Into The Mist

Silver Gray 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

moment

Dive…



The Sunday Whirl

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

respected

rewritten

reborn 

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

In-Sense

 In-Sense 

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 

I  bloodied hammer in hand fall -

before it is too late to 

choose 

1. 
   
2. 
   
3. 
   
4. 
   
5. 
   
6. 
   
7. 
   
8. In-Sense 
9. 
   
10. 
    
11. I list, hammer in hand pummeled
12. by the winds blown on the shores 
13. of convergence, the stench of rancid 
14. wretched refuse rotting burns my eyes - 
15. gusts gale across rivers, hatred unburied 
16. sends swollen bodies gangrened and 
17. grinning tumbling from this desperate 
18. dump of demonism - and I hesitate for
19. but a nanosecond - until I stand -straight
20. and swing - hard - the crack of my own
21. forehead satisfying as optical nerve 
22. hemorrhages and finally, finally -    
23. once more all turns rosy again - 
24. as I stand on the sun fingered 
25. shore and protect in the only 
26. way I see possible - my vision 
27. as into the epic frame of future 
28. I  bloodied hammer in hand fall -
29. before it is too late to 
30. choose 
31. 
    
32. 
    
33.    
34. 
    
35. 
    
36. 
    

Finally Getting Some

statue-of-liberty-sunset-photo.jpg

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

Simmer until done

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

liberty

exploded 

The Sunday Whirl

Somewhere a baby wakes

Dawn over the Horizon 

Somewhere a baby wakes

stretches arms to the sky

blood speckled with flecks

of my dna and spirit
I cannot hold nor see him 

separated by barriers of 

hatred and indifference

Somewhere a baby wakes

and though I cannot hold 

nor see him – I feel him 

running in the fragrant grass

of an endless spirit savannah
sliding through my veins he 

or she laughing in the curve

of my arms – our eyes shimmer 

hearts pulse together -

Somewhere a baby wakes 

stretches arms to sky and

souls meet
inseparable

Sailing

A View of Deal | Joseph Mallard William Turner | Nationalmuseum ...

Sail

I sail a sliver of a silver boat

canvas snapping round the bend

heat and wind follow in my wake as

I sail a sliver of a silver boat

I avoid the arc of surrender –

scan the horizon for helpmates

but in the end in a splendid splash

of archaic modernism I bend to the

curve of the slap of the sail around

the bend of this spinning marble and

pick up my single stitch of shine – my

tiny trip in this colossal sea as I sail

my sliver of a silver boat – alone the

scent of frangipani, futility and hope

pushing me onward … ever onward 

I sail my sliver 



The Sunday Whirl