Brief love is greater than none
Tiny truths, more than some
Sunrises they are, reasons to wake
Keep fresh in mind, for soul's sake

Maps have regions that can't be seen
Pegs that fit, never intend to be
Betray not truth and love known
These are gifts, these your own

early nightfall in the canyon
a bat's balletic swoop
complements the alpine tribu-
tary, it's gentle loop

hi! I see you ursa major
you too are part of this--
the lull, the beat, the spell, the sleep
now with a goodnight kiss

happening upon
a sacred sandstone scene
not seen coming
not intended
now illuminated
through blindness of modernity
mother nature's sweat lodge
floating and fleeting
soaring to sourcing
consciously sharp to the present
each sweatdrop, each heartbeat,
each wisdom
there are one, then two
then ten thousand
not passingly noticed
but known intimately
petroglyphs etched into
mind body soul

Three visible stars
Glass of tempranillo
The final pages of
For Whom the Bell Tolls
Clear calm skies
Breaths settle senses
Like calm leaves after wind
Quiet spreads through trees
And the house
Returning to roots, foundations
Sharers of the evening moon
Heaven and earth - drowsing
The dormant volcanoes
We are, occasionally able
To release hints
Of the indescribable thing

My father
Climbed mountains
Most of his life
And he could not hide
His impatience
At my youths
lack of stamina
Strength
Resolve
Determination
And now I climb mountains
Though they
Are not technical
Mountaineering feats
Like he conquered
I do climb them
Still
And my father struggles
To keep up
With his failing body
With his failing mind
And returning
From such a trip
I realized
I've been
Rather impatient about it

in the days that open Spring
bestoyed to its residents
    newfound dreams
and ridding of arctic air
   that ruled the wind
reminding winter to rescind
this moment in time
    decisions, it seems
are made by the meek
   turned rulers and kings
as the earth and moon must know
to grant a few days to gentle souls -who-
like the newborn cubs and flowers
have some sort of understanding
    with heaven's powers

A famous poet
A master
Of thirty (or more) years
Of teaching poetry
    (taught by Ginsberg I've been told)
Left a voicemail...a generous offer...to read my poetry
To give me instruction
At a downtown coffee shop
For fifty dollars an hour

Fifty dollars an hour?
Shouldn't he have an office?
Well, it's as close to a 1920s parisian dive around Boulder as one could find
I used to hang out there
And write before work

Eh
Perhaps it's not as weird as I think it is
Perhaps I can ascertain a love for language that couldn't be achieved outside of reading my Blake, Whitman, Hemingway, Lawrence, Dickerson...

He will read my poetry
And guide me towards accessibility, honesty, vulnerability, courage
I will be relatable (for once)
With beautiful imagery
That will open
    universes

I am suppose to text him back

Is this what I want?

What I want...thats something folks closest to me dare not ask

What has what I want have to do with anything in my life?

What I want, what I want, what I want

I want my voice to come forth effortlessly from my adventurous life, my song to echo expansive landscapes and treks, to learn intimate knowledge of plants and rocks, and laugh with the beautiful people that inhabit such places

I know tonight
Nothing matters
Until
I set an opportunistic sail to this change in the wind

I have already ventured deep into this life, I've not gone gently into the night, so why start now?

The time to shove off is soon

Like Whitman said...
"AFOOT and light-hearted, I take to the open road...
The long brown path before me, leading wherever I choose"

Hell ya, brother Walt

if un-packed
i'm a hack
way on back
of the pack
and my yak
yak yak yak
lost the knack
off a rack
my kettle's black
pure hipo-crack

but, I do know
i'm here to grow
still starting slow
with highs and lows
but I won't glow
till I forgo
this eating crow
on death's plateau
with status quo
so here i go

In the shallows, lie shallow words
The hint of substance found
Remark of minute, cheap and safe
A trivial, temporal sound

Lone whispered tales who dared into
Dangerous seas beneath
Souls and hearts tapped by the allure
Of what’s beyond the reef

Meaning resides in deeper seas
Where there is more at stake
And to ignore it is praised by
Most lack courage to take

the choice must be made, early on
to break from ****** caste
resign or conform to the herd
imitators en masse

to differ from this path of sheep
avoid more traveled by
for without curiosity
feebly disqualify

in these shallows, lie shallow words
with hint of substance found
remarks of minute, shielded songs
trivial, temporal sounds

lone whispered tales who dared into
dangerous distant seas
souls and hearts tapped by the allure
of what’s beyond the reef

meaning resides in deeper seas
where there is more at stake
and to ignore is praised by most
lacking courage to take

ideas are worth discussing
for those toward meaning go
first color sunrise worth noting
for takers of breaths slow

ignorance is not kiss of bliss
interest charts a new course
sanctioned preceded expansion
infinity’s deep heart

diatribes of desperation
too wonderful for Job
standing on shoulders of giants
visibility ‘n hope

from a shaded view use reason
capacities collide
intelligence, intuition
clear out views of this side

confidence is not inflection
the deep hold a bit more
eyes would rather dart through rooms than
admit what’s in the drawer

follow ideas all the way
carry them to the brink
devote it all to the open
where air is clean to think

the song’s sustenance can increase
beyond a passage bend
if the spark looms advantageous
then chase it to the end

provide occasions to evoke
the theories tracked in snow
uncertain lies the pendulum
of which direction goes

the first foggy ports of entry
where these journeys commence
encompass only distant lights
and often awful tests

allow the stronger light to blind
and bounce it off the halls
sounding boards of experience
ancient or modern calls –

calls leviathan, nebula
noble time unwasted
mysteries must be lost to gain
temporary o’ sacred

a dim reflection skips a beat
complete with foreign tune
matter not wholly familiar
where voice and image loom

inside - or outside - looking in
peering at copy dark
impressing shadow silhouettes
awake only in part

potentials are adorned within
the self-inflicted chains
honest laughs never lean
where unseen depths remain

elude the rank and file marching
van gogh’s for a dollar
valued only after its lost,
tapped or gandered through fire

compassion is never compare
one loves and one condones
one can conjure beings and tribes
the other's shoes, always their own

but fires do not completely fade
for those who stand in awe
love and shadows sincerely make
partial beauty withdraws

beauty comes suddenly, cleanly
when the thing comes at all
for unpursued and dimly lit
zipping boundless or small

evasive through the chattel herd
beyond the unexplored
echoing all senses at once
recognized or ignored

its grandeur through stories to heirs
that echo manifests
its rhythm, bearing, and function
wise to youth, wise near death

beauty's power, intangible
a high altitude veil
unspoken in its reflection
unseen with notice fail

intend on custom prison break
drop union from revel
no suffering o' comparison
the truth now the level

so pass shallows for deeper seas
with curious woken heads
and cast off cares of aversion
for soul’s empathy instead

early on the dock
the shipping dock

peaks peaking out atop
flatirons and boulders
still holding snowpack

some captains awake in their cabins
others guide their crafts to port
arrivals from madison, aurora, santa fe
hulls of soybeans, corrugate, and lotion

on the dock
reading efficiency and transit reports

quick greetings to the captains
then talk of black coffee
of nicaraguan beaches
of all that is easily accessed
by the regulated echoes
written on each soul

while small sparrows investigate
mullein and hawthorn
in tall yellowing grasses
and towering windswept clouds
move silently
across a dark exploding
dawn’s expanse
revealing the intentions
for the day
and all
start a new rotation together

Friday is an ocean wave
Its break, escapeful way
Of losing ego's footing
To a fragile bracelet weave

Week's aspirations - crash! on rocks
Return to the cadence
With anxiety of the grave
Lost, to the immensity!

quiet dormant sleeping lion
a great story, in us all
ferocity caved copper chains
unshared passion, safe and small

break a father's glass ceilings down
operate in truer laws
let not society cage t' beast
conjure up your wild claws

Sitting on a rock
Which is providing
Unexpected comfort
    (Fitting)
I recall the time I ignored
Your dissertation...
I would regret the adventurous path -
Practicality is advised -
One should consider all -
Every life choice with great care
    More filled than less
So, with a slow inhale
Of immensity
    Of smiling, of laughter
Let me tell you
That I would do it again

Sunrise explosion!
Sneaking up on no one
But the unawake
    At life, at the day
But to the awake...BANG!
And the planet we are on in all
    its Enormity
    and prism power - atmosphere
Separates the radioactive
    explosion
That is traveling
299,792,458 miles per second
From 93 million miles away
    (a whole 8 minute journey)
From a hot body
With a 432,288 mile radius
of glowing
    exploding gas
That, upon reaching us
Is recklessly
    Smashed
Into all potential tertiary shades
Of cerulean and sapphire
Of marigold and sandstone
Of shades beyond identifiers
    (we all experience them
    differently anyhow)
And for these opening moments
    of the day
All masterpiece paintings
    appear as preschool throwaways
And as quickly as the calm chaos enters
It stage exits
    On account
        Of the 432k mile monstrosity
            That will blind
                Any
                    Who dared look at it

Good morning.

I have yet
to write
a single
poem

certainly I can
rhyme and meter
compose a verse
haiku
limerick
and build cadence
yet
it’s
withheld
refrained
restrained
it does not allow nor admit
in fact
it’s fraudulent
a paean sin of omission
omitting truth
vulnerability and
humanity!
why not weep of wide
open
limpid lucidity?
why not the magic of
heartfelt disclosure?
each ****** feature fearlessly
presented with palpable pretensionless
petals that the sun skips
over skin through
sky of algid air as
each lung
animates
all admissions
tumbling down
in the merriment
that transports
grace
eternal, primal
screams
ancient
songs
that release grudges
from muscles
the mysterious immersed magnificence that
confronts a chartreuse day as an
unimaginable
gift
through the lens of immediate
freedom
with burdens and cares
falling away to
a purely peaceful
poise
not a song, sonnet nor
a single sentence
rather the grasping of
a fresh infusing of
divine pleasure

A day full
Of passing fads
And great lies
Time, space, boredom
Pain, worry, sorrow
Now deep Bordeaux with body
And a body full of ecstasy
Reading Hemingways short stories
And Poetry by masters
And strong breezes
Hold no unsettling power over me tonight
I contain multitudes
I go to far destinations
I follow rabbit trails
    To their inexhaustible ends
I dissolve here now
A peaceful allow to joy
Hold this not against me
I give in completely

Sipping mixed vermouth
Light meditation
    on love and truth
Conjuring lines of ancestral breaths
Wondering which crossed similar tests
My grandfathers
    who labored the same
My brave grandmothers
    conquered no fame
Whisper now
    'cross space-time's gap
It's the one we share
    reach over, tap
You must live quiet, in my heart
If just a small bit, a tiny part
Your blood goes on, in my veins
Beats remain, while others refrain
You're a buried memory
    a forgotten voice
I'll listen to you now
    if I had the choice

I need to backpack again
not to get away
but to go in
immersion!
into the elements
like sliding gently into a hot spring pool
I will go!
going in – deeply
to sightline’s ample expanse
where I am NOT a small fish
but a star, in my corner of the darkness
a sun – that builds with one’s willingness to see it’s place in the universe
a light that blankets itself across the breathing canvas
that is perceived and conceived
more than in different months and minds
but as an elevated mirage

I need to backpack again
beyond accessible peaks and valleys of the rockies
to shared trails rarely travel during winter seasons
only inhabited by a few birds and critters
and mountaineers preparing for their
“conquering of the seven summits”
I would gladly join either group, if invitations were sent
but would also be quite content now
to leave the earbuds in my pocket
to feel, to hear the prickling of the chilled alpine winds
through fibers in my wool beanie
even as I traverse slowly over rock, ice and snow

I need to backpack again
to scope out shades that would present themselves, and say hello
to reflect in all thy reflection
to breathe slower – and slower – and slower
breathing out toxins and anxieties
inadvertently allowed to enter my humdrum, my rhythm
effecting and infecting even my organs
the fresh altitude air now needs unfettered access to my lungs
and the snow-capped cloudless afternoons
give permission to much desired snow-blindness
coffee and tea take on new meaning as well
and each sentence of a sand county almanac can be read
and my muscles will gain power, endurance, fortitude
and thoughts of loved ones will fondly skew themselves
and I will be neither king nor extra
but a small dragon – with limitations and capacities equally known
emotion and temperament need not invent themselves here
not from the electron exchange within, but arriving from the west
I can see it all, I start to desire it all
from the front door of my office
it’s calling now, and I need to go

I need to backpack again
not to get away
but to go in – deeply
to sightline’s ample expanse
that builds with one’s willingness to look
in light that blankets itself across the breathing canvas
that differs in concept and perception
more than in different months and minds
but as an elevated mirage
these inaccessible peaks and valleys of the rockies
have trails few travel this time of year
at altitudes that invite only a few birds and critters
and serious mountaineers making their preparations for their
“conquering of the seven summits”
I would gladly join either group, if there are openings
but would also be quite content with
my earbuds in my pocket
the chilled alpine winds through my wool beanie
trekking slowly over rock, ice and snow

I need to backpack again
to see the shades that would present themselves
to reflect in all reflection
to breathe slower
breathing out toxins and anxieties
that have been allowed to enter my humdrum, my rhythm
effecting and infecting my organs
to allow my lungs unfettered access
to all the fresh altitude it would like
to blind my eyes on the snow-capped cloudless afternoons
where tea and coffee are most pleasant
where a sand county almanac can be read
where my muscles gain power, endurance, fortitude
where thoughts of loved ones fondly skew themselves
where I am neither king nor extra
but a small dragon – limitations and capacities equally known
where emotion and temperament need not invent themselves
in the electron exchange within, but arriving from the west
I can see it all, I start to desire it all
from the front door of my office
it’s calling now, I need to go

you must have a mind of grace
to wildflowers in winter see
touch softly and kiss these
not waves, but small tastes
not dreams in empty mass
but humbling feats
unexpected, sudden sweet
apparitions by rocky pass

When eyes can't look to you to answer
The subpar common english greeting
    "How's it going"
And the only uttered response is
    "Peachy Keen"
With that wavering inflection
    the "eeeeen" continuing
        an unnatural length of time
What they are really saying
Is that they are fighting a terrific battle
A struggle-filled battle
Caused by
    their own neglect to admit failure
    not wanting to acknowledge
        a life turning out...not how their eight year...or seventeen year old optimism expected
And the untold spaces between their quick high octane
    awe-inspiring
        and beauty-filled social media posts
Live longer bouts of dejected dis-coloration

And none of it is real
And the collapse of this dis-ingenuity may have been fueled
By terrific loss
But it's impending collapse
    (if they survive)
May just awaken the truth-soul itself
To finally come out and say "hello"

A kid told me
The only way to really share something
Is to "share a picture of it
With a poem
And a detailed description
Then talk about it for while"

And I admit
He's pretty much right
But even then
Do we ever really
Get to completely share
Everything of Anything at all?

That does not mean we're alone
Just that
    (Like anything)
When there is something shared
On a deep level
    (aka least fraudulent level)
We should not take it
Lightly

So I'm asking
How excited
About the sky
Do you get?

quiet desperation has landed
loudly upon my face

youth-fueled dreams faded
promises now weighted
down
to aching
inside my rib cage
to my stomach pit
for someoneness
for somewhereness
for
me

immobilized and
frighteningly uninspired
standing on the edge
of great love
or the collapse of the coward
relief drives a hard bargain

Two hundred foot shadows, I cast with ease
While steam dances away from porched coffee
With blinding light, I recall last night
    <grin>
Morning's inhale, quiet peace

let us travel beyond
the lacking narrative
in our upcoming
eulogies

forced phrases
hostile headlines
useless euphemisms
knotted nonsenses

deficient and lacking
squeezing
complicated lives
into poems

rather
the old echo
still beats in our hearts
the preexisting condition
of the soul
invisible truths
clearly seen
prose...handing us the
hall pass to
doors
not entered
in awhile

now
with our deepest
and most satisfying
breath
lets be
quiet together
the ancients have
tried to pass
down
this
we are no-age
man in
no-age
land
the wind of
our soul
speaks
there is only
good between
us in the
cool air of this
evening
putting aside weights
casting off burdens
let us consider
grace
and now
my friend
create
and
walk
in the wonder that has
been awaiting
your arrival

same reason some
picked up their charcoal
to paint on cave walls
then others
wailed inside their
exploding hearts at onsight
renderings of Mozart
these half moons in half time
the old rhythms
and cheap rhymes
play with our utmost expressions
and for some
the only potential
to release the drive
to madness
and pure love

the elephant in the room
is that I am beautiful
and you, as well
as this day’s potential

what is a day, but a rotation together
conscious magics between deep chasms of sleeps
we enter both world’s beauty willingly or not
with lizards running on desert rocks
and mister suicide’s cough
and gentle seeps, of that which is far too delicate to mention
but in small whispers

unrealized by walking remorse all over the island
I can see it
there is something about every day to frighten
yet there it is
beauty’s generous smile
given to those who grew up as you did
making the same mistakes

Walking into a coffee shop
Are they even open at this hour?
It's early
I awoke early to the sounds of my own dreams
But still slept soundly, half of my tea and open Hemingway on the bedside pedestal
Awake now, and proportionately functional
I walk to the coffee shop
Through a freezing Colorado December morning wind, that sweeps through these Boulder foothills
And a dark blackness
In my senses and sight line
Limited light pollution
I don't see the open sign, is it on?
Where is it?
A full moon through the fog
Causes a pause
Through wind-stretched clouds
The surface craters can be made out with the naked eye
The overtly bright beacon
Causes a moment of infinitesimal disproportionate yet absolutely true disparity of size
of universe and self
Thank God, they just turned the sign on!

wow, what exactly just happened?
not déjà vu, really
more of stars aligning in my direction
dripping a divine drop
a touch
from that which resides in the recess of the mystery
of the notyetknown

Dark wood cabinets, black leather chairs, middle aged and greater men, college football in a backroom, with Lead Belly playing softly in this one

A cigar shop after sunset

You consider sticks to buy after selling tech stock, to stock the newly acquired humidity-controlled locker

When a pointer out of blind-spots
A predominantly nonverbal gent
Through strong, painfully sincere eyes
Points out one of yours

It involves moving past the need to announce one own's prowess

You take it
Without offense, defense, or alarm
As one sits in a circle, surrounded a ******* primal tribal commune, desperate to fix the issue of you - they need you better, you see

Dare not dismiss it
Even over the next mornings second cup of black

with that smile
let's skip the pleasantries --
take me to where your courage begins
and the fear that haunts
the shackles
    still carrying or falling away
tell me the story of the flower
    you saw today
and the decomposing tree
tell me of the butterflies
of the colors that penetrated your retina
    and made it's way through your body to please your skin
what are your thoughts and feelings
of the shameful practicality of architectural right angles?
how would you redesign the room that we're in?
or, would you rather
    burn it down
    and sit down
    in the dirt together?

coltrane seems capable of quenching some carnal craving

magnificence and Veracity
entering in a form
so undoubtedly Sincere
un-convoluted by
inconsequential script and scribble

perhaps this is kilmer's Tree
perhaps this is the universe's Love supreme
perhaps this is a Truce for the one who writes

compassion is never compare
one loves and one condones
one can conjure beings and tribes
the other's shoes, always their own

Small Colorado mountain library
Had too many books, I guess
And was selling them, a bag for a buck
So I threw a handful in a bag
    I wanted to read
But also, some fifteen cent gambles
Which happened to include
"The White Pony: An Anthology
Of Chinese Poetry" 1947
A compilation of poems
Translated into English
Some brilliant
Some three thousand years old
Or older
(No one seems to know)
Some notes in the margins
And underlined by a previous owner
(Also brilliant)
And this fifteen cent investment
Is opening a world of old masters
Who can speak to me
From their world of wars
Concubines and starvation
To my domestic modernity
With ease
With celebration
Of life's simple things
These are not foreign souls
Masters, yes
But utterly relatable
From their quiet reflections and virtues
Under the peach blossom tree

some prodigal son's sense
all life, and what it's for
not all are altruistic
not all sweet spirit pours

the old neighborhood endures
with occasional calls
holding hope for hopeful news
or for derelict falls

he bare for maker and all
and to the code, less care
to the benefit of less
he the poured out prayer

thoughts are improved
with natural desires
of great love
of un-monetary riches
incomparable yet-relatable
compassion fueled graces
& unboasted expressions of
divine handiwork

as if you could not eat otherwise
that's how a poet should write
that's what she told me

but that's not the language
I use
no no no
no

it is and has been
a headfirst dive into
a shallow lake

soul and spine's at stake
it festers there anyway

but beyond that
there's the conjuring of
limitless higher powers

long meditations
on self mortality
sweating through
bedsheets

touching, almost
the azure wavelength canopy of sky
with slow breathing

After spending all winter
In shoes and boots
My feet were put to their
Summer test
With a five mile trek
    see yellow butterflies!
    see the wild columbines!
In flip flops
And the blisters
And the pain
In an illogically brilliant manner
Make me deeply
    and happily
        satisfied

ideas are worth discussing
for those toward meaning go
first color sunrise worth noting
for takers of breaths slow

oh, you smart modern congregation
tell me, what exactly is stored in your barns?
how profound is thy soul’s ache for divine treasure?
is your instinctual compass correctly tuned?
does the tongue give life?
your own eye plank removed?
have you worked it out?
been filled with light?

or, do you remain crippled by fear?
deeply frightened by inconvenience?
fallen too deeply for your high security fortifications?

oh no! your growing paralysis returns!
and the rise of your stage presence
while exerting your home crafted gavel
on the holy observances of beer, curriculum, square footage, and service length
eroded by lofty incantations, stanzas of gibberish
perpetuating the operation of the institution
without a corner on truth, the convenient followers
indulging on driveways, bashing your empathy

let go of your systematic card house!
meditate on the
                other than
on your knees…let the soul cry!
beyond the void, illuminate anew
consider Creator, and the power of your dormant empathy
love love love
let it be re-written on your heart!

as my neighbors air conditioners blaze
someone has to sit outside
take long mental logs
of the reluctant halfmoon
behind such white cotton candy cloud formations
this cerulean filled july afternoon
cottonwood shade, swirling breeze
ample enough for me
to find grace
ample enough for grace
to find her voice

at best, tonight ends in rest-filled sleep with possibilities
of an old lover probably taken for granted

at worst, well, it can always get worse
no use dwelling on such things
those scenarios receive more than their fair share

quick one at the ale-house
heart open this january evening
dimly lit by coal-fueled electrical responses
illuminating habitual relapses of overconfident tones
and dishonest scared shitless eyes
clothed in the modern pigmented
grey and black dyed organic Patagonia cotton

everyone wearing grey and black?
even the messenger bags?
caps beanies glasses hair-clips

holding nothing against
fearless beauty loses the modern-cliched surroundings to be validated by none other than the undercurrent of the entire universe