this perpetual pattern. a thousand spreadsheets of the thing, draped unceremoniously about the furnishings of my mind. digits and symbols tapped into a machine to keep every schtick continually whirring. rare concessions of dumbfounded dazzle, no time or place for wonder. untidy notes, impure thoughts, callings from the mud--the whole deal, and yet i still hold my fancies. with careful introductions i can shut the monster down. it has dreams of its own, collected in dust, and when the time comes to sit out defeat they unfold in my lap like grotesque paper flowers

1.
white chapel on a hill

sheep dot rugged, earthy slopes

ruminate on warm, sun-kissed dale

endless lines and lines of verdant tones

late afternoon sun slanting

behold, jaune compassion

alfalfa ocherous leans willowy in wind

distance of silence yearns on

afternoon shadows lie within majestic vales

powder-blue ranges in 3D tiers

shadowy rifts, like a painting out of heaven

lone tree not alone, reaches up

blinding turns and rust-coloured bends, twisty trails

two on horseback, apples for sale

reservoir as a hold all for all

brown mud is where redemption lies.


2.
sun dips away, out of reach

beyond the eye's catch

step out car

feel the ping of silence, deeply-alive zing

crowd in and then,

into the slot of torched horizon

the orange world slips . . .




S T, 19 May 2013

So they say I am a man today,
Way past twenty-one.
I've seen my days of anguish,
Had my share of fun.

I've been a doggy on a ladder.
I've been a monkey on a string.
Seen big business go down,
Seen how a prince becomes king.

Now I know its a cliche',
But I don't know who I am.
It doesn't really matter none,
Any day I'll make my stand.

     I look you straight in the eye,
     Let you know I'm still alive.
     Pull back your chair girl
     And walk this way.
     I'm a man today hey hey.

They built Fort Green in Brooklyn
On a pile of prisoner's bones.
Stand still, listen closely, you can
Still hear those old bones moan.

I'm a man that likes these old stories
Likes to sing them from a stage.
On the side I do some honest work
For little to no wage.

I've been lonely on the train tracks,
And I've made a little love
And there even was a time
When I spoke to God above.

     I look you straight in the eye,
     Let you know I'm still alive.
     Pull back your chair girl
     And walk this way.
     I'm a man today hey hey.

I wish I was a headlight,
On a Northbound train.
I wish there were a warrior's blood
Running through my veins.

But Shame sits on my shoulder
And He whispers in my ear.
He says you never really knew her
She isn't worth your tears.

I wish there was a woman
Who only knew my name,
A child to tend the fire and burn
The whole world in one flame.

The world is full of
wanna-bes and
used-to-bes and
almost-wases.

And the world is crawling with
naysayers and
false speakers and
people who never speak at all.

The world will never run out of
cookie cutters and
fakes and
exact replicas.

But every once in a while,
if you're lucky, really truly lucky
you meet a dream catcher or
a dream weaver or
a dream creator.

And every once in a blue moon,
should all the conditions be right,
you meet someone who is not afraid.

Someone who will hang their feet
over the very edge of this dismal world
look down into the dark expanse
take your hand
close their eyes

and jump.

And that person, my dear,
is you.

As life is created from her womb
Bountiful preparation is needed
Charisma, duty, and love
Develop the best care offered
Ecstatic for recording memorabilia
For such experiences occur only once
Given the opportunity to successfully grow
Home redefines as “elsewhere besides the abode”
Ill from separation
Joy still remains in the love connection
Kept in touch through messages of endearment
Life becomes more heartwarming
Mothers nurture endless dreams