Monday, September 14, 2020

you. are. here.

 This vantage point is 42° into the goldenrod 

still able to see the blue but no longer enveloped 

nor can I taste its marmalade 

my tongue dry now restricted by my settling 

or it could be just the smoke 

- pink haze drifting into the oak trees 

as blue jays tuck into the stillness of morning 

I like this quiet 

this new place that feels a bit solitary 

but lined with a mercurial seeing that 

makes everything 


Wednesday, September 9, 2020


to not know the things we don't know
unconscious unconsciousness
masquerading as politics
doubled down to blue to black to brown
place my money on lucky number 3
intent lingers unchecked unopen unremarkable
uncoupled ignorance masked naively as an unplowed field
goldenrod trodden
thistle tall and forgotten
overgrown mythology of our milky way
buried in the linen bones of neural falls
white blinding
haunting truths unveiled
soul's courage outlined in the palm of a hand
arrows shame precisely seeping into that fallow land
water with tears tendered from a million suns
seed, ponder rebirth
for what it's worth
glory of a planet yet to rise ....
one, two, buckle my shoe
cry for the many
unearth the dream 

unbuckle the carpetbagger from his paper throne 
rise up 
rise up oh you wondrous ones! 


Blogs and words and blood that binds
trust that leaves the world behind
I've scattered dust into the sun
and traded love for my souls tongue

We fight and rage in civil wars
hell-bent to stand above the killing floor
trust is thick--a coin with two sides
and pity the fool who blindly abides

We seal our fate--lock the door
and discover we don't know love anymore
instead we are hollow of possible light
but holy our war and righteous our fight

To parry and thrust with ego aloft
judgement we weld while honor is lost
narrow is the path and treacherous the lie
only to find the godlight has died

Winter's full moon outlines the cost
each tale unfolds with perspective tossed
until we acknowledge loves color and might
with trust as its cord that weaves all in tight

So stand in the fire or beyond its rage
but either way play on kaleidoscopes stage
trust, love and light--the scout-badges you seek
not hate not ego or vintage treasures keep

Bows and flows of angel hair. . .
two sides exist in everywhere