
misguided brim of intent ~ and the
precious soul escapes the woods finest
elegance and thus left unfancied.
The promise of shavings, then sealing in
oils of old ~ readily suits for a trusting
stain. If not of woods polish ~ they are
stains of ruin. Thus concealing the
wrinkles of father time ~ lost in the fever
of the cloak ~ now soiled in many ways
in solid colors ~ such vogue, such sin.
Unseen are the fathers rings of time ~ if
sealed in finger paints ~ so I simple ~ a
toast to the carpenters of the living ~
and his brushes of leisure to amuse with
a cunningness of frame work ~ such the
woodworker dressed in leathers of old
polishes there every send…
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 first time you told me you loved me, I was drunk
And I cried
Because I felt like my heart was having a panic attack
And my god damned cigarette wasn't helping
And the air in my lungs was revolting
The first time you told me that you loved me,
I couldn't say it back
Not the second, the third, or the fourth
I didn't say it the night that I told you you bring out the best in me
Or the day after that, when I realized your dimples
Feel like the parenthesis around my own laugh
I didn't tell you, even when you pointed up toward the full moon, just like the night we had met
Or in the morning after that, when I woke up from nightmares about being thrown in jail
And found myself so grateful to have you next to me that when I rolled over to wrap myself around your still sleeping body, I almost whispered the words in your ear, just to give you a sweeter dream than mine
The first time I thought it was when you first got out your guitar
In that warmup chord, I saw what my body already knew your fingers could do
And for some reason, it made me think about how you always put away your leftovers, how you ask me, little darlin, where was I going with that
Every damn time you tell a story, call me your steel trap
While you played my favorite song without me even asking, I thought about
How long we stood in the aisle weighing the pros and cons
And how easily we laugh
But still I can't say it, not yet, no matter how good you look in the yard, chopping wood
We need more words for love because
I think maybe we see it differently
If we were on the same page, you would never put forth something so easily
That could take us so far
And drop us so hard
Because the love that I want between you and I
Is the kind that takes time
The kind that knows how to see in the dark, that forgives all of the embarrassing things
Like maybe someday I'll show you my poetry
I see the kind of love that has learned to navigate the world through four eyes
Like a spiderweb touching
The bark on our adjacent trees
It requires you to forgive yourself the knowledge of me
And that is not easy
You joke, tell me you l-word me
Tell me that someday I'll learn how to love, just a joke, but
I don't know if you know it's not nice
I do know love
I know love like the backs of my teeth
Like the way it ties strings across time and death and seas
I know love like the way I have so many people in my life who give it to me for free
And I am so god damned lucky that you feel it for me
I know love in how much I want you
To be happy
And yes, I know how to love between lovers
But most of what I know is about how it goes away
I remember how to fall out of love, so well
How to lose myself in the swell
Of a dying tide
That for you I will dive back into that ocean
And that when I say those words, I will mean them, I will believe them
And I know that I love myself far too much
To do anything but trust my own tongue because
Sometimes when you smile I feel like I've waited for you my whole life
So, on this, I can be patient
No water tastes sweeter
then that sip in the desert
No touch is finer
then that hand on the shoulder
when encased in loneliness.
No paycheck more abundant
then following employment deprivation.
No buffet more filling
then that first bite in hunger.
No more wonderous serenity
then when the pain
finally goes away
from your mouth
No idea more stimulating
to a mind so hungry
then a poem which catches
the moment so perfectly.
No love more appreciated
then when awash in self judgement
No praise more received
then when lost in condemnation.
No warmth more soothing
then when lost in the snow.
No light so bright
as that first sunlight
when lost in the demons
of one's night.
No sensation so
pure as an open
heart after numbness descends
Compassion in hatred
A laugh when joyless.
A lover's kiss after betrayal
A loving look after the cold white wall
A loving word after tense stone silence.
No embrace more healing
then when you come home to me.
The receding waters after the tusnami
The stillness after the earthquake.
The peace after the warfare.
The spring flowers after the winter
The coolness of fall after the blistering summer's heat.
The wood stove so warm when the house is so cold.
No bed so content
No home so sweet
after being stuck out on the streets.
Without our joys no sorrow
Without our sorrows no joy.
our body’s garden such precisely alive
Our body’s garden such precisely alive in the Western morning,
In so how’s way coloured plants raise tall or wide or thin;
Fragmented soil, medicinal today in the fieldgrass grown –
Rediscovery of the roaring raven’s beak and claw,
Corn-plucked casing shells metallic taste, chemical.
Hoarse young poets flying blackwing under cover clouds,
Under dead stars, planetary under the dome of cosmos,
Ringing brass from the tail-feathers plucked not once nor ever,
But twisted into chainhung windcombs that sift the air terrible,
For the breath of the oasis organic to bear fruitfully.
Terraced acres covered in the shadows of birds –
(Known to stand in place among the weeds, known to rest on
Tendrils of grainstalks sticking twig up antennae)
Fountain downpour from the skull of Atmos great,
To quench the thirsty meadows of their urgent eager cultivate.
Pastured stone pathways puzzling, laid and fitted carefully,
While mystery sunlight splays possessed over green country,
In the early living day’s first starborne gift, the luminous break,
The soaring radiant beams housing sacred Spring’s sweet nurture,
Where without barbed petals does Life ceaseless sprout.
Burly conduits streaming night air nourishing through thick trunks
Of bark-branching wood writhing knotted and ponderous;
History’s firescars and curling crustrings shown molting –
Cut and splayed out on beds of needles, beds of pine and grainy loam,
Limbs sawn after felling spindled at the forest’s end, in eternal terminate repose.
black spider, white birch
When black spider wove one first web
Western sun found lightly mouth
For little things to catch themselves
Dewdrops, beads, and spoiling milk
Tree-trunk dripped for water’s fell
Some honeyed bough suspended from
Which lounging as to when’s black cloud
For sweetness to encircle shroud.
The speckled frost lit glass threads
With beaming spark and glow swelled
Forth golden glorious hues echoed
Wheatgrass and shadowed frond while
King snake worms below thrash odd
Made oblivious activity fruitful slow
By beak slips cold through tiny holes
Embarked repulsive gradual.
Through dullness peaked once, nor again
Might wither forward staggering
Blissful and intense yet brief
Enough for lacking thoughts drawn wolves
To many ropes with branches towed
Above while slumped and swung alone
Discordant just above the snow
By Winter’s end outlined in bone.
White birch hung one thousand first
Murky water, living earth bends
Life from limb stretched limp and thin
Mildewed mountainous barrens far from
Machinery, metal, and wood tips sky
Outpouring Spring’s heavy night rains
Where memory with disappears straight
There black spider drags slender paint.
the best words for last are said to be
the same ones that you knowen own
in your head sorry if i idndt know
that there was one more to go i'm
sorry that i didnt say that there was
one more to go that there was one
more to go to that there was one more
to go to that there was one more to
go to that there was one more to go
that that ere was one more to go to
go to the wood of the end of the
street you know the ones you know
the woods the words you know the
one you know the ones you are the
sun you are the son you are the dark
obligation to make contact with
the seeds and make contatact with
the lost ones homophonic maniac
i need you to see this otheriwse its
for none but all not just one you see
you see the oat meal in the trees
is like bubble gum to the bees you
see, you see, any old word would
do self promotion aside losing my
life am i learning something horribl
e about losing it all am i learning
something aout the dreop of one tw
o or three strokes losing it making c
ards sound much etter than they re
ally are taking a hike on closed ey
e mountain face and the case for th
e best of the best the name with t
he rest whyy dont know need to k
now just need to know just need
to konw the cool green specie
s of snake count have been you al
l the words all the worlds count ha
ve been you no they count have be
en you no they count have been you yo
u want to know the way to the doctor it
will cast you american dollars
I just inhaled soap for the first time
there were stars bleeding all kinds of colors
triangles were also whispering to me.
can we take a ride away from here?
In between window sills maybe, be
tween glass, rust, mortified wood,
child friendly paint chips, and swollen
crumbs of brick, the kind that just