"Is"




slap at dawn of sun on grass is wake

lift up night of stars to sky is sleep

**** a bird is eat

**** is eat

a march of hares has past here
one by one into the sum
of all converged as woods
a tale as quiet as snow perhaps
if not for the wolves lolling
in their den snug and warm with pups
yawping like re-invented Whitman's
undiminished songs of self
the hares march onward
toward unknown moment
leap and leap calm unhurried
scent on wind drifts calm unhurried
to the wolves den warm and snug with pups

Intellect and emotion
Flowing through the prisms
Of awareness and free will
Creates the infinite spectrum
Of humanity

Here the tender mercies bind
True heart to true
No catastrophe of greed to rue
A mastery of coil found

How few can title such a claim
Gold day to day achievement
No tallied intent forethought
Be ever blest with such fame

A sinuous plurality of no and please
Fills extent from rise to set
Tempos of conflict fleeting went
To stately peace

"Laugh, and the world laughs with you
         Weep, and you weep alone."
Its the sad old end for many with friends
         Who's hearts are cold as stone.

"Sing, and the hills will answer
         Sigh, it is lost on the air."
Grim words expressed by maiden distressed
         And spurned while voicing care.

"Rejoice, and men will seek you"
         Grieve, and they turn and go?
It shouts full measure the painful displeasure
         Of a heart immersed in woe.

We can be glad for the lessons,
         The pain that rhyme unveils.
Be careful to choose but a loyal few
         To lean on when hardship rails.

"Feast, and the halls are crowded"
         Fast, let the world go by.
Comfort is real and gladly we feel
         The touch of a friend when we cry.

We can dance in the halls of pleasure
         With guests in a casual vain,
But nature demands, strong, trustworthy hands
         In the narrow aisles of pain.

Outside, there are things
That move about
And cause pleasure, or pain

Inside, there are things
That move about
And cause pleasure, or pain

We are in the middle
Feeling
And wondering

There was a dream in the head
of the universe screaming
to get out the doors called men
and women are multidimensional
crystal clear moments full of the
rancid grease of experience the
soft angelic smell of experience the
quivering love taste of experience the
dream screaming to get out was born
at 6:15 am in Sausalito, Beijing
Mumbai, Paris, Dubrovnik and wept
for joy at being among the blood and nerve
of sense of it all the soft pink bundle
sense of it all is just such a mystery
unto itself and all of us are like
cavemen and pre-cavewomen
in our understanding so no wonder
we don't know what the hell is happening
right before our very teary eyes
from sadness from happiness from ignorance
we cough up logic hairballs and
worship them boy are we ever wrong
but what the heck it's the only game
in town gotta play or just sit there
in a blue funk depressed mood
schizophrenic universe hallucination
we don't want so we act like we get it
as we idiot mine-detector our way through
this aquifer of vibration hummin human life