but aren't they all random?

A Pocketful of Poesy was a Poem-a-Day(-on-Average) Blog* up until the great derail of 2013. The impossibly-high standard of quality proved impractical to keep up, without a book deal. But don't take my word for it: click RANDOM and judge for yourself! And feel free to offer your critique.
*based on poem rate for calendar years 2009-2012. Also, kidding about the book deal.

Wednesday, March 25, 2015

"for all the"

In smoke,
the moonlight swirls into fragrant night
like cream into clear black tea, curling
deep down deep, visible and furled
like blown glass into marbles, only
the prettiest ones – the ones with all
the colors trapped in, except here, these
- all the colors are ash, charcoal, white,
argent, silver and grey, and the music is
click, skip, roll – regular as breaths, as
red eyes flicker and watch the play, and
your lucky shooter once again shoots
past the test, knocks the last crystal ball out
of the magic circle, and it – like the moment
it caromed from – is yours.
Gathered up in smoke,
trapped in glass, clicking
and counting each other
in your drawstring bag,
take what’s yours
and let the ash enrich
whatever it hasn’t yet set on fire. This game,
this garden, this match - like our lungs,
is done.

Wednesday, March 18, 2015


Time to wake
up, time to awake,
let a spring of discontent wash
this winter away, wash this winter
of complacency clean.

Let it come.

Let it wash over all.
Wash it over and done,
and over and over,
and under and done
as well - let it wash all,
and all wash clean. Wash under
and down, drown
every blessed thing
that can't
go on living like this,

there now. Let the buds of summer
spring from the deep spring mud,
as every growing thing
takes root downstream -

and above, let the birds pour
forth like rain
- sideways in the sun.

Let it be these ways always,
or at least, for a count of days
without count.

Let it ring.

Let the choir of frogs and
angels sing, for the fall of man
is always such a glorious thing.

Tuesday, March 17, 2015


My eyes occasionally stumble,
with the dancer you are
as a partner, I can't help
your gracefulness

precedence, and leads
consequence astray, my eyes
awry, but I follow - as best I can, and so
am drawn in. Your steps,

like a web,
are weaving, and woven,
and warped, and weft, and deft
as I try to be
- caught.
my eyes are read
with intent,
by you, with surprise as I'm sure
you've read faces
and hands,
and eyes
before. Caught dead
to rights, and whatever was planned,
for one of these nights at least, at
last, we have finally both been caught
at a glance, and (I hope)
we both
we can have this dance.

Monday, March 09, 2015


I wish you well.

I wish you tonight, in a life
under skies full of sharp, shooting stars
in a garden of dark, smelling deeply
of green.

And without any thought
in your mind for a wish, or
for what it all means - far as wishes go,
this: with a dream of what's coming,
Awake to what is.

Not to what it all means, putting whys
to what's wrong, setting all whats to rights -
for whatever it's worth in this garden,
tonight, there is peace here on earth.

except only my soul,

or whatever
it hurts

Friday, March 06, 2015

knights errant

Once upon
high horse
with lance

and shield,
in armor,
shall we dance?

Oh knock us off!
Draw sword,
dismount -

Close in, you feint
I faint,
You count
from ten to one,
so very slow,
deliberate -

and then you go.

Then I arise.
Triumphant me!
I am a pacifist, you see.

Thursday, March 05, 2015

Life Is Effectively Over

You sit staring out of the windows your walls don't have
and the world you imagine outside doesn't look too bad
but the world you envision is freedom, and you're sealed off
and if you even got out, would it really be there at all?
You're at the wall, now

is effectively over
only it seems like nobody knows it but you
life is effectively over
still they expect these perpetual motions that you go through

You stand looking over the brink, and you can't help laugh
at all of the meaning that life was supposed to have
you see it now that it's too late to do anything right
still struggling a bit, but you're not even in the fight
You know damn right, now

is effectively over
only it seems like nobody knows it but you
life is effectively over
still they expect these perpetual motions that you go through
it's effectively over
but you've still got to make it work
do you really believe that we've all got a place in this small, cruel

The fat lady's gone anorexic and she won't sing
you're standing at the Cracks of Doom but who's got the Ring?
You wish that it was more of an epic majestic loss,
but the story's petered out, and the end
is so many pages off.
And the cause is loss, now

is effectively over
only it seems like nobody knows it but you
life is effectively over
still they expect these perpetual motions that you go through
it's effectively over
but you've still got to make it work
you know I believe that I will find a place in this cool, damp

Monday, March 02, 2015

books, our last line

I love books,
and will miss them
when they're gone. If they go,
I should say. I hope
we're not so short-sighted
as to let

all our key

migrate to forms that
need a power source! What

if the polar icecaps reverse? What

if the satellites come streaking down, and all

our batteries turn into beetles? Then

what? Books!

We'll be thrown back on books. Anyway,

will rise again don't you worry about it.

I'm writing a book about it for them

Wednesday, February 25, 2015

I will be yours

I can see where your eyes are going -
great big windows
little soul
and as far as what you'll do next, dear
there's no knowing
but I know
and as much as I've learned about you
and as much as you let me down
there's a fist in my chest
and it won't unclench
and it holds you forever now

And I will be yours,
and you will be somebody else's.
And as strong and as deep as my love is, you won't know.
But I will be yours,
and as dumb as I must be to say it -
still, feels good to say it.
It's good to be sure.

I can see where this life is going -
letting go, and
parting ways
And as long as you've walked beside me,
though your light goes -
your shadow stays.
And as good as your good advice is,
and as much as I know you're right -
We can be such good friends,
and the fun never ends,
and we won't ever cry or fight.

And I will be yours,
and you will be somebody else's.
and as strong and as deep as my love is, you won't care.
And I will be yours,
and you will be somebody else's.
I will try not to be so selfish -
so unfair

I can see where your eyes are going.
Great big windows,
little soul.
And as far as what you'll do next, dear:
there's no knowing.
But I know,

I will be yours,
and you will be somebody else's.
and I hope that he richly deserves it - I sure don't.
And I will be yours,
and you will be somebody else's.
And you'll feel just a twinge of conscience
(no you won't).

And as much as I've learned about you,
and as much as you've let me down -
there's a fist in my chest,
and it won't unclench,
and it holds you forever now.

Monday, February 23, 2015


I will turn my heart in on the way out.
I'm out of love, I won't fall now.
I'll turn my card in to the cashier.
Give me one last punch for the discount,
and get me outta here - get me out of here.

I've switched myths from Tantalus to Sisyphus.
Now it's time to let that whole huge rock roll over this
I bet I've got the Herculean intellect
it would take to make it through
all these labors you set, and I bet
as I make my out,
this abode of the dead won't miss me now
and I bet as I dive, swim back across
the Styx - all my memories of life aren't lost

I'll turn my heart in on the way out:
I'm out of love, I won't fall now.
I'll turn my card in to the cashier.
Give me one last punch for the discount,
get me outta here. 'Cause I'm out of here.
Get me out of here. I am outta here

I've switched tracks from corporate to business
- and I'm all that. I am roughshod over this.
With tact, diplomacy and love I'll bring war
- was there something else you were looking for?
And I guess, as I make my way through
this abode of the dead, I could plant some fruit
of the tree of the knowledge of the love we lost
- if it ever bears leaf, I'll be a long way off

I'll turn my heart in on the way out:
I'm out of love, I won't fall now.
I'll turn my card in to the cashier.
Give me one last punch for the discount,
get me outta here. 'Cause I'm out of here.
Almost out of here! Get me out of here

I'm on my way out,
I won't stop now,
I won't look back
- but I hope you will follow
I won't look back,
I trust in fate
- come Heaven or Hell,
I will wait by the gate.

...and I'll turn my heart in on the way out:
I'm out of love, I won't fall now!
Turn my card in to the cashier.
Gimme one last punch for the discount,
I'm almost outta here. Almost out of here!
Get me out of here. I will never be out of here

But I'll turn my heart in
on the way out.


I picture you
as days go by,
so far from days gone by,
so far
from dreams I had
of you and me,
taking hand in hand our days, to see
where paths and plans would lead -
not caring, really, for my part
what destiny or destination

I picture you so far
from there. The picture held
most everything, plus you and me
- but you, the only part of it
that meant it all, that I could see.
Oh, we could be surrounded
by majestic views - a mirror lake,
a rushing sea, a tree-lined cliff,
an ivied porch - my view was great.
I looked on you.

Whatever plot we might find out
to live upon and look out from,
my stunning view was in the light
that fell upon your face,
as you leaned in for me,
looked out on life -

That view meant more
than every place.

The world, the frame
- I let it go as meaningless.
I shouldn't have
done that, but see, the blame
belongs to you: in your clear eyes
and laughing voice
and lovely face
and to your lovely form,
and style, and sense of humor,
taste, and fun, and grace
- what else there was,
it was too easy to displace
the ground we'd walk on,
just as if
we didn't need the world
we'd find some other place to live,
to walk - I only knew if I'd have you
to walk to there, from anyplace.

And so I've lost my focus on
the paths and hills
and trees and flats
and empty wastes. I pictured you
in place of that, and now I've lost
my taste for ways. And walks,
and runs, and seas and cliffs -
the landscapes we could build upon
have all diminished in the mist
and left your hands, your lips
your hip, your thigh, your hair
your small of back, your calves
and ankles, toes, your eyes

- are closed in sleep.

And I lie back on other sides
of other worlds. And watch a re-play,
silver screens play faded white
and silent films until the ceiling fades
to dreams.

As days awake, I picture you.
So far from days gone by, so far
the days have left behind the one
I was, who thought that he could be
your movie star, your action hunk,
your silent clown, your kung fu opera
shaolin monk - I've laid those props
and costumes down. I still can play
your funny drunk, your confidant,
your comic voice, on telephone or
several other scenes and parts
that take some skill and worth to play.

I'm more an audience, these days.
I find a seat, and sit in dark. Watch old
forgotten movies spool - the only star
I come to see - the only one my ticket's worth.
The only one I'd give awards. The one who makes
you laugh, and die, and love, and hurt - I'd give that role
to you, you own that part. It's yours. You've played it once,
it plays a million times. The show
this theater only shows
these days. The only show for which
I'll stand in line.

I do walk out the doors, sometime. A smile
on my face, my feet
have found concrete, as I walk light
in dark upon the rain-slick street,
towards home at last. Or some
such thing. And maybe, pass
the perfect girl. And if our eyes should catch,
she'll smile. I'll nod. She knows

I've seen the world.

Thursday, February 19, 2015


Life is serious: don't make fun of it!
Life is dangerous: keep your distance.
Life is suffering.
Life is pointless.
That's its business - mind what yours is.

Tuesday, February 10, 2015

"lighten up"

It didn't take a miracle to make you change your mind
it must be easier for you
to measure and decide
there's everything you can't explain
I guess you shouldn't try
But the breath you say you're wasting
is what's keeping me alive

anything you say. I hang on every word

...and you say oh, lighten up will you? lighten up -
will you lighten up? You say oh,
lighten up, will you?

I'm not here I can't believe
a single thing I've heard
you're just talking, just to speak
I can't say a word
cover up the silences.
Fill them up with dirt.
Isn't that the way
a conversation works?
Anything you say.

I hang on every word

...and you say oh, lighten up will you? lighten up -
will you lighten up? You say oh,
lighten up, will you?

Can't believe a thing I've heard
fallen from your lips today
so if that's the final word - what else can I say?
you talk to me like I'm a wall
solid stone on solid ground
but if it ever stood at all
now it's broken down

anything you say. I hang on every word

I hang on every word and you say oh,
lighten up will you? lighten up - will you
lighten up? You say oh, lighten up.
Will you?

Friday, February 06, 2015

White chocolate.

It's okay! White chocolate? It's
Ok. There's really nothing
wrong with it. It's not

- it's not "chocolate" really. It's good,
in some things,

as an ingredient, it can offer
a really marvelous texture complement
to some things, And

there's something about the sweet, blank space

it lays down
in the flavor landscape of the thing
you're biting into
that contains white chocolate,

that can be very...mysterious?

Evocative? Neutral in an aggressive way

and insisting on being considered
as essential.


Life isn't so bad
that you can't be optimistic
about the things you haven't seen
that might be nonexistent, but
that certainly inspire you

So beautiful
they are

it makes you want to take
a leap of faith
that far.

Thursday, February 05, 2015

melancholy is


is a beautiful word, and
you can't even say
how it comes about.

But usually, you've had a beautiful thing -
and life has immeasurably been enriched,
changing everything you've ever wanted from it,
making all sorts of things make sense from scratch
like they never did.

The only catch,
the only thing bad you could say about it:
is every day, you wake up to invent
the life you can live, that's nowhere
near spent,
that can do without
that beautiful thing. You can't

even say
how it came about.

Tuesday, January 20, 2015

"I skipped the other day"

I skipped the other day -
you can skip,

when no one's watching.
Make of innocence such delicious guilt
-gilded pleasures,
like any childhood game.
In adulthood, the game becomes:

don't ever let them catch you playing

You can't let someone see
you skip,
but sometimes you have to
- shhhhh!

I had good reason,
too. I'd had a call
from somebody who'd been going non stop
bad news for weeks, me rationing commiseration
and hope, in equal measure - but
without much reason for either, when

I saw the phone light up,
my heart sank,

by then, it had been conditioned to.

All those bad news weeks, days in rows for months,
for someone you always loved
talking to.
And still do, but

- of course I picked up.

I left the place where people were,
I went out back, used the excuse
of a cigarette or two,
and was much lightened: two
of the worst three crises

had turned to triumph! And
I'd given advice
which she said she took all of.

But I didn't remember giving any.

Anyway, it helped,
and I skipped
all the way back. Except
when I crossed the doorway,
suddenly I realized
- I should walk a bit more normally.

Pity, that.

since ages since

It must be ages since I saw your soul
dancing behind your eyes. It must
be ages since I made your face hurt
from laughing. But you know,

I look round at the world, and
between you and me, it's every bit as funny

as it used to be.

Friday, January 09, 2015

"addict", or "crack die"

If the answer is yes,
I do not refuse.
If it's all for the best,
I will place my bets.
in this possible world, we can
-not lose,

now -

with so very much less to choose, left
with so very much less,
come on dice -

baby needs new shoes

"Can you make a mistake and miss your fate??"

Can you make a mistake and miss your fate??
When you saw all your years stretch down a path
that you somehow missed, some trip
on the way. Must have led you astray

your beautiful laugh
still holds all the notes.
All the music of life lived stoked,
lived loved, lived whole. Lived psyched,
but the tune pulls pain from heartstrings

A shadow of rain from every cloud,
an echo of gold in each glimpse of sun
recalls every last thing you knew you had

that was somehow lost. What a long strange trip

it must have been, love
that we fall to this -
and sprawled down this long strange path.

Was it destiny? Fate? Don't make me laugh,
please, if the joke's not true. Still the joke
is on us, either way. I do

know, and trust, that the joke was
good. I can smile myself. And you're such a good sport,

that it seems like hell
hath no fury to set against you. The report
On our fate

is a page too short.

Fate -
whatever it was
- has gone on its way
and has left us behind. Were there forks
in the road, that we missed? As we laughed
Did we act too slow? or move way too fast?
Have we killed too kind? As we shot,
locked-sure in some clear, cut joy
that was not
what it turned out to be. Were we blind?
Did we see? or ignore?
We both saw the same thing,
you know.

Either way, now
it's sure.

Destroy what was meant to be,
I guess.

it's gone.
Either way, we missed
Or else - we were wrong
from the very first guess.
From the very first glimpse
of the path we thought
looked like such a good bet!

and has come to naught,

"Not yet, not yet!" - no:
it's come to this.


has gone on its way, and left us behind. And
you don't really miss, and
I can't really say, but
I don't really mind
so much anymore.
I could stray and stray
by your side, explore any way this strange road
has to take, my bride (
once-to-be, now not)
-to-be, so let it lie.

Can you make a mistake and miss your fate?

If I'm part of your fate, you have not missed me.
I can't speak for the rest. Can you miss your fate?
If the answer's yes, if our chance
is past,
if our fate must deny
and refuse us that path -

still I'm glad we asked.

Thursday, January 08, 2015


people say you should disregard 
all kinds of stuff, and 
"it's just the personality" 
that counts, but me


 I put the whole person 
considered as one including the whole package, 
and everything in it.
If you ask me, is every quality that goes into making them the person you recognize. And no-one else

 what makes them them, 
or me me, or you you -
why leave anything off or out? What part
of the person you love

"doesn't matter?"

Not one bit.
- not setting aside even
one's wee-wee or hoo-hoo, but 
incorporating the whole thing in toto and suddenly,
you're NO WHERE NEAR KANSAS and seeing colors
 that weren't invented a second ago

I believe 

People truly love the whole person, 
or are missing something. To pick out and love
just one part

some chipped-off shard,
what you yourself lack, I suspect
 cast it aside
as unworthy. Jealous 

Lover, you miss
the whole person
 for all they are, can't see
the far greater sum 

you focus on a part. Nope,
that short sharp sighted approach -
slice, cut out what you say is worth less
- is not for me.

Love this, if it's not too much
to love: mind heart disposition sense of humor character, sure, 
soul if you got some, yes, eyes, 
smile, laugh
face body and blood and
glory hallelujah.

Love that

all. The package
deal. and set aside
nothing as if unimportant, nothing 
as if meaningless.

 There is nothing shallow
In the one I love. Her skin deep 
goes for miles and years, 
and never reach the end of it.
You can't break her down,
atomizing dissected aspects 
giving each different weights. No,

I take the one I love all together, altogether,
all I am is for her, all of her.
 all the way, and I won't miss one thing.
That's how a person can love another person. 
To bits and back again, no stray piece left
I love you, love, and

God damn, you
 are entirely beautiful

Friday, December 26, 2014

beyond burned

A heart is a mountain made out of wood,

With roots that stretch
to the depths of the earth.

And we hate and we fear
that we'll ever get burned,

As our heart stands,
waiting its turn. Waiting its test,

 as an infinite fuel
awaits its birth. 

It will burn forever and never run out.

The thing in my nature that makes me your man,
and leaves me no doubt,
is every and all of the things

That I am.

and it will not learn

nature dies.,
But it will not learn.

beyond burned

A heart is a mountain made out of wood,
With roots that stretch
to the depths of the earth.

And we hate and we fear
that we'll ever get burned,
As our heart stands,

waiting its turn. As an infinite fuel
awaits its birth.

Thursday, December 25, 2014


Planets will shine with a steady light, too much in the sun

 to see anything any less bright. Stars
Twinkle and wink at us, because they know the universe

 is not empty. 
As dawn comes on, Venus 

 is shorn of all her symbolism, as sure as this

Is Christmas morn. And it is cold. But I at least am warm

 for this time of year, and dressed to be born. Is there anything left
to cross such vast gaps?

In a world made new each year, where
 that star you see twinkle so merrily, so easily
May have died,  ages ago and you too

 will die, having hung your most desperate wish upon it.

Thursday, November 20, 2014

"return trip"

You think your costume angel wings, and faith
are just enough to hold you up, until the pixie dust
runs out of magic, out of luck. And just
before you start to fall - you flap your arms,
a sad cartoon

with eyes squeezed shut: "no place like home!"

think wonderfully,

you'll be there soon

Wednesday, November 12, 2014


I keep track like a track star,
under my feet it slides by
Without a thought as I win
the meet.

"any feedback would be appreciated"

I've always been too happy
with what I write and I suspect, not entirely
with justification. Criticisms, appreciations; appreciations,
suggestions; suggestions, complaints - where would I be
without them

but where I am?

Without them: drifting
in a wide, spacious void of my own
making, created by shockwave from the center
of an impact crater, or

a spreading wake from the dropped stone
that is a piece of work
- my work.

listlessly now,
to the bottom
without raising so much as a bubble.

The surface's smoothness returns.

Echoes of diminishing ripples
finally reach onlookers gathered by the shore, who
gape out at the point where the dive fell through
and, catching each others' eyes,

observe "My.
Must be pleased
with himself."

But I can't hear you.

I was pleased, but now
I am sinking down

to where there's never been any air.

Tuesday, November 11, 2014

"Send down your rain"

If you send down your rain, I will send up our sun -
it is ours, yours and mine. It's no good for just one
to be under these skies of impossible blue - when
I'd rather be soaked to the skin, next to you.

Wednesday, October 29, 2014

"swim lessons"

I'm so lucky I know
more about myself than I knew before
all this. I'm so lucky I could cry,
or die
or just sleep like a baby
who knows what truth is.
I'm so lucky I know as a cold, hard fact what love is,
and was, and could have been. Too deep
for doubt, leaving second thoughts
not a chance to creep in,
on the far side of faith with no leaps left to take.
All grown up and under control, with my destiny
in my hands and I won't have to grow old,
to find enlightenment. Here it comes
and for once, I'm not fighting it.
I'll be a Buddhist in a minute.
Or at least, I'll find out what the river means
with me in it. I'm going to learn
to go with the flow
and everything else I need to know. You swore
you'd teach me to swim, didn't

Wednesday, October 08, 2014


No matter What
Miracles you see, preserve

Your skepticism, against

Friday, October 03, 2014

to negotiate away

It is almost always worth it

to negotiate. There are mountains
and chasms and rivers within us,
and the maps we've drawn up
or we've each been given
don't line up - or they may not

work with the ones
that others have. Or perhaps
yours are just too folded up, re-folded
wrong, dog-eared, worn
as hats,
and origami'd into airplanes, place mats,
repurposed in all sorts of creative shapes,
the letters and directions all chafed
and worn off, from too much good use
to be used anymore as maps.

You have to negotiate

each path, ford and crossing,
with your own eyes
open, wide and see

that the other is with you. The only way

it can ever not be worth it
to negotiate,

is where the other person's not willing
to negotiate it with you.
And at that point, sure,
you must give up. You
can't ford a river together
against one of your wills. The rushing water


is enough, without
trying to push past that.
So you're better off to face
the rushing water


If one of you decides it's not worth it, then

there will be no way you can spot,
no path you can plot, and
no bird's eye view
will see you


Wednesday, October 01, 2014

gravity corrects

Everything spins
but gravity corrects, and humanity stands
to see what's next.

"zombies aren't monsters / just departed friends / who know how much better it is / once we end"

There are too many ways
- impossible to point out, since
when you try, each act
seems perfectly innocuous; impossible
to decry

since surely, the way humanity acts
is not intended. But
the press and the weight
of the ways we come down
all at once on each other and continuously,
without relief - it
results in a world where humanity,
in its notice and beneath it,

each of us


Humanity is a monster, or maybe
it's just too easy to see it that way. The way
you live your life, and the way you will
die. You know, you have seen
how badly the living
treat the dead who stay,
in the fictions we pay
for others to make -

it is not so very different
from how all we living
treat those who move among us, visible
but ignored, moving past us
as best they can with open eyes,

I think

the only difference may be
some of the living are lucky
enough (or maybe, work hard
enough, or both: maybe they work,
and are lucky enough to find people
who find all that effort congenial)
to find people

who treat you like home. You belong,
to them anyway. Well, that plus - for the living,
the rot is invisible.

I think it can be read as that. Life.
It is an allegory for all kinds of monstrous
things - any alienating condition
that people have, but

deeper than that

is the alienation itself, that comes from being

trapped in a skull
with two eye holes
and little to know
and little to no
reassurance that anyone can, or will
know you.

Who you are inside.

what is inside you

so deep in it can only hide

What is inside you

Monday, September 29, 2014

the age of myth

This world is a terror
of unexplained. A crack
and a splitting of night
-time sky. The light
comes in flashes
that clarify
human heart,
as they terrify
mortal brain.

As we scatter -
each everyone
for itself -
tearing down every path
we can find in the dark,
we race and we crash,
we collide on tracks
and we hide in caves,
never knowing our part.
And to us, this is home.

This world, this life
as the ones who we
fleetingly love and know,
die desperately hard!
We live desperate and fast,
knowing only today, knowing now
won't last.

So we make up a myth. We huddle
in close. We bind up our wounds,
we sharpen our spears, and
we gather round fire.
We have found we can make
our own light, if we try
- we begin to see clear.

We begin to make sense,
in the stories we weave,
of what you mean to me,
and why we bleed.

And here in my tribe,
you are. So high -
in wisdom, esteem
- a priestess indeed.

A teacher in word,
in gesture and sign.
In feather and dress,
your dance is mine.

In wood and in flesh,
with sigil and scrawl,
the totem and fetish our hearts enclose
will take root and plant seed,
in nature and sky.
In cloud and in ground,
our science grows

and in time, conquers all
as we stretch and we yawn
and we turn to turn in,
pulling dreams in close -

and from eye to eye glance,
and from mouth to mouth smile
in creating the truth

that everyone knows.

Friday, September 26, 2014

"A heaven"

if adrift at sea,
with water to drink
and nothing to eat
except plenty of fish
and you and me.
Without compass or course,
no use for the stars but to wish -
we'd wish for:

Not a thing.
our sails to stay furled -
not becalmed, just at peace
with the whole wide world,
and with anchor drawn in
we'd drift through each night
never more to wash up
on the rocks of life

Tuesday, September 16, 2014

together alone

I almost don't know why I love you so
I definitely know why I need it
For me there isn't a bad thing in it
You make me feel outstanding, brilliant

You make me want to be the man.
I always said I was, but this time, I am
at least with a little help. With your belief
in me,
I can.

Be my friend, my love. Hold my hand,
and I will pretend I understand where we are.
Where we've been has been too hard to be.
Where we're going is not too far to see,

but there's nothing there we wanted,
except you and me. (may be.) The rest
is all fog, haze, and a forecast of rain
for days and days.

I wish I could live with you
in this storm, but instead
I must stay in the sun.
for you, I will keep it warm.

Wherever you stay I will be here.
There's no place I'd rather stray but home
- but until you can make it, I'll wait alone.

It's a beautiful place
to be my own.

Monday, September 15, 2014

ahold (of)

I'd love to linger
forever in this world
, honestly. I love it. I'd love to strike
sweet deals with higher powers that be, to keep me

vigorous and incorruptible

on a permanent basis, on a non-metempsychotic
bodhisattva vow of some sort. And oh,
I would do my part! In exchange, I'd do

- oh heck who am I kidding, it's to do

my part

that I want the deal.

But I know that won't happen.
This world is not our final home,

I'm afraid.

But I can see
that this world is the place to be,
this world is the forge - we create who we are,
and who we will be. From, as has been so beautifully said:


We're born into raw materials, a
tiny gurgling thing, and with circumstance. As we grow,
our grasp on self takes hold, and we
begin to direct who we are and who we will be
-come. Through our own choice, our one chance,
our true self is, and takes shape. Makes itself, self-made
, every choice defines us, that we make. Can we
do anything? Anything we will? Anything we please?
Please, no. No, our circumstance and our raw material will
impose some limits. Yet

we can and do make every choice we make. And every day,
this is how we create
a self.

just one

This life,
just one

- is an incredible gift. And even if it turns
out there is no Giver, our self is the gift
we give back.

Let us remember we are dust, let's make love
and make war, and make God damned sure
our dust is not all we will leave


one who holds hell.

I am one who holds hell is not
the horror you are condemned to
for ever, or even for life. Oh, those who abide
there may know hell
may very well last that long. At least,
it may feel like it, but hell is not the bad thing
to which you are condemned.

Hell is the amazing thing
you are forced to do utterly without.

And for life,
forever probably
- or it feels like it. Who cares!

Hell is just what that feels like. Hell
is just what feels like that.
It doesn't matter how long
it's going to last.
It doesn't even necessarily have
to exist

for you to feel it, those flesh
-tearing hooks and hot tongues
of flame. A lake of fire?

You and I could have blown it out like a candle, woman
we were such a match!! Hell

is the punishing agony of banishment, awakened
to the finest and best good, and denied it.
Hell is where you live.
And what you are forced to endure, from having
once known love,

to now, when you know how sure:

it is denied.

"my woman"

My woman is mine: my property. I mean
a property of mine that's essential to me.
I mean a property of mine without which
I've lost

- who I am.
She has made me so strong,
but at awful cost: I cannot be my self

no more.

I can only be hers,
and she knows the score
When she gave herself to me,
she gave all that she had
and not one bit more. More
or less, I was already hers,
so I've got that back plus she
has got all of mine. Given new,
every day and that's so damn fine
How I feel, for true:
this is how it should be.
We like it this way.

We know the score,
and the game and at the end
of the day, we know the final result:
One to nothing, we win.
There was never much doubt,
when we never give in.
There was never any hope
for the other guys, no.
Not once sides were drawn,
but we're game - we'll play, though!
It's fun. Here we go:

We are one, one side,
one goal two tenders,
through hell, one ride
one fire gone out of control
consumes all the world's woulds
to embers - scorched to ash, for good
- and it rises, up from ash
every setting sun:
one fire
two minds two hearts
one will be done.

Just one: what she and I
decide to agree on today, and okay
- I'll bite. What's on your mind?
I won't hide, and
you can touch me,
I won't die.
'Til the day we part:
for without your self,
such strong free gift -
if you ever take it back,
there'll be none of me left.
My self. Will have been undone,
All properties lost. All
the strength you gave,
all the joys we won
and every way I know now
how to find my way. How to be
a man - without you, I could not say.
You taught me how to be a man,
when you made me yours. Without you,
I'm just half
half heart
half soul: not for better, now, no:
the worst. No cure.

My woman is mine,
and she wins the earth.
My baby doll,
My very best girl,
My woman my ole lady,
My rock my world,
My role is to be
your man, for best.
You gave your self to me,
I cannot give less.

Sunday, September 14, 2014

Breakfist McBag

Ah, breakfast on the go

a lifestyle for so many, 
in the western world

  convenience and nutrition, in
 one delicious bag

  mingling hot smells and 
bumping up against each other

 the most important meal 
of the day has its way with us

fast, fresh and hot

well, good job anyway
Eating breakfast.

A deep end.

I can't go swimming
 in my own mind
 without a floatation device of some kind.