I am surrounded.
Surrounded by beautiful artists,
artists from every way to birth creativity.
for we give birth to memories
help them ease into their next incarnation
we bring the memory of music and words
images I'm sure my cave dwelling grandmother
dreamt of one night after a heavy meal.
we are each
in league with Da Vinci, Socrates, Shakespeare
We dream their dreams
We see their visions
We see our own simultaneously
We walk up to them in the dreamtime
shake hands
and sit for a cup of joe.
For me the title of
Bard is not easily given
it is a very sacred role in this world
It is the voice of the Otherworld in ours
It is the touch of the Muse
Yet, I am in the midst of so many Bards.
How do I find myself in this beautiful life?
I feel the excitement building
I feel the Muses converging
they have been working overtime recently
The amount of energy created in the birthing of a creation
stirs the energy around it, creating more
these are the ripples in the cosmic pond.
Who ever threw the pebble in the midst of my family
Thank you
Our homes will be messy
Our eyes red
Our clothes disheveled
But the things we will create!
The epic stories we will tell!
This locomotive is speeding up
The universe is slowly cutting away all those things
which get in the way
Sometimes it's a loved one
sometimes it's a trinket
sometimes it's your whole way of life
whatever it is
I see the obstacles around each of you
falling away
I see your lights shining brighter and brighter
Are you ready?
We are sitting in the midst of a renaissance
we are the renaissance
and I for one am relieved to be
Right Here,
Right Now.

Look in the keyhole
see into infinity
climb through
back where I started
turn around
look in the keyhole
see into infinity
climb through
back where I started
turn around
realize the door is standing in the middle of infinity
I put it there on some drunken night
thinking I was clever in my devising
never realizing I would trick myself with it too
kick the door down
and turn it into a flying carpet
a person can travel forever here
I see others at their own doors
seems my little game wasn't original after all
that's ok
I see others on their carpets
and wave hello
I see rockets and planes and balloons
There is a buddha hovering over a planet there
at peace, in zenful meditation
she is beautiful.
what wonders to discover
what glorious souls to meet
we are all family
we all know each others names and faces
before our first meetings and introductions
Saw a friend knock down her door
and fly away with wings, rapture on her face
I wept for joy to see her go
knowing our foreheads will touch again when it is time
and the stories she will tell!
Oh the stories!
All of these tales from divine lips
weaving into the fabric of the infinite
weaving us together as a whole
We Are - I Am
We Are One
Each experience becomes a story
Each life is an epic journey
retold with the tongues of cosmic bards
the words resonate in swirls and patterns
making sacred geometry with the stars
I see, I see, I see
there is so much to take in
and so much to give back
dancing with the bear and the wolf
the eagle and the raven cry out above our heads
reminding me of the regal heritage which death wears on it's crown.
Supping at a feast of the gods, Inanna on one side, Ganesh leaning on my shoulder
they laugh and cry and tell cheesy jokes like the rest of us
when we aren't looking
we are in the infinite, there is no rush
for there is no time - it's all Now

transcending
this cocoon of flesh
all the trappings of walkway icons
gilded
like the ****** Marys of Constantinople
without the divinity of virtue
where is zen
in this jungle
of glass and steel
time in a bottle leaking out
with a faulty seal.
when will the turn of the wheel
bring happiness
instead of the wet blanket
of sorrow
following a path
down by the River of Tears
watching the Lily Maid drift by
wondering
where is my dress and veil
in the cards of the gypsy
will I ever reach
Shangra La

It's the Age of Fashionable Mutilation
buzz of the ink machine
pop of the needle through eager flesh.
Spread of a subculture
like the hippies and punks before them.
Those on the outside
puzzled or envious
ask Why?
How does one answer?
That it is the ageless questing
for that holy grail
for the answer to the meaning of life?
Some may say it is just an addiction
to the rush of endorphins
but just ask a tattoo ******
what his art stands for.
It is a map of his life
of those people, places and ideas
that brought him to who he is today
and who he wants to be tomorrow.
You see, it isn't just
the sting of the needle
or the rattle of the jewelry.
It's a public display saying
Here I am
here's where I've been,
here's who I hope to be.
It's a badge of honor, a memorial,
a hope and a dream.
It's a way to reach the next level
of enlightenment
and when that needle pierces your skin,
leaving a hole or scratches with a trail of ink
it leaves an imprint on your mind
as well as your flesh
of that moment
when you are ready to say to the world
this is me.

tired of it all
drama queens
violent scenes
pinched faces
with upturned noses
fashion show revolutions
denver heat
smoke and ash
tempers flair
lethargy rules
can't think
hazy lazy
it's too hot
this poem *****
gonna put down the pen
drink iced coffee
and smoke

laughter, tears
It's all the same
a washing of the soul
release of the dam
it was under too much pressure
gotta let off a little steam,
no shame in that.
She looked beautiful
tired as she was
and complained the dress was too tight
but it showed off her legs well
and there were leaves on her chest.
Waiting for the taxi
we bickered good-naturedly
and laughed about our old lady ways
in young bodies.
We were late, that's okay
we're the eccentric ones,
they wouldn't expect anything different
from the two young, old ladies
with the same first name.

Tongue-tied
tripping over the words
that spill out between my teeth.
Mind flashes from red to green
sickly, mottled with yellow
tired of waiting.
I want to be able      to    exhale...
come to my senses,
know which way is up,        in the midst of this chaos.
so much to say
and all that comes out is that 4-letter word
so flippantly used.
Can you see the inside of me?
my heart beating 100 times a minute
my entrails knotted, Gordian style.
Are you my Hero.
in this white trash epic
which is my life?
If so,
how many foes must we conquer
to find our way home?