Gotama was unlicensed
went to graduate school
in caves along wide rivers
eating one grain of rice a day
seeking the happy place
where great beasts live
and tall ships anchor firm
on still waters.
Christ laughed at thin laws
refusing to be defined
poured glowing love
all over the Pharisees
and that’s why
it is so sad
some therapsts
forget about the soul
spewing insurable diagnoses
for imaginary pathologies
ignoring the rare pearls
of each heart
logged into their tight sad files.
Rumi cut a lovely poem
into his thigh with a dagger
and loved when people read it . . .
so honor that sacrifice
and never
insult your days
by depending on those
who invent litanies of sadness
looking for broken places
in your psyche.
When the counselor asks for his fee
reach inside your chest
pull out your heart
hold it before him
say nothing.
Mar 19, 2016
Mar 19, 2016 at 9:57 AM UTC
She stands in the kitchen
slicing vegetables again
gazing wistfully
through memory's window
to a sharp winter day
with that sweet carefree man
when they walked the seashore
haloed by salt breeze
clinging to each another
laughing at the gale
promising everything
always and forever
but like every night
her reverie fades
no talk of love, no seashore
no crisp air, no calling gulls
just the smell of roast beef
and the droning voice
of the man she settled for
igniting once again
a deep sad rumbling
from her heart’s basket
of buried dreams
as the house begins to shake
and kitchen floor cracks open
its hungry maw gaping
swallowing her whole
helpless in an avalanche
of potatoes and paring knives
with sharp edges
like the teeth
of her resignation.
Jan 27, 2016
Jan 27, 2016 at 4:32 PM UTC
Her transition ritual
between lovers
a masterpiece of denial
took at most
a week
before the rebuke
about what a ****
he was
and how dumb
the other was
and let me cook
the way to a man’s heart
always the stomach
until one man
an older wiser sort
told her
I don’t like potatoes
and you’re too cruel
I am afraid of you
and will not
be staying
for dinner.
Jan 18, 2016
Jan 18, 2016 at 9:50 PM UTC
Santa Claus is 100% pure love
his heart does not divide
the starved and homeless man with his tin cup
from the wealthy politician in his black limousine
nor does Santa ever blame
the frightened small town girl
who paints her lips and struts unsure
down hard dark streets
Santa Claus remembers his own mother
and weeps for the lonely karma of octogenarians
diapered in wheelchairs along fluorescent hallways
abandoned by the ones they birthed
our great elf winces every time
he feels the crocodile's fearsome jaws
drag the wildebeest down
while the zebras flee
he prays relentless sailors
stop harpooning the great breaching whales
and hears the grasses scream
when bloated oilmen pound holes
in the prairie dog's kingdom
he regrets that schoolteachers lie
about what a great man Columbus was
and why the Sioux, the Apache and the Arapahoe
were incapable of evolution
he knows you don't need a bicycle helmet
to ride downtown for ice cream
knows our legal system is for sale
knows surfing is Neptune's brave ballet
Santa delights in the spiritual joy emerging
when patients see angels hovering everywhere
before doctors scream psychosis
and numb what they do not understand
with sad needles and leather restraints
his reindeer are the dreams of the spastic child
who knows he will never run
his sleigh a zero carbon emission vehicle
and his great heavy bag carries
the sweet prayers of the Jew, the Christian
the Muslim, the Buddhist, the Hindu
the Gnostic, the Wiccan and the existential humanist
on the night before Christmas
Santa dreams that all the cars and trucks disappear
and every freeway grows trees and flowers and grass
where everyone chats and meanders and strolls
and vendors sell SnoCones, apple juice and pears
because Santa Claus is just doing
the one thing he knows how to do best
on a long winter's night
to bring some light to a world
that races toward extinction
while the butterfly sleeps with the lizard
and the children still believe
Dec 3, 2015
Dec 3, 2015 at 4:01 PM UTC
In the next place
Everything's there
That isn't here
Like free flowers
On every street corner
And little shops
Where everyone is forgiven.
In the next place
Nobody feels alone
Because everybody's heart
Beats at exactly
The same time
And the rhythm
Fills the air.
In the next place
The sun rises
Twice a day
And the espresso man
Stops at every house
So even sleepy heads
Are sure to marvel
At the light rose sky.
In the next place
There's a depot
Where all the people
Who were lonely before
Arrive to throngs
Welcoming them
With hugs
Singing hallelujah.
In the next place
The new people
Get so much love
They forget
To be afraid
And finally understand
That in the old place
Nothing had to be
The way it was.
Sep 28, 2014
Sep 28, 2014 at 3:10 AM UTC
My man-o'-war lies anchored
silent after crossing endless seas
as I stand on the gangway
bathed in midday heat.
The olive trees on the hillsides
grown ten times taller
since I left you here
to seek my worth
in battles with strangers.
Heavy coats of chainmail
have worn maps into my shoulders
those engines of the trickster's axe.
Though no man or beast has won me
not a queen I have not taken from her king
I still fear to stand before you
unarmored and vulnerable
before your patient inexorable love.
Your pure love
is my greatest adversary
yet you carry no sword.
You challenge me everywhere
yet you sail no ocean.
You know I am weary
yet you do not mock.
You have simply waited
for my hard road to end.
My heart stops
in mute surrender
as I lift off the last battered chest plate,
undo the sterling braces from my legs
steel falling like glass
around the pirate's helmet
tarnished at my feet.
Though a lifetime of war
has crippled my gait
I run with reckless abandon
to that open door
on the welcome street
the place I left
for no good reason
where you have endured all these years
holding the only blade
that can sever
the lover from the rogue.
May 11, 2014
May 11, 2014 at 10:57 AM UTC
My love says she likes me
because I'm such a great deipnosophist,
a sanguine fellow
whose susurrus musings
crepitate with a farrago of meanings,
a protean and hortatory munificence
that brings her to her knees
in delight.
I adore her as well
for the beatific rapprochement
she accedes to
even when we expatiate
on and on about things mercurial.
Yes, I will always adore
her lissome acquiescence
to the inexorable germanity
of the simple fact
that we're simply
head over heels
for each other,
if you know
what I'm trying to say.
Mar 5, 2014
Mar 5, 2014 at 6:08 AM UTC
I found you yet again
Dipping water from a well
In a small village square
Your face covered as was custom
And knowing you instantly
I took your hand
You showed no surprise
Just knew me
As the son you bore
In a tropical clime
On a world so distant
You could remember only
The rustle of crystal wind
Through tall red trees
Under a blue sun
Where you smiled
Knowing this was another life
One more time together
For our souls to learn
Some loves never end
But seek new bodies
In new places
And we always get excited
Rush to each other
Passionate and so surprised
Until we remember why.
Feb 23, 2014
Feb 23, 2014 at 6:56 AM UTC
He reaches for the other pillow
but finds no head resting there
looking pretty
ready to kiss
and he feels bad.
She awakens from dreams of him
but there are no arms
reaching out for her
just the rumpled sheets
that witness only sleep.
Each heart breaks sometimes
remembering the precious few moments
when they could embrace
like normal people
and they cry.
And they both keep weeping
feeling so sad and heavy
with anger at the situation
at the other
for not trying harder
to be there.
He ruminates about how
she never does talk about
where she wants to put her piano
and she complains to herself
because he no longer counts
the days until their next encounter
and has so little to say
on the phone.
Each one is obsessed
with worrying about the other
and neither takes
the time to wonder
if the distant partner
also feels the sting
of the empty pillow.
Feb 20, 2014
Feb 20, 2014 at 2:01 PM UTC
After the argument
all he could do
was slump down
in the old chair
near the window
that looks out
onto the wide garden
beside the lake.
He yelled louder
as usual
dominated and gesticulated
but has paid
the same dear price
as she trembles
hidden behind
the soft pillows
she hoped
would cradle
words of love.
Every time she asks
please love me
a little slower
this time
he hears criticism
flying into a rage
panicking to realize
he does not know how
to do anything
but clutch at her
with the harsh hands
of a frightened man
who cannot hear
cannot see
and cannot believe
she loves him
at all.
Feb 18, 2014
Feb 18, 2014 at 3:54 PM UTC