1
alone i sit wild thoughts dancing
around my brain, awaking each moment
a movie, a blockbuster of sorts
playing its matinee in my head
i am not dreaming of specific things
for specific things don’t make very good stories
i dream in concepts, aspects, past and present
now and future, myself and you
my soul has ventured it seems across the ages of time
for it feels the wear of days of old
it carries with it the mark of time before
it knows the story before the story is told
i know not from whence it came, it just did,
as all history does, engraved deep in our souls
encoded in our bodies
entrenched in our minds
the past written, each cell and fiber of my being
each product of centuries before me
each product of trials and tribulations
each of a story unsung, untold, unknown
2
i sit alone in the darkness of my cave
a modern hole in the rock
my candle the flicker of a screen
my pen the clicking of my fingers
i sit alone before a portal to the rest of the world
yet i am alone
yet i am not alone
i am both continuously and the same
in this modern world of blue humming and whirring
i am a lone flame within a roaring bonfire
i suspect there are more
just as i am
the earth buckles beneith the burden
each step i take
a mark upon the landscape
i am made up of it, and it is made up of me
the souls of others, of flora and fauna
haunt the dark corridors and bright streets
except here
before my portal
3
i go forth to the mountains – solice!
i breathe in the wind, smell of pine and cedar
and i know i roamed here once before
long before
the mountain spire scrapes against the moon in the sky
sheer luck the damn thing doesn’t break
and the water flowing in the falls chilling the air
turning summer into the cool of fall
and i know not where i am going – nor where i have been
nor do i care, for it is not here or now
i will worry about memoirs in my dying days
today i live, breathe, eat, sleep, and mate
4
standing naked below birch and pine
my body soaks in all that surrounds me
although i mustn’t stay this way for long
the rangers whilst surely arrest me
wonder i do, a path long and narrow and wide and short – it is all things
and is nothing
it is what i make it
it is clay for me to mold
it is the pottery i so choose it to be
be it a cup
a bowl
a basin
a baptismal font
a urine bucket
a plate
a spoon
a wobbly and oddly shaped thing-a-ma-jig – if you can find it’s purpose, you can has it, fifty cent
the vines of the trees on the shore near the light remindst me of cable and coax
no – no, damn it why must my brain spoil such beauty and splendor with the dull gray of the portals
why must i long for horse drawn carriages and the portal at the same time?
i am hungry, and wish to be engorged by all that is past and present.
the light upon the shore sends it’s flicker flash across the waves
and the lighthouse keeper is no longer present, the portal in his place
sad, because today I wished to lunch with the housekeeper upon the sands and talk a while
perhaps woo his eldest daughter, but the portal is all that is found
5
there is someone looking for me and i can feel her,
she calls my name and it sounds like the wind
when she screams for me in fear, it is the thunder
and i do not know where to find her
a romance unfolds, two parties not knowing
a dance recited, the dancers divided
she is where, i do not know tonight or tomorrow night or even the next night
and not even the portal can bring her to me
she is young, but old, careless but careful
she wonders what there is to wonder and wonders no more than what there is to wonder
if it is tangible it is true, or a lie, and if it is not seen it is true, or a lie
she holds in her heart the roar of silence and the whisper of a symphony.
her long hair transcends from her highest peaks down upon her glorious shoulders,
cascading down the small of her back,
her breasts the way they should be, and her hips as smooth as silk
her lips taste of fresh dew and sweetness not known even to Hershey
her eyes though, a new portal filled with the mysteries and truth of the universe
and through this new portal i find all comfort i need
and it is beautiful as she
and it is as lovely as she
her words sound of a song, a slight twang of the banjo, the cry of the violin, the strum of the guitar
paints a picture of many worlds – a old cowboy riding through myst and fog to deliver seal’d parchment
her breath is life – and with each passing day breathing new into mine.
our paths whilst cross, but when only she knows.
6
the young child full of curiosity asks of the days before
and why men do such evil things
i know the answer and do not know the answer
i cannot speak for the atrocities of yesterday
what would i answer the child seeing before him replay of yester year?
what do i tell the young man furious that again we see the same as yesterday
that learning learns nothing but foolish ways and means
what is it that i tell the child and the young man, valid questions they hold
they are not mine to ask, and bring them to the President – ha!
jest you surely do of such insidious and incredulous notion of that.
bring a question of great heft before the court of fools and jesters?
simply cut off my testicles and fry them before my eyes.
ask them to the Clergy? again I laugh at you and chuckle – do you not see?
the questions you should ask these of is thee!
the clergy much like the politico feed their goals and motives – and never answer a single question
answer this yourself! answer it, and then change the answer within you and your seed
i say not speak to your semen and expect them to listen
for if i saw you shouting to your groin i would have you committed
but teach those product of your seed
and teach them well, for patriots are not blind and cotton mouthed
Speak! doest thou hath a tongue to form words and sounds?
does thou hath a soul and conscious to form what is right?
or hath your soul and conscious been tainted with the murky waters of your father
hath you not thought for yourself?
dead men and unthinking men have two traits in common – they both languish in their states forever
never becoming more, never becoming less
withering away to irrelevancy
nothing more than a fable, footnote, or poetry
7
the wheel of the machine twists
and banks around swoops and swerves
it is a marvelous machine
and it brings me closer to nature
closer to nature as i choke the life with each mile, each piston beating upon her brow and boosem
although it will change
one day
and this machine will breathe into her new life
8
music is the language of the spirit, it is what reaches into you and dances with your soul
listen, and you can hear it tapping
clapping
dancing
oh the music of the isle emerald, or the song of the republic, the banjo and the guitar of the west
sings to me deeply a song my soul knows
calls it up to say – i’ve been here before
and i knew your name
9
the lights of the aurora dance upon the frozen ice
the wind of the arctic bites all it touches
this land is no place for man
and here reside the Inuit
they astound me, as they should
their tolerance for the cold,
melding of ways modern and ancient
yet they sing to me a sad song
i have never met the Inuit, but they sing to me
in the night time
from the cold arctic circle
high upon the north
they sing that they are losing thier heritage
and it a song that makes me weep inside
yet i do not know why i weep
whilst i thrust the dagger deep into their hearts.
10
seasons come each cycle
spring, summer, fall, winter
and each one brings with it new life
yet there is one season that is all but misunderstood
folks talk of springtime love, of playful summer days,
but it is the chill of fall that signals love is in the air
true love, spring just brings sex
and summer more sex
as the cold winds bite and the leaves change colors
the first frosts kiss the land
the season is upon us
the time is at hand
bundled up, dressed in thier best,
as the snow falls upon the trees
love springs to life
and the season begins
there is no romance that compares to the one fostered
in the dead of winter
sparked in the autumn leaves
it roars brighter as the nights grow longer
the cold means being close
the long nights mean long nights
and the woman i desperately seek
knows all too well the magick of a little bit of snow
as thanksgiving comes the families get together to meet
and to eat
and the newly acquired flame sees the roots of their love
they see their history come alive
they see mom in her quirkiness, they see auntie the life of the party
they see dad and uncle razzing each other over football
they see grampa matching whits with the boys
they see grandma coordinating it all
they see the kids of relatives play, and see what lies ahead
they count the beers drank by the boys
they count the gossip told by the women
and the rosy cheeks on every kid
she now has a sense of the roots of the clan,
she now knows what makes the man
she can sense the humor or the tension
she can smell the fear or the jubilation
as christmas lights are strung on each home
and sparkle in the snow, she sees she has found
a good man
from good stock
and as the nights grow colder their love grows bolder
and as december nears its shining day
she lets you into her den
to see her clan
christmas dinner as she shows off
her prize catch
and he sees the history of the family
her roots, and in it the future
he notices how jolly mom is, how snarky auntie can be
he sees how dad prefers to read christmas stories to the kids,
while uncle and grandpa get dressed to play santa
(adding a few pounds of fluffy pillows to make it authentic)
he counts the glasses of egg nog the boys have,
he hears the chit-chat of the ladies
he sees the joys in the kids eyes
as santa comes to visit
he now has a sense of the roots of the clan,
he now knows what makes the woman
he can sense the humor or the tension
he can smell the fear or the jubilation
as the family ventures out to sing carols
in the snow, he sees he has found
a good woman
from good stock
and this is why winter breeds love
and romance
for as the new year passes
a new life is begun
much is why i hate arizona
winter never comes
the snow never falls
the magick never sparks
oh for why do i live in a desert
when i belong in the north?
i am a refugee
and i seek asylum!
11
it is samhain
and i remain home by choice
some time was needed
to reflect
have i changed ‘or the years
have i altered whom i am since ’04?
i don’t believe i have
but others do
thinking hard about what it may be, what it may mean
i wince hard as my brain plunges the depths of archived thoughts
searching for why i may be
changed
it has been four long years since i ventured from Cascadia
it has been four years of success and failure, joy and sadness
health and sickness, pleasure and pain
in four years, i had changed
i had grown up
grown out
grown thoughtful
moved about
i have not changed for the worse, nay for the better
at least i feel,
my thoughts, my convictions studied in great detail,
placing them on a scale of justice and fair
i guess thats what you get
when you go away from home
and become your own person
you become your own person
you change in the eyes of people who thought
they knew you best
but all that hath changed is that your brain has been freed
and your convictions your own.
i know not where i will go hencefourth into the night
and i surely know i will continue growing, changing, morphing,
for that is what life is all about
and that is what we should celebrate.
12
exhaustion fills the body
creeping through every fiber
every node and vessel
every nerve
the body slides into numb-state
the brain detaches
so to seem
at least to me
the eyes focus on nothing yet everything
wandering with pinpoint precision
and each breath feels colder and colder
everything growing weak
death feels like being awake for 20 hours with minimal sleep
a nap here
a unconscious period there
nothing more than 2 hours in a spread
exhaustion feels like death
grabbing you from the inside
and strangling you with icy
tingly fingers
can’t scream
can’t sleep
restless for no reason
and never knowing why.
Thirteen
Thirteen
Thirteen
unlucky?
cursed?
’tis but a rediculous notion to think
a number carries ill luck
so read this segment
this section
thirteen
thirteen
thirteen
thirteen
fearful yet?
are ye?
thirteen
thirteen
14
a pain in my heart
figuratively of course
nothing works out
nothing comes close
what seams like eternity
is but a day or a month
a stroke of time
a stroke in time
a curse placed upon
a tired, youthful soul
a curse that seems no end
no road
so many questions swirl
making endless motions in mind
never ever breaking cadence
never ever breaking their bind
why, why, why, why
a perpetual question
no answer
no answer
the question we ask
from our first day of birth
why
why
why are things the way they are?
why are some lives easier than others?
why algebra?
why?
why
why
why
why
never an answer,
save the auspicious
save the cryptic
’cause ’tis
just ’cause ’tis
never you mind
a question you don’t ask
is why
but its about time
someone answered
someone honest
why
15
this desert wasteland
metropolis oasis
cactus towers
lights a glow
not my home
not my people
not my environment
not my habitat
emerson’s words
strike into my soul
dance with my mind
and sway my emotions
but he sings
with tonic and shade
switchblade
and gasoline
the path lie before me
obscured by fog
darkness abound
darkness abound
the only light
is a small lantern
my heart
my soul
16
there are lessons in life
we teach ourselves
and teach our young
but forget
chalk it up to what is
what was
what will be
and not what should
i end this madness
of four lines
and more
with a lesson, a message
sacrifice not the values
sacrifice not the core
sacrifice nothing, nevermore
keep it, hold it, grow it
nothing is worth letting
the best pieces fall to the floor
and die
fade to dust
’tis the time for truth
’tis the time for honesty
’tis the time for friendship
’tis the time to let love flow
let go of all that holds us back
stepforth into the light
and see the beauty that surrounds us
let it be you, and me.
