Cascading Leaves Mottled By Time

Mother Receeding

2011-11-26T10:07:00.000-08:00

The thin membrane
softer than egg shell
more like a soap bubble
holding us in
and keeping the vacuum of space
from devouring us whole
mother of life
we kill you as you give
we steal more and more
not knowing the cost
not counting the risk
We see that you are getting gaunt
and a little frail
but none of us can keep you
heal you
prevent you from slipping away
into nothing

The New Fundamentalism

2011-10-09T15:28:00.001-07:00

Let us begin a new Christian fundamentalism.
a fundamentalism striped down, raw and lean
ready to take to the streets and hearts
With pragmatic compassion over dogma, focused on proscribing a good life
rather than demeaning people through restrictive moral codes

One: There is something bigger than me. Live according to what this implies.
Two: A divinity that cares about me personally, as a parent to a child, does not imply I am an equal to God.
Three: My personal relationship does not trump yours.
Four: God is greater than any individual or organization. The only correct attitude in relationship to this is humility laced with gratitude.
Five: The positive uplifting parts of faith are the best parts to live by, so more compassion and less damning
Six: If you condemn people for failing to meet moral standards, you need to take a hard look at what is wrong with you, and fix it.

Condemnation by equals, brothers and sisters, leads to despair. I do not see any value in exerting my religion in such a way as to alienate a fellow human.

Seven: It is not a contradiction to believe in the death penalty, pro-life politics, and forgiveness. However, if you cannot explain it to someone in such a way that they can understand it, you would better serve your cause by abstaining from the conversation.
eight: Individuals that identify as gay are your brothers and sisters.
nine: Individuals from overseas that are seeking work in your country are brothers and sisters.
ten: If you are following your faith, put aside your political views that dehumanize brothers and sisters.
eleven: If you are not making things better for someone in need, then at least don't make things worse through words, actions, or the cult of politics.
twelve: It is patently wrong to make someone feel like crap to make a theological or political point.
thirteen: Science and religion are two different things. Don't confuse yourself by explaining your faith through science. You weaken your argument and debase the power of faith.

Few people care about your ideology, so do something helpful with your faith instead of espousing it.

fourteen: You cannot convert anyone to the faith. That is arrogant and debases the personal integration between the divine and the mortal experience.
fifteen: Not one word you can say can explain God.
sixteen: All people of faith are under attack. Treat anyone of a positive faith tradition as a fellow pilgrim. There are already enough people to degrade us collectively for having faith in the intangible essence of our existence, don't make things worse through internecine theological wars.
seventeen: It is great to explain to people why you have faith, but stop trying to convert people. God is much better at it than you, and you are making things worse most of the time.
eighteen: Faith is about the daily application of the eternal.
nineteen: Faith supersedes political and social issues, even really important ones.
twenty: If you hate someone because of their politics, religion, sexual orientation, or immigration status, you are belittling your faith.
twenty one: try to find at least one person to share your life struggles with. being disconnected creates an arid spirituality.
twenty two: you do not need to let social whims change your faith tradition. That is not the point here. However, you need to separate the illuminating aspects of your tradition with any dehumanizing aspects of your faith communities behavior.
twenty three: You will know you are practicing your faith in accordance with these principals when people ask you why you always seem to have it all figured out.

Renewing Life

2011-09-23T19:24:00.000-07:00

In proximity of the old volcano
I persist
being eaten by fatigue
until it devours me
oblivion of concerns
anxiety melting and
burn off the career
tearing out the cancer of failed love
money is not a thought
, anymore
a focus on simple existence
a new suffering
of my choosing
a distance at a time
painstakingly covering ground
a bump, a washboard,
the catwalk
bounded a precipitous fall
water rushes below my feet
and the mountain emerges from the clouds
as I emerge from the woods anew
I pause looking at simple nature
hearing the silence around
this is the end of summer

The Beckoning Rock

2011-09-03T09:04:00.000-07:00

Never in my life have I understood Bob Dylan
Until I stood humbly at the base of this monolith
His cadence and tone and words urge me to climb
Climb with urgency, climb thoughtfully
Someone has died here, witness the shrine
Move upwards into that volcanic core
And let those serpentine rails sport
the endless freight trains below

And a stone strikes me, painfully, in the chest
The foot that loosed it far above unseen
I am through the barrier of worlds
and must ascend to get back to Earth
There is no down that is not fueled by failure and pain

The Gorge slowly reveals itself to us
Secrets of the elk grazing on Pierce Island
the lengthening of shadows as time passes to evening
Cracks in stone vary in width
some accepting only a finger and thumb
others demand a commitment of your whole body
an envelopment of stone I find comforting
inchworming between basalt teats
and emerging to the trusted person holding my life line

I come to a corner, where all I can perceive is air
and fear and falling
and the failings of weakness this brings
I practice the disciple of rock zen
I cast aside many weedy thoughts
focus on essential small things
the place for the hand
a suggestion of friction for the foot
This approach always provides success
unless you fall, of course

The clouds pinkening until bats come out
black erratic blurs to the East
we climb into the dark, 400 feet above Dylan's rails
at a point we no longer need to hurry
it cannot get any darker
and then, we are done

We walk gingerly barefoot in the dark
down a trail empty of all, even the ghosts
and we pause only to view the silver stream of moonlight
spilt diagonally across the Columbia

Jim provides the final wisdom
Exhilaration and fear originate from the same experience,
the same adrenaline, the same person
they are only differentiated by intention and perspective

Questions of Mortality

2011-06-30T23:00:00.000-07:00

The job of the psychopomp is not to judge the dead. They are just the guide. However the form the psychopomp takes is either gentle or vengeful. Does this not infer some pre-judgement.

What damns us? Does actions, do intentions, do ideas
If I think ill and do good by accident, is that me doing good, or doing evil.
If I do good with no intention and no thought is that good or evil?
If I do evil with no intention and no thought is that good or evil?
If I do nothing with no intention and no thought is that good or evil?
If I commit evil while intending good, is that good or evil?
If I intend harm, in any case can I be blameless? What if I am defending innocense, what if I take no action on my impulse?
Is good conformity to a code of conduct, no matter the reason?
Is good taking intentional action to help, no matter the outcome?
Is good doing no harm, and doing nothing to help?
Is good helping more than you harm?
Is good never harming ?
Can I be evil without meaning to?

Thomas Paine Would be Aghast

2011-03-29T21:50:00.000-07:00

heart down to the black beat earth
swollen with the lyricism of the season
pounding blood through the fading veins of militant games
power and guns and the will to kill
for oil or sex or some such swill
I drive a car over your grave every day
and she is whoring for a new blood diamond broach
or an orphan slave crafted handbag by Coach
Bombs to kill tanks and a free air space
oil and money this death is my honey
Libya, Egypt, Saudi, or Bahrain
freedom is second class to Islam and gas
those cats in muslin will be wrapped in it
buried as they are beneath the mullahs and the moolah
theocracy and technocracy what democracy
can they hope for under them thumbs
thugs and clubs and rubber bullets and Americans
I wish we still had a democracy

The Discarded Sand Pale

2011-03-27T23:07:00.000-07:00

We must lose the tender sapling
to bring forth the towering Fir
The tree you are has garnered another ring
each strata adding to your strength
but I am so sad to see that spurned yellow shovel
and the discarded little bucket
we used so often enjoyed together
rolling down the beach
I hated the tedious sand castles
but I loved and still love the time with you
you have been the source of my joy
and I pray you grow straight and true
to resists the lashing winds
and the inevitable tests
straining the grain of our life
I hope you absorb the strength of that sea
the smell of that adjacent verdant grove
and the memory of each laugh and each hug
for I have all that wealth to give you
if only you are wise enough to safeguard it
deep in the forest of our hearts.

Thinking of Japan

2011-03-11T23:59:00.000-08:00

The tsunami was devastating to watch
the BBC reporter said "there are people in there"
the farms washed away, with food and dreams
villages disappear beneath the bracken
and then there are the atoms
let free from their cage they went crazy
and who knows who will suffer for that
someone somewhere really must be angry with us
i will stick with my paltry problems
taxes and car wrecks and long commutes
for I would not want to test my mettle against Japan

The Corpulant Now

2011-02-13T22:10:00.000-08:00

A holiday of sorrow for the heart that burns low
a step at a time away from the sunrise of youth
I long for the time I walked on the surface of the sun
in love dizzying and drunk on life
I miss that heliocentric delight
a curse of age, the decay of love
the heart still beats, but pumps nothing but blood
no heat, no light, not but a hollow sound
a scarecrow in the wind, a straw man of nothing
will that love ever arise from the ashes
or have my wax wings burned off never to return

Marriage

2011-01-30T11:56:00.000-08:00

Marriage is to be regressed
once again to adolescence
sitting in a dark womb of solitude and music
avoiding the dread contention of family life
Garcia mentions the celibacy of marriage
is worse than that of virginity
as there is no hope of reprieve over time
This I have learned too well
It was brought home to me that
should you divorce for any grounds
the church will never allow you to marry
live as an adulterer or a fornicator, yes
but never leave your unhappy house
and find a new and honourable love
and divorce itself leads one to believe
a new love is just the same set of problems
wrapped in a momentary blissful lie

Frozen Stone Past

2011-01-22T13:01:00.000-08:00

The sun is shining in
uncharacteristically abundant for January
a normally welcome boon
in a generally loveless month
This light this day imparts sadness to me

I weight my vital essence
against the shimmering insolidity
of my reflection in the window
it is hard to gauge which is more
dirty, sun streaked, and wane

I tremble at the thought of death
compelled by yearning not fear
and a pulsing ignoble pathos
and me weakness drains the warmth
from that January sun I steal
with my weak little baby heart

I miss the past where I was glorious
I hate this future of stilled vigor
where I am feebly entombed in crepe and time
I love the elements of water and earth
but I am a lava field not a mountain peak

A Feather Fell

2010-12-27T22:56:00.000-08:00

burnt my waxy heart
to close to the sun
fell to the sea
crisp and green and cold
what was left is what I am
and the waves scoot me toward
a forever of jetties
circled by gulls

The Body Today

2010-12-21T23:12:00.000-08:00

pain wracked and half blind
I am broken again
the season ends as it began
I will end as I began
feeble and bawling
wanting for my mother
wanting for comforting
and nurturing
as I lay wasting into dust
and onto the great promise fulfilled
goodbye my loves, goodbye

Love

2010-12-21T21:25:00.000-08:00

my back is against
stone wet and rough
a body cold and broken
I shiver, alone

Heavily Fell the Crown of Love

2010-11-18T23:10:00.001-08:00

I will be a nail bomb
full of ugly efficacy
instilled with rust destined
to penetrate your tender
thick slut skull
like when you sucked him hard

I am the malignancy that
will wither your breast
that he devoured
cancer locust over the fertile crescent
he sowed with his transient hands

I will bestow upon you a curse
that famished in dearth
you may see my past charity
that you shit on in the street
defaced in the market square
for all to see
a dazzling laughing stock

now fallen from the great promise
there is nothing you say
the sword was raised
like Damocles
it hung from a thin line
when we held hands and laughed
and it was too much for you
you vacated the regal seat of wedlock

I will present a writ in stone
severed hearts in deed
nothing left of us but past
stuffed with nonce
a scare crow corpulent with weeds
that was our marriage
that was our sour love
once so precious
I gave up so much
but I was a terror
and you were what
ever the hell you were

This Stasis is Suicide

2010-05-11T22:56:00.000-07:00

a voice in the desert wind
sand on my tongue
a pound of dry scraping off my words
onto barren soil
I lay my heart down
why not, nothing can hurt it now
armored from love and hate
I am ready for death
there is no sound and no passion
only a sigh of wind through sparse brush
history does not exist here in this landscape
time rules here only very subtly
in means immeasurable it passes
by human standards nothing is moving
it is loud, but with no distinct sound
I hear see taste feel and hope for nothing new
A slow procession is the same as a recursive loop
as elapsed time nears zero aspirations are meaningless
as expectation is stilled
the heart beat a metronome for a single note song
the wealthy, famous, sexy, charismatic
they feel lost as love ends for them
famous adulteries of beautiful beings
falling apart in a camera lens
teaching me, soothing my anxiety
I am not alone in this desert
this isolated waste
all humanity ends here
with this whistling wind and dun soil
caking us un-defining us
blurring our definite edges
this smudge of love lost
touches even the angels of the media heavens
and I, lowly I, have no hope of escaping
barefoot and pain stumbling across
this indistinct cracked earth

Homeless in Nashville

2010-05-03T21:43:00.000-07:00

The place where they
feed the homeless
is underwater today
For the first time
in three years
these people
will not be fed
the humble troubled
will suffer more
but what is a little more
when one can expect so little
people look at them
as ghosts in rags
but these are people
in love with this life
who will band together
and be warmth and food
for one another
they will be family
they will be friends
for themselves
for no one else
is there with them today
and they will be hungry
and they will be despised
and God will have love for them
and hopefully hope will sustain
and they will not be alone

Someday She Will Go Away

2010-05-02T19:02:00.001-07:00

sometimes I forget
my daughter is a girl
she is just a person to me
but sometimes I need to recall
she has some secrets
not meant for me
I need to step back
and let her be she
That is not so easy
because she means so much
but I know some day
another man or woman
will take her away
it will hurt so much
and it will be okay
it has to be that way
it has to be that way
it has to be that way
it has to be that way
She is the emobodiment
of the redeeming
power of love
a worthless man
was lifted up
rssied above
all the other stuff
by a pure an selfless love
for a thing some small
so piteous and young
Somehow it thived
throught dedication and sacrifice
sleepsless nights and marital fights
much pain and bitterness
but she was always a light
but she was always a light
born aloft like a torch of God
illuminating me
and the whole damn city
what a good thing to have
I've been a lucky
there will be some other damn lucky man
other than me
he better be worth it
he better be worth it
it has to be that way
it has to be that way

Suicide Note 3

2010-04-19T22:24:00.000-07:00

I am a man.
This you must know with surety.
While young I fought with handfuls of gut
for glory for honor
as expression of personal power
As I got older I learned how to lead
how to plan and where the enemy would be
how to think like other men and trap them
within valleys having good lines of site
from the adjoining cliffs we would fie down on them
one time a junior officer of mine came to me and asked
how I knew the ememy would march through a particular meadow
I told him just as I am telling you
they are hungry and tired. They have been chased for three days
They have not slept and will need water in the next 2 hours
The easiest way to the water is to go along the edge of the forest
the safest route is through the trees,
but it will take 4 hours to go through the trees.
They need water too soon to be too cautious.
And so we killed them all that day in that wide open meadow.
I am writing this so you understand.
I was a thoughtful careful leader.
Not a reckless man who put the mission before everything.
We were simply out maneuvered along the flank of the hillside.
Our air support was diverted to cover an ambushed medical convoy.
They took out our howitzer threw a track trying to reposition
That sergant was useless.
I should have pulled him off the artillery piece
and replaced him with his corporal.
Still it is my fault the mortars got so close to our positions
and my fault they were not dug deep enough.
I do not take losing well. This is very personal to me.
As in feudal Japan, I am doing this not out of grief, nor shame
I am doing it out of a sense of honor that must be upheld
If I stay here, accept another post, perhaps in a rear unit
that would cause me shame I could not bare.
My men are dead so I go to lead them in heaven or in hell.
Captain Trevor Marshall US Amy Resigned

Suicide Notes 2

2010-04-19T22:14:00.000-07:00

There is a test today.
One for which I have not studied
Not nearly enough to do well
I fear I will not pass this term
My grades are very low in math
and polysci is so very early in the morning
I am late to half the classes
and Prof Stein is a ball breaker about deadlines
I have no idea how I can tell you this
not face to face. I know how you will react
with the sad eyes and thin lipped grimace
you are so disappointed in me already
I feel it even though you never say it
I never lived up to your expectations
not like Chris did. I am sorry that the wrong one lived
I really do feel that way. It tears me up inside.
So I am going to tell you this once.
I love you and I am sorry
Even this little school didn't work out.
I am not cut out for the world as it is.
I could have been a good cooper or wainwright
but I have failed to be a Kennedy.
I have already gotten ride of most of my things.
The rest can go to Goodwill.
I have tried to make as little mess as possible
for you
You should be able to have an open coffin.
You can also choose to cremate me. It is up to you.
Cremation looks to be cheaper.
Love Eric.

Suicide Notes 1

2010-04-17T10:28:00.000-07:00

Your eyes
were once
the force
rooting
me to
this earth
they have
strayed too
far too
soon from
my face
my heart
I am
betrayed
I see
no reason
to go
on I
hope my
death serves
to teach
you the pain of betrayal
May you
suffer
from torment
everlasting
thinking of
me in
this bed
of our cold dead love
there is
nothing
left for me
so leave
everything
to my
mother

Suffering

2010-03-14T11:04:00.001-07:00

The greatest failure is suffering to the point of despair.
Despair is the product of a suffering so great, that one wishes for death as the only amelioration. Despair occurs when death will not come. This lack of respite causes despair, which indicates a characterological flaw, that one has lost hope in redemption and purpose.

Suffer that can not be abated should be endured with dignity to signify hope. As endured effectively our suffering becomes a sacrifice. The nature of this sacrifice is not the suffering, not the pain in sympathy for God's suffering, no. The sacrifice is the ejection of despair onto death. The striving to endure suffering exhibits the fine nature, of an elevated spirit. It exemplifies the hope and meaningful purpose of existence in the face of a flawed world. It shows the enduring quality of the spirit in sharp contrast to the meaningless and random nature of violence and deprivation that exemplifies the current imperfect state in which we exist, and live, and feel.

This striving towards meaning is not a philosophical exercise. It engenders the personal experience of life with meaning, where otherwise the threat of meaninglessness looms ready to engulf us. To reject despair onto death is to embrace hope that there is purpose to one's experience, that may benefit someone, in someway, even when it is absolutely not clear to us how that could be. When one can see the meaning it takes not hope but endurance to push through suffering. When no goal or meaning is apparent it takes dumb, unquestioning loyalty to hope to move forward, without death, without amelioration, without narcotizing the senses. This is the pure act of devotion that I have such a hard time committing to.

Congressional Bribery II

2010-01-30T11:15:00.000-08:00

a herd on the Savannah
the sick and young and elderly
are falling behind
we are losing them
we love them
for their weakness
is salvation
for the rest of us
we scorn them
to thwart our guilt
but we can not
staunch our bleeding hearts

Congressional Bribery I

2010-01-30T10:53:00.000-08:00

Their withered hands
groping for the fetid money
weeds and centipeeds crawling
through their decaying suits
shiny and handsome
encrusted with remains of fine meals
the laugh and lie
and sell the health of millions
to affluent predators
whom are fattened and happy
the mansions of these tigers
are littered with so much
ineffectual health care policy
one can not walk though
without staining one's soul

Zero Sum Biodiversity

2010-01-01T22:15:00.000-08:00

Relentlessly pounding on their existence
to gain our little hectare of Hell
sew that recently departed sacred grove
of rain forest with Montsanto GMOs
see what you will have left
as the Earth wilts at our touch
zoos become our last bastion of encapsulated nature
Soon only rats, humans, and cows will remain
to fill out the class mammalia
so much easier to draw the phylum chart
we have dwindled down to a zero sum biodiversity state
with each overreaching grasping desire
I take for me an essential piece
of the much diminished creation
splendor lost for consumer gains
I wonder if God is ever disappointed with
how little of His lovely work remains

Felled Again A Horrid Year

2009-12-12T12:21:00.000-08:00

crushed skull
under the weight
the percussion of Suffocation
sifting though my pain
searing serpent
waits to devour
cower in frustration
immobility reigns like a
Norse tyrant
pinned to my velvet bed
I howl and whine
more piteous animal than human
Winter is a pall
like an annual death
but this weakness
with me always
is a slight damnation
it and I limp off
the beggar kings
trailing their one crutch
though snows amassing

Disappearing in The Details

2009-11-09T21:49:00.000-08:00

I have been reading
Why Hasn't Everything Disappeared
by Jean Baudrillard.
It is not about nihilism
the empty wish of some for the cessation of existence
nor the extinction of environmentalism
We are disappearing due to the fact that we are
extracting our essential selves from the real
by defining our world
we reduce each defined thing
to smaller manageable parts
this reduces the context and nuance
of each inter-related piece
thus limiting the scope of existence
by blinding us to so much
of the real

I love heavy metal.
The distortion the throb and hum
To me, it is the growling expression
of human alienation
an alienation bred of the modern dilemma
we are dislodged from our ancient sacred pathways
we are lost on ground
that was once clearly mapped
for a humanity engaged in surviving
now life is like a piece of paper
with a list of enumerated properties
weight, speed, phylum, hue saturation
in this we seek to express
our need for an ordering principal
the quantum descriptions of time
small inert pieces of space

naming and describing our way to a secular godhead
we strip away all of the layers
of mystery and meaning
we are left with a fixed typography
and an ever shifting plain of human values
the peels slip from our fingers
adrift on the wind
we can hope for little more
than a well written description
in a lexicon of disappointments

Attachments to Forms

2009-10-03T10:43:00.000-07:00

When casting a bell for the temple
the craftsman asked what metal to use
He was told
It does not matter
No one will hear the bell
reverberate with simple piety
The craftsman persisted
He was told
All men will love the sight of the bell
if it is made of gold
All men will love its tone
if it is made of bronze
All men will love profits and war
if it is made of iron
Men will worship correctly
only if there is no bell

Out of Our Control

2009-09-06T09:40:00.000-07:00

He is angry at the mute intentionless rain
he feels thwarted by a summer of injuries and bad weather
the summer was short and joyless
like a sail with no wind, slack
it was a horrible drowning in time
helpless in a small white room
listening to their shouts and laughter
as they run and ride bicycles
a few feet from his ruined body
rain and chronic injuries and time's unrelenting thrum
the tantalizing sounds of others' joy
wrapped in a cocoon so tight
only bands of slate blue light
seeping through as a preternatural twilight

Thoughts from a Serj Tankian Video

2009-08-18T23:04:00.000-07:00

The image of a flower
crushed under the tracks
of a tank
insects swarming
over its crushed petals
this is an image of life
of nature's inexorable draw
the things of nature
will be drawn to nature
even in its most debased form
natural things will
derive strength
from the creative animus of God
as embodied in something
as small as a crushed flower
and they will draw from that flower
the exhaled breath of Creation
the mighty OHM
that God breathed
into inorganic matter
to give it life

Extravegance was Once a Sin

2009-05-30T22:14:00.000-07:00

That's right
extravagance was once a sin
your big TV was not a venial sin
atoned for by easy sacraments
No, it was one of the mortal sins
Image each turbo sports coupe
carrying a demonic destroyer of grace
storm clouds gathering over FAO Schwartz
a tempest beset each person exiting the building
once upon a time, the faithful wore hair shirts
as a symbol of earnest devotion
having forsaken luxury and embracing the death of baptism
the wanted to be uncomfortable in their cloths
a constant reminder that their desire belonged
in another plan of existence
now the devout purchase glass cathedrals and gold crosses
wrapped in modern fashion from head the foot
no one ever need wash a brother's feet
nor dry them with their hair
all of the obvious stories of faith
seem to be in the past
now they are so subtle and sly that they are wasted
on the children of cinematic imaginations

Lust, Oddly is Not Listed in Proverbs 6

2009-05-06T16:07:00.000-07:00

She was so pretty
when she was younger
that is the way to the end
and then the eye is hooked
by desirous form
the way the monk breaks his vow
and catches a carp barehanded

but there is more to it
it is not for love of form
that the married stray
there is so much loss of self
as one progresses towards death
a loss of purpose and future
an inability to pour desire
into the crevasse of every moment
living as a carapace discarded by time
we are deafened by the drone
of routine,
of competence,
of familiarity
it is hollow and we weep
there is nothing left for us to feel
deeply down in the core

and then the devil walks in
a compliment a smile
a light touch on the wrist
a word whispered throaty and warm
lead down by an illusion of self
lead down by a longing for
for what? for sex? not exactly
damned by one last opportunity
to dream once again of defining
this life in new illustrious terms
to throw off the shackles of a
worn and thoroughly familiar domesticity
with its easy charms and simple peace
this is not what we pictured as our legacy
instead we want to embrace everything
alive and voluminous and unreal
so strong the desire for potentiality
we are lead of the precipice with out even a whimper
and even a pockmarked husk of desire
left over from a thousand dull carcasses
can seem like the last thread of hope
of youth and of fortune
and holding on double fisted tight
it severs and you fall
a wasted body
whipped down hard
into the rocks

The Iconograghy of Death Gods

2009-05-02T22:30:00.000-07:00

Sails of trade brought Shinigami
death gods stridently crawling
across the islands of Japan
an exogenous agent to explain
the decay or feudal morality

The Reaper lives with us as a hood
a ragged robe and knurled hands
darkened by his work as a hard honest plague
apart from the human hands that sew it
forcefully detaching death from our bosom

Apollyon has a rotten job, for an angel
a curse to humanity resulting
from the folly of human character
daily awash in that which is
deadly sin for mortal hands
I bet none of the other angels
will eat with him in the celestial cafeteria

Atop pyramids warriors were given
obsidian wounds to appease the gods
who, hunkered down on their scaly torsos
feathers draped over the clouds
peer at us with sanguine stares

This fear this crime reigns over us
our minds and spirits quaver as
releasing our tenuous grip
on the shadowy things we know
we migrate to an immutable other

The Hatred of the Faithful

2009-03-28T14:36:00.000-07:00

I watched as she cried
cried because she was hated
hated because she was gay

Callus jackals of a hateful god
a human deity crawls from tunnels of spite
covered in the blood of Satanic glee
wrung from the bodies of burning witches
carried like torches down corridors
made of indigenous bones of conquered heathens
martyrs slain by self righteous rapists
who wiped the fluids of their offense on their habits
to pray pennance for lesser sins of better men

widows dispossessed and children sold to foreign lands
a history defiling the whole enterprise of Faith
virtue and divine law called into question
a history of evil in the name of a shadow messiah
like a cartoon villain twisting his mustache
you are fooling no one you sons of Abaddon
no one will weep for you at judgement day
You hate anything that is not you
that is not the God I read about in Sunday school
That is not the divinity more expansive than the universe
your god is wood and metal, rape and greed
your god is small, carnal, and full of hate
You have no faith because your god is waste

The Creator does not need to despise diversity
God is not afraid of the complexity of reality
A cosmic mind grasps all potentials without error
Gather the hems of your holy garments
and fall to your knees you pile of dispair
this planet is chocking on its own bile
a planet dying and lousy with zombies
corpulant flesh of the impotant future
in need of the true faith of the Living God

Defacement of Innocence

2009-01-25T22:05:00.000-08:00

So soon do we rush to tarnish
and then, with sad guilty hands
to deplete utterly, swiftly
the innocence of our youth

the garish defacement
of the imagination
that intuitively grasps
the truth of the fabulous

A jinn and the carpet ride
the theft of the silkie's skin
This hunchback so sick with love
all and more we cast aside

what did you hope to gain here
fine passion bleeding away
as an endless equation
soon lost to hard cold numbers

This is a poem of life

2009-01-05T21:39:00.000-08:00

Basalt and falcons and motion and freedom
a physical communion intoning prayers
the wind holds the whisper of virtues
long lost in the city
the water has a course that it chooses
in dry seasons the easy course
In the wettest seasons it swallows the flood plain
Powerful fish struggling against its current
year in and out - moon waxing or on the wane
There are no bear here to eat them anymore
just giant mechanical turbines
and a wall of concrete taller than a fir tree
against this too they struggle
to keep their ancient family alive
blood and scale and water and man
to fight and love and give birth
to something like a vibrant future

Little Remains of the Unexamined Man

2008-11-27T22:07:00.000-08:00

One can not be their own father
if your father is stolen from your life
the pattern of masculine love
the comfort and security in an uncertain time
is lost
you can not fill this void with self help
you can not heal this with bravado,
fighting, cursing, drinking, sports, nor guns
Verbs can not take the place of the father
the steady hand when you are shaking
the enveloping warmth of a hug larger than yourself
when your self is so small and vulnerable
a single leaf trembling in the wind
you can not be your father
you can not replace your father
you will carry with you that absence
and either learn from it or die from it

I am now the man I am because of this void

I chased the stories of manhood
like Hemingway in the Savanna , like Melville out whaling
I sought it in the wilder places
like Vonnegut and Mailer and Heller I sought it in war
I found that these tests and lessons
do not make a man a man
they make a man tired, a braggart, humble and sly
or whatever a man can become
but they do not make him a man
that is innate and these were simply lessons
lessons that inform the conscious person of his natural capacity
a capacity for sin and venal acts
a capacity for charity and sacrifice
or a tendency to sullenly withdraw into a shell
like some ancient turtle of destiny
carrying the burden of all mankind's testes on his back

what a useless pursuit that would be

sex and fighting and career building and home ownership
hunting and fishing and war games
marathons and black belts
college degrees and really deadly fast cars
and impressive Japanese combat knives
will never make me a man
and they have not told one who the hell this man is
they are pretty damned cool things I guess
but ultimately they are nothing
but a shroud to place on the mantle
after the burial only the love and hate
the man has inspired will remain

Emptiness is Passing Away

2008-11-21T22:35:00.000-08:00

I ran a brisk mile towards my end
burning a lot of time others left banked
They in their coats of ermine and velvetine gloves
I in pelts with decorus bones
These words are declarative
They are emphatic
They are gongs in an abandoned temple
far up on a windswept mountaintop
That is our life
our history
our fate
Look at us
foot steps deeply embedded in clay
worn by the most persistent of elements
but I am a song bird aloft beautiful and free
I risk the sky and predation
for freedom and the moment of being
The rest is traveling the standard inch an hour

What That We Do Not Know

2008-11-11T22:01:00.000-08:00

There is a little country we have never heard of
where people have a history we are not aware of
with kings or czars or PMs we can not name
These unthought of places have unknown GDPs
and unspoken unemployment rates
they may have a level of literacy that would surprise us
there may be many orphaned children in the care of the elderly
We may read of the colors of their flag during the Olypics
and see their representative to the UN in a glancing news article
but the stories of the lives in the country we do not know
are buried in ignorance and remain pearls in dust before swine
we will never know the tradition of the harvest
nor how important a certain port is to pilgrims
the culture heroes extolled in poems are a null value
our lives will be forever unmarked
by the absence of what we did not know

What Dave Taught Me

2008-11-09T22:23:00.000-08:00

I have a friend
whom I ride bicycles with
on occasion
At 4 AM
fourteen years ago
his life parter died
of AIDS related complications
My friend nursed this man
at home
himself until his death
My friend told me this
to commemorate the life
he had found in love
I promised to go home and treat my family lovingly
I came home and I was fatigued and hungry
and a bit of a horse's arse
but I recalled my promise
and I chilled out
and I passed out hugs
and I doled out affection
and I spent what time I could afford
and I argued as well
Love is perfect
but people are found wanting
All of this is joy
when faced with the specter of loss
or worse yet, negligence's remorse
I owe you one Dave
for making my evening more perfect

A New First For America

2008-11-04T21:05:00.000-08:00

A new first
has been a long time coming
It is foolish to think
that race does not matter
in my great nation
Race is so important
as it defines the struggles, crimes
and eventual glorious triumphs
of this American story
I have said many a time
that we are slowly transforming
into a more perfect union
brothers and sisters
united and divided on honest
egalitarian intellectual grounds
where our differences are not querulous
nor trivial, but instead
our differences can form a tapestry
the picture of a nation of ideals
woven with conflict and striving and blood
woven with fear and dogs and tear gas
woven with pain and hatred and apathy
woven with sacrifice and sweat and love
woven by you and myself
woven from the dreams of men and women
lifting us up every time we falter
our resilience always saving us from disgrace

We are Frail and Afraid

2008-10-19T22:51:00.000-07:00

"We sleep safely in our beds at night because of violent deeds done on our behalf."

This sums the struggle
the contradiction
of the human condition.

It is noble to serve
and terrible to kill.
If we must kill to thrive
and some part of us dies when we kill
what is it that is defended by might?
Some say a shell
no longer in the image of God.
I do not believe this.

I do not believe that war
even a just war
is for a whole soul
it fragments the spirit
and distances us for a moment from God

I do not believe that killing alienates us from God
He who knows more of death and finality than any of us
God is on both ends of the bullet
God is in the humble prayers of the pacifist
But there is no virtue
in the killing or the death of innocence
There are tears and a humility
There is a rending of the self
at witnessing the fragile thing
that we destroy
That such finality
can reside
in these tired human hands
it is shock that such power has been put
in our the control of our finite conscience

To what end is this war we fight among our brethren
To whose vain glory shall we attribute our victory
Whom will we curse for each little defeat
Will it be God, us, a caricature of the devil

How will violence cease without equal force
and to what purpose will this force be wielded
and on whose behalf?

Assorted Concepts

2008-10-17T10:51:00.000-07:00

My hands formed a net
They captured her breast
Like a fowler

by submitting formally
to all desires
you will fail
divorce is an expense
you can not recover

a Winchester a Colt a derringer
a gallows for the evil
a glare for the transgressive
a hug for the child of love

there was the moon so large and low on the horizon
swinging down to eye level through the trees

there was a huddle of men
and a lovely thriving coyote in the gully
hiding from me behind the sparse brush
I illuminated them all as I passed by
I paused momentarily for each in turn

there was a family
holding each other joyous
at the notion of hope
there was a shadow that passed
and may not return
the threat now dormant
or extinct

What Used to Be Is

2008-09-06T00:01:00.000-07:00

What used to be is today
technology and astrophysics not withstanding
the human heart and the symbols of the spirit
have been and are
consistent
across the ages

we think of the persons in religious texts
in ancient dramatic tragedies
as living in a flattened and diametric world
decisions made on a razors edge
with simply and obvious emotions and choices
Kill Isaac or disobey the Living God
Look back at Persephone while fleeing Hades and lose her for ever
kill Oedipus or face the abominations of prophecy
build an arc in the arid land

The gnostics and Manicheans
described the creator as the Demiurge
this was the force that formed
out of chaos all that exists
including evil

Judeo-Christians believe in a personified creative force
set apart absolutely
from evil and corruption
yet intimately involved in the temptations of man
not as the source of temptation
but as a countervailing entity
blancing out the adversarial invitations of the devil
as seen in Job
and through out the histo-theological texts

And the anger of the Lord burned against Israel
...
God could bear the misery of Israel no longer

China

2008-08-22T22:08:00.000-07:00

This country you have been sold on
this red state is not of the people
this is not communism
this is fascism
you have been lied to
and you will be compressed
and your flat red blood
will oil the economic machinery
of a future generation
and 500,000,000 people you
will never ever see

Self Managed Cattle - Revision 2

2008-06-30T21:27:00.000-07:00

Each person, each unit of discipline
is managed as thought it were interchangeable
A sock is not a glove but both go in the same dryer
The unit of discipline is observed in both
a general and individual manner
When watering the whole of the field the farmers sees the dead stalks
The method of this paradox was developed
over centuries
not by the selfish plans of a cabal of vampires
but through glacial shifts of intentions of the ruling elite
The units are kept static in a spacial plane
addressed alphanumerically
for ready indexical recall of a specific unit
ordered uniformly for ease of observation
hierarchically ranked within the field
to allow visual afformeramtion of quality and ongoing utility
House after house
Cube after cube
Car after car
tier after tier of desk after desk
An equiform procession of human units
graded, ranked, titled, numbered
contained by order for general observation
this tablized discipline maintains
a subtle cultural feed back stimuli
a deviation from order will cause an accident
a deterioration of quality in the unit of disciple
a car with a dent
a desk by the restroom
a table by the kitchen
a house losing appraised value
a grade signifying lackluster performance
This appraisal of value is intentionally
made relative to other units
it is set by a mechanism of market
set by the insecurities of the monied overseeing monad
I hear their breathing each time I am out of step
each time I stop for a rest their shadow covers my napping face
a chill over takes me in my sleep
I am not working hard enough to stay alive
they will stop the flow of capital and I will die

Self Managed Cattle revision 1

2008-06-29T20:46:00.000-07:00

Each person, each unit of discipline
is managed as thought it were interchangeable.
A sock is not a glove but both go in the same dryer
The unit of discipline is observed in both
a general and individual manner
When watering the whole of the field the farmers sees the dead stalks
The method of this paradox was developed over three centuries
The units are kept static in a spacial plane
addressed alphanumerically
for ready indexical recall of a specific unit
ordered uniformly for ease of observation
hierarchically ranked within the field
to allow visual afformeramtion of quality and ongoing utility
House after house
Cube after cube
Car after car
tier after tier of desk after desk
An equiform procession of human units
graded, ranked, titled, numbered
contained by order for general observation
this tablized discipline maintains
a subtle cultural feed back stimuli
a deviation from order will cause an accident
a deterioration of quality in the unit of disciple
a car with a dent
a desk by the restroom
a table by the kitchen
a house losing appraised value
a grade signifying lackluster performance
This appraisal of value is intentionally
made relative to other units
it is set by a mechanism of market
set by the insecurities of the monied overseeing monad
I hear their breathing each time I am out of step
each time I stop for a rest their shadow covers my napping face
a chill over takes me in my sleep
I am not working hard enough to stay alive
they will stop the flow of capital and I will die

Self Managed Cattle

2008-06-28T16:12:00.000-07:00

Each person, each unit of discipline
is managed as thought it were interchangeable.
A sock is not a glove but both go in the same dryer
The unit of discipline is observed in both
a general and individual manner
The method of this paradox was developed over three centuries
The units are kept static in a spacial plane
addressed alphanumerically for ready indexical recall of a specific unit
ordered uniformly for ease of observation
House after house
Cube after cube
Car after car
An equiform procession of human units
contained by order for general observation
this discipline is maintained by subtle cultural feed back stimuli
a deviation from order will cause an accident
a deterioration of equity for the container of the unit of disciple
a car with a dent
a desk by the restroom
a table by the kitchen
a house losing appraised value
The appraisal of value is relative to other units
it is set by a mechanism of market
set by the insecurities of the monied overseeing monad
I hear their breathing each time I am out of step
each time I stop for a rest their shadow covers my napping face
a chill over takes me in my sleep
I am not working hard enough to stay alive
they will stop the flow of capital and I will die

2008-05-03T21:55:00.000-07:00

life is the death
of a thousand little set backs
dripping down the leg
is a bruise put there
by God only knows who
It will slide to my foot
before passing from my body as a dream

Each day I am ground into asphalt
peppered by doubt
salty as rage
basic and visceral
I shake my hateful days
like calendric manacles holding me
to the vestiges of a savage primitivistic pursuit
making stones out of rocks to turn to gravel
day after day after day after
and you get the tone
of the poem.

whistling through me

2008-04-26T21:57:00.000-07:00

I hear your voice reverberate
in my hollow skull
as I follow the fall line trail
sweat and blood and adrenaline
grunting and aching
I am expressing my yearning
with my body alone
and I am only alive in the small moment
the rest is a disingenuous composite
a tar paper and plywood existence
with the winds coming
and
I can feel the rain bleeding through
I am an erratic sterophonic mess
and
the wind blows right through me

I am not really trying

2008-04-19T22:53:00.000-07:00

It has been famously said
that the Lord speaks to us through the poor
I think it is intuitive that the message of the devil
is conveyed by the damned
so many stories intertwined
predating science and modern media
stories expressing the essentials of our being
to those who would listen

The condition of the poor is a litmus test
measuring the success of the Church
or its glaring public failure

I own so much that could have been food or a house or a business
for someone poorer and closer to death and God than I
I ate so much food today
more than I needed
I bought more things today
I could have fed three people for a week
I spent so much money frivolously
that could have bought medicine
or shoes
or soap
for someone that has no shoes or soap or medicine
someone just like me
or my daughter
but with no opportunity
someone just like you
but with no money
and a hungry family

If the poor are fed and housed and happy
the Church has been busy
If the poor are hungry and restless and murdered
Christ's words have been vainly proclaimed
and wontly ignored

March's Lovely Death Throws

2008-03-28T21:29:00.000-07:00

I emerge from the canopy of cherry blossoms
into the flurry of massive conjoined snowflakes

I am wet and desire nothing more
The cold defines me intimately
with no malice nor rancor
I am completely aware of March
as the chrysalis of Spring

I work my way along the byways
hoping for sun later
but not now
Now the snow and cherry petals
and cold faced clouds
are bracing and affirming
affirming that my struggles are not in vain
that my effort defines a life
a life of growth and vitality

I am tired
but alive
living and burning down
to the radiant end

not marching like a resigned soldiery
not kicking like the shaven headed inmate
not shuffling like the plebeian cannon fodder
condemned to a neutered and gentrified tranquility

I feel today the Spring emotions
running like a bear or an ocelot
through me
a solitary predator
on the line
stretched thin between
the point of fervent survival
and indulgent self possession

A Strange Bird

2008-03-03T22:08:00.000-08:00

riding my bicycle
today
at dusk
I saw a heron inches
from the juncture
of shore and water
I wanted so very badly
to arrest me my travels
and walk down to this dusky bird
and
enthusiastically
and
adoringly
squeeze it
in my arms
as a precious childhood memento
I abstained
and sallied forth
along the trail
towards the Sellwood bridge
The river was reflecting
the low lying clouds
The river was
purple as a bruised eye
as though I had injured it by rejecting
that spontaneous affinity for the heron
of just moments ago.

Dry Times

2008-03-02T20:58:00.000-08:00

I hate these times
with no grand eloquence
to express these joys
nor the withering despair
we Americans encapsulate
The scorned and hated
the populace bereft of health care
social security, job security, national security
the giant corporate back hand
throws us across the room
slamming against the wall
We, teeth bared in impotent resistant
unable to believe that
biting the hand the feeds
has any merit to bring positive change
Ever modern individual
wants the same chance
a chance to own their destiny
a chance at security
a chance to be heard
and for that voice to be reciprocated
with meaningful political action
clean water would be a nice touch
as well

Land is Identity 2

2008-02-28T22:24:00.000-08:00

hands on stone, gripping to survive
fear exuding out like a final gust
moving upward
surrounded by gear
rope anchors harnesses
ballerina shoes coated in subtle compounds
mind strains to focus
body strives for succinct
graceful fluidity
wind blows through the ropes
chalk outlines on the rock
of each hand that has passed
like a pilgrims penance for chthonic sins
climbing a column or crack or slab
mantling or laying back
seeking to express freedom to oneself
and one's peers
physically expressing a lust for life
and a hatred of meager existance

Land is Identity 1

2008-02-26T21:58:00.000-08:00

Many of the writers worth reading
loved their land, whatever land
there was to love
Thoreau loved the Northeast
Ed Abby the Southwest
Muir the Sierras which define California
for so many artists and hikers
The Northwest has Gary Snyder, to some extent
but he went all Nipponese and Zen
I love the parts of California that have died
scenic ghosts of happy pasts
buried beneath a lahar of stucco and chain stores
feeding off the tribute of dessicated
Eastern Sierra lakes
Built at the edge of the forests of yore
now standing murdered by the
residentially oriented fire suppression
that contributed to preventable
bark beetle infestations
droughts and dried sap
views lost beneath the lead and sulfur
there are six ubiquitous
criteria air pollutants
California now reeks of them all
from the ground ozone
to the nitrogen oxides
my memories are smothered
and as such I am in the Northwest
Portland, the 1950's California I never knew
that I had adolescent dreams of
healthy forests and local agriculture
water and rain
community and conservation
but I have to wonder
where are the bear and lynx
now so prevalently absent from
the Southern Cascades

Vanities and Flames

2008-02-25T23:21:00.000-08:00

the fascism of pop culture
fashion mall make up counter
dancing boy toys
1 centimeter deep conversation
this magazine is a catalog of veneer
for your pitted ill used spirit
you are dead to your chthonic heritage
dead to choral arrangements
to the swelling of ridges
dead on a pulpit
thrust up from plate tectonics
dead to the sermons
with the rage of volcanism
without such, you amount to nothing
the enemy will destroy us
and you liberal tendency will agonize
the loss of the gun and the doctrines of power
your feeble hands will clutch
at the lost straws of your placid vanity

2008-02-23T19:29:00.000-08:00

stiff sacks of dead animal
grimaces plastered tragically
loves and fears forgotten
paths of distinct lives
disrupted by super highways
to a pretensious nonce
our urban lives
a horde of murderous lemmings
fleeing our created nature
hiding from death
in large vehicles and terrible food
Americans falling apart
as they are rent in two
by red and blue
an idea as bad as that rhyme
we lack nothing save everything
we hate everyone irrationally
sadly isolated by small ideas

Poem for Ken

2008-02-17T20:50:00.000-08:00

An inclinometer measures the angle of a slope
you use it in gauging the avalanche risk
when mountaineering or bragging
to buddies
back on the flat
to wow them with your superior stupidity
and endurance
my buddy Ken and I
both have inclinometers
his measures bigger angles than mine
but I am man enough to handle that
not that I would handle his inclinometer
that would just be awkward

A Subtle Loss of Human Dignity

2008-02-12T22:43:00.000-08:00

many are those who would strike a viper
with a stick
many many more are those that would snatch a child
from the crushing path of a steam roller

many are those who would build an army
to prevent the subjugation
of the weak
by the tyrannous
few are those who would volunteer a stranger
to die
for the financial gain of a third stranger

some are those who would fight a war
not for ideals but for short term
economic stability
a few more are those who would strive to defeat
a cabal
of impoverished hapless citizen rebels
with one trillion dollars of munitions
many more are those who would deeply regret
their bombs painted with the blood of housewives

few are those who would not strike a tyrant
with a sword
many are those who would not strike a child
with a rifle butt
even if it meant the loss of national status
as a dominant political power

2008-02-07T09:49:00.000-08:00

the dew collects on the brown velvet
of the elks rack
he looks up as we pass his world by swiftly
too swiftly for his survival
too swiftly for our own survival
the lights of our cars pollute the quite country road
our engine chases a raccoon off of a fallen hotdog in the gutter
raccoons are survivors like us

2008-02-06T21:22:00.000-08:00

If basic human goodness were the natural order
beauty in art would occur effortlessly, like rain
crime would be the realm of dedicated artisans
no one would pay for movies or music or literature
because we would barter in ideas and statuary
meaning would flood the streets

instead the debasement of life
is the best selling product
victims hang like low hanging fruit
pinatas for the crowds' amusement

2008-02-05T20:42:00.000-08:00

what if we started here, in a cathedral
large epic architecture surrounding us
would it communicate the ordered intensity of the universe
or the hateful burden of dogma

what if this was not a cathedral, but maybe a beach
would you enumerate the grains of sand
and correlate that to the number angels that fell from heaven
or would we make love on the maroon Navajo blanket
or fight about the wearing of sunscreen

what if this was, let's say, a forest
lush as only the Pacific Northwest can be
green and brown and the clarity of rain
would we hike amid ancient sylvan giants
or, tripping on roots, would we tear our pants and bleed freely

perhaps we should start in a small wooden church by the sea
it incorporates all of the best elements
we would stroll awkwardly hand in hand between the pews
our cloths catching on hymnals and the communion cup holders
to the window facing the sea
we would kneel there praying for so long
our knees would splinter and our backs would ache
God would be seen in the sea
God would be seen the humble wood of this Baptist church
it can be a Presbyterian church
if you are afraid we have not
gotten rid of enough of the dogma yet
God would be seen in how gently we treat each other
and in the sincerity of our entreaties
for peace
and healing
and humble personal absolution
the blood on the cross is a sunset
as we raise up we both think this thought
and smile as this is the best we can do with our lives

Nezmith Point

2008-02-04T21:52:00.000-08:00

I walked deep into the snow
wading up to my waist in fresh powder
I met others bent to the same purpose
struggling against the terrain
gaining feet at the cost of minutes
the sky turned cerulean, if but for a glorious moment
I paused in that desolate winter trek at the sound of a wood pecker
grey and black feathers working hard into the bark
to pull, by force, some life from the otherwise silent tree
as we turned away, we came to a rock formation
which I shall always know now as a friend
snow spinning wildly off the trees and the frozen water fall
sprays of it landing percussively beside me
reminding me that the woods could have swept me over
the sharp rock escarpment and down into the river below
that would have been a different ending,
to an otherwise spectacular day

snow falling while I sleep

2008-01-27T20:07:00.000-08:00

clouds bunched up along the coast range
bursting over the ridge with a flurry
gentle touch on trees and rocks and roots
leaving them playfully marred
by the brush of a trickster

Death in the American Desert

2008-01-18T21:18:00.000-08:00

Death in the American desert
seems romantic when colored only in words
moulting red tailed hawks
Queen of the Night Cactus
in full bloody bloom
mesas and arroyos
Sonora
seems like the evocative background
of a hundred bright burning and romantic murders
the collage of stark plain colors
and deeds of desperation and bold failure
that could crawl through us
bleeding pleasure
pouring as a flash flood from Spring's rains
as a cascade from the amygdala, center of aggression
to leave us as a cracked blood stain in the dust

Death in the American desert
is suffering for days in delirium
you idiots
you soft white inner thighs
you blistered heels
you cracked and bleeding lips

Death in the American desert
is not a heritage and a badge of honor
it is the dearest fear of the prideful pilgrims of the West
the Leviathan that ate the crops of Oklahoma
and the laggard that trailed behind the ice age
as nothing more than a barren glacial moraine

And the Light Was a Rare Commodity

2008-01-17T21:50:00.000-08:00

Upon your face
and your arms
and hair
smiling down
from warmly frosted fixtures
smiling up
from the diminished form of the oil lamp
touching you the way I wish
I could in that moment
the way we touch
in the dark
sigh of privacy
mingled a lone
creature
on a sepia tone horizon
many look on
in desperate jealousy
as we kiss scandal
into being

Love Poem 8

2008-01-14T22:04:00.000-08:00

Not much to say to you
as you noisily eat your winter squash
in the kitchen I am in the living room
writing about love and hating
the noise of your roasted yellow squash
even you my dear, can't make that
audibly mushy squash alluring
but other than a few pet peeves like that
you are all right baby
I will just turn up the radio and keep typing away

Love Poem 9

2008-01-13T13:59:00.000-08:00

There are ways a good woman
is like a good poblano chili
I explained to my daughter
concerning her mother
at first she scoffed at the analogy
but as I elucidate the gastronomic qualities
of a good chili
she came to agree that it was an apt comparison
good peppers add heat and a robust weight to a flavor
they should bring tears of joy to your eyes
on rare but appropriate occassions
they are lovely to behold
no matter the shape or size
and the smell of a good chili
infuses the whole house with a startling hunger
I left that last one out of the conversation
to avoid any awkwardness

The Difficulties of Loving Amphibians

2008-01-12T11:15:00.000-08:00

the skin needs moisture so much moisture
this is hard to accommodate
at times
I am frequently tired
from the doting labors
of bringing her
chalice after chalice of amphibian broth
cleansing her toe webs
with lanolin and aloe swabs
being the gentle hand with the cool moist towelette
I am disheveled as a result
I smell like swamp bottom
and I think I have small algal blooms
in various moist and hidden spaces
she is worth these petty sufferings
and she will extract much more toil over time

2007-12-31T20:19:00.000-08:00

soil softened by the touch of pelting rain
moving slowly to an unfortunate rhythm

i am sitting here and sitting here is killing me

mud running down the clear cut hillsides
unexpectedly overwhelming with the richness of earth and water

elemental in my present state

with the careening waves of slurry
voices ring out in haste as the children run

I am immutable as the song-less stones

shelters await them at the end of this long night
warm cots and a sense of displacement

lichen grows on me like a sylvan beard

in the end they will survive with something lasting
personally bearing the lessons of tragic events

immaculately singular in my permanence
I weather all of these storms
but not without trenchant scars to show for it

2007-12-24T23:29:00.000-08:00

thank you for brett
his passing made a difference to me

Christ Mass 2007 Anno Domini

2007-12-24T23:08:00.000-08:00

I should write tonight, but I do not feel it
I am always sad on Christmas Eve
Enshrouded in dirty rags
as I am
You would think I would rejoice
but I am not happy this time of year
even though the crisp air
and shallow but genuine good will
are a tonic to the spirit
the chalice of the soul
is crenelated and care worn
the palms of a million devotees
could not make a more sorrowful luster
than the patina adorning the ancient incorporeal skiff
I will someday pilot across the eternal sea
But a joy has been given to me
salvation has been given me
a giddy gracious gift to
me,
but I can't seem to shake this melancholy of the holy days
awash in love and grace
and I am still aware of my existetial singularity
thank God for His grace
Christ for His long suffering
the holy Spirit for His comforting
for I am in need of them all and all that they bear for me

things like other things

2007-12-16T11:43:00.000-08:00

stone is a solicitation which plays at being
water a prosperity with a hidden warning
earth a firmament like civilization
air a spirit lead by dueling pressure
sun the most apt icon for God

the hero in a fig

2007-12-15T22:27:00.000-08:00

a small pile of regrets
a nest for a skittish bird
fearful of failure
a bird
no bigger than a doubt
wishing for someone
to reveal
that Christlike moment
of raging fortune
where the inert chrysalis ruptures
revealing him
to be an eagle of terrible visage
talons poised over a moment
like the heart beat of history
lean essential and bare

A series of addicts

2007-12-15T10:57:00.000-08:00

Their objects scattered
over
the work surface
Some are
useful
some
needful
Many are
refuse
Papers with the bears of facts
Tiny Frisbees
notes of monumental numerals
counting up to
90 hundred 50
Little containers of staples
the ghost of no state
where A picture of a girl
who is very young
much younger than her own
standing next to me
has grown And
what about a share
is getting too small
and that is set

and this may not be true for you

2007-12-13T13:35:00.000-08:00

The winter is a season of death
that time to contemplate things that have ended
whether sloppy or neat
some things in the winter END
others are just buried by snow
sometimes to run from people in our lives
I've run from places
for me
and this may not be true for you
places hold a special hell
a spiritual energy that cannot be forgotten
nor damned by the flood of a thousand brick facades
one million softly lit coffee shops
cannot exercise the scars begotten in childhood
and better left forgotten
tied with ribbon and bow
and regifted to a generation far distant from here
vis a vie the richly saturated superfund site
sitting in the soil
an agony that would kill us
should we return

title not available.

2007-12-10T22:25:00.000-08:00

There is nary a ghost
who could whisper a joy
greater than
the enjoyment of love

the ghost of a soldier
effaced by death

the woman in travail
of loss or rejection

an apparition
suicidal in failure

these ghosts know my joy
those prisoners who've tasted
the fresh fruit of freedom

2007-12-08T17:02:00.001-08:00

Today in the sun
rays struck my ear
warm, oceanic waves
So welcome was the winter sun
as I had suffered much today
This thing this one thing
is mine to recall

The First Days of December

2007-12-02T23:19:00.000-08:00

The first days of December
were plagued with the burdens of minutia
mechanisms failed
weather caused fatigue
the wearying onslaught of illness
a surgery looms ever present
stress strains the family closeness
the first days of december made me tired
but I persevered
with the toil of clock and mind and body
I ran up the mountain with the wind
pulling the forest apart around me
felt the freezing deluge on my skin for hours
I wore the earth like a second skin for days
And that whole time
I fought an insousient mechanism
and for the grace of God it is repaired
I visited Brett for a moment
wet and wanting of warmth
I hope he does not feel the same
In these first days of December

2007-12-01T00:01:00.000-08:00

In the past
in my dreams
I dreamt of guns
that would not fire
I would pull back
on their triggers
but they would not fire
no matter how hard I
pulled them
I recently had a dream
I was fighting off panthers or jaguars
at a waterfront villa
my wife was trying o shoot one of the mad cats
but her gun would not fire
I was able to adjust the trigger
so the gun was again functional

I am going in soon
for shoulder surgery
I gave up martial arts after
I had a major dislocation
during a test in the dojo
I wonder if the two sets of dreams
are linked to this healing process

2007-11-24T22:39:00.000-08:00

Hailey, my daughter
do not keep my name when you wed
it is a source of shame to me
let it die with me
I am trying my best to redeem my lineage
I hope you are whole and well
forever

Freedom Sadly Slips Away

2007-11-24T21:07:00.000-08:00

Our freedom sadly slips away
slinking through sewers like an oft beaten
three legged dog
from this diminishing polity
our good character stollen by
falandering whoremongers
the least in our nation rule it
and inflate our fuel prices
and manipulate our retirement funds
and thus is squandered
our good reputation among our neigbors
our honor among our enemies
who are these scum
who steal our taxes and use them
to disrespect the traditions of our valorious democracy
who do these perverts serve
monsters who crush with velvet hands
and masticate with fangs dull with over use
the middle class is their food
the lower class their scape goat
and the upper class the chef to prepare
we, the supper of the ruling class
death to them all as they choke on my bones

Leaves Falling Prettily

2007-11-16T22:20:00.000-08:00

I love you
there are few things in my life that really matter
they had an essential and permanent impact on me
a mothers love
a martial discipline
a lovers love
a daughters love, that is what you have given me
everything tender and open
revelatory and marvelous
a gift that can only be divine in nature

2007-11-15T20:45:00.000-08:00

how many guns does it take for the cowboy to feel secure
all children impovershed
the remaining animals cloned and caged
the sky and asphalt the same color
titanium stock is depleted
as is the uranium in the shells
carbon fiber wrapped around wings to improve
the flight tragectory of the Predator drones

thousands of dead and no hope in sight

2007-11-15T19:21:00.000-08:00

terrorism \\

a taxation of murder]]

am I still the bomb
waiting to explode all over this damned tyranny

or

am I just the lazy fallen angel who loved God
for a single perfect shining moment?

what is there going to be left for my daughter
will she need to know how to kill
will she be allowed to love
will I have to fight in China or Iran
I can kill you
it is in my heart to kill you
will that be my legacy to my family

or
will that be irrelevant soon

I doubt it
the hate and greed we bare as a horrible burden
across the barren straights of our bloody history

is genetic
and you can't cheat genes

2007-11-09T22:28:00.000-08:00

By the way,
I purr like a brain damaged kitten
and stretch my haunches into her hands
even if she doesn't like the way I have worded this bit of sass

These Hands Caress Me

2007-11-09T22:22:00.000-08:00

Her Hands Caress Me
When I am ill or distempered or amorous or
distant but wanting inclusion
these hands love me on days and nights when I need it
and on those when I am incautiously oblivious to it
altogether

2007-11-07T22:17:00.000-08:00

There are cursed spots
where bad things happen in threes
one death
one injury
what next

I am safe here now tonight
but really tired after a long day
but I still feel the need to polish the idea
of the juxtaposition of American hunger
and tediously rocking one's self slowly to the grave
the desire to grab life so all fully as to engulf it with desire
the desire to allow the body the luxury of rest
to the point of loosing life through non-use
this is the American tableau
this is what we live as
and write about
and that is what we are
I need to call the gym tomorrow and downgrade my membership

charity to all

2007-11-05T22:01:00.000-08:00

with the tragic droop of your eyes
you stare at your feet
to avoid the shame of their mocking eyes
slurring the bad name of your good character
you have lived in a car with your child
to avoid getting beaten tonight
you have sweat and shouted and wrestled
the overpowering feeling of despair
to keep from relapsing into the numbing arms of the gods of destruction
your hands are chapped and dry
your hair is a greying fright
and everyone seems to hate you
because you have the patina of use and dysfunction
you are rust in the shiny society

I hope you pity them
their perfect creaseless lives
like linen napkins too white
to ever be of use
they are egg shells cracking at the slightest touch
you have learned to be
a pain destroying spitfire of self actualization

yet you stare at your feet as you collect your welfare check
because of every single middle class family
clutching their purses and children
in reaction to your passing
reminding you that you are despised
and you find it puzzling and callow

why do these rude pampered pests
pay into the social welfare system
if they feel it only attracts the worst sort of scum
Didn't they give attention in school
to that blading liver spotted history teacher
when he said that the New Deal
was all about protecting each American
from life's thin ice
and temporary human frailty

Just remember that ignorance
of that absolute necessity
must be such a nice luxury

There is no Revolution

2007-11-04T22:22:00.000-08:00

When I was young, I was poor,
in the fashion of the relative poverty of America
It taught me that stuff is desirable and unnecessary
As I rushed headlong through the halls of academia
I was happy to find a meritocracy that embraced me
I vowed that the power would be fought
and the cheap tangible toys of the world
would hold no sway over me
That was before I earned any real cash
before I was embroiled in the mundane melee of the work a day life
The revolution gets postponed as each one of us
gets diverted from the river of justice by prosperity
What a crazy ridiculous phrase, river of justice
But what other sort of water way should justice be,
but an open flow of momentum and clarity
Today I lived a bit,
and was bored,
aroused,
pensive,
and thoughtful (if only for a moment)
Tomorrow I will go to work
My daughter and wife will be covered by health insurance
Our rent for next month will be earned
I will put aside enough money for 1 week's groceries
Without cutting into the roughly two month's salary
in our a savings account
(set aside for emergencies)
My company will match 100% of my contribution to a 401K fund
for the day I am too broken to work,
when I am sitting back in my chair thinking this
"I wish I could have worked more
and loved life less."

Today Was A Dullard In Jeans

2007-11-03T20:52:00.000-07:00

there is nothing to say of today
the malady of daily verse
things occurred and feelings were felt
I pondered my emotions
but it wasn't all that novel
I think about what I am missing
on a sunny fall day
injured and frustrated
wanting to exert myself
each day of Autumn sun
a lost opportunity dripping like gold onto the horizon

After Talking With Steve

2007-11-02T23:21:00.000-07:00

The light filtered through the clouds as they moved so quickly across the sky. Steve had been in Veloce talking with friends about Brett and I had been looking in the window to see what there was to see. We talked for a while and he was and remains a wreck. I am doing ok, but I don't have to ride by Brett's roadside monument twice daily nor do I have to console his grieving widow-lover-woman. Be safe everyone

Death of a Cyclist

2007-11-02T23:19:00.000-07:00

Brett was a good guy. I mean that in the formal sense of goodness. I
liked him a lot and I am really sad to hear of his violent death. I recall riding home
with him one evening after a training ride, talking about how he
should start a business based on the sole fact that artists are more
interesting to talk to at parties.The weather was a silk robe, it was
so comfortable. The sunset had mellowed to colors Brett could name
(Cadmium Orange, Yellow ochre, cobalt violet) ; the river was a peaceful
whisper.

tender redundant offset images

2007-11-02T23:17:00.000-07:00

have you ever cut open a fig
or a pomegranate
the chambered beast of the vegital world?
they are so distinct in their look and texture
yet meaninglessly annoying to eat,
the singer with no sense of key nor tonality.
I am a singer like that
I am distinct and as such deserve adoration and glory
but I can not be born for long with out irritation.
I chafe in the tender spots that are not for lovers:
the arm pit,
behind the ear,
or the skin between the smallest toes.
these are the places I touch in each stranger as they pass me in conversation.
these are not glorious spots to touch,
and I am not thrilled with this marked distinction.
but to fight one's nature only brings a frustrating lack of identity,
a drain that is numbed by years of alcohol
and a tightly constrained character.
this is like swaddling the child too tightly
it will die in misery more profound than the cold from which you are protecting it,
and as such it is better to embrace the loose, cheap, woolen rag
that is my character than to die gentile, resentful, and well thought of.