Drinking my tea
Without sugar-
    No difference.
                                        
The sparrow *****
    upside down
--ah! my brain & eggs
                                        
Mayan head in a
Pacific driftwood bole
--Someday I'll live in N.Y.
                        
Looking over my shoulder
my behind was covered
with cherry blossoms.
                                        
        Winter Haiku
I didn't know the names
of the flowers--now
my garden is gone.
                                        
I slapped the mosquito
and missed.
What made me do that?
                                        
Reading haiku
I am unhappy,
longing for the Nameless.
                                        
A frog floating
in the drugstore jar:
summer rain on grey pavements.
        (after Shiki)
                                        
On the porch
in my shorts;
auto lights in the rain.
                                        
Another year
has past-the world
is no different.
                                        
The first thing I looked for
in my old garden was
The Cherry Tree.
                                        
My old desk:
the first thing I looked for
in my house.
                                        
My early journal:
the first thing I found
in my old desk.
                                        
My mother's ghost:
the first thing I found
in the living room.
                                        
I quit shaving
but the eyes that glanced at me
remained in the mirror.
                                        
The madman
emerges from the movies:
the street at lunchtime.
                                        
Cities of boys
are in their graves,
and in this town...
                                        
Lying on my side
in the void:
the breath in my nose.
                                        
On the fifteenth floor
the dog chews a bone-
Screech of taxicabs.
                                        
A hardon in New York,
a boy
in San Fransisco.
                                        
The moon over the roof,
worms in the garden.
I rent this house.

[Haiku composed in the backyard cottage at 1624
Milvia Street, Berkeley 1955, while reading R.H.
Blyth's 4 volumes, "Haiku."]

Face of the spring moon--
about twelve years old,
I'd say.

Nothing in the cry
of cicadas suggests they
are about to die

My dad dug his foot into my back like a shovel breaking soil.
If I do enough push ups, can I put a smile on your face.
If I move the earth for you, will meteors stop me.

I carried sparklers in my hands while cannon-kisses erupted in the sky,
and my cousin swore that I'd hurt myself.
But I explained to him that history repeats itself,
and that my hurt is unavoidable.

Like the hug of a grieving grandmother,
and the staring off into space,
as her tears stain my white oxford lie.
There's no way to get out of this place.
Finding new ways to live in death.

I don't want to be cool. I don't want to be cool.

And her fingers left a ******* on my back.
And my mouth melted onto hers.
I love her until my eyes **** in sleep.
And it's deep. And it's deep.

The swirl of the ceiling sank down
like a child being drowned by his mother.
And I missed my brother, and I missed it all.

I don't want to be cool. I don't want to be cool.
No, not anymore.

I love you
not because
you're good looking

I love you
not because
you're caring

I love you
not because
you dote on me

I love you
not because
your smiles are sweet

I love you
not in lust
of your crevice
or orifice
or skin

I love you
because
without you
I feel

incomplete within.

So I sit back in my freshly painted
Living room.

Neon yellow just didn't do it any  
More. That colour blind landlord

Might actually have cost me a
**** fine relationship.

I'm painting over few, ugly fights,
Intense passion, selfless love alike.

White. It's a Gandalf-like rebirth,
This coming back to myself.

I sit smiling in my freshly painted
Living room. Just some man

Waiting to be asked why he's
Grinning like that.

I've painted every wall of my home
The colour of canvas.

Lead us, Evolution, lead us
Up the future's endless stair;
Chop us, change us, **** us, **** us.
For stagnation is despair:
Groping, guessing, yet progressing,
Lead us nobody knows where.

Wrong or justice, joy or sorrow,
In the present what are they
while there's always jam-tomorrow,
While we tread the onward way?
Never knowing where we're going,
We can never go astray.

To whatever variation
Our posterity may turn
Hairy, squashy, or crustacean,
Bulbous-eyed or square of stern,
Tusked or toothless, mild or ruthless,
Towards that unknown god we yearn.

Ask not if it's god or devil,
Brethren, lest your words imply
Static norms of good and evil
(As in Plato) throned on high;
Such scholastic, inelastic,
Abstract yardsticks we deny.

Far too long have sages vainly
Glossed great Nature's simple text;
He who runs can read it plainly,
'Goodness = what comes next.'
By evolving, Life is solving
All the questions we perplexed.

Oh then! Value means survival-
Value. If our progeny
Spreads and spawns and licks each rival,
That will prove its deity
(Far from pleasant, by our present,
Standards, though it may well be).

~

If you only knew

these feelings I clench in my fist,

locked in endless lingering,

breathing for only this

Painting a future

caused by eternal dreams

found in your…



Smile…



and I too shall smile,

laughing in flowered

blooms filled with heartbeats,

fragrances sifting

along alphabetical fence lines,

counting the letters

found in your…



Words…



send a message,

feeding desires of my visions,

fruited of vine fed bounty,

weaving about my skin,

tempting me to search deeply

the roots

found in your…



Thoughts…



flow freely

within my soul,

beyond scattered butterflies

on the top rung

of this laddered stairway,

padded with beliefs

found in your…



Love…



sets me free,

fits me with wings of chiffon renderings,

soaring to destined heights,

glowing in the shimmering rays

of a springtime sun

in the forever solitude I

found in you…

Against the wind with fists of rage
He stands in youth despite his age
He’s walked the ice and witnessed the floe
Refusing to worry of his time to go
Defiance resides in his eyes
Like storm clouds dotting morning skies
He will not bow he, will not bend
He takes his time to meet the end
He fears nothing on his own
Intimacy though chills his bone
Alone he stands against the wind
No bad choices may he rescind
Perhaps one day he’ll find his faith
Until the end he stands the wraith