million dollar moment
plastic happiness ensues
fantastic spectacle
show for the ages
sage burns raging
cage expands, elastic
free bird sings brightly
feathers flip
gaging currents
torrential downpour
damages pages
sad eyes look at the scope of alteration
alienated, they seek dissuasion
turning from this scene
seeing clean green
thoughts race at the sight
imagination in pre-flight warm-up
launches
raunchy visions flash
as past ***** attempt to crash
the brain plane flying over strange plains
grain fields sway, plainly
painfully I pine
deranged

leaning bamboo


                raindrops make
                                   branches heavy



                                             ………..              also,     my      heart     sags /

Red planet hiding
The sun offers a refuge
My eyes strain to see

Cosmic disturbance
Asteroids collide in space
Is our fate sealed?

Solar system change
The gods are off their rockers
New heaven coming

Tilted axis shifts
Hurricanes on land masses
Humanity cries

Helpless government
Hides like a fresh baby fawn
Grass gives no cover

Georgia guide stones sit
Atop a hill in the sun
Not that many live

Are we at the end?
Planet lives on without man…
Just some rock structures………

smile washes over
I have lived a good full life
I feel no fear.

there we were
staring blankly at the screen
the error prompt called for
immediate demodulation
but it may as well been written in Latin
or Sanskrit –
I grabbed ahold of the digitizer with both hands
and began to **** and pry
which of course was not ergonomically correct
leaving me with a sore back and tattered finger skin
I caught the faintest sound
and thought maybe I had inadvertently tapped
into an alien frequency –
slowly it came clear to me that mainframe
only held a single kilobyte
and that with such a limited amount of storage
we would never reach the stars –
again, there came a slight modulation
with enough force to be considered noise
I instantly compared it
against the relational database
and realized, suddenly, that this had the potential
to be the real thing…
unfortunately I double checked with another terminal
and began to understand
what I was witnessing
was just a simple
user-friendly
videoconference –

quietly sitting
     disconnected and disinterested
attitude disjointed
boxer nose off kilter…
moments happen
     thirteen years of bliss
     include irritation
         raised voices
aimless country drives
          full of silent brooding…..

the picture of a successful marriage
carries images of anger
        they just do not tint
                everything red –

~



even handicapped priests have no respect for glitter
unless there is extra mayonnaise
everyone sat holding heavy their moon pie faces
thinking about the fish **** pond
and our lack of sunshine and warm weather

things had to get Phishy stat or stuff could seriously get weird
like Zoidberg Claw weird
so we washed the whiskey down with turkey
and walked to the sea while the wind whipped the Cyprus

an open door policy’s gave the cleaning lady a fright
and flecks of green lay strewn across tan carpet
we saw a wizard and left without breakfast

pictures of ham and familial hugs
gave way to snowy roads and living room camping
but all thought back to the fun of a trip to the beach
and planned on returning in Spring  /

rushing mountain stream
grey stones protrude
blackberries hang just above
little splashes cause sparkles
sunshine filters through branches
light dances on the moving promenade
a lonely leaf passes by without fanfare ~
we sit watching
discussing home ownership steps
dropping names of realtors
considering taking the plunge
just over 1050 square feet
spring fed wood and oil heat
tiny cabin off Tree Farm road
future property of Mr. and Mrs.
Samuel Lyman Temple ~
bright blue Steller’s Jay
squawks his arrival
***** a mow-hawked head
and considers us for a moment
three quicks hops and one more call
before he flies off into the foothills
nature gifting us a nod of approval /

synchronistic wistfulness
as whiskered bliss seekers twist
in the mist - resisting fists
they insist on listing
that which might bring blistering
like a toxic ring – singing telemarketers
embarking journey, Skylark_Buick
truant Mister simplistically playing Twister
sister shifts the syncopate
and we wait
…………………..
grateful for the break and taking
glitter flake covered roller-skates to the frozen lake
mistakenly banking to sharply
frost bitten carp seems
too dark in the evening
like Marky Mark bringing fresh beats
to a Lou Reed jam on the mean streets
neither much enjoying to eat sweets
but seemingly twin-like between the ole bed sheets…….
……………………
spoke out of turn regarding their *** lives
pretty sure at least one of them had a fat wife
who lived off of bonbons and smoked a chipped crack pipe
…………………
unsure how to end I can’t help but still write
and because words do flow I consider this just right
can you guess my favorite whale? Obviously,

                            the Right

favorite airplane designers
                    
                             ...... also the Wright -

her eyes shine so blue
sometimes I get lost
I truly knew not what to do

T’was our love that blossomed and grew
With no fear for the coming frost
Her eyes shine so blue

My heart was for her through and through
I had to keep her at any cost
I truly knew not what to do

The rain it fell and the wind it blew
Trees fell and lines were crossed
Her eyes shine so blue

I fell to my knees, scuffed up my shoe
Looked to the sky with eyes glossed
I truly knew not what to do

I held tight to the thing I knew was true
And released anything mossed
Her eyes shine so blue
I truly knew not what to do

crushing dabs
like Brits with ****
ragging on the braggarts
for being *******
mastering fascism
like I’m in a classroom  
learning to bridegroom
and lower the boom
eating shrooms
faster than a pig truffling
feathers ruffling
feet shuffling
feeling the scruff again
as I rub my chin
and I begin mashing the rascals
and stashing the raffle wins
like at Bingo hassling
the troll doll queen
bout to bring this to a ring
and sing to all ya’ll songs
of wax and things…..

transparent disparages
ensnare carefree societies
implying unreliable disguises
with a flair for pageantry
daring prayer, rare hares prepare
hairy Unitarians to marry
shareholders in gay Paris  (Pari’)
repairing the tear
offering free-range diversity
university perversions revert
extroverted exhibitionists
to airline reservationists
impatiently, first-world philanthropists
**** on lists twisting
the anthropologists mood into a balloon animal
this scandalous tryst helps
black-balled priests insisting
on peace to release persistent
victims’ names to mass media outlets
disabled vets regret investing
as corporate jets rest on golden runways
dark days on the horizon
implying these lies perpetrated
cause an uprising that surprises
those late to realize
the fly’s on the eyes of
poor black children
are all of our future –

weaving  through the farmland
past black bodied cattle
in misty fields of green
zipping past the rows of Christmas trees
varying heights
we hit the sharp right at near 50
and dive into the Birch forest
steep grade and a hard right
down into the bottom of the glen
and time slows
the grass and brush glisten a little brighter
and sunlight displaced
gives shadows a playground of mossy Eden
the trees seem to lean in
surrounding the open meadow
my pre-pubescent mind
has relegated this
the place of unicorns
fairies and elves
I hop up in the back of the backseat to watch
utopia fade into the distance
its delicate ferns
and wild lilies
dance in the breeze
left by my father’s old blue Pontiac
he yells and I turn quickly back into position
locking the seat belt
and looking at the red face in the rearview
staring back
this road is always worth the *** whooping --

Whispering pine bows
caught in the slightest breeze
shift gently, from right to left
with a mild up and down action
dry needles float effortlessly
to settle on the forest floor
giving new depth
to the thick carpet.
Three red ants march
single file
scouting for food and fodder
strong enough to repair the mound.
With a flick of the antennae
the lead insect turns
towards a new scent;
each ant uses its mandibles to gather
whispering pine needles
gently carpeting
the forest floor.

spotlight on the injustice
nationwide racial profiling
reliving civic unrests and marches leading to nowhere
the broken back of the black American shines white in the desert sun
and all of our blood is red when exposed to air –
feeling helpless and slightly lethargic
I shield my eyes from reality
looking instead at the unicorn and fairy forest of humanities youth
when magic ruled
and not on a card table –
faithless monuments dot the horizon
symbolizing a people’s fall from grace
and the loss of ethic and morality –
my hands vibrate with anger
as I am helpless to fight
against the enemy that is my skin
and a war that is based in my country –

Slogging through endless Whitman prose and I have to make little marks
on the pages every 8 to 14 lines as my mind will not quit the wandering roam.
Blanket paragraphs blend into infinite droll, never ending whine-fest of bull
jazz…jazz singers fill the empty spaces between
the lines of drivel.

The dog barks on the veranda looking old and sad in the wind,
The water trickles through a series of rusted and holey pipes… peeling
asbestos laden lead paint tricks the mouths of children… a sick cat heaves near the Chesterfield.

Finding myself no longer interested in freelance fodder, I real from one daydream to the next
without enough pause to subconsciously journal… a subcutaneous oak shard
gives a slight reddish bump to my well defined forearm,
slight pressure sends nearly transparent ****
screaming from its melanin tomb.
The sliver remains diligent.

The sliver holds its ground,
The sliver has a new home,
The sliver wants to die here,
and never again travel the long lonesome forest road,
The sliver shines silver in the sunlight,
I shiver at the sight.

~



Can I   be

              the    Father


of modern
              
                        American

                       new           Haiku    (samku)




without          having
                          
                          unprotected        ***?   /

His wild beard haunts my dreams
As I think about the loss of my father…
As a child it was Black Velvet and Canadian Mist
Once the liver damage was too great, the ******
Now, fifteen years after his death
The “what-if’s” still plague me all the time

If only we could have had more time
By the time he passed we were both shooting ******
Destroying any ‘normal life’ dreams
Living as though we were trapped in a fog or mist
This was the way with me and my father
All the way up until his death

It is a funny thing about death
Especially when relating to a mother or father
Sort of changes the dreams
And alters the meaning of time
A little like how it works with ******
One’s whole life caught in a swilling mist

I looked out the window and was confronted by morning mist
And I felt as though I were still in a dream
A dream in which I still had my father
And we had nothing but more time
No worries of disease or death
Living a life free from ******…

But I cannot remember my dad without ******
Only wake sometimes from troubling dreams
Eyes clouded by the subconscious mist
Heart struggling with the passing time
So much has happened since his death
I have become a man without the aid of my father

Thinking back to the wild beard of my father
Dark eyes set deep in my dreams
Shrouded with the cloak of death
Standing stoic in the mist
A slave to the master called ******
A victim to the ruler of us all, time

The time had come to confront my father’s death
I peered through the mist of my memories of loss and ******
And saw my father standing as if in a dream

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 –

I stood in the cold rain
Feeling consumed by overwhelming hunger
Trying to make sense of all the lies
Wishing there was a way to stop this **** wind
If there were any truths to our shared dreams
And if I would ever be free from these memories.

I thought back to the many nights we spend talking about our dreams
Turns out, many of these were just lies
Like broken mirrors I tried to piece together the memories
Hoping it would satiate my hunger
Instead I felt on my face a blast of cold wind
Followed immediately by ice-laden rain

I wish we could dance again in the spring rain
Spin like children in the warm summer wind
But it will not do, telling myself these lies
Holding onto broken dreams
Like a starving man holding onto hunger
With eating, his only memories

The treetops swayed in the wind
And I thought to myself I must get out of this rain
Break free from this flood of bad memories
Sprinkled with years of lies
I must wake from these terrible dreams
And do something about this hunger

I felt a churning inside myself, like I was suffering from hunger
But this too was just more lies
I was being eaten alive by memories
Giving myself cancer reliving these dreams
Standing alone in the rain
The only thing on my face, the wind

There can be no more smiles, only the rain
At least with rain, there are no lies
just the feeling one has when they give up on dreams
and live only through their memories
dying slowly from an untamed, unnamed hunger
until they too are carried away on the wind

Grit grinding between molars
Gnashed against the biting wind
I feel myself clamp down
Chomping at the bit to be safely home
Warming damaged toes
Upon burning ******* –
Lighting up a *** and feeling gay
Will be the way in which I celebrate my arrival
No longer supping on sand particulates
Dining gleefully on grime caught on a breeze
Nay, only sweet goose juice and fine wine
In the shape of kool-aid and burritos –
Grasping at my tattered collar
Pulling it close to my neck and chest
Red skin screaming
Chapped and irritated
Desperate for cover
Perhaps a nice toddy
And some Telly –
Visions of peace and warmth egg me on
the direness of my current situation
a catalyst for movement and action
only death by exposure
awaits me here
fated to the elements
with only a distant porch light
glowing
leading me home –

icy breath sends flesh altering shivers
as the glacial winds blow
from the mountains
across quiet and still skin
slapping shoulders and hopping in place
the silent fight against the elements
more coats
extra sweaters
grandmothers knitted mittens
hot water bottle
and electrified blankets
all working in tandem
to break the chill
and fill me once again
with the joy that only the August sun
can bring –
fondly remembering sweat and sticking to leather
ice tea and barbeque
warm evenings on the porch swing
instead,
an icicle forms on the tip of my nose
as my exhalation
creates steam
freezing on contact
with the hateful and harsh air
exposed flesh reddens
and chaps –
each movement a fresh hell
aching joints balk at the subzero temps
the slightest stubbing
sending me into tirades of cursing
even rage only heats me up for a moment…
trying to keep moving
while worrying about frost bite
I notice a hole in my pants
and it becomes the focus of my life
each bit of motion
allowing more shards of glass to pierce my skin
wishing only for warm cocoa
and the crackling of a hard wood fire…
looking out at the tundra
the realization comes clear
while it is only a couple hundred yards to the house
I am sure to die
and be found in the spring thaw
rather than ever make it through
this wintery hell –

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 –

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. –

revising revisions fulfilling obligation
the road to a degree is strewn with barriers
mostly living
within
doubt, inadequacy,
languishing in obscurity or worse
class clown/ dolt
cheezburger memes rectify nothing
as is the case with poetry
but they feel better than empirical research
so here I sit
longing to share a moment with all of you
all the while formulating links
drafting expansion
within
postulating presumptions
quantified with statistics
qualified with love and summer breezes
bending grass blades springing back to upright
as kisses from the surrounding air seem to heighten the aura
clacking keyboard brings me to the present
and a small window holds my capstone
mocking my imagination
blocking me from enjoying the birth of springtime that I see all around
but mostly notice
within

I look across
the moss covered snag
laid delicately on the forest floor
creating habitat for micro-cilium
and rodent families.
Momentarily disorientated
by the crashing of dry
and disjointed underbrush,
I peer through the Fir thicket
attempting to find the source.
At first I am both startled and amazed
at the sheer size of what I perceive to be
an angry grizzly mother
a territorial male mountain cougar
a ******* bigfoot!!
To my surprise and terror
I hear the crashing get closer
and catch the wafting scent
of my unknown adversary…
nay, my death provider
and the digester of Sam.
Unfiltered fear sweeps through me
as visions of all the things in my life
left undone, pass before my eyes
holding grandchildren, reading to them
holding my wife’s small fingers at the table
of the assisted living facilities dining room,
stamps…
when at once my fear is realized
and I find myself staring into the malicious
deadly
evil eyes of
a baby fawn still in spot
that my reckless forest tramping
has stirred from its hidden slumber.
I blush and move on.

light brush strokes



delicate    oranges and pinks

                 fresh blooms     of cloud



overlaid



breaking day    silent

here is another one
mostly for fun
like a little cap gun, son
I
Hop on one foot
Like a muthafukkin bunny
I’m lucky, its sunny
But allergies got my nose all runny
The drum beat
Keeps my feet sweet
Light and neat
Homemade Halloween treat
Back to the street
See I’m rollin
In nothing stolen
Knee swollen
**** takes it’s toll , man
But I still jam
Like I am on a muthafukkin roll
I stroll
Into any place of business
Like I witnessed
Jehovah’s ******
Simply put, I’m the best
****** rapper in the
Pacific northwest
But that’s just a guess
I don’t get out a bunch –
Well I
Seem to play this game
Where I try to pick the brains
Of these criminally insane
Muthafukkas on my job plane
Don’t drink Champaign
But if I do its out a mason jar
Check out my appendix scar
I lied, still got mine
It’s like a shinning star
Brown dwarf, cant see it from afar
But it will destroy the par
Leave golfers in their little cart
At the speedie mart
Riding on the BART
Did you just ****?
I get silly still
Its these badass pills
Cause all kinds of thrills
Homeboy, can we just chill? –

flying elbow smash
top rope lunatic
smashing forearms with finesse
deftly bringing a ruckus crowd
to froth ~
cleverly spouted phrases
heel delivery  
sneering with spittle soaring
microphone weather system /

flexed pecs bounce in time
chanting masses standing proud
electric air
goose bumps for all ~

steel chair buckles
as skin distorts and goes purple
screaming hordes count in unison
each whack brings fresh cheers
sprinkled with groans
their ‘guy’ has been beaten ~

sweat pours from a chiseled physique
and a belt is raised high /

falling into despair as the inundation continues
every turn finds me staring into another memory
of you
motherless child staring into the void
seeking to be comforted and held
by arms free from judgment  or need
close to the source
of my existence –
hidden in the background sits a vision
future life placed in hazy quarters
glasses and compounds give no relief
as the reality is locked from me
cleverly stashed between morality and righteousness
the grail pail sails the trail of failings
settling gently in the obscene and tarnished
oxidized
rusted
worn
shabby remnants brushed by archeologists
collect dust on a shelf in the home of the long dead curator –
fading into obscurity my youth looks back
cracked mirror inferiorly reports the passing of time
lines etched along the horizon
crow’s feet menagerie –
passion passes for persuasion
and the rotted fruit holds tight
blindly winding, finding lined rhymes
pining for the time shinning on the vine
let’s look behind the sign to the minds grinder  
and just try to be whole –

struggling to read
this week’s choices…
Sandberg was smooth, interesting
a poet which I truly found enjoyment
both reading
and contemplating
and then came Dylan Thomas…..
can I read another poem with the word “worm”
please….
can I stare at rambling whine-fest
any longer….
I find myself opening word doc after word doc
trying to write away
a mind full of someone else’s ideas

Will                      William                      willingly
  wish                          worn                          weary
weathered               wanton                        women
which                          will                          willingly
waste                           water                        when
washing              whiner's waists'          wintertime?
                wistful                             when

darting eyes seek recognition
as strange color patterns
give the sky an eerie green glow
what should be cloud bodies
look more like 3rd grade
geometry projects –
noiseless ground squishes underfoot
resembling a velvet trampoline
with crystalline structures jutting up
lacking gravity, they start small
then expand and branch out
looking like manicured Arborvitae’s
flipped upside down,
planted,
and painted with black glitter –
a low meandering whistle
travels near my ear canal
causing a Pavlovian right turn
strained neck muscles bring attention
to the fact I have been motionlessly staring
for what seems an eternity…
in an instant I see something
through the atmosphere;
an oddly familiar object
of the slightest faintest blue –
My eyes snap open
and the clock reads 2:57 a.m.
again
….am I being abducted? –

try as they might
I see through smokescreens
into darkness
and through walls –
gifted with secret sight
I am unable to watch newscasts
without seeing biased framing
I cannot listen to political ramblings
without being inundated
by lies, deceit, and underhanded ball-washing
this is my lot
…and I accept it –
still, I would be remiss if I didn’t mention
the never ending pain experienced by those of us
gifted this way,
we never really live satisfied
as our contemporaries all flounder
lost in illusion…
we find ourselves unable to relate
to the society that created us
as our evolutionary path
surpasses the ordinary --

beyond wire fencing
chiseled bodies
sweat under new slavery’s sunshine
clanging weights fall without care
as ancient pulleys bear the brunt /
six feet stomp around the track
four laps equaling one mile
the three bronzed men
have walked 736 miles together
so far this year ~
it being only mid-July
they have a goal of 2000 a year…
no one doubts their determination
only if they can avoid segregation /
loud voices echo
as a soccer ball fly’s foul
the loudspeaker interrupts the game
as the yard closes for another day /

Ruined

by the June Moons’
                                    tune,


                    ­                     I swoon

                                                     for


                                                             prunes.

crusty snot ring.. dirt coated
rosey cheeks and twinkling eyes
proceed to explain the intricacies
of the mole hill the dog was digging in
grimy fingers tell a different story
with grass stained knees to fill in the gaps
yet the excitement of the tale grips me
as I hear about the most giant gopher ever
and the fight that ensued between my ole hound
and a chipmunk straight from the fires of hell
I ask him to repeat the really good parts
thrilled, he explodes forth with all new details
seems giant squirrels have invaded my backyard
and only my rascally black lab can stop them
hearing gravel on the driveway
I envision the face of my daughter
as she spies the condition
survey’s the scene
at least this time grandpa is clean

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 –