blinded by her highlights
with all my might
I right the ship
and fight being
slighted
by the right-wing blighters.
feeling like I am fighting for air
her hair entrances
and with a sideways glace
I chance it…
offering my plight
and feeling uptight
she lightly takes my hand,
instantly alright
I bite my lip
in delighted bliss
as she leans in for a kiss
love, no longer unrequited…
I smite those so trite as to
dismiss our love
despite
its rightness
and
my whiteness ignites
and I sue for the book rights –

Oh! Aged pup with whiskers grey
slowly bounding, the want to play
offering barks at break of day
sad eyes long at the empty tray –

can you still: jump into the truck,
catch a squirrel with a little luck,
swim with fervor after a duck,
walk through the house covered in muck? –

one hundred pound lab/ mastiff mix
memories come complete with pics
got him 10 weeks, already fixed
11 years later… with a couple of tricks –

Looking back at love and good times
river tromping and gravel roads which would wind
joys and sadness’s fill my mind
thankful as I draw the last line –

knowing illness which would not be postponed
will take my pup away from his bones
leaving me broken, sitting here all alone
I will bury him in the hills he roamed  --

some will say it’s just an old dog
be of good cheer and lift that fog
leave behind the mire be free from the bog
try something fun, go for a jog

some folks just cannot understand
love from pets is a helping hand
no one better in all the land
as if this were all just pre-planned

some greater mind knew our limit
granted a companion, perfect fit
like bat to ball or glove to mitt
one who will beg, roll, stay, and sit

protecting friend or listener
alert you to danger with a simple grrrrr
so much better than a kitty cat purr
with variations on length of fur

yes, dogs are best for humans in life
next to a child, loved one, husband or wife
they stand right with you despite any strife
and have teeth and claws better than a knife

so go on and take a little advice
even if you have the risk of some lice
and dogs will do nothing to protect you from mice
but in bad times they will even eat rice

they prefer leg of lamb or some other meat
but in evenings so quiet they will lay at your feet
and be at the door for people to greet
while offering something to periodically beat

but animal abuse is against the law
and you’ll do some time if anyone saw
you beating a dog with a log or scrimshaw
besides who could hit such a cute little paw

no, ‘tis better to love all our animal brothers
and give them the love we show to our mothers
without going overboard and taking them as lovers
….no ******* the dogs in the bed under covers! –

victimized by happenstance
the moral majority leans
crumbling faded pages
fall disjointed
the bible has slipped to light bathroom reading
and those betrothed to Jesus
cry themselves to sleep –
wringing clasped hands
and looking skyward for answers
they watch in helpless dismay
as true equality and individual freedoms
crushingly stomp values
based on 2000 year old desert stories
the dried tears
turn into salty anger
and systemic hate
based in fear –
gays proudly wed in churches
once maligned for witch burning
taking turns carrying each other
over middle-class thresholds
adopting impoverished babies
and the unwanted immigrant children
only to be blasted on mass media
for their ****** and unholy lifestyle
it seems to me
American Christians
have lost sight of the work
Jesus actually did –
Avidly reading and researching
the world’s religions
seeking eternally for the reasons
some semblance of an answer
as to why gods of love
would instill so much hate and fear
in their constituency…
their flocks ……..
those blind to reality
and subject to irrationality
because someone once told them
this book is the only way
and without it
salvation and peace
are bad jokes –

Musing


         at holiday music…..



                                                  lea­ving


my muse




to sit




                                                         ­             
                                                                ­     unamused.

the sweetest lips and fairest skin
grace her face and I begin to swim
within the pool of blue, her eyes
for this love of mine there’s no disguise
I pause to think of her glance
am caught and trapped as in a trance
only freed when once her delicate song
brings me back to where I belong
feet rooted in soil so rich and dark
I sit thankful for the journey
                        for which I am to embark
‘tis this life we share that I write about
and the love we have for which there is no doubt
wishing only for this joy to be had by all
witnessing the tragic reality at the local mall
so many unhappy walking blindly through life
experiencing only hardship and strife
while us chosen few sit so high up above
because we trusted, had faith, and gained true love –

rustling leaves
leave lingering pictures
of a babbling brook
under a leaning and twisted willow
whispering pines tell quiet tales
of squirrel forays
and moss expansion
while swaying gently
in breezes birthed in far off lands –
desert winds sweep
minuet particles of
ancient mountain ranges
and send them swirling on currents
driven by wind and waves
biting sand and snow
sting rosy cheeks
thousands of miles from the sun baked dunes
that gave life to the eroded –
migrating flocks sit locked
isolated and emaciated
waiting for paths to clear
and generational feeding grounds
to be open and thawed
tattered wings shield black eyes
and yellow beaks
from the grains blasting the land
after a global tour
floating on a cloud –

T, is the way time beats on me
And I
Is for the way I internalize this line
M
Is very, very macho, malignant, and much maligned
E is for every extra entity erupting forth from England proper
Time
Is just a thing that stops my life
And time
Is just the thing that will take my wife
Oh time drags on and on and
Time
Takes everyone and
T
I
M
E
Can’t you see and just believe me
T, is for the way I tread on it
And I
Is just a little indiscriminate
M will show the rest
That M truly is the best and E
Is entrenched in Roger Eberts egg salad sandwich on Easter
Time
Is just a way to stop
Traf-fic
And time
Can make your mind act
So frantic
Time takes not one prisoner
And time creates an arthritic finger
Just go figure time will shrink you when your bigger
Time
Has so many applica-tions
And time
Works best for
Mummy preserva-tion
Time is tricky and can be so sticky
When you quickly have to move
Mrs Brisbee
Time is fleeting non discrete and
It completely ticks intrinsically
TIME!

shadow people flash across cracked windows caked in icy fog offering my epidermis a thin layer of gooseflesh and sending thoughts cascading into visions of murderous strangers and Victorian era hauntings…catching my breath and remaining froze to the ground while the very blood within these veins seems to turn and transform into thick slow moving maple syrup fresh from an Eastern Canadian tree… attempting to regain my composure I conjure images of sunny days and buzzing bees, free government cheese and freeze tag in the warm breeze…ticking of the wristwatch forces reality into the scene and my pleasant daydreams seem to vanish into the mist swirling around dilapidated stairs greyed from years of weather abuse and staining deficiency…splinters, jagged and threatening, stand poised to pierce shoes and send victims screaming to hospital only to discover untreatable infection based on ancient ***** matter and insect larva bacteria…one deep breath coinciding with a white-knuckled gripping of the three special pamphlets is followed by the most courageous step ever taken…confronted with the specter of the large wooden door, I stop, look skyward and ask god for strength before knocking on the twenty-second home this day…

absentmindedly picking individual notes
plucking the ole acoustic
fingerpicking style
she moves into the room
silently
and sits alongside me
right on the dog hair coated floor
and hums along
as if it were an actual written tune
softly I feel her head light upon my shoulder
and my heart nearly skips one beat –

Oh, America….
how can you be enthralled with Trump
dumping on Mexicans and insulting the handicapped
hair piece flapping in the wind
almost as much as his gums –
dumb hicks with ****** chicks
lick ***** of donkey
if they vote that fool
El Prez
and give him the keys
to the nuclear arsenal –
my minds reels at the possibilities
******-bag ball-licking ***** face
at the seat of power
offering the impoverished
cake
or worst
nothing but catch phrases and clichés
intending on inspiring the masses
elevate themselves to a similar status
of ‘The Donald’ –
not all of us have mob ties
and millionaire family members
not that many Americans
can support a failing casino
or be the star of a television show
most of us
are just people trying to make the best
of an increasingly ****** up situation
made exponentially worse
by this *******’s real chance
at becoming the leader
of the free world –

Opened my eyes with a tremendous start
Racing in my chest, bursting forth my heart
Longingly searching filled with desire
Mind in a blur like the house on fire
This is the feeling of all of her love
Flying around me on wings of a dove

In dreams I hear soft cooing of a dove
moved by the song to a place of warm love
basking in the glow, bright winter fire
closed eyes to memory of desire
I opened them again with such a start
I thought the shock might stop my poor ole heart

Throwing a wedge of oak on the fire
A loud knock at the door gave me a start
My blood boiled with fleeting desire
in the distance the wingbeats of a dove
sent my hands flying up to clutch my heart
noise at the door could only be my love

But the sounds I heard were not of my love
but slapping frenzy of a dying dove
looking at her body, still beating heart
knowing only the pain of desire
inside I knew this could be a new start
only if I was to fan the fire

but I lacked the drive, need, or desire
to pick up, care for, the poor wingless dove
instead kicked it over by the fire
another stick, for the fire to start
but the motion stuck me deep in my heart
and I knew this was no way to show love

Picking it up, I pressed it to my heart
And prayed with all my heartfelt desire
Asking the creator “save this poor dove”
Then, all at once, I felt some movement start
I looked at its body, light of fire
I had the power to save lives with love

icy winter on the afternoon breeze
gives pause so the sun can lie
and encourage children out of doors
only to kick up vengefully
chapping lips and watering eyes
while simultaneously giving cheeks
a rosy glow –
frosted lawn greets the day
altered dew rests glisteningly
subdued bird song breaks the silence
and my own breathe distorts the image
exhaling clouds
liquid vapors instantly freeze
and fall to the cold ground below –
slapping mitted hands together
and piling up six pieces of fir and elm
I return to the safely of my enclave
arrange the sticks in a 1956 potbelly
and light the match
which will combat
the change in seasons –

evolutionary revisionist
screaming about alien DNA
and the Annunaki
teaching ape-men
on the Sumerian plains –
looking at the southern skies
for the coming of Nibiru
sending red horns across the horizon
bringing back the overlord giants
another round of ****
and zero-point energy –
fallen angles look like greys
travelling from heaven
in shiny silver disks
abducting the impoverished
for genetic manipulation
and artificial insemination
attempted creation
of a hybrid nation
my lament is not taken seriously
and I slip further into the fringe –
cattle mutilation no longer garners
a press release
five million people with similar memories
are all discounted as crazy
so the masses can sleep
believing they are alone
and special
in the universe –

suicidal fly


                                          meticulously inspecting


             which web will


take




                                                                                             his life –

Lost in the fluidic movements of Keats
Feeling each line, steady rhythm ‘n beats
Sending my head spinning, beautiful tune
Swooning all love-struck hooked on the spring moon
Glancing gay-fully over hill ‘n yon
Silently anticipating
the breaking of dawn
brought back in a flourish reading aloud
tears well up as I destroy this old shroud
keeping me locked up so tight…life, no air
thinking repeating rhyming couplets
lead only to despair
but here is a romantic from days past
creating lovely pictures that do last
with only his words, ink, quill, and parchment
thoughts, ideas, love, being different,
setting them free on wings of written word
allowed then to soar, spectacular bird
then to perch on tongues of well-spoken men
let loose on the world, set free once again
travelling sounds delighting each sweet ear
giving peace to downtrodden… far, and near
offering some solace to the forlorn  
on the darkest and coldest dreary morns
these sounds which fly so high, brighten the sky
swirl in the mouths of our loves when we die –

hearing footfalls
pattering on faux hardwood
quickly moving
from this room to that
seeking, endlessly
a small discarded morsel
or tidbit of foodstuffs
to gobble recklessly –
wet black nose searches,
snorting and sneezing
while surveying the scene
momentary pause
as the slightest crumb
comes to light
large pink wet tongue
scoops the prey into the waiting jaws –
nails against the linoleum
scurrying paws clatter
loud slurps from a bucket
and the crunchy rustle
of kibble in a tin dish
plopping down, flattened dog bed
one last sniff of the air
before laying a big head down
and trying to get some rest
before the next round –

flashing tail fins
darting under and behind
Lilli pad leaves
white and orange coy
circle beneath the bamboo –
undefined spots
blend
giving a swirling kaleidoscope
to tiny fish bodies
Heron camouflage –
sitting on a hand crafted wooden bench
I toss flakes into the water
enjoying the quick surfacing
and instantaneous dive
of my scaly entertainers
another few flakes
another whirlpool –
a large orange and brown fishy
swims precariously close to me
gently I dangle ******* into the drink
six inch coy barely mouths
and nudges my fingertips
I think I just got to pet
my pet fish –

I open a blank word document
or grab up a pencil and pad
and it happens
every time….
poetry –
maybe I heard a statement
a week ago in passing
or read an article
that inspired
a smell or touch
a sound or the quiet
whatever my surroundings
poetry –
I see deer in the morning
clung to by the fog
seeking the most tender
new shoots,
Venus rising in the east
pre-sunbreak,
an inadvertent flip
of my lovely wife's hair…
poetry –
I wouldn’t turn it off if I could
such is my lot
and I accept it
some folks love math
are driven to be engineers
some need to teach
for me,
my passion is
poetry –
there is little forethought
less editing
half the time
I can’t even remember
what I wrote
for I am compelled
driven and pushed
for more than 25 years
to write
poetry –

this morning
I felt it in a damaged knee
smelled it on the air
watched the clouds with
knowing atici…………pation
winter was coming
and its brutishness
would not easily go unnoticed  --
the steady preparatory ant
the fattened bear
thick with salmon grease
and sedge grass
ole man Barkley
splittin’ cord wood
dark brown chew spit
trickling from the corner of his
downturned mouth…
and the migrating geese –
my skin prickles at the air
and the visions of the season to come
holiday meals and family gatherings
cooking and sharing
little rolling hills for sledding
trimming a tree
in the cozy warmth
of our country home –

dull thumping, deep in the subconscious
pineal reawakening
decalcification in progress
seeking my alien alter
the union necessary
for the next evolutionary jump --
the cliff is breezy
mist swirls below
undefinable guttural growls from the depths
echo off vast canyon walls
sending a shiver up my unnaturally curved spine
forming in the misty shroud
a face of the ancient gods appear
locked eye to eye
the command is for blood and worship
a thin smile crosses my lips
clamping down on my own tongue
until the thick red flowed down my neck and chest
I spit my ability to speak
into the very face of god
thinking ‘worship me, *****’
****** distortion
rage filled eyes penetrate deep
and a chasm opens
BWOMP BWOMP BWOMP
the 5:32 a.m. alarm
sounds
time to prepare for another
day of work –

Lungs filled deep the sweetest smoke
and gave a dizziness to the scene
I felt on an island cold and remote
as if just awakened from a dream

calloused feet touched lightly down
on rocks and stone worn smooth
I heard the church create such sounds
my body trembled with the truth

t’was my shoes they sold at the gate
leaving me slightly unnerved
knowing blisters were to be my fate
I complained it was more than a tourist deserved

I had paid all fees without an issue
even purchased a souvenir
with all my crying, they only offered tissue
and continued to look at me queer

I hobbled off, cursing under my breathe
knowing it would not go well
and now as I sit, so close to death
I look back at that place as hell

1-
T’was dark when the time came for breakfast
I looked down at my untied shoes
With a spirit only able to be described as broken
I left my abode to stand under a lonely lamppost
And let my body quiver and quake with rage
As I thought about the night’s voyage

2-
Raindrops coated my new suede shoes
As I felt myself lulled by the buzz of the lamppost
Her face filled my mind and I savored the rage
Knowing she now was far away on her voyage
If only I had asked her to breakfast
If only I had complemented her shoes

3-
Looking back towards the house, and my now cold breakfast
I thought about her asking me to join the voyage
But my heart was already broken
And her query only further filled me with rage
She knew I had left my only shoes
Sitting in the rain under the lamppost

4-
The dampness chilled my bones as I stood under the lamppost
Exhausted from so much time lost in rage
My belly ached from having no breakfast
And my body began to feel broken
As if I could not even walk due to the tightness of my shoes
But there was nothing left but to begin my homeward voyage

5-
I glanced at my watch in the light of the lamppost
It would be too late for a McDonalds breakfast
Even if I could find my shoes
It was a seven block voyage
And when I slipped, stubbed my toe, and realized it was broken
I felt, once again, myself fill with dangerous rage

6-
From a distance I heard high-heeled shoes
She approached from a different kind of voyage
In her hand she held a bag of breakfast
From the McDonalds with a sign that was broken
Instantly it left my body, all that rage
And we held each other, under the glow of the lamppost

Garibaldi with a hot tub
Dear friends and chilled drinks
As we celebrate another harvest in the books
And the comradery shared
The double dozen produced
Like nobody’s business  
Leaving with a bumper and the potential
To fast forward two years of payments

Another Baileys and ice for me, thanks

Soft footfalls in the hallway
Another flavor to savor the way that your
Grandmother asked you to chew longer
In the autumn on the veranda…. Or whatever:
I crack the jar and am met with a blast
Fresh smelling, properly cured,
Green, and beautiful
Did I mention effective?
we puff and pass and laugh
sharing these moments of triumph
enjoying each other’s company
on a clear and cool night
along the Oregon Coast –

Turns out, perfect weight

     is **** ******

             livin’



                            total despair.

long, distorted wood grain ovals
how old would this desk have been
if not hacked down
with dulled axes
drug across the mountains
hooked to a cable
dropped from on high
smashing into your brethren
bark and branches fly
as you, haphazardly get chained to a truck
and driven to a mill
in which they will shave your skin off
slpit you into 4 or 5 workable blanks
which will be shipped to smaller,
more specialized mills…
could you have held nesting squirrels
or perhaps housed an owl or woodpecker
were your tippy top branches stout enough
for an eagle to have nested –
in amongst a myriad of boards
what is left of the mighty forest god
is planed flat
sanded and varnished
and sent to a carpenter
still tragically holding onto his craft
looking at electric tools as an affront
to what can be hand carved
and lovingly tapped together
with wooden dowels and glue –
I sit at a craftsmen’s labor of love
a piece he spent hours of due diligence in creating
painstakingly fitting and matching woods
and think about the forest I love
and how today, there is an empty space
full of underbrush and gopher holes
where once a giant was born, stood,
lived
and died –

looking across time
from my etheric perch
or was it a pike
as I sat on my flounder…
as I was perched on a flounder…
perched on a pike I floundered
pike perch flounder
flounder perch pike
pike flounder perch
mike’s rounder peach
like sounder greetings
tricycle ground feet
triglycerides around meat
polymorphic lounge ****
people forget
poetry is expression
silliness for its own sake
nonsensical whimsy
for laze-abouts and lollygaggers
with unicorns and dragons
nothing is more magical than language –

there is nothing cute
or cool
about fatalism…
apathetic *******
acting aloof to
modern atrocities
as if an air of arrogance
can stop climate change
or advert a third world war
astoundingly they ask
unabashedly
and with authority
for the authorization
to acquire all apples
and artichokes
while advancing lies
about August being
better than April….
am I lost?
after re-reading
and attempting to articulate
Arminian or Asian
my assessment complete
I allow myself a nap
awash in applesauce
and aghast at the appearance.

feldspar conglomerate
pyrite flakes sparkle
basalt backdrop
…granted, the granite
is liken to a gneiss
but placed near the soap or sand
it stands alone without chip-ability
raw uncut opal sending prisms dancing
against the distorted garnet plug –
her ruby lips shown bright
against the chert and ashen
speckles of flint
diamond twinkles
fall from topaz tear ducts
land softly on an emerald blazer
adorned with ruby buttons –
****** at the rock show
I marvel and the marble
and experience simpatico with a sapphire
while the tourmaline tantalizes my taste buds
sending me reeling into a radical thunder egg
as the agates flew *****-nilly
I groped blindly for a brick to steady myself
but instead fell hard onto the concrete
or was it asphalt….
either way, I may as have well been tarred and feathered
dipped in oil
and sent to the borax plant –

the CIA will never make the money off ******
it made off *******
******* is for parties
dance clubs
good times in social settings
******, not so much
dark alleys with ***** dealers
selling black tar
to hopeless souls
Mexican mules with **** cavities
brimming
carrying kilos into Nogales
or maybe Calexico
bow legged and sweating
just 35 more trips and sweet little Consuela
can be an American
until Trump gets his wall –
article after article relaying tragedy
the poor, lost in addiction
desperately seeking a coping mechanism
something to stem the tide of despair
and general malaise
dead in their prime
over a twenty sack
and low self-worth….
many friends and family this same tale…
some folks heritage is in ranching,
thousands of head of cattle
driven across the open plains
grandfather to grandson,
uncle and cousin….
others,
political dynasty
papa congressman
and auntie judge
but not mine –
the crest of my tree looks like the biohazard symbol
as generations of drug addicts litter the undergrowth
their weight attempting to hold me
lock me into familial history
unfortunately or fortunately
my will, and recognition of god’s power
flowing within me, as it..
I am my own master
and free to fashion my branches
to whatever my liking desires –
undercover government agents line street corners
whispering illusionary tales of release
stories of becoming void of pain
parables relating a free mind
to personal freedom
through chemical alterations
I whisper back
“I bet my **** is delicious,
wanna taste?” –

autumn winds send maple leaves swirling
giant limbs sway gently
helicopter seeds twirl to the ground
looking for germination
and a place on the soil
slight drizzle falls misty
giving the land a damp but clean look
and the smell of fresh green
three soaked deer await a break
standing motionless under protective branches
Oregon gives way
and the summer sun goes to bed –

struggling to keep my eyes open
and stay awake
when sleep wants me, desperately
sandman tossin 60 pound bags at my face
and the incessant click-clack
of inmate keyboarding
has become the sweetest of soft lullabies
cooing and gently rocking me
a cool breeze ads to the comfort
enticing me to rest –
I catch myself locked into steady breathing rhythms
floating away on daydreams
barley capable of bringing myself back to ‘now’
the only way I am not sleeping on the job
in a most unsafe environment
is the occasional crackle of my radio coming to life
as somewhere in this facility of 3000 incarcerated
and 175 staff members
a shower issue has transpired
giving rise to a steady flow of C.B. communication…
normally this would be an irritant to not only myself
but also the students
diligently trying to accomplish their GED
but today,
it is a welcome alarm
a noisy reminder
to keep my eyes open
my wits about me
and hopefully get to 3 p.m. without being caught
or worse
fired –

rapping with rappers on the radio
filling the gaps with extra lyric
mapping the sappy way they pretend
and offering 16 beats a breath like a boss
rick ross looks lost when handed floss
and jay z is crazy lazy in May, maybe cause Beyoncé’s
bounce house lacks compressed air
and the weave in her hair ads to the growing despair
like Dr. Dre cares about flared out khakis while Rakeem’s
grill gleams like flava flavs time piece –
b-boy stylin while in the dance hall
and balla’s with creased collars
throw dolla’s at bithces locked in the twerk
jerkin off in the corner lil kim seems thin
since aids came to play
and fat joe and heavy d sit with harps
lookin down at the crowd jumpin around
they floatin on **** clouds proudly
snoop’s pound frowns at clowns
tryin to be down
but really just hangin around
like the Mississippi mounds
poundin ***** like Tupac on acid
and that lil goblin from hotlanta
actin like he steady mobbing
they robbin the hood for goods and services
while talking **** to easily impressed suburb kids
acting like they got a message
but only KRS got anything to say
and that was just the one time
chuck d and that insane griff
talkin mad crap about gay rappers
and casting couch happenings
has me reacting like maybe I need to a new faction
cause I ain’t into none of eminem’s new action
and poor ole busta
nuts bein busted
in those funky *** dreads –

drums pound loudly
as the last real empire
builds up for one more great war
the final battle
to forever lock oil to the U.S. dollar
to end all hope for cultural variation
to show Russia and China why
we are the world police –
media blackout on Chinese warships
and Russian bombers
as we sit glued to a debate
with no real weight
we sit at the precipice
of history repeating
just call Obama, F.D.R.
but without the polio
to stop him becoming king –
when the first ship sinks
somewhere out in the South Pacific
will we have bombed our own
like the Tonkin Gulf
in order to gain public support
for one more crack at the draft
will it be those rascally men from the red menace
dropping our own stolen technology
on the heads of our sons
and combat ready daughters
will Russian destroyers invade the coastline
like we did in Normandy
to stop school shootings
and teach us all how to make borscht
do we actually get to utilize 50 year old
nuclear missiles
in the name of peace
and better trade rates –
the 40 years of my life
we have played in the Middle-East
hit and run, bomb and apologize
innocent civilians as collateral damage
robotic drones keeping tally…
will I get to see
in my lifetime
the horrors that are only properly expressed
on grainy History Channel video –