Monthly Archives: April 2021

Child’s Play

guiltily, guiltily, think
the thoughts are soon what stink
the mind is like
a rusty trike
with pedals out of sync

victory, victory, now
there isn't a method how
the present is
the place we live
what's now we must allow

this subtle trickery lie
to think we must comply
the truth is one
the nose will run
a lie we must defy

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Posted by on April 30, 2021 in Poetry


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A Boy on the Shore

a boy on the shore 
traumatized by an evening sight
of the swellings, looming and ugly 
--frozen by the scene
of a thousand giants menacing 
waved their welcome to the abyss
which rose and dove as Hades 
with routine desolation

twisted above 
in the swirling cloudy height,
a monstrous face 
on an approaching night,
its madcap roar 
ordered the dark behemoths below,
in sync with the deep
heaving with spite,
its grotesque expression
snarling with glee

in the morning, he walked
on the shell-strewn beach
slow-rolling colossal mountains
all danced a blue peace
and sounded the mist
shiny pods lay twinkling
on the treasure-laden sand
lifted from the night beast
polished and painted sparkling,
the child greeted each

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Posted by on April 29, 2021 in Poetry


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I Became Certain

the sea was orange upside down;
a scaled blue bulldog stood on top of it

smirking its fish-faced Cheshire teeth
and my friend, Mary, walking it, looked plastic--

so I asked her, why do you
look like a mannequin(?)
she stared blankly

but everything else looked normal, 
even the tree roots waved
in purple cotton candy clouds,

and the winding river was the usual dark green 
dodging to the left through the littered 
box-store clearance aisle

where I could float and shop for chotskies
cuckoo clocks, and puke-colored sweat-shop dishware 
while I sailed my dingy white dinghy 

so punctured, I feared could sink at any time
searching for a trinket
yes --you know the feeling - browsing
for who-knows-what -- but wanting something
nonetheless, and knew I wasn't finished
(but had to go real bad & oh, it burned)

and thought it will just be okay; I'll just go 
--in the river because
(no one would notice  --a secret) 

-but I pushed, but something corked it
 I was so frustrated - I knew I was awake,
 but couldn't feel my tool - oh my--
the shock --it was numb, like, it's not there
and I said to myself, it must be time
to wake up - but aren't I already awake(?) 

so I pushed harder but felt clamped off, 
therefore, called myself to WAKE UP thinking 
maybe, just maybe - I was dreaming, 
but how could that be(?) 

the scene 
was far too real .. yes, even the dog 
still grinning through the sea fog, 
oh so correctly,

and I said, COME ON --it's time now
or am I (?? ..) did I croak(?) 
am I helpless to get back(?) 
did I translate(?) then dread shouted, 

and I began to reenter like an astronaut
riding a flying brick,
and wasn't sure I could hold 
my breath long enough to get
back to the surface-- 
as the cobwebs cleared, I became certain
I wet the bed


Posted by on April 28, 2021 in Poetry



This Neo

this poet bard lost their language amid the drama of light
the darkness of which still flashes the words to fizzle away
until this agent is stilted
this poet bard who once sang of everything now perplexed in all he sang

yet once more, they may find the urge to kindle the fire of his tongue
the cloven flame vibrating above their head
this poet bard may yet sing the celestial hymn, its ambient intoning
of the creation of us all

he queried to unmask everything to what is--
'too minimal' she ridiculed his Dodge Colt with her BMW Z series
but to him, plainness is a wealth
and the prosperous, often dissatisfied
he kept subtracting --letting go 
he even dumped rants that were spun meaningless
Is a poet bereft of words a poet(?) this one once had zilch

this neo envisioned blind the ember about to die, yet robust
so fanning its coal orange, a tiny spark crackles the heart 
breathtakingly, wonderingly, ineffably, tremendously ALIVE

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Posted by on April 28, 2021 in Poetry



Destiny of the Dedicated

a shaved head, I grind, 
eyes jabbed blind
the unseen, still perceive
so fly to hold the blood-stained tree
for I've no recourse bearing me to cope
because I have been reckoned as already dead
and seek the resurrection bread
of the empty vault, but presently ahead
even if the word doesn't rhyme in time 
or in my benighted mind
I cannot continue the same 
--for 'son' is in my name
for what a flaming shame
I once became

but the childhood secret grows back
therefore no omnipotent strength I lack
opting to renounce all
like a bull catapulting from the stall
embracing the pillars of my call
should I skip over that(?)
living a life that's going flat(?)
or bemoan a Philistine's lot(?)
while grumbling for the wait(?)
         I'm destined to be great--

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Posted by on April 28, 2021 in Poetry, Spirituality


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Negativity Calls – Ignore It

did you ever contemplate
heatwaves dancing on a horizon(?)
isn't it tremendous that empty can seem full(?) 
a firm capture, but much more
flows through a distracted imagination,
turbulent, but TNT -- here goes---

boom shack-a-lack a - flitter, flutter, fuzz--
to eliminate rubbish and open my reception
for the perception of a maple tree
blends harmony with beauty, gorgeous
ooh-la-la --dada my God, how(?) 
aw-- it's just awe

the nurse can digest prisms to become
a whirl, a dance, a sway, untied
springing into her Pleiades
she, who knew my irons
which hung her orange curly head 
dejected, but now 

one thrilled
at thirteen, lounging in the Canadian's dome car
feasting on what could not be 
wholly absorbed of the creative desire from
trees, a lake, a mountain, a smile
--glow, gleam, rise up, my sparks
into her fiery seraphic flames--
but all too early
negativity calls--
ignore it

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Posted by on April 26, 2021 in Poetry




The mind asked
the hands
--what are you writing?
but the hands simply
kept on typing,

the hands thought to themselves 
--if we stop, the screen 
merely remains empty,

so the distracted mind
overlooked the hands 
as they continued clicking away--

their intention was, 
--if we just carry on pressing the keys, even
though the mind shuffles behind,
something may begin to form

the eyes observed the hands
with quiet disapproval 
for they saw
nothing but child's play,
but didn't want to
discourage the hands
letting random-looking
stuff to come forth

then the hands begged
both the eyes and the mind, 
stretch your combined weight
behind us,
or else
might be required

there was a slight pause--

then the hands began writing

--the poetic eye sees
beyond the flat scene,
and creates a new means of perceiving
from what is, what was,
and will be--

the eyes and the mind understood
why the hands furiously tapped keys,
and were amused

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Posted by on April 26, 2021 in Poetry



How True

can I swallow my Vienna sausages
when Heinz is on my Hormel(?) or
a pasteurized prepared cheese product
Kraftworks my fat American ass(?)
can I Pepsi Max the night wide eying
when Reese's melts my dark
chocolate miniatures(?)
Pringles said I could, but
only Philly cheesesteak will salt me,
of course, I am an insomniac
another 3 in the morning daze
with an upside-down gaze,
watching starving limbs 
of Victoria-Secret whims 
they're flaunting satin slips,
swaying narcotic hips,
another Bud lite cracks--
a bouncy mechanical doll jests
a Maybelline advert intervenes 
how true, cries the clown
--we lust through machines

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Posted by on April 26, 2021 in Poetry


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Tiger Food

two Bengal tigers were known to terrorize a village
they were notorious for killing goats, cows, and even people
Tigers are known for having a taste for humans

a sadhu holy man was passing through and heard the stories
being a pacifist and a vegetarian, he convinced the village elders
not to hunt the tigers --he would have a holy conversation with them
to persuade them to leave the village alone --the elders agreed

the holy man walked into the jungle-like areas where the tigers lived
after a few hours, he heard a growl behind him; they were hunting him
he tried to keep his nerve and turned, shouting Sanskrit to them
their shining eyes told him they were happy about the meal
even though he would be a stringy snack from much fasting

so the sadhu ran and could feel the breath of one of them on his back
just before leaping off a tall cliff
as he was dropping, he reached out a hand and managed to grab a vine
breaking his fall --he hung there dangling, suspended halfway down
he looked up and saw the tiger that chased him, salivating above
he looked down and saw its mate waiting below for a future meal

the vine wasn't very thick
some mice came out of holes and began nibbling the vine
it began snapping, giving way

he noticed a beautiful strawberry bush growing out of the cliff side
he picked a big juicy one and put it in his mouth
it was the sweetest he ever tasted





to midnight
and today I thought about
what was, what is, what should be
and why I want to grasp why 

a cold insanity
like blood extracted from a needle-pricked vein
bleeding out a pint less than what's required
to achieve the general behavior

while the audience screams for more and more

--distance sinks the swimmer

--velocity kills the driver

--heart attacks from the deadlines of task-masters 

--the merciless hammering of the punch-drunk boxer

who desperately needed a TKO without
discerning the mashing scramble
of brain bashed repeatedly by
the pronouncement of

--you are a loser, and that's all--

--or the writer who was told by
a mother that they would
never write well, with the words

--you'll never measure up--

you do not rate
that elusive place
of rest

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Posted by on April 24, 2021 in Poetry