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Sunday, November 12, 2017



From the films of sweet GI Joes handing out Hershey bars -
slogging through tides and finally opening the gates of Hell 
Onward through swirling years of foreign names 
memorized at school desks -that swelling sense that 
the only wars fought were those good wars against
bad guys -and then sorry - so very sorry for that
mushroom cloud that lit the sky and memory when
more brothers were called in a lottery with no purchase
necessary ... and the some who marched to defend and the others who stayed to defend - and all believed in the United States of America - one nation - though shakily indivisible... and back to films and guys with vacant eyes - and strange untold stories and not enough heroes welcomes but plenty of body-bags and counts on nightly news ... and marches there and here and - assassinations and soaring oratory - and hope and despair and change and then over... for a little while .. until here we are again...after towers fell and the new "normal" has become old hat - and still the Joes, and now Janes too, march off - now with pride though too often prompted by practicality - and the films are made in Hollywood - but no one's handing out Hershey bars. Now in this beginning gloaming of it all - ....a heroes salute for those who go so others can stay and write and pray to a Universe for a peace that will need no arms of steel to embrace us all. In honor of all...
One nation, indivisible with liberty and justice for ALL.
May we never forget the freedoms and ideals that all marched and fought, and bled and died and cried for....
We are ONE.

Sunday, October 15, 2017

Beyond the dearth

What possible pretense for the shock, jump- thump of heart hit – what possible pretense for the teeming, reaming, hulk of bulk, looming, zooming a re-route of sun sunk to deep shadow as you stand – Golemic-humanoid hypodermic huge in hand, my would-be-drip-drug of despair–destroying all that was – demolishing all that could come to be - casting a challenge to trust the simple certainty of a single next breath. What possible pretense for it all?
And so, in spite of all – I shut my eyes to your new-normal present, reach behind to the joy of the past, and inhale in great gulps of sweet air - the promised future-to-come. Beyond the dearth. 

Sunday, October 8, 2017



the storm has ravaged the emerald fringe 
that bracketed the road - now brown bare -
ripped red road seeks the sparkled harbor -
here, there, rise small  road- kill -lumps in 
mud frieze frozen in heat - this Pompeiian 
savage struggle - I stare in the after storm 
swirl -in the emptied eye of your  maliced
mystery - I struggle to sigh from the mud- 
once-manna-frangipani-paradise lush..lost 
the storm has ravished the emerald fringe 
that bracketed the road -my charge now to
power through and find the turquoise harbor 
still shining as North Star - in your soul as on
this sparkling surreal island holder of memory 
past - beauty that brought us to our knees - 
portent of all possibility for the future to come
then and only then in gratitude and hope can 
lift from the mud and live - 
until then I am but another 
bump of road kill flattened 
under it 
by it 

Sunday, September 3, 2017

Into The Mist

Into The Mist

Now is the moment to dive
into the mist as choppy vibes
plant specious spokes in that place
there - right under each nose
 Golem spectres marching bloody
soil soaking spill-spell - unless...
Now in this moment we dive
Into the mist of indifference
Into the mist of fear
and find the
fingers of light
shining on the
other side …
Now -
is your

Wednesday, August 30, 2017

The baby was named

The baby was named…

The baby was to be named
with enough tradition to
satisfy the hunger for legacy
The baby was to be named
for my father adored and
gone physically living in my
soul – this baby was going to
be named for him – with swirl
of a silver-threaded tallis and
a rabbi versed in modern ways
smiling in new traditions and
assembled love – the baby was
named –in his home - echoes-
 proud, persistent, prevailing - 
footsteps of those who climbed
Massada, walked to gas chambers
marched for civil rights so that this
day and this child could be born and
be named – this child born into a new
world –where too often respect lays tossed
on a trash-heap of indifference, this newborn
of caring, of love, of tradition, of reverence
for a man, for decency, for sanctity of all life
the baby was named with the name
meaning “lion” and in the twinkle of
this innocent’s infant eyes I watched
the world roar in triumphant survival

and hope

This poem written in response to Midweek Motif's theme of "respect" at Poets United. ... 

Sunday, August 27, 2017



I list, hammer in hand pummeled
by the winds blown on the shores 
of convergence, the stench of rancid 
wretched refuse rotting burns my eyes - 
gusts gale across rivers, hatred unburied 
sends swollen bodies gangrened and 
grinning tumbling from this desperate 
dump of demonism - and I hesitate for
but a nanosecond - until I stand -straight
and swing - hard - the crack of my own
forehead satisfying as optical nerve 
hemorrhages and finally, finally -    
once more all turns rosy again - 
as I stand on the sun fingered 
shore and protect in the only 
way I see possible - my vision 
as into the epic frame of future 
 bloodied hammer in hand fall -
before it is too late to 

Sunday, August 20, 2017

Finally Getting Some


Finally Getting Some Understanding

Meet me in the sad statues'  park ...
throw me over the back of Lees horse
fuck me with facts - hard until our own hoods
fly from our eyes and our vision blazes unrestricted
fuck me to the core until our unknown lies loose and 
scream free - bucking left and right and in between -
fuck me until we melt steel to stability, smelt chaos to calm - 
Oh yes, fuck me founding fathers until panting-sighing tears
streaming in understanding we rise - finally together in naked 
glory - free at last -free at last - sweat slicked, one nation,atoned, 
attuned, with liberty and justice for all..watching from our perfecting 
hill as the nascent evil orange of torches flicker out over a new horizon 
and a new dawn fingers the very sky in light ....

The Sunday Whirl

Sunday, August 6, 2017

Simmer until done

147 best images

Simmer until done…

Under the surface of the simmered –
chains clank – despite who won what –
chains clank –color bleeds from each
and every pounding throat – and still
the acorn nut grows into an oak tree
year after year – tree after tree - until
as filigreed leaves dance in the sunshine
comes a punch to the throat – a blazing
label of hate no longer hidden - matter
coalescing into a wave of contortion
uncapped, unrestrained, unashamed.
Under the surface of the simmered
The bulging aneurysm of anguish shall
burst into that star spangled banner
waved high and proud and claimed
in a consensus of conscience
finally cooked and ready to serve