Life on Earth

sometimes

the world is maniacal

out of control 

labyrinthine

on a wheel

off the tracks

divergent

(eruptions spew obstructions) 

life's gray slime

settles

in your throat

turns to stone

stuffs your heart

black pitch drowning

sometimes

(it is beautiful)

Essentials

Laconic fire

conciliate my soul

a charming dance

through amber glows

hypnotic

Cardinal brew

emancipate the high

a restless thirst

through crystal flows

exotic

Mystical note

exhilarate the core

a sanguine tune

through silence grows

chaotic

La Corporate Couture

Monday's mask

stifles

with synthetic greetings

woven of wistful thoughts

like cocktail pajamas

and new book smell.

Tuesday's mask

blinds

with revelations of prison

stacked to the ceiling

like infinite pillars

dead trees coerce me.

Wednesday's mask

taunts

with half way illusions

murdered by deadlines

like ruthless villains

of the theater absurd.

Thursday's mask

maddens

with swarms of mosquitoes

draining the universe

like hungry dumpsters

caught in a brainstorm.

Friday's mask

frightens

with casual confusion

stalling the clock

like snails in the winter

crawl in tapioca.

The Gift

You're the right to my wrong,

the resurrection of bliss

in my sometimes dark and

twisted reason.

I burn not a candle but a torch

illuminating the corners

and opening the chambers

of a once-dead hope.

I offer my dreams with

addictive rush,

the gift to the giver.

Tie me to you in love knots,

I want to drown in your ocean.

You've branded my soul

with your drug and I am

hallucinating heaven.

Eclipse

You ate the moon

and licked your lips in

satisfaction

while morsels dangled

from your teeth like

rotting flesh

and your contemptuous

smile

eclipsed the truth

with callous progression

congratulations

you ate the moon

I hope you're happy.

No Escape

The eye blinks

a life ends

a life begins

A tear falls

and a flower blooms

in the dust of the desert

then withers under the

relentless sun

A hawk circles high, hunting

and the clouds move across

the sky, whispering

time is fleeting

The clock ticks

a door opens

a door closes

and the footsteps

echo on the stone floor, fading

6th Floor

The office mammals wrestle

over the copier

while the phone rings

endlessly in the

cavern of cubes.

How can an artist

live in this jungle?

The pigs and bears laugh

at such a silly

thought, amused.

Fig Eater

Tormented by words that you said,

or words I imagined

while lost in thoughts

of a cosmic connection.

You played the game well,

I must say

I was completely deluded

and somewhat persuaded

that it could

be more than simply your need for

dinner and a date

(with figs for dessert).

Did I dream that you

wanted me near you?

Did you smile when I drove

all those miles in the rain?

Perhaps it was just

a bad movie with

an ending no one

could love or digest
when all you really wanted
was to eat figs dipped
in the finest regret.

Secrets

Hesperos rises,
a beacon in the
blue velvet of
endless universe.

Your voice is a whisper.

She guards her
secrets well
among the stars
with infinite longing.

I dream of you, still.

Metamorphosis

wrapped in a prison of silk

and irony

i melted

into the cosmos where the nothing goes.

there was no sound or reason

in the deepest darkness of

empty space

dissolving.

time had no meaning simply

twists and warps with unknowing

passage and

purpose.

and then the faintest light appeared

through milky lens

distorted

pulling the pieces of me towards

symmetry

and an eager rush to feel

the sunlight and fly,

just fly.

Magic City

magic, is there magic here

in this neon jungle where

the eyes that watch you

know things you don't want

to know and buildings rise

in dirty towers like prison walls

magic, is there magic in

the peeling paint and papers

with faded words that

drip on the street in

rivers of blue blood

filling the sewer with more

politics and religion

magic, is there magic in

the lines that mark the spaces

where good and evil

divide and go their

separate ways leaving

the sidewalks for those

with empty stomachs

magic, there is no magic here

Daydreamer

Standing where the ocean

reaches the sand before

pulling back in a gentle breath

the sea inhales lazily, drawing

the warm water around our toes

in a silky caress.

The sun hangs low on the

edge of the earth,

painting the sky with blood and fire.

I feel you reach for my hand

as we watch the light fade and

the evening star wink in

sleepy reception.
~
Meanwhile, the car behind me honks.
Green Light! Go!
Snow on the windshield,
grey buildings, grey street,
grey sky. Blue me.

Rumi in the Grass

Underneath the oak I lay
on grandmother's patchwork
looking up through the limbs,
graceful architecture in silhouette
against the flawless blue
heaven above us.

You sit with your back
against the tree, reading softly
in a soothing cadence
that calms my soul
like only poetry can achieve

in elegant arrangement.

The sun warms my face
The wine drenches my heart

There is no past
nor future here to torment
my restless spirit's
imperfect reflections,
only this moment of
unconditional bliss,
lingers in conscious rapture.

Good Enough

Sleepless

The silver grass of
a moonlit field
sways in blue waves
from an unseen wind,
gleaming with ethereal light.

Out of the dark caves
the night birds fly
in black clouds,
circling the trees
before settling
in a shiver of dread.

The eyes of the beast
open slowly,
contemplating evil
with hungry amusement.
Clouds cover the moon
in nervous submission.
Fear erupts

and the night birds
take flight.

Love

it grows

like the fledgling spout

shivers on the scorched floor of the forest

after the great and savage fire

it soars

like the bird escaped

from its gilded cage a prisoner

long held captive and forgotten

it dreams

like the child asleep

sweetly in her mother's arms a haven

from fate's melancholy injuries

it shines

like the first full moon

brightly on the winter snow unblemished

by destiny's misguided course

The Invisible Man

The old man sits

with his back to the wall

collar pulled up and

cap pulled down

fighting for warmth

He holds a paper

cup in his trembling hand -

three quarters and a dime

as the people walk by

unaware of his predicament

they hurry to get out

of winter's way

He watches their feet

in shiny leather shoes

and high-heeled boots

always in a hurry to

get somewhere

Remembering that

distant life he swallows hard

against the sand in his throat

and the fear

in his heart

Breakfast in Bed

Pull the covers over my head,

don't want to face this day.
I can smell the pancakes and
coffee downstairs
but the only sound I hear
is the melancholy tune
of my heart strings playing
please don't go.
Winter's cruel game sets
time on a crazy,
high-speed wheel only to
crawl when things get real.
Damn that clock.
Sip the sparkling slowly
and remember that I'm
here waiting for a wake
up call from this
lonely dream, singing
please don't go.

Winter Pane

I touched the window yesterday

the pane was cold beneath my hand

for winter dwelt beyond its plane

and dipped in frost the very land.

I thought if Spring would ever come

my window would again be warm

and tell of climbing Summer sun

and mirror flash of midnight storm.

And then again the wind would blow

and glaze the earth with solemn white

my window would of Winter know

a paler sun, a deeper quiet.

Written in my journal from 1983.

As I've gotten older, I've learned that life rarely rhymes,

and so rarely does my poetry, anymore.

Carousel

Out on the field where daisies live

and elements of men remain

there stands a haunted carousel

silent now, and just as well.

The ponies still in frozen prance,

the wind and rain made colors pale

yet once their brightly painted hooves

fell softly to their merry dance.

And children's laughter echoes 'round

among the ponies' gilded heads,

or is the wind designed to mock

and conjure up that mournful sound?

The mirrors, cracked along the wheel,

and blinking lights no longer shine

the moon reflects in still, black eyes

the daydreams of a child to fill.

Now paled by sun they fade away,

the carousel, a silent tomb

some say that on a summer's eve

one still can hear the ponies play.