My maid,
a domestic woman,
stands in my doorway.
Her short fat legs
bend inward,
they are bruised.

My maid,
a domestic woman,
stands in my doorway
looking into my eyes,
she has brought groceries
for she cooks,
and she cooks so well
that I think of her children
who live in another country
who know her only by
white envelopes
filled with my cash.

At night,
I'll take my
socks off
and watch television,
then I look at
her and she is smiling
at her cellphone.

The hummingbird ate nectar
As I watched from across the way
But, closer scrutiny revealed
There actually fluttered a moth.

Mark- the funny feeling of
Meaningless eons of time
Dressing up a fluffy insect
And confusing a wandering mind.

Mailed her off in a letter
To somewhere over the horizon
Never gonna talk about love
Signed, sealed, delivered

On the way to three 16
Crested over a highway hill
Saw the entire town in a fog
Sky, fields, and river

Raced her down empty ten
At 7:56 am
Took Exit 1 and parted ways
Signed, sealed, delivered

Dispose of them properly!
It might get caught
On the neck of some poor soul.

They are recyclable!
I prefer ones soft,
The ones polymers are made of.

Wear them loosely!
They aren't good for skin,
Besides these masks get sweaty.

Runs my brush against caves' walls
the rocks form a rhythmic pattern

click, thump
thump, then click
click thump

Tells stories of a future's past
and so on, through backwards
Do alternate veins weave through these walls?
I think, only in other caves

All people in old age seem to go mad
The brightest eyes also lost into darkness
The coldest rent to pay: our revelations
So take all chances to shake your soul
Because you'll be sent packing soon

I walked my dog this morning
and it was the perfect time for a walk
(thanks Chrissy).

It was just as the morning sun was
making its face known.
I got to see the gentle morning
cloud that coated my childish
forest hills get burned away;
I got to see the familiar mist
on my nearby lake be born,
I had never seen it start to rise,
but this morning, I watched
it grow.

The white light of the sun was
drowned in the atmosphere
to become a gentle yellow that
shown on the trees,
and everything was breathing,
was aglow, with the multitude
of dew that had gathered from
yesterday's rain showers.

Directly against the yellow air,
blue bark gnarled by time,
green mosses with redheads
sticking out in patches within
patches.

Red cardinals flinging themselves and
thrashers too in their characteristic
Spanish flair. Ravens aplenty,
fishing crows too, their ugly cries
adding to the density of elegant
morning conversations.

Among all of this, one bullfrog called
once during the morning walk. I
took a moment to turn and look towards.

Most of all, there were colorful
southern flowers that rang down
in chains, left right one-two's
that drooped with dew, and they
were drained of their former glory
for Spring has been over.

The walk:
a nice good morning and a
reminder of breath, a way
to clear morning thoughts
and bring a hint of the road.

Going to take a hike
down these old Georgia roads
Lead me to where the dust comes crawling
so I can stare into the distance and imagine

Hold my hat, son please
watch me as I unhand this plow
Feed the cattle, don't forget
that I'll be home on a wooden float

Way up there in the hills
the way the northern woods glow
A perfectly placed dead tree, that'll get
me satisfied, then I'll find a natural moat

Build a raft, sand the spikes
on my way back, I'll pass a toad
and the river will open onto woods more sprawling
until I find my way home, I imagine

an old blues musician whose poetry is absolutely timeless!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4dOcvQdv9fM
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VcvKFBwxzj0

Failing the fox
It's no pleasure of mine
But what's done has been done had to be done and then some
Silver lining aside
And there are great lines that hide
I'll stay south a little longer tonight and into tomorrow as well
Wishing, washing

The sultan kept
A mad desert storm
Sealed away in his bottle
Upon a silken belt.

I bought it from him
For a soul and two pence
My right eye,
a good crossbow,
And a loyal eastern gent.

I fell upon a
merciless jungle
That was filled with
Bodiless masses,

And uncorked the storm
Upon the bird like faces
Then they were swept away.

Why, do you ask?
So I could rule a sandy kingdom.
How does it look?
Like an ocean filled with glass.

A bottle I keep around my waist...
Within it a sandy storm...

Look out your window
Onto the valley below,
How the sun capped peaks
Around you glow,
With no reservation
Does the sun's favor show,

What can I do when it rains?
Gather it into a box of rain?
The sun's shadow transpires to arch from the clouds, faintly, the raindrops themselves
Yikes! Let it flow, let it flow
As if a river were churning,
Note: the earth that turns streams

You can do anything,
My love,
Who ought to yearn for the heavens,
Throw away illusory shackles
Throw away your box of rain,
I love you so and it hurts to burn
In the fellowly outlines of your pain,

Your box of rain, it splinters outward
Like a rock in a pond, negative space had
Throw away the pain! It's not yours
And turn to face new rain
Hour by hour, yours
And with each drop you will grow.

Black blood drools
From the bleeding rooster
The tip of its beak
Lets feelings become super.

Etched in blots
Eternally a stone
Mighty soundless arches
Held up by keystone.

"Well?" flap volumes
Attract a foolish stare
"Can you find within me-
A jagged set of stairs?"

Close the cover nigh
And think about the pen
A dusty fellow punkin' head
Speaks through the bleeding hen.

I assure you, lover
The fabric of this universe ripples with pain
And like a flailing fetal flea, you drew up the rain
Retention of water, a pool you retain

Words have no daggers, and all of mine missed your head
Offer no nepenthe, lest you miss the bread
I'd offer you unity, but you heard that discourse
Love with mad force, or love not (at) all

All the almonds in the jar
Lightly salted, butter by the bar
Garlic in the pantry, bread on the stove
Tomato's in the oven
Kitchen overload

How do I eat food?
Food?
Food.
A mumble jumble bumble of
Living feud, oil me up
I'm about to dive in because I have no other choice.
Yup, this is a wall.
So empty stomached my eyes sink in
Pretty soon I might stink thin
Fast.
Fast?
How do I fast healthily?

Mental overload
Time is worn thin
What silly shadows dance just out of sight?
Did I just see that?
Is reality just a fabric's delight?
Oh, I'll please me, it was just the light.

Stand with your legs shoulders apart, traveller
Accept what I tell you nakedly,
Christianity is a giant horse
Its muscles bursting with blood,

But like many other to pasture,
Beasts behave brokenly,
Is it then a healthy force
To wish upon them a flood?

Traveller,
Traveller,
If you say it must be done,
I'll lay it all out on the table

Practice your long division

There may be something that depends on thee-
you hi-sprung holly which is dainty in the forest,
resting in your lawless ways a cudgel of berries.
Tease then, deny me, mammal inappropriate for your stock,
your bounty is more for the nimble of hock,
who have a stomach stranger to mine,
who needs't not pay me any mind.

Force here will do no good, no,
which confuses me by force of reason,
misleads me through whorls of rhyme.

I fell in love once,
it was confusing.
Perhaps to un-know!
Oh, how my names elude me.

An ageless whispery weave we sit on
As friends on an ancient glade,
Our grain heads bump into one another's
Eternally shifting sighing movements
Remarkably from one place to another
Without anyone losing their wheat

Strangely on grey days we encounter
An unexpected rolling back
Of the strangest colorations of our minds
Sadly, we do it to ourselves
We do, we do
And that is the hardest part about flying
To awaken ourselves from our thorny nests

Let's carve wooden boxes for each other
Wrapped in green cloth, hidden under arms
We'll pass these boxes along until
Someone finds and opens it
Inside it a dagger, as all helping hands become
And though its edges are sharp and painful
With use, brush will turn gold and fall

What's left behind? That's the adventure of love.

You are my klutz,
my wonderful one,
take after me for a while,
then, leave me be.

You are my gentleness,
neared by this,
that lives after you
in returning bliss.

Movement minx, mincing meat
She tides through jungles in wake leaves shake
But east side eidolon her sleep displays
Between the concrete displays, her age and her rage

A dream like a rag rests on the spires of her city
Centuries of men reflux into muscle
Pushes her along, her excitement belongs
To none other than herself (you're young (sometimes rich) once)

My father never liked cities, "they're all the same"
But daddy don't you know that's where the future is
And neon vines drop down from scaffolds
Grab her by the waist and bring her up up

Where she rests, solemnly gargoyle at
Outrageous heights.
I'll surely miss her, that old gal of mine.

Poems kept at home
for family doors, spouses and pets,
Western style houses,
brick on four sides,
wooden style window shutters
open to dry air.

There are always poems you'll never write,
never read,
never know,
the difference is the trodden path
between the ruined stones.

Seeks silently the slithering sheik
Blubbering boldly at Benedict babies
Oiling only bones of old
Drying slowly dilated sloans

What senses arise from beyond the fold?
On the otherside of incidence
What cold wind blows?
Only, I know if only I knew
Otherwise, widely I would pour out through you

I put shrinking rage into a cage
at the bottom of the sea,
gave two bubbles as companions
which made it float like a bee.

Sixty years later after many tides' lap,
my child before me will ask,
"Who is that bird who against your cage taps?
Is it looking to get free?"

Wrinkly old me will twiddle his thumbs
rub his temples for a bit and say,
"From that question, another riddle,
now go run along and play."

Then in the slanted evening light
a jumping will spider hail,
Where I'll slouch down to look at her eyes
as she sits on an oxidized rail.

Towards the sky there are no fences facing
Thanks Bob, great job
I'll keep that in my head for a while

Wait for me, though as I attempt to bash in this ceiling with my thick skull.

Even though you are reading this in English
We really speak in different tongues,
Evidenced by difficulty in reading my words
Sitting next to the ease with which you write
Your own.

While a few close say that all is one
That's a good point, but kind of for fun,
There's a reason why we're separated by infinity
That-which-does-not-exist, fallen from the sun.

Any words you read: like strands of a double helix
Mirror is a good word, still too perfect
So pull my heart out, spit in your hands and rub it
It takes plasma to ignite a star.

At this point the poem has ended,
We all come and go alone.

(I)
Here on top of a windy mountain path,
you will pass by, and if I could, unspeaker
I would give you my coat.

(II)
Here, up so high, where the sky brushes cheeks
cold blades, mountain dew
falls, sprinkles on your shins,
celebrated by the cold refresher,
I will owe you, I will owe you the newest.

(III)**
Luminous danger dragon fly,
addle bright as your might, you've given me nostalgia,
Has it been that long? Wind might not tell you
it takes millions years to fill in that
one
shining
hiney.

With a hop, skip, and a bop
Over the puddles, under the monkey bars
Tam swung for a swing set
And landed to kick ****

With a slip, slide, and a bump
Down landed Timmy, landed quite far
When he turned his head, you'd bet
Timmy was in a slump

sigh*
Ahh, the violinist is finally tired
Here he comes now off the roof
And the sky retires with him
Spinning him as was sooth

South blow the winds
Returning the seeds of plants
While off in distance
Lights are flickering off

The crows have disappeared
Not that you could see them at night
And even the dogs have stopped barking
We've all gone to bed

A baby brook gurgles nearby
Me? I'm by the fire
Watching frozen logs burn
Constructing a funeral pyre

Sometimes we must play the fool
to be kind
to understand

The honest guise of another person
betrays itself
as useless stuff

So we surrender to face the day
to duck and weave
to wake and jest

Just so we may understand
another footprint
another step

Yae, she's difficult,
drags you by your feet, strangles you,
a light between the clouds wouldn't help,
down here in detritus, covered in kelp.

No name, no name can be spoken,
that would capture the terror, the pride and the error,
of a possession bursted, and also of a soft arrow miss'd.

Sweetling, she is difficult,
Charybdis is beyond hunger,
but better to be twisted, wet, and spun,
as long as she sinks your mind til it's hung.

The living day, at sunset,
scatters all the happy creatures.
Suddenly it gets so quiet;
everyone is gone.

How frightening this is at first,
being left without a warning,
while dark descends with a cool,
and nothing minds but silence.

What a somber feeling,
to have walked a changing world,
and then having to stop for nighttime
reflects a deep unease.

She settles down now
And thinks,
"Let's face it, our mugs are pretty big,"
As she takes a sip of her coffee

The bird songs that circulate the street below
Are as impermanent as the flowers
On her window sill

Just by a numbers game, fast
These cries easily outlast empires
And she smiles to herself
As she puts on her coat to leave for work

Appearances swept aside,
a point across a cosmic background.
We are all the same: seeking love, losing pain;
siphons, ideally, in this sense.

On second thought
Should write this poem
Tomorrow morning

A while back I thought of us as flies trapped in sap
Some of us struggling towards the top for a breath
A stray wind freeing some of us finally

I'll probably always be impressed in sap
Honest to god, romantic love brings me back
Down to the bottom where it's dark

I don't mind all that much
Especially hearing the fluxuations in her voice
Why does it **** me? Also: why do I hear?

Everything fades fast as if covered in red velvet
I know the color will bleed soon
But drat, I always forget how pleasant that feels

:-(

I believe in freedom of speech, action, and copyright
But... wait a second...

I am tired now after a quick days repast
Of waking up late and eventually getting to work
I drank
One cup of tea and three liters of water
And ate two sandwiches and twice I ate supper.

It is quite early in the morning now, and I have not allowed myself to put my parts back together after failing, just that daily task of
Not wasting time. But now, I retire.

A couple papers came out more than a week ago,
expressing that certain astronomical phenomena,
black holes in this case,
could be expressed accurately by projecting the universe as a hologram...
By my lay sense, by taking the integral of space and time and looking in from the outside were we finally able to make sense of gravitational muckery.

You can do this with your life too!
Compress it, from end to end,
into one tasty pancake of a thing. Think: your entire life expressed as a beautiful arc of lightning from baby to ybab...
such that you cannot remember all the times you cried without remembering all the times you lived,
all the times you laughed without all the times you gave,
all the times you could not get out of bed without all the times you enjoyed the clouds,
and all the times you felt powerless without all the times you felt real, vibrant, rainbow love.

Ah! To laugh and cry from the heart at the same time, to be devastated by the tranquility of: yes, our lives really are long, filled with the age of time when taken in one read. Let us continue on then, to forget the past and set sail, knowing that our volume is safe.

The great backwoods bear fair
Was right next to the dollar tree,
I went in with a can of peas
And bought a bear for free.
At first I thought "this bear's a blast!"
Until he tore up the carpet,
Now he's in my pantry
And - wait, where's my pet?

Now you're asking me why
The bear is still here
I've been asking him the same
But I don't think he can hears.
In all honesty I don't mind the beast
The best I can do is bear.
I can wait for rest so
We'll count this as a test.

Through winter's pale
and heart's formation
held the glass-eye prism,
which split the light
like morning dew,
handless icicles,
blood withdrew.

Where the poet trees:
vapor, moss
Apparent that age
snow is yet to fall

Geography, she is a Queen,
who's sovereign to Fate,
her jurisdiction facilitates
the bounds on which actors play.

Entanglement, or otherwise,
a soft impression left,
a silly thing to introduce,
a solemn thing to guise.

She is the master of the late,
she rises beneath the sun,
and yet, when all is said, and done,
she propitiates no name.

So whatever, winds the wit
that could match her own,
to take a leave, the actors bow,
and peregrinate home.

Leave the clean up to the professionals,
the conspiracies to the airs.

The dance macabre, music all-strutting a
life-expression,
worn in the ingratiating shimmer
off Time’s surface,
bright as a smile
and decent as a memory.

Like a worn blade
incapable of cutting so much of
what is needed of cloth,
and leaving only ruin
in its wake.
Just so,
matter turns to finer matter,
and of the, well, supposed immaterial,

the
to be not-to-be-so abstract
that-is-a-life,
a worn-to-pieces quilt of
finer thread than dust,
ambivalently contrasting
in the light of:
what is useful,
what is not,
loves me,
loves me not,

Somebody I never knew
already passed by here.
Myself a traveler,
a stranger local,
told me so, my dear.

I long to meet,
and retire at last
into your willing arms,
wherefrom then, my friend,
will we await the end.

But for now,
I travel on, in search of you,
my dear, whose soulful gaze
has drenched my soul
into the continuing days.

the universe is a resting place
for those defeated souls
who dwell in the security
of departing the unknown

Cinnabar
prods the person
to sunlight, trade, and time,
The civiliz’d do celebrate
what made the empire fine.

What schoolchildren adore in school
is what to all is heir,
The knowledge of practicality
made from the bursting bone.

Why do you not speak?
I ask the brush.
Your wild body hangs down.
Here, green arrow leaves,
here, a dead tree, surroundings clear,
and, here, five-pointed wild flowers
that are deep purple.

I dare not speak,
it answers,
for here is all I have,
I am here for no one to listen,
to be haphazard against the din.
When fire breaks out,
I am torched,
When the moonrock shines,
I hum inaudibly.
But by the time you have come and gone,
the delicate dance is right and wrong,
strong you are, like the water,
and I weather like rock,
you sing, you suffer.

Blood in the blue,
a direct proclamation of fate,
guided like an arrow,
an actor, or oneself-
a mere impulse-desire in the velvet ruins of eternity.

Temporally displaced,
The hidden moment of a lifetime’s innocent
desire to become
nothing more
than this, that is here,
a dream working on the edge of town,
an elephants delight,
a signal flare on a dark sea nesting quietly underneath an endless, black sky.

What contract
binds my desire
to righteousness?

Oh, that righteousness must be oblivious to such fiction,
for Love is not calculated,
and no mortal could account its worth
being limited in time.
Therefor, should I languish to attain such love?
Or is even suffering necessary?
Let it be subtracted from life, and then see.

To release the unwholesome,
the unwholesome,
which has a life of its own
and flutters like a nightbird...
It is so limber,
It should exceed my grasp.
Or else, let it be some cloud that casts a shadow on the ground. Who would service thee in such a way?

So simple, to walk to heaven.

By the grace of Neptune, and the humor of heaven,
We are free to carry on erroneously.
To the unsounding ailing, time has no meaning,
And in reality, indeed, presence is fleeting.