Sunday, June 30, 2013

On Heaven's Peak

on heaven's peak
he peeked
teetering on toothpick bones 
trembling in the wild bend
of rock-retreat
unstable filament fledging bird 
borne into sun-smeared-dawning
on heaven's peak
having fallen and recent-
feathered breaths of 
wonder at the lucious spread 
of highway, lane, meadow-marsh-savannah,
sand-ice-tropic-ocean shimmered seas -
between then and now on the precipiced bridge
of crescendoed pounding wonder -
whispering - whispering 
to all in brilliant below whirl ....
whispering - whispering - whispering
in incredulous possibility
Heaven's peak?

Sunday, June 23, 2013

Tiny Marchers - A Bit of Silliness

and now for something light....

Tiny Marchers

Along the edge of the tracks
In tiny files they march
They march in a mess far less complex
Than you’d think 
for a group that
can pass in a wink and a blink
They march on the whiff of sweet
gas in the air
So tiny, so fast
you'd hardly know they
were there
So tiny they march on
the edge of a hair
on the edge of a hair
with spread-armed room
Left to spare
They’re The-Fragments-of-Answers
learned once in
class text – marching
in minds of Pencil-Clenched-Children
as they squinch eye their

Happy Summer Vacation to all children trying to catch the Fragments and those who love their small squinched faces:)

Along the edge of why

Along the edge of why

Along the edge of the tracks
they stumble as 
crumpled files
complex mess of numbered limbs
death marched through 
the frozen forest 

Along the edge of the tracks
their stumble - specter
lurches searching still 
screamed questions burning
in the long limbed trees
answers no class will ever
the why of stumble- 
starved- pain - pale
the why of waiting gas
Along the edge of the tracks
the shunned stumble by
good people who rode beside 
good people warm and comfortable 
rumbling in moving trains
seen as flashes of dream in
clacking windows

so long-later 
vapors rise 
still - 
and compassion's
lie - lays languishing
in the
rustle of wind
in the stumble
of sadism's march
along the edge of 
other looping tracks
where some stumble
and some ride
with blind eyes
watching the rushing 

as others ask

Sunday, June 16, 2013

In The Wind

Hi all - Happy Fathers' Day to those who are, love, have or have had fathers who they wish to honor and/or remember.  I committed the cardinal sin and wrote the following into the post without backing up and when my IPAD ran out of juice - my thoughts vanished with it ... I've tried to reconstruct -... but why is it (I believe because it is true) that what we lose - always seems to be far superior than what we try to duplicate.  Nevertheless here is is... Actually, my father would find my resistance to such rules typical - perhaps there is an homage in there as well....


You told me to look for you in the wind
As we lay on our backs in the cool grass 
On that long ago hot summer day
You told me to look for you in the wind
As a breeze lifted and tens of thousands 
Of leaves rustled in filigree sunshine
Floating chestnut blossoms 
In our hair – I could not imagine your
leaving any more than I could imagine
the stopping of the wind – solid heat
you were, as my three year old self 
melted along your side inhaling your turpentine
cologne, your clean hands resting open
On your paint smeared shirt
My artist, poetic, impassioned paternus 
Black hair falling over closed eyes
I inhaled you – into each particle of my being
A canvas on an easel stood off in the full sunlight
Look for you in the wind and you would be there
I did not know you were going anywhere
Did not know that you were comforting as yet
Unborn, yet already fertilized, grief
I looked for you and just as belief was fading
You rose as powdered dust or chestnust blossoms
Sprung from your pine splintered box 
dancing dust whirling on the wind 

I felt the soft whisper of this summer breeze
Touching my grown-beginning to-crease-cheek
I feel the fragrance of paint and turpentine  
in the wind and in the shimmer
the rustle of flowers drifting
on another hot summer 
of filigreed light
and I do not have to look
any longer 
to see 



Saturday, June 15, 2013



Come to me out in the moon-shine he whispered
Anything can happen on a night like tonight
When the stars tumble scoop by scoop over us
Come to me out in the moon-shine he whispered
Leave your clothes behind in drifted wake rippling in conscience cave
Come to me and we shall dance to shatters your parents’ dullard dreams
Giggle with me – Cut the shackles – Drop the load – 
Make not a single iota of  smattered sense with me, 
Laugh loud in side-splits that hurt so good
Come to me before we are too grown to indulge
in-love chattering - singing the song Solomon, Salome -  
Come out to me - as you are
In the moon-

Sunday, June 9, 2013



When does the time come
when a child's laughter
trailing off across green
wet summer grass 
freezes into the ice
of winter, thaws again
into spring and still
echoes into summer.

When does the time come
when listening for the 
laughter becomes a memory
rather than an anticipated
When does the time come
when hope is replaced by

Who determines the cross-road
when laughter dies
on decomposing lips
of a child 
forever gone...

* this is a poem from a continuing series of poems that is not autobiographical 
simply a child that appeared and stayed for a while with me....

The Tale of Esmeralda La Tish

The Tale of Esmeralda La Tish

Esmeralda La Tish of town Amor was a shimmering girl
In the sun of her nine years – in the smile of her twirl
Known all about for her smiling and grinning and such
She was a shining girl nothing bothered her much
Until the day in the park leafing through page after page
Her eyes fell upon something that bubbled unfamiliar a rage
A rage that came rolling like thunder yard, by the yard,
changing her status from peace to action in one single flash without guard  

Spied she a hate full word painted in red on the curb of the seat of a bench like a murderous slash
Like a slash in her world of puffed clouds and sky blue
Spewing venom like thick tarry muck from a spill-bottle of goo
She rose from her bench this shimmering shiny girl with a twirl
Tried to wipe it away with handfuls of ripped words from page
after page
But the blood red word stayed and fueled this newly felt unstoppable rage
She felt her own blood pulse hard, drum loud in her ears
She felt the thunder of righteousness pound down through the years
From all those who had suffered with no one to speak
She knew she would do something right now as her outrage took form, became solid and thus hit its peak

Esmeralda La Tish that shimmering girl
Sat down on the smirched bench with a smile and a twirl
Came to rest near the steps of the courthouse with a smile sparkling deep in each eye transformed into living stone for a good while
And now these long years since that bright sunshiny day
People travel by trains, jets, and boats here to see and to say
That shimmering glittering statue of the girl with the book
A vision of all that is good appeared when Esmeralda was took
A remarkable likeness of that shimmering magical girl with a book
That hid with her body, her marbled words and her breath
The haters words obscuring forever and ever their particular hook
Was a strange thing in the sparkled town of Amor by the sea
The seated shining girl statue appeared to sit down at the end of a twirl –
And still unto today her smile beams over the town from that high point on the steps of the courthouse by the sea –
the unmovable, irrefutably lovely mysterious icon that came there for all to learn from and see,
in the town of Amor where no hatred can ever be