the ideas seem to flow
like a river ?
no
a river is headed somewhere

life is a journey
in that case it is merely
a literary mechanism
a very tired device

there once was a *** of chili
smooth as velvet
tangy, earthy spiced and pleasantly hot
it brought me great joy

we haven’t had a definitive moment for awhile
how come ?
**** I can’t even remember the last one
they really are pretty ******* rare
if you think about it
they say that good literature
always involves conflict
of some nature
but madness can easily substitute
and will survive any clash
it is also wildly entertaining

how to react
to an uncomfortable remark:
think yourself dressed
in stars and stripes crepe
red white and blue
with top hat and white beard

why, you are Uncle Sam !

you have two bright sparklers
in your hands and you high step
parade through the confetti
that floats in the air marching
to the tune of a brass
band that has suddenly appeared
you apply a Robert Preston grin

why, you are the Music Man !

happy forever to strut with purpose
in an endless carnival

that’s how you react
to an uncomfortable remark

there aren’t any bad ideas
they have never existed
everything is a good idea

its just a thing
a bit of substance
it has no spirit
no hidden meanings,
thoughts or feelings
the frame boxes
the painting
a clearly defined
line of no existence
inside the line
think what you will
outside the line
actuality

in extreme unction
existence is sacrament

we all agree that time was a mistake
a bothersome distraction
raises way to many questions
offers no solutions
an ear of tin
apply all the order you want
but research entropy first

life is a movie by David Lynch
with one armed women on the treadmill
deeply hidden intentions and motives
characters that walk just a smidgen slower
their heads turning to keep their eyes on you
as they pass from nowhere to nowhere
long shots of the worlds prevalent decay
and mystery by the truckfull
where the conspiracies
are secret but are strictly followed

old growth forests
are planning their return
the seas know
their demise is premature
the glaciers will be back
bet the house on that one
and the great migrations
will flow once again unimpeded

you got to admire the earth
it has the know how learned
from four billion years
of balance, a true pro
full of surprises and hidden strengths

my strong opinions
seem to make other people
feel good about themselves

just what is the difference
between passion and raw compulsion?

the underlying sense of the un-romantic
that is seen everywhere
distracts
that is why rage is a keyboard
and the joke lies eternal

I surely believe in ghosts
and not much more
they are ‘bout the realest
beings around
they scream the past
they are stubborn
how else to haunt ?
they are insistent in memory
constant reminders
full of tricks
spirits are as boring as they come

the farmer tills the rocky field
his mule pulls the plow blade
there are straps and curved wood
that connect man, animal, machine and earth
until a stone is uncovered
the farmer will work with rod and lever
to remove the obstruction
the mules watches, relaxes
then hauls the stone away to the pile
they then commence to till again

summer
woodpecker sun beams
ferns, different colors
the textures of different tree barks
every tree seems damaged in some way
yet thrives toward the sun
in green leaf

stop for a minute

that’s better
everything’s a bit clearer
count your breaths

acupuncture
does it really work ?
imbalances abound

life spent in dreams
the body needs rest
the brain won’t quit

please join my campaign
against loud noises
anywhere
it is so much easier
to think
minus the din

my style has changed me
not the other way around
there are subtle differences
in myself that only I can know
this is traced back to the simple
requisition of living
and that is repetition

today the sun is a brilliant yellow smear
against the bluest of blues and it seems
at noon that the height of the sun
is a bit higher over the horizon
and the shadows look changed also

mood is king
I obey
every thought
ever invented
is present
they are a crushing weight

myth
creativity
the pegboard
of the human psyche
everyone pretends
to understand

a shack by the sea
the tide setting pace
gentle waves
that never cease
bleached palms
tower overhead
in the soft breeze

passion is selfish
desire comes and goes
laziness
an undeserved reputation
hard work
barely noticeable
in the din




the suns rays
light up the snow banks
obliquely with a pink tinge
the Andes in miniature

there exists
a warm place safe
from the sting
of a world
built on irony

explain yourself to no one
coldness meets coldness
there is no room for us all
success cannot be measured

either or
that is where the mistake was made
the error of duality
man, those nuns were killers

once I began a list
of principles deemed important
it was to help serve
as a guide as I steered
my way through the world

why are we so alone?
how does the time pass
so very slowly to allow
our doubts to surface
strong, impregnable, concrete

well, I hope I have given you something to disagree with
I hope that by expressing my ideas in these poems
has offered you the opportunity to cut and tear down
the sentiments and allow  to see yourself, your actions
in a better more secure light, as if that was possible
Thanks and good night

sipping beer at zero degree
horribly bitter winter
my fingers ache
under gray washed sky
morning doves flitter
in and around a neighboring pine
preparing for the night
and I step inside the dream
of an earth
that sleeps

anxiety
the built in accessory
of modern life
I can ignore it best ‘bout anyone
shifting focus at will
but I prefer it to just go away

moments ago
a certain thought
crossed my mind

capillaries
intellect
repetition

art is defined
by its frame
where it is not

ever make
a decision
that flew away?

hate the noise
not the person

I refuse to believe that the increasing madness
is mine alone
this is  a shared trait among us
the pipers of the salty sea
the pipers of the interior beaches
same movement, same chirrup

robbed of its warmth
the outside air
in the knucklegrip
of winter
puts the star to light
philosophical sequins

really knowing
and unable to do anything about it
is all that’s left of irony
like most concepts
its one question
after the other
this one shorter than most

the pull of the earth
is felt richly
sixty years
of spinning
the exterior of said sphere
my feet are glued
and my eyes are bulging

this just in:
a needless road rage killing
a senseless movie theater killing
a pointless middle school shooting
a meaningless ****** suicide
an irrational child homicide
an illogical workplace massacre
a specious robbery shooting
a mistaken identity ******
an inane ****** for hire plot
a random killing of a farm family
a worthless gang related ******
a futile car jacking slaughter
a crazy serial killing
an groundless paperboy shooting
an unnecessary police shooting
an unfounded revenge ******
a juvenile crime gone wrong
a harebrained scheme ending in blood
a mad shooting spree
more at eleven

twenty six shapes,
empty spaces too,
dots and tailed dots,
squiggles,
syntax, usage,
certain rules,
phonetics,
with this simple toolbox
we present the sum of human expression
up to and including this one

on beech logs destined for my woodstove
I sat one summer morn, sipping tea,
young, robust, with Whitman in my hand
surrounded by wild fields dotted with scrub
the  mist would fill the valley during the night
then dissipate steadily away as the day progressed
I stood witness, it is a high definition memory
if there is a heaven it is a meadow
and the air will be filled with the sweetness
of the grass and the wildflowers
that absorbed the sunshine
under the tree swallows loop de loops
on a morning that I still touch this very day

the thank you card was lost in the mail
to describe any human effort toward legacy is absurd
this world is overcrowded and any attempt
at achieving remembrance is futile
no explanation is necessary
the response is cold silence
no one ever returns
what is solid is called existence
yet granite is ground to sand  
the surreal offers very little
believe if you will that faith is the fulcrum
that can lift the load of mystery
think what you like
our greatest words are trite
Caesar is dust yet the laurel lives on
ideas will not save us
no redemption is possible
while I appreciate you allowing me access to the room
all I carry is darkness
there is no explanation necessary
we have put all our trust in human emotion
and all is doom and the perception of doom

the rain never ended yesterday
the thick ice that covered the world
was obstinate and refused to melt
on any condition but its own
the ingredients were on hand
in pantry, kitchen and desire
for Peanut Soup Senegalese
but melancholy was as  stubborn
as the ice out doors

three sweet potatoes peeled and chopped
one onion peeled and chopped
one can diced tomatoes with liquid
one and a half cup crunchy peanut butter
half teaspoon cumin, cinnamon, allspice, salt, black pepper
three tablespoons olive oil
water
desire

over medium heat roast the spices in the olive oil
add onion and stir to coat; cook a couple of minutes
add sweet potatoes, tomatoes, salt and pepper
add water to barely cover
bring to soft boil and simmer for forty five minutes
or until potatoes are soft
remove from heat and let cool  for ten minutes
with a hand blender, blend until smooth [careful]
add peanut butter, blend by hand until smooth
simmer over low heat for fifteen minutes
serve

recognize that the melancholy of the day still persists
but is much more flavorful

me me me me me me me
now that I’ve got your attention
I come from a long line of poets
if you could prop up all my fathers
the line would extend back
one hundred generations
so I know what I’m speaking about
so here it is:
there is something and there is nothing
something is divided evenly
between potential and actuality
the Tao is much more about the balance
of what could occur and what has occurred
than what is and what is not
because that is where the real action is
and we know very little about nothing
and don’t you forget it

human hypocrisy makes the world go round
you see here I sit alone with whiskey
lightly pounding these keys
in the light of knowing our condition completely
but when confronted away from here
by the actuality
I am overwhelmed by the smallest of contact

I used to hang out with a bunch of food radicals
this was back in ’78 or so
popcorn with brewers yeast, loads of pepos
dried apricots that looked like vaginas
blocks of cheese, raw nuts, 80 grit corn meal
I belonged to  food coop and read diet for a small planet
it was a constant indoctrination
as soon as you thought you had this nutrition thing
settled
bam
some new roughage was required
it must have worked
I thought
as I added tofu to a wok filled with seven count ‘em seven
steaming vegetables
this very night
overall I do eat healthy and I always have
now get off my back and make me a double bacon cheeseburger

sitting in my living room watching the Rose Bowl
Christmas tree cozy furniture plate and glass full
my usual view until the rooms substance fell away
revealing a desolate landscape under a muted sun
a few burned out trees soil finely crevassed
I was looking out at a pulp science fiction cover
this was as real as the scene I consider normal
and then that scene reappeared like nothing happened
but it was the sense of actuality, my easy acceptance
of the matter of fact of many worlds available
that really got me again

alive and awake
as I can be at this hour
hey you: its midnight

break the low lay law
there is a stairway reversed
and always the purse

follow this cold world
a revolution required
screaming like Lennon

its cold
winters thumbprint
has pressed
tree branches
toward the earth
ice is everywhere
it is no surprise
that the pendulum ride
of the seasons
gathers so much
of human conversation
its effects on us
offers so much to discuss
about ourselves

after a ten year wait
in the longest winter ever recorded
Christmas finally arrived
amidst changing styles
and varying outlooks
the dusty gifts and slightly worn bows
stood ready for their fate
they would pass through
the Aristotelian concept
of potential versus actuality
from expectation to reality
then the day would travel most like any other

we are not built for modernism
instance of overload pile up
deflecting our attention from life
we are five pound bags, not ten

it takes time to adjust opinion
the result is an overcrowded rootball
unable to absorb water, nutrients
all we now need to know, obstructs

there is no blame and little correction
for tabloid populace stuck along the way
facts being what they are, emotion also,
one worthless stop good as any other

fill the entire page
with snowy enlightenment
fool nobody else


five five five five five
seven seven seven oops
five five five five five


contentment I guess
can only be recognized
from its shadow, cast


direction is offered
by the learned minds afar
it’s a time machine


a houseboat with pool
a brown pigeon on a leash
a dumb dream again


snows a comin’ up
a ledger of snow, in banks
I now coin this phrase


so bright very white
crystals fall from the gray sky
shoveling diamonds


pick an argument
forget yourself for awhile
then just go away


too many people
smoking piles of well meaning
it tempts the silence


sixty divisible
one through six ten twelve fifteen
twenty and thirty


imagination
a substitute for answers
all we do is dream

the air is soft and carries a warmth
the scene is caught in the moment
the acclaim of heaven
the stone carvings
lions of somber mane

myth and the offering of myth

all calamity avoided
by the idea of perfect grace

a land of no degrees
of equal passion
there is no escape from this yielding

you can’t lose
your nice new attitude
will save you

I also like the way
you keep an eye on the numbers
not getting’ very far
without them

takin’ things in stride
as close to being worry free
as a walking skin can be
Bravo !
to all I see and to all that I do
Bravo !

cold
very cold north country night
comin’ up below zero on the scale
there is no pain quite like the pain you get
from cold frigid air the sky
will be starry full of bulls and twins
hunters and seven sisters caught in the middle
an endless panorama that somehow
ends some day

checked out the tabloid headlines
in the local checkout line


if it didn’t work they wouldn’t do it
the suits with their charts
could act nicely but ***** it
for the ****** barometer
that is human desire
reveals plenty of room

at the lowest denominator

the same kind of rainclouds
roll in from the springtime horizon, to spread life,
here, where you are reading this poem
and there, most every other place on this globe
imagine that: we all live under the same kind of sky

the wise man was asked:
“do we, as men, follow your words and reach nirvana?”
“but for the raw material, this would be so”, was his reply


there is a ghost hovering above me at all times
youth kept him at bay; old age increases his presence
he hangs like a jellyfish alight in the air
wide eyes dark spaces mystery
a span of some sort

2032

that thing strapped to my leg
is an artificial heart
my digital liver fits nicely
in what looks like a backpack
peristaltic action for digestion:
a mini quantum dot siphon
kidneys are actually implanted
nano graphene filters in the blood

I am a bionic man because I can afford it
but I am losing my brain
there is no replacement
despite computing prowess that worries the gods
there is no substitute for a soul
the Tao of this universe is irony only
and now the immortality of my body
horrifies my every thought
as the fluids pump
and the heart moves
but cannot beat

there was a long trailer filled
with film reels the size of automobile tires
sitting in racks
it was my job to drive the truck pulling the trailer
through a convenience store parking lot
that was vaguely recognized
I felt confident that I could handle the job
and spoke to some other ghosts
concerning the details
abruptly shifted to changing my cloths
in an acquaintance’s home
in a wide open shower area that had fixtures of wood
that hung like closet hangers
on the tiled wall of the shower
there were sayings and quotes
written by other people using sharpie pens
that were stuck to the walls
I was carrying on a conversation
with the ghosts in the adjoining bedroom
one older, recognizable, sitting on the bed
two others, children, accepting a cynical lecture
from the older ghost
I felt the strong desire to add a quote to the walls
that sense of wanting to be heard
very similar to my desires in a awakened state
I thought and thought ******* the wisdom words
I should leave and came up with
‘’All thinking is exaggeration’’ but the sharpie pen
I chose, would not work on the tiled wall and I gave up
to enter the bedroom and listen to the lecture
with the other ghosts
there was a swirling understanding and then I awoke

six pale ales Indian
swim now in me blood
smiling ideas
happy bones
blanched organs
a deep appreciate
and flavor
oh what a flavor

Darwin at Work
where you send
the boys with the best eyesight
out to be
killed
in wars

I put down the book for three, maybe four days, tops
when I walked by the dog eared leafs
then I took myself by surprise
by questioning myself
don’t forget your literary life
so very personal
so very important
William Blake
swirling tigers and wide eyed beasts
and the spacious view of matters
I force myself to read the Great Masters
return rewarded

when a possibility becomes real in the fullest sense
potential goes out the window real fast
motion movement requires an explanation
there is a conflict within the meaning of most words
infinity exists in the figures awaiting sculpt in Carrara
perfection in meditation of myself contemplating
immaterial substance
done or not done, it is all that it seems

a certain snow fell last night
to freshen the scene
covering shadowed footprints

seven, five and seven more
count your syllables
and abrupt endings for sure

you got to be kidding me
miscalculations
they’re all I got to offer?

fold paper along its crease
contemplate the change
you’ve made in the worlds future

a small handful of fresh snow
an immense glacier
a connection to be grasped

fill my stein with a foamed head
always tastes good but
the next one will prove theory

please pass the salt to me please
the Tao finds balance
so send the pepper also

more than some less than most
this dharma *** impels its ghost
to laugh and lust the days away
to cheat the dust that makes its way
from far Nepal and settles deep
on this raging skull toward final sleep