~
Contorted faces frozen with fear
witness a mother caress and hold
tunnels and caves and villages
in a warm one mile embrace.

Foreign clouds fill the sky
and fall back to the earth
sluffed skin carried on unnatural winds
flutter like a butterfly across the sand.

Fleeing sheep herd in rubble
square pupils dart and scan
burnt shrubbery offer no sustenance
as the economy of the foothills is spent.

Low rumbles of passing planes
give rise to wailing children
nervous eyes cast themselves to heaven
waiting for God to fall again.     /

this July fourth
I would ask something
from white America
which is not going to be easy
but could go a long way
in rebuilding the dream –
do not go to parades
do not spend money on smoke and mirrors
fireworks
twinkle but for a second
but the image of hypocrisy
shines in every minority eye
instead
close the drapes
gather the family in the middle of the room
kneel
bow your heads
like in the Rockwell paintings
and ask whatever you think of
as greater than your self
for forgiveness –
when the red and white of old glory
fly for freedom
think about who is free
and what that means
do not salute
or stand at attention
for the symbol of empire
and oppression
instead
close the drapes
get on your knees
and beg for forgiveness –
400 years of slavery
250 years of empire
conversation of  wall building
deporting 11 million Americans
because of paperwork…
disallowing the influx
of the most war torn and ravaged people
since Vietnam
they are our brothers and sisters
who just happen to hail from Syria –
the United States stands as a global disgrace
in place of the greatest nation
we see hate values and racial profiling
bigotry peppered with intolerance
this fourth of July
think about freedom
think about liberty

All lives matter
the madder I get
At the matter of public opinion
madness of this meteorological  rise
Defies logic and the projects have become project
For white bourgeois hipsters in tight pants
Which maddens me further –
Mothers in moccasins mobilize
In Mobile, Alabama
Misrepresenting the million man march
As a method to success
Monarchic movement
Mitigated by the masses
Is madness –
Medicated and misguided muthafuckers
Maligned and misinformed
Marry in May during the full moon
To better understand Mormon culture
And the issues with lead
In Flint, Michigan –

florida panhandlers sandal tan is grandiose in its segrega-shan
city planners fan the flames and canned candied yams expand
the ******* underhanded band called Manfred Mann
killed Dan Rather in the soft white Hawaiian sands
expanding his hands and glands through a process
developed by Ayn Rand
for the growing party of
republic-ans –

unable to shake this slight pain in my head
it has become as consistent as the rising and falling tide
looking at crystals and tea leaves unread
seeking a new place of perception in which to reside
doing my best to avoid getting caught up in dread
feeling myself peeling apart like toilet paper, multi-plied
attempting to maintain what’s left of my street cred
eyes puffy from crying after my mother went and died
seeing dignity flee leaving me not even a shred
no one notices how hard I have tried
never once being the man who turned tail and fled
thinking back to the moment when so softly she sighed
my crassness overflowing cracking jokes about the ******
seeing the anger flash across eyes fit to be tied
grasping for something to prevent a trip to the woodshed
a long piece of kindling, seasoned Maple, and wide
giving me something to think about before bed –

some folks express how much I look like my father
around the eyes
occasional sternness
rarely though were our personalities
or character traits  
placed in the same category
until the puppies came –
ole Jimmy is 11 years old now
he and his brother were gifted by breeders
papered Labradors
10 week little ***** of fluff
had I known I was to slip into insanity
I would have never accepted the bounty
family of five
plus two chew monsters
leaving no part of home or possession sacred….
let the beatings commence –
I had watched my father discipline dogs
the same way he disciplined me
with a belt or stick…
though the dog could take far more raining
and damaging blows
than my adolescent body
between whiskey and unresolved anger issues
we were raised by hand –
when Jimmy’s brother got out of the enclosure
that hot summer day on Thomas Creek
the beatings had slowed
as they were outside pups now
barely three years old
still locked in youth…
the occasional slap would suffice as reminder
one day Roy took out down the paved road
trotting off into the sunset
I called after and started walking down the road…
dogs pick up on energy
and mine was foul turning unreasonable
he stayed 15 to 25 feet ahead of me
if I stopped, he stopped
if I ran, he ran…
so we trekked
and trekked,
and trekked
we reached the Bee Tree
which sat just at 2 miles from the house
when he gave up the chase
I got ahold of that ******* dog
and set to throwing punches….
I am no small man,
running six ,five, two-seventy
off in the distance I heard a car coming up the bend
I stopped hitting that dog and began telling him
how much more beatings would come after the car passed
I sat mumbling profanities at my dear pet for 1 whole minute
while the Subaru came into view
and then disappeared off into the hills –
I grabbed that dog after I was tired of beating him
and ****** that pup by his collar onto his tip toes
and fast marched two miles back home
cursing him for gaging and choking all the way…
when we got back to the farm I cut him loose in the fence
went in to wash up and get some water
about half hour later I went to check on him…
that ole pup walked up wagging his tail
sheepishly
looked up with two blood red eyes
as my dragging him home
had bust the vessels in both his eyeballs…
I collapsed and burst into tears…
lil ole Roy dog laid right at my feet
started to licking my face
trying to console me…
the farmer down the road shot my dog 2 months later
for playing goat herder
I have his brother still and a couple other pups
no doubt in my mind I will have dogs until I die
I also know Roy was the last dog I’ll ever hit….
I prefer to just look like my dad –

Looking out across the farm, I am disarmed…
not generally an alarmist,
I am charmed by the sheer magnitude;
Grow two-thousand fifteen stands emerald green in the evening sun
As all 87 girls stretching up and out
as per the scrogg instructions,
some super cropping and a little topping
has forced the crop to the top tier of excellence
in defiance they rely on us, the growers
or tenders of the medicine
but moreover, the sunshine and proper nutrition…
much like a child that needs to be kept safe
and fed healthy,
these babies also crave love and compassion
and, after a fashion, they bequeath these gifts back onto us
in the form of perfect female flowers
flowing freely with the sap
containing chemistry capable of curing cancer
ending seizures
and generally improving the overall quality of life
for the non-abuser.
“Come to Oregon!” I say
as this is the place to be
to freely see what can be
when a few likeminded individuals
join forces and redefine the land
and what it means to be a farmer
and crop tender. –

Her hand recoiled,



                                        the deep chill was far too much...




his hands were winter.

awoke with another hook
looking to blown this right outta the water
oughta shook Snookie
fo never readin no books
crooked *** inbreds
ready to lead the sheep
creeping back to the deep
I can’t sleep-
press pass
lights flash
watchin the mass
of humanity in calamity
it’s a tragedy
but it has to be, see
freedom
ain’t free
in this democracy
hear the plee
of the babies in the ghetto
wearin tore clothes
with a snotty nose
pictures of third world
flies on eyes
absence of prose
liars deny rights of any child
lost in poverty
it oughta be the other way
a new day
saying er’rybody stay
its the America way….
the day to pray fades away
and the gay play
swaying in swag
bagging up the trash
of societies last splash –

Trump reached the magic number
of
pledged delegates

this morning…..

Dew drops shined on the grass
Morning dew glistened on the fresh green shoots

……
The delicate dew drops
hung
at the very tips of
long and reaching
blades of green grass
in the warm summer sun

the dampness of night left its traces
dancing upon the crab
as the dawn glow shown across the valley

nearly translucent water particles
sat
waiting for the rays to transmogrify
their very structure
and give rise to photosynthesis
under the starshine

………….

Dum dum dum dum doobie doobie do
Dum dum dum dum dum
Doobie doobie …

Two dew drops walked into a straw shack
Rolled into a grass hut
Sauntered into an old saloon…..

The morning dew sent me spinning……

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 –

experientially suffering
watching my contemporaries
trade freedom for fear
I feel lost in confusion –
Those who stood with me
as we occupied Portland and Salem
now shun the rights
of their countrymen
by promoting the removal of a flag –
The moment we, as a nation,
decide certain symbols
hold so much power that they
must not be allowed in the public arena
we are no longer democratic,
free,
or upholding the notions presented
by those wig-wearing forefathers –
It is only by the defense of our most offensive members
that we can truly understand
Freedom of Speech;
Americans must be allowed to be
racist bigots
in order for the rest of us
to have the freedoms we so hold dear…
the **** must be allowed to gather
Neo-****’s must be allowed to parade
as, then, and only then,
will I be allowed
to maintain my own special brand
of insane propaganda –

musta been a million of ‘em
writhing and wriggling
layin’ atop the last damp hole
in all a’ Remines Pond
and the smell…
open sewage mingled with
boat launch at the bay
peppered with wet dog
and old rotting compost
the sun should’ve cooked ‘em then ‘n there
but instead they was just a ’floppin'
t’was late summer
and my youth driven memories
while foggy and scattered
still hold some sharp edges….
I set the pole and tackle box down
Rolled up my pant legs
Tossed my shoes and socks off to the side
Proceeded to step into the swirling mire
Near instantly the pain shot up from my foot
And lit behind my left eye
Screams of ****** ****** followed
As the crimson mixed with the mud
And fish ****
‘bout all I could think,
“I am bound to get an infection”
Turns out catfish have spikes….
Both side fins and the dorsal
……Wish ole pops woulda warned me on that one –

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 –

~
Musing at music one morning in May
my thoughts journeyed within
at sounds of noise and parts of speech
and wind through limbs in spring.

A whistling thrush upon a post
brought me back around
gifting song to weary ears
before flying east towards the sun.

The bamboo rustled in the breeze
as koi swam in long slow rounds
new shoots of lily burst
through the surface of the pond.

I felt his fur against my leg
and a purr rattled my lobes
yellow eyes looked up as I glanced down
both of us frozen in a moment.

A squawking Sterling broke the spell
we stood too close to suet
his need was great and his boldness grew
as he lit upon the thrushes post.     /

insistent banging
hot air on cold steel
keeping pace with the second hand
replacing the drum track
placed on the education floor –
sliding iron door
electric lock
shocked at the space
misplaced faces race against the case
chasing freedom thought computer tutorials
and changing attitudes
challenging inner platitudes
shrewdly scouring the ‘self’ for shreds –
surpassed expectations mitigated by short-sighted controllers
crushing spirits while building for retirement
smiling on break, sharing war stories
without consideration for rehabilitation
only condemnation –
watching light-bulb moments
day after day
inspired by other’s achievement
I sit awestruck
the stories of prison might as well have unicorns
for the reality they express
from my desk
this cesspool
smells like fresh beginnings and wider horizons
these dregs of society
move me to be the best version of myself
as they seek only to be considered by society
as equal and accepted –

If one has dark skin and is light on the inside
they might be referred to as a coconut.
This is but one example
of how, we as humans,
categorize and generalize
our fellow man…
What is it when you are born white,
raised by SoCal junked-out hippies
(not the flower crowd)
who told everyone during your formative years
if we never discuss politics
or religion
we can be friends……
I was left with my maternal grandparents on some weekends
by these heathens
who happened to be devout
Protestants.
I sat very quietly,
hands folded in my lap
and listened to stories from the bible
and thought to myself
and the tender age of five
“Why doesn’t this god love me?”
“What did I do to Jesus to be forsaken?”
“I am just a child!”
anger followed………
Today, I find myself drawn to a dream
a paternal grandfather
born on a New Mexico reservation
that is completely abandoned
by any living relation,
leaving me to desire connection
to the greatest family mystery
for the Temple clan…….
No amount of reading text
or researching tribal life
can ever gift me
a relationship with an elder,
nothing I can do
will ever make me a part of that culture
and with this complexion,
I may not even be accepted
if I were to try and ask questions……..
this is me, building my own spirituality
with broken pieces
of family history –

edgy
semi-hostile;
opinionated *******
with mad skillz
and
no remorse –
I use the hate
the anger
find myself
satiated
by social unrest
and cultural rage…
a bully,
on a pulpit –
I have no consideration
for the feelings
of those scorned
skin thickens only after reddening
evolution and growth
rarely come pain free –
So many tears
flow freely down ***** streets
void of children’s laughter,
or simple sounds of midday traffic…
I sit on the corner
enjoying the un-comfortability
of a nation locked
in systematic racial injustice
and unease over whose **** goes were –
My **** roosts in a shabbily build coop
looking over a brood
producing eggs
that I will soon abort
and create a lovely omelet –

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 –

~


stretching cavern
    stalactites elongate
lichen plaque where faint light reaches

guano softens the rocky floor
    giving habitat to beetle and grub

the occasional rodent carcass
    rots in the warmth

tiny bat babies cling
     first to mother fur
               then to cold stone

they wait for insect meals
          passed with love and saliva
                  eager mouths stretch    /

spoon beat peppermint fudge
trudging through
rotation
strengthening forearms
and developing rhythm
creating deliciousness
over high heat
settling in a foil nest
awaiting “cool”
eager eyes peer onto the countertop
examining
eating without ingesting
each nuance
rising peak and falling valley
thoroughly explored
patience escapes
and the moment of truth arrives  
serrated butter knife
pierces the exterior
sliding nearly effortlessly
bringing delight
and salivation
to all who witness –

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 –

Flippantly, I stroll unencumbered
absentmindedly watching the clouds shift
both in direction and form
much like the movement within these words
never sure in which direction they may turn
even now anticipation mounts
as expectations soar
……..sadly
I have nothing to say –

the tongues of the young ones
hold guns at nuns in the sunshine
unwinding the twine I find folks tryin’
to be kind with no mind to station
in a nation of free mason determination
I ration my subjugation while indoctrinating
all involved in the situation
meanwhile, contemplating the aggravation
due to lack of communication and the infestation
of democratic non-utilization with my proletariat
upbringing encouraging me to parrot the derelict
inherent bliss of my parental units while ******* in a river
the law giver’s deliver quivering shivers eating liver
near the monument built to remember
what never is reveled in the benevolent morning
snoring by now, I am sure
the reader (you) looks for purity in poetry
while I offer only fodder
….sure, it’s clever…  –

I knew we would never, ever be blue
When I looked into those eyes
Shoo-be-doobie-shoobie-doo

Our love was so pure and true
Filled with long gazes and loving sighs
I knew we would never, ever be blue

Her words of love rung, oh, so true
Puffy clouds float by in the bluest skies
Shoo-be-doobie-shoobie-doo

Each day together this love just grew
The type of love that never dies
I knew we would never, ever be blue

And the compatibility when we would *****
All up in those luscious creamy thighs
Shoo-be-doobie-shoobie-doo

Never a time I didn’t know what to do
It’s easy when you live free of mistrust and lies
I knew we would never, ever be blue
Shoo-be-doobie-shoobie-do

pagan traditions
called Christian
dot the marketplace
face to face
with the race to place the best display case
on front street
beating feet I retreat
feeling mistreated
I stop for a treat
both salty and sweet
my need is complete –
fleet of foot,
I stagger not
as I leap the creepy sheep
eyeballs pressed to the glass
fascists passing off as classy
massively underestimating
the passion of the impoverished
wishing the dish next to me liked to kiss
I blissfully whistle into the wind –
laboriously porous
the stories hold no weight
only serving to date me
plated and shelved I delve into other interests
such as the tide pools
old fools and the perfect guitar playing stool
drool pools
your interest wanes
it’s plain to see this has lost direction
yet here we are
together again…
I see you –

I’m a poet…
Not one of these
rhyme selling
alliteration junkies,
nor a stanza *****, and what’s more
I think sonnets and Haiku a bore
I snore
at the doorway to beat poet’s hipster-ism
giggling internally at the vast breadth
of useless love prose.
I stand examining the sunrise for meaning
seeking the symbolism left in the echo of crunching dead leaves…
mine is not the path for the faint of heart
as I attack with words
every social norm I come across
every cultural drag
and each individual act of stupidity
so as to become the voice of a nation
unheard, unknown,
but existing, none the less –
I am a poet.

my face hurts
looking at my countrymen
and the insanity that is rampant
we allow our government to **** innocents
in the name of safety
while leaving those of us most at risk
to wallow in the dank, squalor
that is untreated mental illness –
all the conversation is about regulation
of tools, equipment, merchandise
when we need to be discussing the de-funding
of federal and state facilities
here’s an idea:
give tax breaks to doctors working with this population
incentivize the public to work together in bridging these gaps in society
not out of fear, but love for our fellow man –
a deranged soul bent on ******
will find a way to ****
as sure as the sun shines
and hardware stores sell hammers
inconceivable homicidal events
will be part of the new United States culture….
seriously, look at what we put in our bodies
both as food and medication
how could anyone expect that all of us would stay
well-adjusted
and pro-social –
there is another angle
even more sinister and devious that just leaving crazy people
to freely roam the streets without so much as a check in
and it lives in the realm of conspiracy
and within the walls of the lunatic fringe surrounding society at large
it holds the notion that somewhere between HAARP
the CIA, the NSA, the FBI,
combined with shadow operatives
of the illuminati and new world order
have been periodically tapping individuals
with the proper mental state to preform horrific acts
with the agenda of furthering certain political ideology
while concurrently undermining the freedoms and liberties
that make the United States of America a beacon of hope
to the poor and disenfranchised across the globe…..
how, you ask, does this happen….
Sandy Hook,
Umpqua Community College,
Zimmerman,
mass media pushing the hype train
to the top of Everest
and sending that som’ma’ma’*****  sailing into the masses
with a new scotch, neat, in hand
they watch us flounder and fight
laughing all the way
to the safety of their
underground fortresses –

~
hazel eyes rest languid
   soft clarinet jazz blows far away
                    smooth skin beacons calloused hands

mini-blinds separate yellow street lamp light
casting patterned shadows
       our mixed class
                       mingles with
                                the last tenants sweat and musk

sticky fumbling on a stained sheet
   while the bass line plays low
mouths pass but never touch
        forgoing intimacy
                     bent on the finish line

rumpled stockings in the moonlight
    lay below a lipstick stained wine glass

all that she left
       colored the room rose    /

~
reeds jut skyward
like spears in the hands of marching soldiers
below, rank mud squishes underfoot
we creep as near to silent as possible

crossing rusted strands of barbed wire
we enter private and protected ponds
with ninja stealth we take position
crouched in bramble
we cast thin line delicately into the void

slight tremors find my eager fingertips
as insomniac bass feel for tasty treats
slimy lips extend and inhale
******* worm and hook deep inside

my father snaps his fingers twice
the sound of a job well done
I feel his strong hand grip my shoulder
and look back to see his toothy grin
shine in the moonlight  /

broken shards of tempered glass
scattered across the parking lot
flare excrement in little piles
give the children something to poke at while they wait
heated voices from behind the Datsun
as she screeches disapproval
frantically explaining the bind
a momentary loss of concentration can bring
expressing innocence and professing innocents
tears spill as reality takes hold
the bus is the only option now –

unkempt neck hair
dancing in the fan breeze
pleased by the sight, I push up my sleeves
and seethe while sieving the encrusted cheese cloth
elderly resin glands scratch like sand
and the blandness of the disease seems to squeeze
any meaning from the motion
ocean waves graze mutant toes as wind blowing
snow globes throws devotionally challenged
prose writers into a delightful tizzy
thin lizzy in the background sounds like
barking dogs at the drown pound
and unwound knitted sweaters look better
when wetter than investment bankers at the swankiest of parties
sour smarties in plastic hats use poorly ventilated ski masks
basking rashes in priceless sashes bat eyelashes at lasses during mass
and the catholic priest has ceased to crease his pleated trousers
mouse traps snap shut in front of the bunk beds
her trunk of junk likes crunk juice on Tuesdays
and I sit, drunken, trying to debunk 9/11 –

I sat at the desk considering Whitman
It was a blond desk
Pressed particle board
A few scratches on the surface
Pencils marking and erasing
Marking and erasing
   And the stain
     Coffee?
    Candy?
    Circumstance had created an ugly table
But the tree had to have been majestic
Surrounded by forest
The occasional squirrel
Grey with a bushy tail
Scampering here and yon
Burying acorns for the coming cold
I couldn’t grasp his worth
So much notoriety
And for what…..drivel
Parchment coated in pig ****
Eaten up by the masses
As if it were caviar
  Delicate row packages
Pulled from the soft underbelly of a salmon
Or grunion
The whiting swam as if in a festival of silver backs
Brought home by the seasons to spawn and die
Forever continuing the cycle of Darwin
    The book began to way as heavy as
       My eyelids
       Placing the trash on the table
          Next to the waste-paper basket
I thought to myself….
Better to start again tomorrow…fresh eyes
Better to see what all the fuss
      Is really about –

looking to make the jump
from anonymous to influential
based on mad writing skills
and the ability to be rare and unusual –
many long years the daily toil has worn my psyche
now, frayed nerves blend with crippling paranoia
and I peer through bent mini-blinds
at a society devoid of cultural norms  
choosing instead to discriminate
against their brothers –
quietly slipping back into the shadow
only the whites of my eyes can be seen in the din
I feel the cold steel leaning gently against the door-jam
reaffirming to myself
I will not be taken alive –
crayon wax candles drip
pooling on matted **** carpet
trapping a flea
and capturing my attention –
we all sit trapped in poisonous wax
floundering against the weight of the next droplet
coated for all eternity –

A black speckled brown thrush
warbles while sitting atop an old decrepit greying wooden fence post
off, in the distance, stands (barely)
a barn that ceased to be functional at the turn of the prior century.
Faded wood, splintering, shows exposed nail heads
rusty and oxidized… perfect to pull at a wayward summer dress
or perhaps catch and tear the skin
of the playing child lost in imagination.
Brambles climb and creep up dilapidated walls
giving the illusion that this manmade object
sprung forth from the berry bushes
as if it were mutated fruit or maybe an exposed root system.
The low constant buzz of mud wasps
diligently building nests in eves
drowns out the sounds of jets flying overhead,
the occasional tick lights gently upon untreated skin
and desperately begins clawing its way
to a hairy spot in a darkened area.
Underneath misshapen cuts of plywood
three coiled garden racers sit in the cool
waiting with infinite patience
for the tiny shrew or mouse youth
to make a mad dash
meal time comes irregular on warm May afternoons.

beginning like any other day I took my two feet and placed them on the cold floor
tongue and grove faux oak laid north to south in a diagonal house, pre-dawn quiet
flittering dust bunnies darted in every direction seeking the perfect hiding spot
a place with the ability to avoid the wild, free-range vacuum known for destroying whole families
toes stretched reaching for the opposite walls as if I might grow eight extra legs
and then I would really never know where I am going
the Pisces in me I suppose….
she slightly shifted her breathing patterns as my weight redistributed the mattress foam
inaudible mumbles and a soft sigh passed lips on the very edge of slumber’s embrace
the corners of my own turned up as hers is the voice my ears were destined to hear
straightening the comforter so as to snuggle her in tight until the snooze button
the blood within my veins seemed to speed up and flush my cheeks with rose
overcome with gratefulness and peace I cast watery eyes to the window
just in time to see a large red-headed woodpecker eyeballing our scene
hopping from post to post to seemingly get a better view, he cocked his head slightly
giving me a nod of approval….
at least that was my interpretation –

~


deep dark water holds
     the entire spectrum
           heating sheets
                  flooding shorelines

deniers hide fat red faces
        drunk with power and ignorance
                under down-filled pillows
                    and 1000 thread count Egyptian cotton

granules traverse deserts
           eroding hillsides and
                  depositing in swallowed lakebeds
                       fossilized cacti whisper in the howl

people crying out that change is a hoax
          everything remains eternally static
                   a garden pre Adam
                        their insanity hurts my head

bending my neck into distorted positions
     I try to see their point
              my eyes bleed
                  trying to see their side
                      I would agree to disagree
                              if the lives of my children and grandchildren
                                 were not hanging in the balance  /

a debt is owed to those of you
who write so clean and pure and true
inspiring me through and through
washing away shades of grey and blue

t’was as if you’d always knew
the way to build me up anew
like a cobbler designing a shoe
you spoke to me as I changed and grew

i lost to taste for rotten shrew
and threw away memories not of you
until I sat alone, hair askew
wondering what next I would do

then came a flash that skewered me through
I was only able to muster a ‘mew’
as the realization came that this could never undue
the great Ric Flair and his infamous “Woooooo”

the point is, if I can get real here, crew
it’s important to me, the writing you do
this comes from my heart so it has to be true
I hope you all have a day under skies sunny and blue –

circular ideas
of a great hoop of humanity
no beginning
no end
an eternal thread
containing everything
endlessly encompassing
all –
seeking answers from the four directions
asking the east for understanding
the west for compassion
looking to the north for consideration
and south for peace
feeling the earth between my toes
and surrounded by the atmosphere
I become part of the
all –
media hype and monetary squabbles
dissipate
as new visions distort reality
finding myself encased in love
and hopeful for a future
the cynic within my recoils
simultaneously, a long lost
child
steps into the spotlight
fresh and new
giving me permission to let go
and fall into the
all –
New dawn breaks on old habits
trying to bury myself in social media
and negative propaganda
I can no longer relate
I find myself unable to care
….harmony bubbles within
and I can’t help but smile
at my perception
of the
all –