half as similar
as a likewise
bystander to
an average
simile, I'd, like,
have the feeling
I'd meta phorse
to be reckoned with.
thin and whispy
clouds for cover
her glow won't
fully hide
under a bushel
the moon is choosing
a smile with which
to face the world
while stars watch
with gravity
under the cover
of clouds.
in the light of the day
you're out of your element
the fish out of water are
thinking, not you too,
so blue in the face
where's the romance
in a morning moon
don't you know every
body's at work, you've
got the wrong 9 to 5
but you hold your own
you give as good as
you get, that's all
you do, you night owl
wannabe, curious moon
you watch and learn
from red faced sunburnt
fools so busy by day
but some night soon
you'll make them swoon
with the love of a moon.
with love she
speaks to leaves
tending to worry
easing their care
and they respond
with colors and
petals everywhere.
she loves me
more than sleep
her evening eyes
speak dreams
her lips shape
tender sounds that
spill over the
day's last margin
her final line
of sight is the
smile of night
and i just might.
travels at the
same speed but
the best light
arrived early
this morning
or i was late.
to illumine the
steps of the day
make straight
the newborn way
help it to stand
more certain.
less is more
but nothing is
more or less
something else
nothing
is neutral
everything
is more
or less.
if i could spin
off a million
octopus threads
and each would reach
its own conclusions
i would but there
are these threads
already spun, and
stopping to look
back at me
their maker
for guidance.
seep into night
win the fight
for the sky
bid the dark
a good day
and goodbye.
this cat eye tree
still watches me
incessantly
with sleepy eye
this wooden spy
knows how i try
it sees my errors
smiles at my airs
beats my stare
listens for rhymes
in all my mimes
not easy some times
reads me like a book
with one long look
every step i took
how do you see
you cat eye tree
right through me.
(There may be
a log in my eye
but i can see
the speck in yours.)
come, early light
we know you might
reveal the things
we couldn't see
do filter through
these sleepy trees
with gentle ease
tease the dark
down to its knees
tumble over twigs
sticks and stones
with your overtones
come sift your way
come make my day.
and done it
started this
would be poem
lacking rhyme
to the ear
or the heart
the only thing
that's complete
is the silence.
so much to say
a fire's tongue
won't speak the
same word twice
much less to say,
we who recount
our favored flames
of yester days.
more trees are
dropping leaves
than you can
shake a stick at
and if you do they
think you're waving
they wave back
naked
as if this were not
a perrenial problem
as if this were some
garden of eden,
leaves optional.
the demi moon
is half full
not half empty
a near perfect
circle draws a
near straight line
when light is
rationed still she
grows impatient
tomorrow ends the
rumors over
pregnant pauses
when her womb
again will wax
more brightly.
of every hill
is the hardest.
self censored silence of
the long green flickering
flourescent cadence of
literacy and repurposed trees
wearing ink from india
if you discover something
in here that catches you
stifle it for now,
muzzle it, borrow it,
take it home, where you
may laugh or cry out loud.
cast by a candle
can be quite flat
but capable of
depth for those
who would wait
and i see one
dancing above me
with a not so
distant center
and a mentor's border
while darkness wonders
around the edges
about the prose
and cons of love,
the heart's aha
when eyes are weary
resilience fades
and words fail.
with a lonely particle
burned and expelled
from safe chambers
barreling at high
velocity toward
someone's idea of an
ideal destination
tempted by gravity but
trying not to stray
unaware of one's
own deadly force
over other creatures
intent on arrival but
hampered by friction
and wondering, do i
follow the traffic
signs, the lights,
the warnings, the
close calls, and
do i even dare to
notice the beauty
that wasn't made to
pass by so fast
or do i just keep
on hurtling, and
is this forward?
smile is resting
she has flowers
on the wings
the petals sing
their quiet scene
while passersby
and sun and soil
drink deeply from
her mobile gardens.
misdirected
or otherwise
grounded clouds
suffer loss
of purpose
lying too low
in wait for
inspiration,
accidental
tree huggers
with a bad
altitude.
thirsty clouds
lick the lower
mountain slopes
the frozen summit
shares the sky
with the sun
and a smear
of lazy smog
dwarfed by distance
steep icy walls
taste small
and less tall
shadows rise to
bring some relief
into range.
and hold it
hear a thump
on the wall
a familiar head
a bitter pill
that won't go down
while agents of
deficit roam, to
leech energy away
from worthy places
exasperation can
draw out the worst
and squelch the rest
and oxygen is sparse.
craters of cold
cradle chilled
shadows over snow
in soft white lies
of warmth swindled
out of character;
crystals sparkle
facets of sun
into winter lines
patterned on random
in cold's clothing;
knowledge splayed
and wisdom adrift
in a frozen scape
of a still soul;
a traced white
paper on the
merits of quiet.
shiver me limbs,
these degrees
so far below
the flow of
water make it
shrivel into
intricate
pixels of
blue in
the face
powder and
quite the
credence
of cold.
no faster
beauty ever
raced through
here than this
ambitious stalk of
miraculous amaryllis,
with the preeminence of
pollen laden splines and
fragrant angles borne
of splendid light
and dark moist
soil morphed
into rays
of red.
both to senders
and recipients
that birdshot
traveling at
high velocity in
the wrong direction
can really sting.
self aware
thinks that it
is doing most
of the burning.
without knees
would know
not a single
double jointed
traveler bent
on arrival
only stilted
wanderers with
pedestrian
questions and
stovepipe jeans
chairs would
be different
tables would
be wider
and lower
limbs wouldn't
know squat.
nill said to null,
"except for the exchange of vowels,
we have so much in common
why don't we marry
familiarity may breed contempt
but it would be better than nothing."
hazy, lunar cradle
won't you ladle
your lazy love
to run aground
unfazed even by
the night's horizon
your simple curves
would never know it
if nearness was
ever too late
or light should
ever hesitate
slip us off to
a feather sleep
with round defenses,
dreaming to carve
out of a curve
a likeness of you.
prays upon the grey fence
as almost a part of it
but for the movement
and no straight lines
the twitching tail
and pumping heart
eyes for mischief
resilient spirit
survivor of seasons
yes, compared to squirrels
fences are limited creatures.
was worth it all
for i finally
see the light
an almost out of
body experience
this is like heaven
but what's that whiff,
something's burning.
of every woman and man
of every skin tone,
income level, creed,
esteem, achievement,
and impressive resume
is uniformly chilled
the same white breath -
of all who would beg to
differ or take issue -
pillows impulses of the
heart, moves out as if
to divide and conquer
with an air of confidence
but encountering the
persuasive cold considers
second thoughts and
boldness folds into a
mellowed replacement as
grand schemes absorb into
the slow peace of winter.
having accomplished much
by any reasonable measure
he reclined for a rest on
a bed made of laurels only
to find after some time
he was wearing no apparel
and apparently an audience
had gathered to marvel at
this barely intentional
demonstration of truth
in a figure of speechless
realization, giving pause,
and taking the laws of
human nature for a ride.
selves, we shuffle
on to next year
before the last
one was done
like a loaf of
bread half baked
pulled from the
oven to make way
for the next
or a night of
truncated sleep
short sheeted by
calls to tend
to a new day
some rhythms
we choose, but
these markers
follow their
own metronome
pausing not for
space to frame
yester year
or recount the
lessons here
we may repeat
some mistakes
but at least
we keep the pace
with calendars.
is created equal
wet versus dusty
steadfast contrasted
with flippant drifters
clean versus dirty
big versus small
salt versus
styrofoam
who decides
which flakes
will be glossy
and which ones
will be matte
and does one
or the other
take longer
to make
fraternal twins
chase in spirals
rich flakes and
poor flakes
share space in
a resting place
painting a clean
undercoat over
dormant green.
inside our bay window
are oblivious to the
dead of winter
just inches away
a risk from which
they are shielded
by insulating glass
(would that it were
more true to its fame)
this beauty observed
by sheltered clusters
of living leaves
loves to revel
in the present
icicles cast rainbows
while warm sun bathes
blankets of snow and
simmering sheets of
blinding light, yet
this cold world
would kill any of
these house plants
without hesitation
and even less remorse
inside, innocence and
life continue, preserved
by an invisible barrier
danger is fettered
without introduction.
or is it just the wind
wistful, making waves
where leaves once lived
rustling through the
still beauty, bared
what would god make
of this, given time?
outside an owl
with wondering eyes
disperses questions
about identity and
meaning, obligated
to remind the night
of nagging nocturnal
quandaries, while the
world tries to forget
this holy discontent
long enough to rest.
a fine enough person
though it's true he's
not particularly famous
or even very memorable
i'm just surprised
how few people
know him at all.
to some to be
a heroic act
of conscience,
for an artist,
to draw the line
is merely redundant.
on the road
you're trying just
a little too hard
to convince me.
won't leave
abandoned
it clings
the betrayal
stings
will no other
persevere
in the face
of winter?
lend me more
than mime
coax me with
some tall tidings
might you tell
the best kept tales
as stars gloat
and waves swell
to your quiet smile
that mimics wisdom
but mocks the wise
do you know
some secret
about the sun or
its prolific maker
or do you merely
reflect the queries
of the mysteries
you have overheard
through the years
as if you understand
you make us wonder
whether all of our
curiosity is squandered.
why do you
vacillate?
will you
or will
you not?
the evil twin of innocence
finds exemption for no soul
and partiality for all
in its subtle stream which
first trickles tenderly
past perception
through ready channels
of ignorant schemes
bent on vengeance,
swirling so that
soon a river rages
until white bones
bathe in
red blood
like water
we wonder
how far
we have fallen.
after visiting a genocide memorial in rwanda
outside my window
open to change
are watching me
while they race
their slow almost
indifferent relay
it doesn't occur
to them until
the baton is passed
and each one fades
that perhaps i
am the one
who is watching
a pot of gold
is the season's
harvest summary
at the end of this
path, shown the way
by ripe pumpkins
and huddled hearts.
hope found in her youth
how to inhale time and
measure the taste of it
to find life can last
past the test of days
now she knows how
and she breathes
each dream in and out
her eyes recognize
a day like this
which was made for
seeking and finding
she lives long and
leans into the reach
of time's designer.
for a friend... happy birthday, it just gets better
dreaming or waking
brain cells salivate
at the prospect of goodness,
so please hold the other
condiments and let me relish
this thought for a while.
desperately needed now
but just out of reach
it's a different word each day
it hovers on the
periphery of other words
once it darted in
for a perfect appearance
when it last availed itself
fitting the bill per se
now it's on safari
unaware of those who
clamor for its kind
to come to mind
and fill the space
that waits.
imagine how a figment
might feel, betrayed
always suspected
for intangible crimes
her qualities elusive
too quickly discarded.
but i believe that i was
just saved by a napkin
afforded a handy if overly
malleable tablet to record
a fleeting if trivial thought
before it dissipated
as i waited for a friend
there are other faiths
you may choose to follow
i am not certain of this one
although word has it that is
the very essense of faith
but arguably, there is a bit
more to saving faith than that,
and faith is usually placed
in notions that are written
on better paper than this.
i was on top of the world when
a passerby toppled my daydream
bidding me top of the morning
a swift topical anesthetic
swiping my temporal utopia
i topped up my coffee (sip)
god's big top drew my eyes up
to a sky that just won't stop
stringy cotton cloud topography
an octopus clan embracing blue
it all fits on god's laptop
i return to the topic of dreaming.
without your co-op-eration
or consent, would you
opt out, cop out
cop a plea
plea bargain
with me
to leave
your words
alone
and find
my own?
shopping day left
before the next chance
we'll have to look back
and evaluate, whether
the way we spent today
the things we invested
or things we squandered
mattered much a day later
when the stores of grace
took stock, and opened
up for business.
where eyes are watching
and baited breath
hovers in hope
for the solving
of the mystery
of the mind
stage right
where mouths are gaping
and gathered gaze
wants and waits
for the unveiling
of the secret
of the soul
backstage
where actors are waiting
and patient prayer
rehearses lines
for the telling
of the stories
of the heart.
to shield the rain
but scoop enough
to fill this cup
bend the light
this way i pray
spray a bow
in the sky
spread with lense
like a glaze
a sweet coat
under heaven
reach around
the folded arms
soften the stance
into a slow dance
rise with waves
then refrain
find no fault
with favor
trace the return
of love given
and reverberate
folded and full
ride the shoulders
of grace with a
trace of smiles
on her face
caress her gaze
with a moonbeam
unfazed by tunes
floating through
wings that sing
a single note
slicing concave
shapes from chords
circle round
the gentle sound
as lines surround
the closing song.
per say
so to speak
i'd speak
regularly
and take
them all
to the bank.
is the most
overrated concept
in the world
yet if unchecked
could mean the end
of the world
as we know it.
would be quite
the moving target
hard to miss
yet not perhaps
something that one
should aim for
necessarily.
counted by the days
from the start
or by the proximity
to the end?
how much time
lies between
"late in life"
and the ultimate
date with "late"?
i've tried late
while living,
but not yet
on the other side;
would it matter?
if you're deceased
you can't be expected
to always be on time.
a simile
is like a facsimile
but it has
no fax number
declare it,
therefore
to be either
progressive
(beyond faxes,
already)
or backward
(nostalgic
for curling
and screeching)
as for me,
i am like,
so sick of faxes.
who has won?
is this digital world
better than the one
where digits
were relegated
to human hands
and penciled columns?
the days when spam
was relegated
to the realm
of mystery meat
and a virus
to the experts
of medicine?
where fraud
was analog
and a voice
was the best
instant message?
where peer to peer
was a conversation
and copyright
was simple?
where blogging
podcasting
webcasting
shoutcasting
were but a twinkle
in silicon's eye?
have we gone
from zero
to one
or one
to zero?
how far
have we come?
there once was a soy sauce with zest
(fermented bean curd)
thought to be quite decidedly best
(much finer than it may sound;)
perfected by time
more complex than this rhyme
i drank a whole quart then confessed
(a few drops would do)
there they stand
preserving stories
holding knowledge
between their hands
accessible to me
an arm's reach away
vending insight and
ideas bundled and
some artfully wrapped
with truth such that
i will nod and feel
i already knew
their merit
when i take them in
if i could just
choose then dislodge
in order to digest
one of these covers
from the rows
of vertical
flattened
former trees
kept at the ready
by bookends
made of stone.
the glass is half full
and it's not half bad.
the sky
is sliced
by traces
of engines
here
the air
is cloaked
by plumes
and fumes
here
the heaven
is parted
by stack
and scraper
here
the cloud
is cut
by tower
and wire.
you sure shine
when it's your time
when the lines
of labor's love
are drawn around
and the albatross
is tossed off
against constraints
that would obligate
a diversion of duty
to make one weary;
when a window
of opportunity
invites your muse
of favorite ways
you gladly burst
at the chance
to dance with
savored labors
which nourish beauty
and saturate
the wide sky.
even a while
you tease crowds
of roses
into poses
that grace
your face
when you smile
even a while
you caress time
to spare
into trances
that touch
your gaze
when you smile
even a while
you travel waves
of warmth
over miles
that melt
my ways
when you smile
even a while
you weave chords
of dreams
into rings
around
my days.
does shine
to illumine
some meaning
when the sun
slips slowly
under cover
of flat lines
slender blue
light lends
rendered words
to inspire
a mind's eye
while senses
slip to sleep
like the sun
wax the moon
with a tune
or a toast
to reminisce
a thick past
and to coax
another day
into play
ruminate
of the days
when love
will blaze
a way for
all to taste
the biggest
of dreams.
the act
of retrospect
with tardy regret
may reflect
with result
in remorse
or worse,
regress.
before the fact
a pact
of circumspect
with tact intact
may project
with prospect
in proceeds
or even
progress.
like a candle licks the room
like a flower shares perfume
you will flavor every room
like a mother's arms are wide
like a woman sees inside
like a friend who stays beside
your love's labor will abide.
so glad you're alive
we'll be full of sorrow
when you're gone tomorrow
you only come along once
what are two and three four
in liu of superior
good things come in threes
especially
five, five, oh five.
it's not that green
doesn't yearn
it's been burned before
been around the block,
so to speak
blanched, then frozen
like string beans
stored for the winter
there's reason for caution
when grey white season
might commit cold treason
green grows impatient
deftly determined
to stake its claim
warmed by rain and rays
a bold little bud
bursts the scene
curious and confident
born to bounce
loves to pounce
green, like grace
knows how to give
and where to grow
who to forgive
what to gather
when to gallop
green is generous
heaping the helping
living like leaven
green is gain
unafraid of grief
a friend of god.
ate the fly who saw it all
"your secret is safe
with me," he smiled
noting my suspicion
as he dropped eaves
into his ample web
of tangled evidence,
lowering the ceiling
on my expectations,
spinning some yarn
of arachnid importance.
by thawed sod
breathing dreams of
warmer ways
in your garden
there is pardon
worms twist nutrition
toward tangled roots
the sun shines
warming wrinkled leaves
to summon your smile
and surprise your eyes
the rain flows
savoring the soil
washing the heart
saturating the soul
as bees hover
their tranquil trance
wrapt in petals
drunk with pollen
green gathers momentum
growing fond of
your tilling until
a loving smile is spoken
by flowers
singing in harmony
with nurture
of promising future.
cut short by sheep,
pinching me,
then escaping over
the inadequate fence.
there are thousands.
someone should count them.
tarnished by time
bribed a quarter
to turn on a dime
as one would expect
the dime felt betrayed
determined that justice
his due should be paid
"if i had a penny
for each wretched time
some oversized nickel
was caught in a crime"
then coining the phrase
"you ain't even half
the coin i used to be"
he said with a laugh
he taunted the quarter
"you're merely a fraction,
mathematically trivial
to decimal action"
the quarter responded
"at least i've got girth
not to mention i'm more
than twice what your worth"
the nickels chimed in
no arrogance to spare
"well we're better metal"
they said with a glare
these three common coins
exchanged barbs until
at the next toll booth
one each, fit the bill
three coins put together
worth their weight in gold
in the state of illinois
where this story is told
the lesson is this
and it's worth forty penny
that roads most needing change
take more toll on your money.
from close proximity
to ghosts on the horizon
the bus, train, and plane
must have better things to do
than to wonder how i am doing
or where i might be going
or how i might get there.
twisting thin strips
to tease the horizon
with strands, stretching
i see a glimmer
grow to glisten
it makes me listen
to the wind, whining
whisps of wind
whirl and spin
wiping a way
for the sun, wandering
long shadows fall
stretching lines tall
cut by the sharp ridge
of drifting snow, soft
branches sigh
bearing the burden
so heavy laden
like the world, waiting.
the sun is sighing
the moon is moaning
the waves are weeping
the earth is groaning
the son is asking
the mother is gasping
the father is searching
the daughter is missing
the neighbor is stunned
the comfort is shunned
the poor overlooked
the coroner overworked
the tide turns
the candle burns
the heart yearns
the water churns
mourning the loss of life in the 12/26/04 tsunami in South Asia
just looking with my mind
misleads me every time
so far away from fine
your heart is on the line
i'm sorry that you'll find
perception isn't mine
i thought that we were fine
so busy with this rhyme
i didn't see your mime
grief came from behind
i didn't see the sign
help me see i'm blind
i can't taste the wine
love could make you mine
this will take some time
waxing poetic
color of ketchup
slow tease
color of oak
fallen amber
color of candy
sweet sickle
color of fruit
moist burst
color of rose
gentle fingers
color of love
warm flush
color of wine
toasted tongue
color of passion
tainted vision
color of fire
flirting shadow
color of controversy
bold disdain
color of blame
pointed finger
color of rash
quiet shout
color of danger
intrepid cliff
color of anger
boiling fist
color of hate
rampant wall
color of blood
vicious razor
color of fury
tangled shrapnel
color of war
painted restraint
color of death
unknown quandry
color of beet
deep stain
color of pain
swirled stars
color of shame
regretful bow
color of blush
sudden cower
color of suffering
muted blame
color of heat
peppered favor
color of courage
rekindled strain
color of sun
rising chance
color of life
flush purpose