dirt clod sails
pitched wildly
from rough hands
glinting stone
peaks through
deadly in its camouflage ~

pressed wildflowers
fill pages
ruffled sundress
sparkling under the sky
surrounded by lush green
enjoying pleasantries
humming absentmindedly ~

erupting forth
the barely noticeable stone
sheds the brown suit
upon impact
landing with force enough to
split and blacken
crimson trickle
wailing banshee ~

sudden swiftness from near a barbeque
blows rain down
hostile wind flows forth
distant sirens fill the space
all quietly watched
the final collapse
of tired lungs /

the sun shown silver through the morning haze
the slow traffic laden decent from foothills to valley town
left the taste of exhaust and burning garbage
flowing across unwashed taste buds
clicking denture plate free from glue
slapping against the few bottom originals
to the beat of Heart’s great hits
one day CD’s will be like 8-tracks –
catching a glimpse of my greying whiskers
in the rearview mirror
the same silver shines there
as in the sky this morning –

slipping unnoticed
past the giant door
opening and closing like clockwork
travelling en masse
away from the center
void of life giving oxygen
making the dangerous trip
though miles of tunnels
only to try and pick up another load
from the lungs
and drop it in the brain and heart –
escaping the chest cavity
the right arm becomes my journey
what looks to be just a couple feet
up and back
in reality is hundreds of inches
passing scar tissue
and trusting that the varicose
with not make a prisoner…
all of the sudden the crowd slows
from break neck speed to a slow crawl
once again this ******* has brought
foreign bodies into the parade
giving each of us an extra load to carry
one that damages our structure
while slowing our travel –
the needle falls to the floor
as another overdose victim
waits to be found
blood rests in veins
clotted and coagulated
wishing only to make another trip around the horn –

the expressions of a blanket half-buried in the snow
mountain ranges and glacial valleys
as poly-blend fibers wrinkle under the weight
fibrous and wind blown
like the mossy lichen
on a high isolated peak
cold to the touch and sticking to wet fingers
the ice sheet forms without fanfare
giving rise to reddened digits
and the first invitation to a black and lifeless
frost bite victim.
subzero temperatures
send swirling crystals high into the air
giving the image of flying diamonds
gently falling and twirling in a gentle winter’s breeze
rainbow prisms dance across faded wool
frayed edges play in the wind
twisting and knotting themselves
as if the weather
were attempting to **** or mend
the ancient coverer of bodies and equipment.
sad howl travels the length of the valley
carrying the sorrow of no spring on the horizon
branches brake under the weight of water, reshaped as an ice shield
mournful cattle huddle beneath a lone elm
leaf-less and barren
shivering leather stands in solitude
waiting for the growl of an old truck
to drag yet another bale of hay
out into the tundra. –

in moments of clarity
the rarified air seems to envelope my consciousness
sending my thoughts reeling into an abyss of non-specific tangents
grasping at imaginary straws
in an open attempt at understanding
the multitude of voices –
surrounded in an empty room
the unsureness creeps in slow at first
like the lightest snow accumulation
on a slightly warmed roadway,
then at once faster
as if it were a waterfall carrying flood debris
a tumbling torrent of sounds
all from within –
unable to separate reality from the inner din,
I take the shape of a fetus
rocking to the rhythm
of voices no one else can hear –

stripped  away and sanded down
old love settles /

creaking knees still
bare love’s weight
sweet neck nuzzles
faint patchouli /

hot dog breath
crowds exposed legs /

tipping slightly
placing a soft kiss
onto a smooth cheek /

sunbeams through lace treatments
spotlights our tattooed rings
our eyes meet /

gently upturning
our smiles align
with the sun and moon /

timeless and constant
our love reincarnates
next time we meet
each time
until we travel the cosmos
as wind /

shapeless form flowing easy
whirling and twirling to infinity
colliding with memories
and creating delusion
synapsis fire seemingly random
shapeless formless mass shifts
altering long held beliefs
and morphing religious boundaries
gifting treasonous ideals
to steadfast personal decisions
without consideration to ramifications –
free flowing thoughts cascade
leaving trace elements behind
fitted with apparatus engineered
to change one’s mind
create a new thought pattern
extend and elongate the process
into criticality
the path to becoming a critical thinker
is no longer marked or taught
it has become up to the individual
to learn this important and valuable skill
lest we all vote Trump
and live on McDonalds –

Hope Patton Oswald doesn’t **** himself now………


…….he gots kids!

pain takes hold again
and I sit disturbed
not understanding why
I feel like such **** –
looking at 40 years
of systematic body abuse
from the hardest drugs
to the worst foods
lack of regular exercise
mingled with attitude –
irritated joints combine
with a furrowed brow
and crooked teeth
to create an image
of despair and anguish
as I attempt again
to rebuild this mess
into a prize of humanity –
silver whiskers and a stigmatism
misshapen nostril
and a **** chin
look back from the
cracked mirror
I am inferior –
beating myself up
over a belly devoid of beer
and the ever thinning
and receding hairline
I no longer feed my ego
as it sits starving
and neglected
rejected by the woes of aging –
enraged and feeling caged
I desire to fly free with Mya
but death is no repose
only an entry into the next phase
is existence really worth the trouble –
lamenting has taken its toll
and feeling like a whiney *****
I make the quick decision
to stop this nonsense --

There, in the doorway
Brown field mouse looks inside
My spirit shudders

Exterminator
Looking just like a space man
Ready for the moon

Chemical spray clings
Morning dew inside my home
Scratching from the wall

Wooden trap, cheese piece
So delicately balanced…
The mouse laughs at me

Layer of strong glue
Forest fibers make the tray
One foot is enough

Tear falls on the deck
Cat has killed my worthy foe
No wet food tonight…..

It's true, I hate them...

Sonnets are like bleak winter,

slow death to the soul.

I remember the passion
protesting and marching
actively involved
a movement for change
the world would have to bend
to our wills and whims
but lately,
I feel tired –
I do not want to quietly
go into the night
to turn away from the vigor of youth
and instead focus on a garden
and preparing for retirement
it is my desire to fight in the streets
to take back this nation
for its citizenry
but lately,
I feel tired –
there is a chance
real and tangible
that the status quo
will soon go the way of the dinosaur
relegated to storybooks
tall-tales of intolerance
and hate values
sweeping and sustainable
the youth movement could alter
world history
though, I fear,
I may miss the party
as lately,
I feel tired –
tired of lying politicians
weary of systemic inequality
worn down by systematic racism
grown thin by corporate lobbyists
and pharmaceutical special interest groups
depleted, emotionally and physically
by a capitalistic mass media
bent on feeding the masses
the propaganda flavor of the day….
I am tired –
I cannot watch another Botox injected
surgically altered  
plastic alien-human
hybrid
tell me what sandwich is better
or which car to drive
that my sneakers ****
this is the man to vote for
that I need a haircut
the mortgage can be refinanced
there is a pill for what ails me
…..what does it take
to live in the ideal of the United States
is there a pill that will re-write
the original Bill of Rights
to include all Americans
is there a face cream
that will stop white cops
from shooting black children
on tax-payer built streets
that doesn’t give me stomach cramps….
You’ll let me know?
Won’t you……

the softness of her tone
     woos like a June moon

tuned-in I swoon on the
     damp sand dune

shrooming, foolishly, my ungroomed
      face shown true

proving our love
    would ne’er move to blue

a golden pontoon flew through
    rolling hills covered with dew

green shoots and fruiting foliage
      wild thistle and overgrown
            Scotch Broom

crooning to you, awe struck by the
      view I lose my pants, shirt,
               and shoes

soon, while a few butterflies
      settle on a nearby pear-blossom
            of blue

our eyes and smiles meet
      as we consider what next
            to do

all the while I think,
       “I’ll be happy as long as I am with you.”

wolf and hobo trapeze


              tightrope acrobatics


                        cold nights bring us in

she cocked her head

one black eye sized the scenario

……….talon ****** deep
rich soil askew


a low cluck of intimidation
raspy and long
grandma smoker singing a lullaby
to full of fear to fight
sleep
leaning slightly
she beacons for seed
as I shake the grains
in the little plastic bowl –

considering Native medicine
and our overriding connection
to the all that lives within

not really knowing how to begin
outside of quiet reflection
considering Native medicine

no desire to just go ‘there and back again’
while being conscious of my lack of protection
to the all that lives within

longing to understand the purpose of Juniper, outside of making Gin
does it help headaches or aid with an *******?
Considering Native medicine

I need to be sure, I will not just pretend
though I must practice some discretion
to the all that lives within

one with the natural world, no envy or sin
just thoughtfulness while making a selection
considering Native medicine
to the all that lives within

dragonfly wing beat

mother sits on my shoulder

spirit eternal

words and images
slowly float     downwards

                        lighting gently
                               upon fleshy earlobes


seeking shelter
they dig      downwards

                      finding comfort
                             in squishy brain matter


tendrils elongate
stretching         downwards
    
                         inspiring memory
                               encouraging creativity



in the dark night eyes shoot open hands scramble visions scribbled scattered ideas surround the silhouette standing in the shadows



rest evades him
pages of poems fall




          downwards /

Tebow was a good



         college athlete........


this has not


                     translated  –

t’is a time for rejoice
jubilation in the street
the religious fanatic has left
the building is clear
this home is clean….
still,
the specter of Trump looms
like the last sunset
falling on humanity
the orange glow
seems to swallow the United States –
looking around my nation of fatties
red-faced
taking a break from prescription inundation
to shake flabby fists
at the neon screen,
the only god left.
I find myself seething with contempt
for a system that so divides my people
while I carry blood
straight from the reservation
only removed generationally, twice,
I am a white boy
man
the symbol of global oppression
the face of hate and racism
self-loathing one’s own skin…
and they say I can’t relate….
and I am told I have it good…..
easier
dirt floor ****** single room swinging light
stained and sheet-less hand-me-down mattress
but I can’t understand poverty
just like everyone else
I walk around with a sore *** –
are we all ****-hurt as a people
I think so…
quick to argue
slow to empathize
all of us spreading our own
propaganda
as if we had some answer
as if our individual idea
had merit…
collectively we can accomplish greatness
alone….well, Jordan was a great basketball player
but, just an o.k. owner
Steve Jobs was a great computer nerd
just o.k. with social skills
some of us on Hello Poetry
might be great poets
but our greatness comes from the community
all of our writing together
creating a cornucopia of sentiment
and smorgasbord of language
the greatest online poet community ever
……………..
because I am here –
the insanity of our dichotomy
is like a lobotomy
on a circus mouse
we want to belong
but be special
we want to be part of
yet, stand out
we want culture
our way…..
a great comedian
who was just an o.k. survivor
once said
that it’s all just a ride
I think he was right –

billowing plumes of combustible grasses
send  nuclear clouds into the stratosphere  
pillow columns stretch into the ether
and expand against the barometric pressure
of high elevation
sending tendrils of smoke sweeping across the evening sky –
near the fence stands a fireman covered in soot
in one hand a pail of water
with a spout
he looks as calm as if he were heading to the garden
gaily, it swings back and forth on a slight breeze
as the daydreaming fireman stands on the edge
of an inferno –
cars slow and passersby gawk at the spectacle
another season comes to pass
as the grass fields are burned
in the early August sunshine --

oppressive season
causes a struggle to breathe
unseen pressures mount without count
as prophetic undertones threaten mankind –
I try to unwind with Kind I grew myself
but the smokey flavor offers no solace
placing my weary head into my earth-stained hands
and any attempt at plan formulation is met
with only the recognition that the tears
falling from my cheek to the dusty ground
are not only soundless, but barely alter the brown hue –
Not often am I left uncertain of what to do
Normally I tighten boot straps and **** in the gut
pick myself up and continue the fight…
today tiredness overtakes me, breaking my
spirit and filling me with fear
unable to steer clear the queer feeling
takes my complete focus
So long since I gave my laurals some work
too much time has passed for me to go all
conscientious objector
the debt collector knocks incessantly
    the phone has not been quiet for days
         grinding gears and twisting metal
               fill my ears……..
                  and the sirens…….
                             the sirens………
                                      the sirens………

toothless smile
ear to ear
****** haze glazing sparkling eyes
as the grandchildren round the bend
face lit like the brightest moon
as tales of the fish that slipped the hook
and the biggest blackberry Thomas Creek ever produced
are excitedly shared
I watch from the rustic and weathered picnic table
thinking to myself
someday that will be me....
hopefully without the addiction
still looming --
he pulls from his pocket three full sized
chocolate bars
and hands them out
eagerly accepted as if an Oscar
or Leprechaun gold
the children scamper back into the forest
lost on another adventure
turning away from the dust trail
the greatest man I have ever known
shoots me a wink
and heads inside to catch the last
fifteen minutes
of C.S.I. Miami --

silver sphere suspended
atmospheric phenomenon
through the dark branches of an old oak
it hovers ~

arm hairs stand
magnetized and energetic
they seemingly dance along the tanned skin
weaving and braiding themselves
while a low mysterious hum
surrounds me ~

frozen in place
not with terror
but instead with molecular glue
feet became ground
rooted to the grasses and trees around me
I was one with the landscape
before instantaneously I felt
myself floating
blinded and paralyzed ~

the cold metal table had the same hue
as the silver sphere I had seen
in the sky
resting behind the old oak
that sunny afternoon
unable to hold my thoughts I considered cheese
why we ingest cow milk rotted
I thought back to hot stringy grilled cheddar
as I watched grey tubes being pulled from my body
examined by three fingered hands
and placed back inside my body cavity /
the vision is startling
I remain numb and interestedly intoxicated
as a whiskey drunkard on payday
witnessing his own appendectomy ~

flashing strobes holiday style
leave me disorientated and nauseous
beneath my brick stained hands
green shoots of grass
poke up
I puke ~

staggering and trying to orientate myself
I realize it is early morning
and I am face down in the yard
above oak branches cross
and block a shiny silver anomaly
floating in the blue sky /

I will

never

be microchipped,


even if

I

am ostracized.

Testing the limits of love and trust
I can safely sit back in a place of faith
It is real and forever does exists
And thank the vast universe
For being brought up in a country
That believes in soul mates
And finding the perfect person for you
As opposed to arrangement
And bride price
But I digress
It is all about us and our life and our plans
The future and sunglasses
And hope
Looking at her soft blue eyes I can only reflect
On the perfection of a moment
At the grace in timelessness
Into the eyes of the one for me
…. And she does the same

shoved neck twisted chin
                  stress ***** dissipate

vertical lines
above a bridge
       concentration wrinkle

slits peer
pupils dilate
redness
                       sleepless

dew gathers
             corners frown
                      gleaming white
                                shines /

Absentee
filling the role, perfectly
of a creepy social media stalker
saving pictures to my phone
of a daughter I have not seen in person
for more than ten years –
spitting image
of her old man…
though she would never know it
she posts about her girlfriend
and I wonder if it is genetic
or anger driven
she posts about school
and I wonder if she is bullied
or accepted
I wonder
because I am too afraid to ask –
once upon a time
when she was but five
we met….
my ex, her mother
became my excuse
and I walked away,
again….
no matter the reasons
I feel the pain of that choice
and I think about her feelings –
I tell myself that one day
when she is out from under that specter
I will extend my hand
hopefully
as I have no care for her ****** orientation
or career path goals
only to be a part of
and know
instead of always
wondering –

quiet moonlight
slipped effortlessly
through the tent door
creeping at first
with a slow and steady motion
soon filling the space
with soft white light –
she lay sleeping
unaware of the attack
light covered her body
giving her skin a glowing hue
broken up
only by the tattered edge
of an old afghan –
slight concern
crossed her brow
shifting muscles
attempting to hide
a face plagued
sleep interrupted
rest destroyed
by the softest
and quietest
of assailants –
I lay in stillness
admiring the struggle
knowing the ease in which
I could zip up the flap
gently place the quilt
just over her eyes
but my own selfishness
prevents me
as I have never watched
her sleep disturbed
by quiet moonlight –

I watched from my porch, the children
Caught up in the adventure of their play
Absorbing the way everything seemed so fresh
To these people, the future of the world
I remembered a time in which I would get lost in wonder
Everything in my life seemed so vibrant and new

Seems these days it’s very hard to find anything new
Or to feel lost in wonder
This is the way of an adult in the world
When nothing glows fresh
Unable to relate to children
Forget how to play

I used to spend hours lost in play
Discovering all the aspects of my world
Completely engulfed in awe and wonder
Just like so many other children
Gazing about with eyes so new
Amazed at the smells, clean and fresh

After a rain everything looked fresh
To the eyes of children
The age of wonder
Each morning begins anew
The only thing on the list for the day: play
When family is the whole world

This was the way of the world
When we were all children
Free to dance, sing, and play
With no regards to eating fresh
Thought towards what is hip, trendy, or new
Or trying to recapture the concept of wonder

Sometimes I sit, close my eyes, and wonder
Breath deep what is left of air that is fresh
Will they be able to go outside to play
What will be left of this crazy world
Can there ever be anything new
for tomorrow’s children

I awoke to a new dawn and thought about going out to play
The smell of fresh air made me so happy to be part of this world
I instantly began to wonder about the future of our children

he sat on the off-balance swivel
fingers click-clacking the qwerty
casting side-ways glances
towards the term paper
hand-written
“and then”
“he took”
“the fish”
painstakingly slow
with wrinkles of determination
etched into an aged forehead
“the dock”
“was faded”
“greying Alder”
my desire was all encompassing
to run and to aid
push him aside and type
wind-style
multi words per minute
and knock this assignment out
“the old man”
“took my fishing rod”
“placed it into the truck”
the pressure mounts
and I develop my own wrinkles
each keystroke
a fresh new torment
for us both
“we drove”
“in silence”
“all the way home”
I sit in shock
eyes, both glazed and bulging
fixated on the far wall timepiece
barely hear the words,
“Mr. Temple,
would you print this
for me?”
an exhale passes my lips
I was unaware I was holding
And I reply simply,
“Happily!” –

I have a request for you :)

I am starting my MFA in creative writing this up-coming Fall and would very much like input on ways to improve my writing. I know that for the most part we are a loving group prone to show only care and compassion (at least that is my experience) but I would truly like to have some constructive criticism or even some editing ideas.


Thank you all so much and please, wish me luck!

The thesis for the program is to have a manuscript ready for publication and 4 of the advisors have direct links to publishing companies....I have rarely felt this much excitement!

we speak of both the past and now
each giving the other time
thoughtfully considering
before responding
just like in the books…
we sit together watching trash
commenting on absurdity
and passing on the conclusions
in order to catch a few quick kisses
the world ceases to exist
outside of a place for our air and water
to materialize
14 years in,
I still feel this way –

considerate conversation
in traffic
watching irritated passersby
chuckling at the scene
hands resting
skin pressed but not pushed
as the comfort of touch
and the warmth of togetherness
fill the Kia
and replace the honking insanity
only a window pane away –

soft breath, steady and rhythmic
she waits for an answer
to the simplest query
as though I might pop off
with a cure to aids
or insight into the cern collider
I only say “yes”
as I do so hate telling her ‘no’
a smile passes her lips
inspiring mine to do the same
and we walk hand in hand
down the sandy shore
as is always the way –

~


soft breeze    






              distant snowy peak





                                                        dreams  
                                                                      cas-
                                                                            ca-
                                                                                 de   /

mildew coated leaves lay atop the cool ground
torn asunder and left to rot
no longer the object of attention
or affection
its fruit, long since eaten
and shat out
barely a memory –
disorganized vines hold but a few yellowish tomatoes
not above the ground, no… but by the thinnest of stems
browning in the autumn air
lackluster weeding becomes the norm
as storm season approaches ….
what is more lonely and despondent
than a garden 3 weeks after harvest –

pixelated images
memories of a lost child
all grown up.
she stares into the camera
asking where I have been…
finding profile pics
of years gone by.
estranged is so strange
when faced with the reality
my little girl exists.
dreams shift as new ideas seed
the same old mantra rings again
“Maybe when she is 18 she will look me up”
…today that seems a lot to put on a child.
my mind whirls
as I try to make sense of new information
who I am to everyone else
what I represent to my children by marriage
where in the world do I get the nerve to think
when the answer seems so obvious
how can I continue to live in this place
why did I choose this –

important lessons are rarely smooth

looking back at the written word I am transported
she five, and I fresh in my sobriety
unsure and uneasy
both of us.
contemplating the damage of a second 10 year absence
I put the phone down
and reflect on my options
at the very least
I have time

trailing with head hanging
he loosely held a furry leg
dangling childhood
ear in the dirt
it was a popsicle
had him lagging
more specifically
not having a popsicle
had him lagging
our backwards glances
feeding young misery
the occasional grumble
and sigh
as smooth round stones
rolled past our dusty feet /

overcome with thankfulness and gratitude
sitting in my regular life
with my common car
enjoying brain chemistry
free from lapsing synapsis
and misfiring nodes
I live mentally healthy
it is my joy –
of course I get down
the weight of the world
attempting to rest on my shoulders
I shrug
pull the rug
and unplug…
do mounting bills cause pressure?
could a opinionated youth
be reason for irritation?
are stinky dogs
enough to make one curl into a ball
and cry or stare
trapped in despair
hair all messed
acting contrarily to your ideal of self…
the point is
the world is not all roses and ice cream –
we all face adversity
we all experience anger
when we allow that feeling
to rule our lives
we are slaves
to chemistry –
I know, I know
Where is my compassion?
Where is my empathy?
I just don’t know what depression really is
I just can’t relate to a lack of attention
I just don’t understand the pain……
Yes,
I do…….
I just get over myself
wash my **** face
and step out into the day



try it –