My poems are
lost down a shady grove,
They've taken up residence,
In a rainbow room,
Reflections cast on four white walls,
Whispered from this closing tomb,
Singing songs no one knows,
Poems lost in airy ether,
No one knows where they go.

My poems ride the winds,
Cascading down,
Tumbling into oceans
to be buried within,
When no one is looking,
They rise again.
It has been said
in space, no one can hear you scream,
Silence known far to well.

My poems are silence
in a darkened room
banging on consciousness door
to be set free,
Thought bubbles floating
in the breeze,
Set free, finally.

Pop.

My year of Burning Man
began
with butterfly wings
flapping out on the playa
in a high desert black
moonless sky
speeding up the relentless winds
just enough for me
to hear it call my name
and
make this change
where life
becomes a vast array
of
giant machines
Las Vegas style
in this black rock desert.

I have lived among in my days
of sustained isolation
before the people came
to construct this
city of lights
and community
where we all belong
and participate
in this life art project
free from the rules
that restrict us
as the giant sweat lodge
of the desert
alters our consciousness
frees us.

In my year of Burning Man
the relentless winds
blows the mundane into the insane
and
before entering that last gate
I kiss myself goodbye
knowing
I'll never see myself again.

My  time
becomes an art project
and the very nature of reality
heaves and sighs
like Pyramid Lake,
the spiritual center of the Paiute people,
which you pass on by
on your way to Burning Man skies,
my internal waters
turn over,
as does the Lake
as the top goes to the bottom
the bottom to the top
and the creative residue
which had drifted
on down
begins to arise anew.

In my year of the Burning Man
I never have to go to the circus
the circus is me
a universe inside
a universe tall
a universe wide
at Burning Man
nothing is small.

The costumes come alive
behind thousands of eyes
the lights in the desert come alive
while the thumping bass
shakes
rattles you inside.

It's a masked costume party
where the masks don't hide
but reveal all that you are inside,
inside out.

My revolution comes
in a tanker truck
of gasoline
on a Saturday summer-fall
night
and my flames
climb
a thousand feet high
into
the Black Rock
desert sky
in unity
one cosmic cry.

The dust's breath
sticks to everything,
every one
every masked body.

In my days
in my Burning Man year
my eyes are now
perpetually wide and amazed
within this vastness
that for this moment
and all my days
from my birth
to my death
that
I have been alive.

My night time self
hates
my morning self
it's clear as night and day
they never did get along.

My night time self
stays up too late
never sleeps
always thinking
drinking, plotting, planning,
worrying about morning self's mistakes
smoking a thousand cigarettes
one **** over the line
eating chocolate bars
at one a.m.

While my morning self
an early riser
is the one
that has to get up
go to work
always corrects
and
lectures
dedicated to maintaining the structure.

My night time self
only thinks about himself
uses
the last piece of wood
won't bother setting up
the coffee maker
he's so cruel
stares into t.v. space
muttering about love's
he's never had.

While my morning face
has to face
the clutter of night time
disgrace
bottles,
lights blasting
computers running
another ***** movie going
hello poetry splattered on the walls
and another alcohol poisoned
Jersey blonde
stretched out across
the bathroom floor
while morning self
has to shave
and doesn't know her name.

Night time self
finally sleeps
god rest his soul
about the time
morning self
from his dreams
has to rise
rudely awakened by talk radio.
Morning self has to go out and play
the straightened out games
while the residue
of night time insanity
lingers,
a film
covering morning self's
pretense at sanity.
Responsible
ethical
moral
always has to pay the bills
for you know who.

I once tried to get them together
a meeting of these two
but it quickly dissolved
into
a
shouting match
across the twilight dew
never could get them together
they were as different
as
me and me
and
you and you.

Fire
fire
in the sky
burned so bright
burned so high
how was I to know
it was the end of time.

Meteor predicted on
its way
flashed incandescent
as it made its way,
shattering into a
million fragments
atmosphere burning
fires starting
nuclear winter
envious of its
power.

A lone figure
on a hill
never knew
such loneliness
as this,
took your hand
and
one last kiss.

The meteor bright
brought the end of time
rendering all of our
fears, petty jealousies
brutalities and stress
our issues
our loves
irrelevant.

If I had known this
before
freedom wouldn't
have been that painted
she-male *****
seductively calling
to me for more -
but could have been
a moment before
that meteor made
its call.

The fires have melted
the stars have
been renewed
the planet continues
its spinning around
the sun
the deepest ocean fishes
continue evolution's marching orders
while a cell phone alarm
flips on
and
the icon shows "no signal"
while beneath
the rubble a
malfunctioning relay
finally finds
that call made
hours ago
and the phone
rings and rings
beneath the
ashen snow
until the last
silence
no one is home.

Mother Earth
finally restored
to
its
silence
once again.

She comes to me
bleeding inside
from a thousand
individual scars
with pleading eyes
self contained
She speaks in gentle
refrains

"I don't know where
I'm going
I don't know who
I've become
I go through the motions
deaf, blind and dumb
I dance on cue
I stand in line
I've tried to be so
good.
I've left behind the darkness
I've forgiven the past
I'm far too aware of time
It doesn't matter really I don't mind
I wish I could tell
you what I find

The struggle between
my internal world
condemnation
irritability
judgement
fears
heartaches there, vile rages, petty hatreds
*** dancing on the head of a
pin
exquisite laughter
it's all there.

While my behavior is quite the
opposite
accommodating, loving, compassionate
flirtatious, curious
connection is my goal

When I'm alone I'm lonely
when together suffocated
the best distance is
from here to there

I wish I could tell
you that I mind

The storms still
come and go
luck rides the
tides
each day the
sunrise

This human stuff
is all too real
it creeps up on you
so you don't know
how you feel

Which is why I've
come to you to
speak my mind
they say you are the
complaint department
the garbage collector

I'm bleeding inside
from a thousand scars
that's not to say I really mind."

They say the healer
must heal themselves
so of course I ask
"How can I help you?"

Old age
It comes on like a
Typhoon
Hurricane
Ice Storm
Tsunami
War
A natural disaster.

Stumbling
Bumbling
Down on your knees
there Buddy
Humbling.

When I was 12 years old
One Round World
A photo
Elderly folks standing around a Piano
"And they used to call it rocknroll"

Way way far away
here we are now
encased in
memories and mortality.

Her hair is blowing
in the high desert
winds
She's gotta
1942 Big Chief engine
between her knees
bequeathed
by her great granddaddy
She's heading up
395
Sierra bound.

She'll tell ya
she's had enough
straight time
driving her far from crazy

Pacing
playing losing aces
pulling her hair
she knew she
just
had to get out of there.

Now the great Mojave
has its expanse
Joshua Trees
they just had to laugh
as she rode by

China Lake
flashing
21st Century
weaponry

Passing through Independence
she's feeling free now

Now I can't say
running away
is
the way

But when your hair
is blowing in the winds
You gotta Big Chief motorcycle
between your legs
and
the ******* aren't stopping
what else can you
say?

Heading to the Sierra
gotta get the mountain view
high above it all
slump those shoulders down
breathe on through

Heading up Big Pine
smelling the Jeffrey Pines
Bishop too
ancient Mono Lake
when it ain't snowing
freedom reigns

Her hair blowing
in the mountain winds
didn't mean anybody
any harm
just had to get
out of there
alive

Bye bye
baby
take care.

How this could have
happened I will
never hear again
but it happened
all the same
exactly this way.

I was walking in
Prairie Creek
surrounded by my
soon to become silent
companions
when I noticed
events so
strange.

I dug my feet
into the dirt
they soon dissolved
and roots were
sprung
a nervous system extending into
the soil, oh the sounds the
smells I felt.

Where my skin once was
bark began to emerge
my fingers became tiny
clones of myself
each speaking different
tongues I could not comprehend
I made out these
words "our time has begun. "

I became a Buddha
on the road
a three quarter
smile on my lips
as my body grew
towards the sun
a thousand years
was now mine
and to it I did
succumb.

I watched the
generations pass
Christs come and
go and come again.
It all meant nothing
to me at all
as long as I have
this fog that nourishes
me and creatures living
in the canopy.

I stand at peace
for centuries
a thousand years
and still my life
is a five minute
dream filled with all
possible intensity
and former attachments
as the impermanence
of the illusion of
time was plain
to see
as human lives whirlwinds of
experience
dust devils
blew by me.

Lightening and fires burned me
but I survived.

Now that I stand in
this silence
lost in the meditation
of dreams
a solitary tree
the last standing
a brand new species
born of evolutions breeding
runs on the ground
dancing on my grave

I remember that
first day
the beginning of my
thousand year awakenings
I think it was only
yesterday.

On the stage
under the lights
in front of the auditorium seats
a
Sneering, jeering, laughing
audience at
one on the stage
The spinning shimmering
hologram
of
all my fears
reluctance
guard rails
concrete barriers
perpetrators
and
victims too
rememberings
and
anticipation
stood

Connected to me
by
a long tether
And
along that tether
my
power flowed
away from me

Into the performing
Mannequin
on
that stage.
Who was the puppet master?

In a moment of freedom
or was it just pique
with my golden scissors
the
tether was
cut.

The shimmering stood
for a moment on stage
the crowd became silent
and
looked away.

In my moment
of release
I wished it well
compassion and peace
and
I was finally free.

The air gets thicker
as my room gets darker
I can barely see my
name
my identity fades
as I evolve and change
until I become unrecognizable
even to myself.

We think we are
what we always will
be
time in the midst
stands still,
the illusions we weave
can only deceive
until the truth
is told to set us free.

In this life
everything we believe
we know is a dream
the power of ego
deceives us into thinking
we have more to win
or lose.

We puff up like
parrots
reciting our lines
of
sorrows or joys
in hopes to find
one moment of truth
but it's only for this
brief time.

I kick the rock
I lay with you
to remind me
in
this warm embrace of
your sweet arms
I finally
remember
I'm really real.

There is a constant mystery
which beckons me.

We go about our time
in
clickety clakity clarity
routine
clockwork puppets
marching in time
to
bad relationships
toxic jobs
frozen states of mind
wed to routine
married to the grind.

When a mild minor
barely alive flickering
a little flame
smaller than a bic lighter
ignites
and
the straight and narrow
develops
not just a *** hole or sinkhole
but
a geyser that shoots you out.

The next moment
you're taking your clothes out of the closet
walking out of an office with the meeting waiting
getting on a plane
lining up for a train
hopping in the car
Sayonara.

Revolution is in the air
the program has changed
you sit in that rocking chair
the last piece of furniture
in
an ending chapter
and
realizing
the previous moments of life
the identity of who you once were
is
dead and gone
all that had defined you is done.

This is the mystery
which speaks to me
in
deaths and resurrection
rebirth
what begins as a decision
becomes the riding
of
a wave
crashing
thrashing
heading for the sand
heading for the light
will I be all right
praying to Jesus
wondering
where you'll emerge
as melancholy
longing
displacement
excitement too
reigns
and
the change
the revolution concludes
and
you become
a
new form of you.

Momma Momma
Don't let me down
I'm on a road to nowhere
But I'll be back around

Tell your friends
Tell your sister
Your hooked up again with another twister

Momma momma don't let me down
I'm trying so hard
My feet never touch the ground

I'll meet you over at Elk Head
Where the ocean meets the rocks
We'll just watch
The shooting water's
fire works

One on one.

It's a sticky situation
when your lover is
in flames.

Hold on tight
to whatever it is you mean,
You are going to
take a ride
around your beliefs,
find out what is true.

Beware if that spark
touches you,
You're going
to dance on fire
too.

Resentment and bitterness
is the poison drank
in hopes the other will perish.

Forgiveness is a moment of
peaceful release
not forgetting
or unknowing
but a shifting
in mind
and emotions
a switch on
a switch off
a deep sigh of acceptance
A moving on.

But what does it really mean
and how to get there
from here?

Resentment
Bitterness
Hurtfulness
Forgiveness
How to get from here
to there?

These questions plague
my day
Dance through my night.

In a moment of light
I wonder
if self forgiveness
makes it all right
I realize then
I have no magic sentence
to make it all okay.

This unfathomable
human moment
perhaps there are no words to say.

But
Being loving
is that the answer?
Kindness
is that the cure?
Self-acceptance
comes in waves
peace in moments found.
Perhaps
in these emotions
forgiveness comes around.

When I get
there from here
I will tell you
what I found.

Meanwhile
Lightning and thunder
color the horizon
and flash towards the ground...

Don't hold up
any mirrors
don't say a word
We are going to take a ride
to the ****** centers
of the mind
where
every neuron
sparks lighting of desire
and
in this breathing silence
there are no lies.

No please and thank you
no apologies are necessary
no one ever said abandonment
should be polite.

So let's make this silent vow
to keep this sacred circle
even in the harsh sunlight
of our cluttered houses
and in our cluttered little lives.

There is always reluctance
an airy breeze
in the hot room
stinging
whispering
"no no no".

It comes with change
it comes with
beginnings and endings
reluctance comes no matter what
in frozen dread
in anticipation read,
how far is it
from here to there
and to where
and to whom
do we go?

Reluctance in fear
seems to know
what you are most afraid of
but no matter so,
put on your dancing shoes
pull out
your roller skates
too.

Time's a storm
that's blowing through
though your sails
maybe tattered
it doesn't matter
it's moving you.

Reluctance
certainly has its say
in an impotent kind of way.
Choices made
not made
While we all grow a little bit older
grow a little bit wiser
each and every day,
Reluctance
is
going to grab you
make you see its way.

There was grandma
waiting
Sending me
All the way back.

It's snowing covid
We've all had to take shelter from the storm.

We're wearing gloves & masks
As if it were freezing cold
We can see everyone's breath
Friends lovers strangers
Our own
carrying death.

Dangerous to go to the store
Apocalyptic vibes

We're like magnets staying polar opposites
pinballing around the room
To avoid each other

Total intimacy
Total isolation
Perfect relationships for the 21st Century
Everything's slowed down
Tahoe blue skies
Carbon ****** away
Coyotes running through the streets
The whole planet on furlough
Creative projects
Free at last
The agoraphobics *******
Rich in time
Poor in money
We're reminded once again
Nature bats last.

Ever since it started snowing covid.

Where we're going from here,
We don't know
Wishful thinking
Careful planning
It's all in the cellular snow
And it just keeps on snowing
its been said before
The one thing we do know
There's a bad moon on the rise
But
The seasons come and go
Wars they come and go
And the snow eventually blows away with the winds.

a poet's words
a painter's eyes
a visionaries mind
a river dry
a rainless sky

Pairs without salvation
are the gamblers despair

a lover when she loses
her desire
is
darkness beyond repair...

She sits in the
claustrophobic room
of her mind
dust ribbons blow
in the pale light
of
waxed candles
burning Jasmine
and
reminds her of the passing of time.

It is not long
before
she finds the hidden bottle
on the dusty cobwebbed shelf
with all of those desires
banging against the opaque glass
begging to be freed again
to run their course
of course she is afraid
as her trembling fingers
circle the cap
too late.

One touch
and
all those desires put aside
are free to roam
and fill the room
with
their moans
and
take control of what once was the freedom
that only lived in her mind's eye
she descends into her personal
heaven and hell
a pleasure center
alien to all she's been sold.

Dressed in black
in the casino
she puts it all on red.

She finds you there
she leads you out
to
the moon lite bay
where she steals your voice
and
leaves you
the wolf
howling at the moon.

When desires are freed
they pick up speed
she is, of course,
filled with remorse
so alien from her former course.

As her longings devour her
a tiny light of hope remains
and for the day
into the bottle tightly capped
her desires,  put away
once again remain.

She walks out of that
claustrophobic room
the candles burned down
only Jasmine smoke remains
the lingering scent of the bay
the echo of a wolf howling at the moon
lingers in colors of red and black

And to her husband
she briefly smiles
and
says
"Good morning"
once again
and
decides whether to go or stay.

I began as a spot
of mud
flipping off a comets
rushing tail
frozen in ice
I survived the fall
a few moments of
organic molecules
landing on one
vast continent
integrated
into a minuscule
whole
I became alive
alive for this time
and
all time.

But

There were forces
moving inside of
me
call it what you will
continental drift
tectonic plates
powerful forces
which fragment me
over time.

I come together
I divide
but the cycles
don't stop there
like our love
as all these
parts and particles
slam back together
in a single mind.

Pangaea!  I once
called you home
it was the only place to be
I knew who
and what I
was
but I have become
divided and split
even my dreams are
fragments of scattered
lands.
My center can not
hold for long
as competing desires
beg to be known.

As eternity picks
me up and sends
me on my way
as I scatter back
to those solar
winds
disintegrate to
a spot of DNA
whisked off this
planet
and arrive on
the back of a
sailing comet
frozen for eons
long
to once again
through happenstance
fall
onto a foreign
planet -
home again to
my private
Pangaea
unity
begins the
cycle
all over
again.

Like a fish out of water
I'm gasping for breath
My heart is a shaking
Like there's a 300 pound ***** dancing on my chest
My hands are a dripping rivers of sweat
My legs are all whobbley
Like walking on drift wood
My stomach is a churning & turning
Like Mr. Toad's wild ride
My thoughts are of failure
And death.

I'd better pull on over
This car isn't driving itself
My hand lets go of the steering wheel my hand's on the door ****
My head is still pounding
rivets of red
I'm heading back to bed
I guess I'm not going out today
again.

Question
Are we there yet?
Answer
We're always there.
Silence.

"Peace!"
Cried,
The diversity of humanity
to
Their true
gods.

Perpetual generations
Perpetual retaliation

The walking wounded
Wounded walk

Inflicting wounds
Through words
And
Sparks

Break the cycle
When
You
Can

Healing glimpses
Nature's land
Sorrow filled
&
Sorrowful

Forgiveness
Not forgetting
A comforting
Daily blanket
For the
Wounded soul
Whose
Commitment
Is
To
No more
Wounds to go.

Had hit five hundred pounds
my wife and I
living in our tiny bunker of concrete
waiting for the food truck to deliver to our door.

The outside world had a startling hum
of trillions of insects which were
******* up all the air
we knew it was just a matter of time.
Darkness often descended
and all we knew was our hot breath
breathing on each other
in the tight small space
breathing each other's moist air.

The bunker was heating up
hotter and hotter
which meant the fans
were clogging up
with the bodies
of the insects
and
in my horror it meant
I would have to go
outside
to clear the vent.
Outside Outside
I had not been
For I can't remember when.

The encased cave to the ladder
the walls closing in
while insects smacked their bodies
against the sides
trying to get inside.
I crawled with suffocating breath
Mice rats bats
Sewage dripping
as the walls tightened
around me.

Finally a tiny light lead the way from the cave
to the ladder
which would take me up
to the top
where the vent was clogged.

I climbed that ladder up up up
choking and gagging and spitting out wings
Spiders crawling
On my skin
And my nostrils in
looking down
falling down in my mind
with each and every step
and having to stick my hand
inside
the squished and smashed remains
to find
the screen which  kept them out
and us inside.

I wasn't sure how I would survive.
Finally my task was achieved
and down the rickety shaking ladder
I went back through the cave
to our tiny shelter
and as I went inside
my wife
in her excitment knocked us over.

We lay rocking on our backs
like two turtles
unable to get up.

And there we lay
total helplessness
in our last days.

One thing
on my mind
Our midnight
kiss
Perfect bliss.

Poetry is too long too short too harsh
too real to ******* believe
when you're down on your knees begging for forgiveness for everything you feel.

poetry is too hot too cold too bold to fold.
too real to really feel
unless your heart is breaking.

poetry explodes your soul creates heat creates cold. drives the trembling soul right through that ******* hole.

poetry is all I know.

Of all the places
she sought to hide
She only found one
safe place inside
in dancing images
where the poetry
resides.

Nature's code
No rosetta stone.

The blind men
The elephant.

In the mirror
I see your face,
you standing there,
depending on the lighting,
the mood of the day,
Aspects
I'm sure,
But knowing you?

While macro systems
control the tides
We're like sea grass growing
from the rocks
bombarded by the
waves
automatically
springing back up

There's probably
a pathway back
to when the meek
inherited the earth
and
bequeathed it

If we can ever figure it out again.

From darkness to darkness
it's a purple puzzle
mystery

All we're left with is,
Goodnight
Sweet dreams
Sleep tight.

You'll have to talk to the poet,
He's not around
Right now.

I don't write'em

I just edit'em
(I'm no good at spelling
Don't know much about grammar
Sonnets
or
Iambic pentameter,
his moods,
his states of mind
what it is he's trying to define
or
find.
Not sayin' that ignorance is a good thing )

I just post'em
and
let'em go.

The poet?
You'll have to talk to him
and he's not around
right now.

Poets
write words
meant
to be spoken
to
one's self.

Our love it
comes and goes

Rich and poor
I pour my
love into these lines
But our silence
Knows no bounds

Poor and rich
I seek the lines
to describe
the love
I feel inside

Rich and poor
I walk this beach
alone
The days they run together
The shore line is empty
Squall lines long
heading my way
Rich and poor
in these words
I have to say

These rhymes
they sound
so
empty
now

Poor and rich
as we are
you come
into my arms
for these moments
all wealth is
found

Rich and poor
you head
on out
and are
gone.

I was invited,
She was dressed in red,
A long sleeve blouse
to hide
the upper arm gills,
Cuts inflicted with
perfect knife skills,
Invited by the friend
of a friend's friend,
That never slowed her down.

She appeared before me,
Inviting me to her bed,
When I said, "Hello"
She was wounded and insulted
and told me to go.
When I started to leave,
She lay on the bed,
Threatening suicide
if I left.

She held me in high esteem
or so she said,
When I came forward
she told me to "drop dead. "

It's a black and white world
in her head
with no hues or colors
but dripping dread
it's what happens
with trauma's invalidation,
No boundaries, no barriers
rip tides running
takes her under.

Everything changes in a
moment
from tears to rage
and back again.

"I'm warning you," she said.
A gut check,
I thought I was up
to the task,
When she was silent,
I just had to ask,
"Is there anything I
can do to help? "

She jumped out the window
made a mad dash.

I sat on the curb
to consider my fate
smoke my last cigarette
she had taken my pack.
I fell into my shoes,
Staring,
Waiting for one of them
to move.

"I love you sweetheart" she said,
"You'd better go,
I love you sweetheart
don't go away.

I love you sweetheart
stay here - no not
there
over here. "

A dancing puppet,
I learned to love her truly.
I made the moves,
Learned acceptance, too.

Then she saw you.

I returned from the borderline
a little less smug
not so refined,
Now late at night
when anxiety has passed,
She comes into my mind,
I toss and turn
fall off the bed,
I don't know if she's
alive or dead
in
heaven or hell,
A test for all those
who think they know love.

If you fail, you pass,
If you pass you fail.

Beware of uninvited guests
dressed in red.

If your
expectations
are
in line with reality
no rejection.

Create
the art
of
your vision.
Another's job
is critic.

In
the spaces
between
words
is
the promise
of
bliss.

Cast my line
Each time
into the unknown
with
hope.

The
Intensity
Of our grief
Equals
Our capacity to love.

Internet
Text
Promises
of
total intimacy
and
total isolation
simultaneously.

Poetry starts
with melancholy
We are all
a
"little" depressed.