Sunday, February 26, 2012

The Question

I think I may have published this previously, but as I've now been either author or co-author of twelve blogs which float about God knows where, rather than look back, i'll post it again. What can happen? sue myself for plagiarism? Ha!

it once knew weight
flexed all gargantuan
it was Jupiter squatting on Mars
steel beams and packed mortar
of an unsinkable tower

and ancient beyond fossil
yet fresh as mothers milk
dripping the rosed nipple

it fell through the clouds
as thunder on the prairie
choking eucalyptis
and spanking
the oceans tame

it broke the back
of tyrannasauras rex
and ignited silent volcanos

weighing in on Roman councils
it mapped the wars of conquest
and bloodied the virgin sands

it did, once
and so much the more

but now, weightless it drifts
along the frozen shores
of the Milky Way
rootless and unseen
never finding fire

on moonless nights, though
it sneaks yet, dripping
from the stars
whispering along forgotten rivers
and abandoned windows

and on nights when the moon
tilts to quarter
it swifts the brazillian rainforests
meanders the stoic alps
and tempers
the Arctic wind

oceans now disregard it
and congress gavels
too busy

true poets have grown bored
and closed the book on it
and minstrels
have taken up trade

no longer can it purchase
or spend, or even
borrow, while volcanos
spit dry sarcasm

it's there, still
among the stars
and swirling
the moon's tail
as a london fog
without a light

sometimes it sleeps
the Sahara where the sands
of spent hourglasses
sink in withered shame

but remain it does
as the ghost of an energy
without a matter

if you hushed
in the dark of night
dared the alone vastness
of a vacuum sky
and listened hard
way beyond your ears
-you'd hear it still
passing over in
forever unanswer
fainter in wake
but unable to die

"Do you love me"

she never replied

Wednesday, February 22, 2012

mary jane

you'd better go home, mary jane
the day is far spent
while the glow of escape's hope
dissipates into a shallow grave
the dusk rolls in like a heavy
wool blanket, unfurled

go home now, mary jane, run home
i heard your momma call you
hours ago, and there's a fine stew
she's prepared, i can tell from
her stained apron, and the
burns upon her hands.

the day started out so light
as i followed you through
the village, and we stopped
to climb the church steeple
just to see if the bell was real

then we stole donuts from
the corner bakery, and ain't
it funny, how play is always
better when consequences
are ignored, buried deep
in the sweet glaze of laughter
while the rules, play jester
to the trespass

go on home, mary jane
the darkness has outrun us
and the road back is so long

shall we clean up our messes
along the way? or leave
them as tattered flags
upon the hills of our
victories abandoned?

i remember the time
when you had the good sense
before we paper airplaned
the pages from your bible

you'd say, "get on home, now harley,
or you're gonna get it real good!"
and i always did as you said

i guess we shouldn't have cut through the park
i shouldn't have whispered in your ear
you shouldn't have kissed me
and i shouldn't have reached my hand
down the back of your pants

felt your soft skin
learned your sweet curves
felt you tremble
in rehearsed acquiescence

but now we're here, so far
from the village, mary jane
and joined to the sad stains
upon your mother's dirty apron
and a few stolen donuts shall never
be sweet enough, again

go on home, mary jane
you'd best get on home
for in an hour
the moon will be out
the bright stars
will bear witness
the village will be torched
by your mother's burning apron
and i will forever love you

stay here, mary jane
please don't go

Saturday, February 18, 2012

There Will Be Blood

what is the optimum time?
the window we fly through

for rockets, it's a break in the weather
for runners, it's just as the gun sounds
and still, rockets explode
while most runners fail

ever walk through a woods, and
run out of trail?
nothing but thorns, bristle and branch

we try to detour, go around
but that's when the compass spins crazy
it's when we get lost
and our passage is waylayed

I've set my watch, checked the barometer
letting the seconds pass into days
and the days into gray whiskers

I've studied the terrain
charted a course
but storms fell trees overnight
and thorn bushes creep insidiously

my time has never come
my wilderness trail knows
neither groom nor marker, and
my whiskers have gone gray

the day grows long
and still the rain falls heavy
my tent is dry, sleeping bag warm
but i need to move on
now knowing
shelter is a trap, not a home

i cast my watch to the river
my face, to the blistering hail
whether by crazy mad dash
through black grabbing thicket
or desperate crawl over rock

i must move on
make my way without detour
smash the window i can't open
leaving my fear in the tent
where it belongs

they say
timing is everything
but still
rockets explode and runners fail

apprehension is the ghost
of past failure
death, the ghost's feast
i glance to my wind-blown walls
i step into the wilderness, knowing
for certain
there will be blood

but isn't blood
the proof of life?

Wednesday, February 15, 2012

life is fair

if life is fair,
george jones would be countin daisies
and tammy would be smelling em

life is fair

yeah, right
tell that to the young mom
with breast cancer
while the sixty year old perv
stalks her daughter

let's tell Bangladesh, too
and tell them
why fat americans in fat cars

and maybe the Latino mom
who just "self-deported"
herself to hell
leaving her children in the void

life is what it is
yep, the fix is in
i got mine
you get yours
and the peaceful hare
is consumed by the violent wolf

count your blessings
and share them
weep for those
that have none to offer
and bury your arrogance
with the guilt you deny

Monday, February 13, 2012

The Forgotten Boy

i've been layin block
my shirt sleeves rolled up
a camel dancing on my lips
slop! slap! creeesh!
hurry it up, boy!
bring me another

i've been with the boys, layin pipe
damn dirty shovel work
my old nasty work boots
married to ten pounds of red clay

and i've been out a loggin
fellin the great giants
all steel toed and carhartted
-look out down the line boys!
there she goes!

and all this while
through all this sweat
i've been rememberin

that little boy in a lazy swimmin hole
his bicycle leanin the five and dime
those old wooden boards with
bent nails leadin up a tree
and that little girl, he
might've kissed

now somewhere here, on
this dirty oil rig, beneath
the muscles and callous grime
somewhere in the deep
i think maybe, he
still exists
and calls to me

Friday, February 10, 2012


(concerned) you look tired, would you like a brandy?
(sneer) why? is that what old people drink to keep warm?
(shrug) perhaps. are you old?
(shrug) you keep saying i am
(raised eyebrows) do i? (sips)
(frowns and looks away) yes, all the time
(head cocks) do you feel old?
(eyes lower sadly) does it matter?
(leans forward studiously) i'm not sure, were you happier in your youth?
(eyes narrow) i was happily ignorant
(nods) and now you're miserably aware
(drinks) something like that
(sits back) would you like me to leave, so you can be ignorant?
(laughs) yes, and send your young sister to keep me warm
(crosses leg) then would you be young?
(closes eyes) only for a moment
(claps knees) then i'll stay
(puts face in hands) of course you will.

Wednesday, February 8, 2012

The Warning

there's a change coming
a big change
in my life

somethins gonna break
i'm tellin ya

the hawk,
sweet brother hawk
gave his life
just to warn me

Sunday, February 5, 2012


she seemed such a push over
and too often, she was
she was pushed over here
pushed over there
pushed aside
pushed into subjection

she never wore it well
and perhaps, it was this
that was her true brilliance
i should have noticed
behind the beauty of her eyes

this child of a woman
wasted in the chase
a back drop to brutality

she kept her victories small
her treasure hidden
as orphans often do in self defense
and in so doing
she rose the ranks
and buried the orphan
nearly forgetting

but it was the orphan,
after all,
who knew how to fight
and had known the farce
of respectability
and protocol

i saw this in her, loved her for it
and waited
for the butterfly to emerge
and the wildflowers
to sing her praise

have you ever seen a butterfly emerge?
me neither
but one day she grew wings
from a damn fine set of balls
and finally, now and forever
the wildflowers sing her praise
as so do i, and all the orphans
yet cocooned in cower and fright

i hope one day,
to know her fragrance as she lights on by
and against my face, upon my chest,
i hope to know her soft wings
that taught me of her brilliance
but first, I must grow the balls
that spawn the wings