defy, deify or defile

I'd sooner defy 
or defile than 
deify you, but 
the chance of the first two 
is negligible of necessity, 
and the third 

would be redundant, 
too

the lessons of self-defense

My own unique mastered 
martial art: Tai Chi Do 
never fails to kick in 
slow motion leg 
and hand strikes, 
sweeps and blocks, 

with balance, poise 
and acumen. 

It's quite relaxing. 
Best with two: 
one mastered, 
mistressed 
martial 
art. 

We used to do it 
often at home.
Alas, she's gone. 

We danced apart 

homely homily

My faith is the size of a mustard 
tree. It's always pollen seasoning.
I cannot help but sneeze three times.
ACHOO! Amen and Alleloo, oh,
bless these days 
and evenings.  

the deef end (expectation)

I'd sooner defile
than deify expectation, but
I'll settle easily on "defies."

Truth is I don't expect
much or little; I try
to leave expectation

open

for others' use
as needs must or
likes love

then if they declare
expectation openly, I
can be like

WHAT?

or

OK!

or

whatever
seems
apt.

Or flat.

Depending on where
we
at.  

quantity vs. quality revisited

Quantity is not 
versus quality. 

And

Anyone who says it is 
has run a false dichotomy. 
I like to run quick and deep, 
leap like a stone skipped 
over a fake lake (or a literal 
one, for real) and smash 
from ripples to waves 
on far shores of any 

ol' pond in range.

Why not? Why not stunt, 
lark, fling and swing away?

Rarely 
and preciously,
when it happens 
- I am succinct. Rarely that.
Fecund, though! - even though
that's not a very virtue,
is it? 

Point is: I put out. 
I write poems bad, good 
rarely-to-never indifferent, 
every which way to loose 
in the eye of random 
passerby, and call it 

blind luck 

when one good one 
turns up. 

Is this an invalid way 
to go? I'd love to see you 
stake, make and defend 
that case, 

honcho 

I am an online poet of some (1) note. 
I'll thank you to notice, I do not gloat, 
but I'm glad in my small way 

to make. As I allude to up there,
it's about as good as a scale 
paper boat Spanish Armada 
hauling ass, grass and cash 
(or gold) across some puddle 

cosplayed as a midsize lake,
and pretending to seas. 

gift outright

Let sunlight strike 
the letters from the page, 
and read it
from memory 

anyway

kinda koan beta/original version

I would not be
an honest person, if
I said that coincidence
was mere observation.

kinda koan

I wouldn't be honest
if I said 
coincidence
was mere correspondence.

valley boy meta direct dead-set

Dear friend, you have always been
more
with the finger
on pulse of the electronic gore
slice n’ dice mix n’ match shuffling cut
to the edge than I! 

That's a mouthful, BUT
I do think
too much of that kind
of stuff
would risk creeping me
/freaking me out
enough.

I’ve a keen cool
interest in natural
uncanny valleys, such
as cryptic odd-stress syllables
in a dialogue, but that
digitally
-done-
guff hits
and overreaches my capacity for it
FAST 

With humanly-wrought things
- intentional, or not, just that
it's *natural* somehow I’ll always hold
that nothing of sense or significance is
revealed about the whole.
Not by such means.
Such a quirk or tic
only adds meaning
to do with the part,
wherein it appears
specifically.

Where the cryptic, mystic
or intriguing distortion or odd
emphasis hits!
Sits, fits, occurs. 

No overaching meaning plus,
by such flits, blips or stretches.
Just a grace note there, here, hey
no fuss. This is

a decided thing with me

Not anyhing to do with (ultimately)
the intended significance of the others’ part!
I honor that! Whatever it may be
I’m fine
with whatever they did
or might
intend, but by my interpretive art 

I rule all implication out of my take, if
I can. If it's not given plain literal enough.
it's a breeze, pretty much.

Just-as, just-is. “Hint
me no hints, for I’ll leap you no
leaps!” I say!

EXCEPTION

of course, for people longtime,
and well,
and mutually
known. That kind, those
peoples’ ways have already wormed in,
to the point
they BECOME
literal known denoted
value and meaning blocks 
and chips shot fair and level 
in any gift of sense. If…

...does that
make sense?
If so, if not,

It’s a shot from hip through
bottom-of-heart to lip!
Watch the ricochet,
for a start. Ka-pwing? 

Thanks 
for deciphering that 

if any 

thing

over-the-counter

I took half a pain-killer 
hours ago. So you know, 
if you see me half-squint 
half-wink
one eye
AT YOU - 

Nothing funny, there!
Just plumb down the line,
straightforth and true:  

My left half's in agony 
(cue wince/tic)!  
My right half's fine.

And 
I'm fine with it.
Ick.  

MOOD HAT answer key

BLUE STAR means 
I'm here, y'all. Throw me 
the pass, hand the run, 
I'll ball

BLACK STAR red white 
& black hat means 
same as above, 
just camouflage that

DODGY hat means 
all or both or either 
of the above, let's 
hope

MERMAID HAT 
means, "Hi, cupcake.
make what you wish 
of it, give or take" 

All these hats mean 
I am bald. Sorry but 
hey there it is. 

Such nerve, such
spine-tingle gut-wrench
GALL

I've been on the look 
for a black cap that just 
says "BALD" on the front, 
big and bold, forever. 

But I don't think they 
sell hats like that. I cannot 
think why they don't. 

Whatevs 

For whatever
(it is 
or means)

It's probably just 
a hat in the end. 

If I touch the brim, 
it means 'Lo, there 

friend?  

appetites & limits

For the running routine,
I'd advise four hits and/or meals
a day. Four of each, mind you. 
No swapping around! 

Big deal: 1st comes at 10AM,
or upon getting up, whichever
comes first. Hit the ground. 
Now for 2nd: not before TWO
pee em, but delay gratification
as much as one wants.
Go by appetites galore!
But keep within limits.
Fourth, third, twice, once.
For 3rd, not before 6. 4th
not before
BIG 10 P.M.!

- or whenever I
turn in, or am about to. 
Whichever that is. This is
less free verse, more a to-do 
how-to
list. 

Reflexive reflection in self-critique.

Man

trust me 

to take a dump 
in the middle of a 
pretty-good otherwise 
poem, 

right? Right
or wrong, it's
did and done. Cool
as a beast in heat 
with no mate 
in sight. 

UNCOOL insight,
potentially. Or it could be
alright, or it might 

be a big shot crack off 
the broken back
of a baseball bat,  
flying out of sight 

foul,
but just

inattention & hate

spiders would be wise 
(and most of them are)
to consider me 
a force of nature. 

I hate to undo 
all that detail-work

but sometimes, I do 
what I hate ta. 

Cool as

Cool as a candle without a flame.
Cool as a snowman's fresh disdain.
Cool as the other side
of the pillow
is.

Cool as your own reflection
in a lake,
in a glass,
in mind,
per circumstance.

Cool as the breeze
off an ice cream cone.

Cool as the business itself 
(the biz)

Cool as an iceberg's bottom
half.

Cool as a one-wipe dump. Oh, please. 
Cool as a swimming hole. Cool as breeze!
Cool as a customer, actually right 
for once.

Cool as confidence and ease. 

Cool as not caring how much
or little
people who don't know you
think of you.

Cool as whatever anyone wants,
so long as they can get it
themselves.
Cool as boo 
to a goose.

Cool as...

a hunch 

- that you can back up.

Or that you can't. Sometimes 
that's cool. It's cool. 

Cool as elves. 

Cool as a rhyme that doesn't quite 
land. Cool as a bird in a wide-open 
hand. Cool as a pose
without a stance.

Cool as a stance 
without a pose.

Cool as a perfect suit 
of clothes, or trying
that outfit off
for sighs, or

for show.  

Cool as a chance.
Cool as a fool in good cause,
such as love. Cool as a cloud-shaped
cloud, above. Cool as a
metaphor for itself.

Literally. 

Cool as someone else, who you have 
no reason to know, so far. Cool as the
temperature where you are, if it is
indeed

cool.

Cool as a dare. Cool as a risk. 
However cool either of these 
things is,

- in a given case. 

Cool as an ace with a heart 
up your sleeve, played close 
to your vest in a time of need. 

Cool as a candle without a match.
Cool as a candle without a light. 
Cool as a candle generally. Right? 

Candles are cool! Or they can be, 
sure. It all depends on a lot.
Context! Cool as a hitch
without a catch. Cool as It
Is Itself, just now.

Might be less cool, somehow,
or more, next time, next place,
next thing itself - galore!  

Cool as a bare-ass baby pic.
Cool as an iceberg's underwear. 
Cool as a cone, when you get

one lick. 

Sometimes we pick. 
Sometimes we share. 
Sometimes we get none, too

That's cool.
NOT FAIR

headfelt

The contents of my heart
so full, so clear right now

Unfortunately

the cotton wadding in
my brain eschews
all

eschews
attempts

at

ah, dang it.

Unfortunately, it's
the thought that counts.
My thought is caught
in purple felt done up
all stiff and soft like
this.

So uselessly, my thoughts
are dealt.

A shopworn hat
crunched up, worn
inside skull, and cocked
so far from bliss, eschewing
all but awkward words.

It feels right now like
I am always this.

Except
I know I've known
much better days
and moments,
so

might we postpone?

'Til I awake
with heartfelt mind
and golden tongue,
and speak my way
clear home. 

some moment aglow

Raise a glass to clearing skies 
and let the moonrise shine 
through it.

Make
some toast 
that just popped up,
impromptu, meant
and somehow fit.

All 
the while
lost in your
eyes, with you
so found in mine,
as well. 

Too simple 
for a recipe, 
but perfect how 
this moment fell. 

Brave advice

Kid, sometimes, 
- I don't mean to be mean, 
but you're one well-spoken 
nothing puff. You might 

if you care about might, 
consider holding back 
until something you say 
builds up 

to clear a higher bar 
of remarkable. 

It might take practice 
or discipline, but I know 
kid, that you have it 
in you. 

Or maybe you don't. 
You do you, then. 

fantastic odds

If not for my bald spot 
I'd be a superstar 
I'd strut around in free clothes
to impress

If not for my longshot
I'd be a gambler
I'd make a number of big, bad bets

If not for my slow start
I'd be a cornerback
I would be playing professional ball

If not for my free fall 
I'd be a climber, now 
I'd be
way on top
of it all! 

- If not for my 
- If not for my
bald
spot 

(I'd be a billionaire 
I'd drive a hundred-and-one
Corvettes)
(I would be famous
with no regrets) 
(I would be counting more
than 
you could bless) 
(I would be better and best,
no less) 

If not for my
If not for my bald spot. 
I'd have a head of hair
beyond counting 
so you'd just guess

the load

We carry a burden remarkable 
In all of the things we say, let fly 

Because there is too much there 
to explain, exclaim, even if 

we did nothing else 

'til we die

Unused saws

Can't eat your cake 
that you don't have. 
Can't look your horse 
in its long-gone mouth 
When you gave it away 
by the waterside. Well 
you led the way fine, 
but you lost your ride. 

Now you can't teach 
dirty dogs squeaky-clean 
tricks! When will you
learn 
what not to mix?

All your metaphors laid
like so many bricks slid
into similes 
you can't like as this.
But 
you might as well learn 
from experience.
It sure 
isn't good
for much else, 
you wince.

You can't fly 
a kite from a bike
off a log
 
and expect to forget 
how you did that 
a thing like that  

tends to stick 
- unless you were stoned, 
or ended up with a concussion. Well,

try it again, then, maybe. For 
the memory jog 

sliding scale

You can always tell 
where you fall on the scale, 
'cause it's fixed in the place
you've broken it. Don't fall 
for the false dichotomies! 
In a given case, they are not
legit. 

Still, now and then T/F 
does hold true, and Y/N
lies right
between go/stop. 
In that case, in which case 
you may rely:

You know. 

Sure you do.
Don't be coy,
nor shy. 

When you're hot you're hot! 
When you're up you're up. 
When you're not you're not. 
Sometimes you get stuck. 
Sometimes you get loose. 
When you're feeling wild
or mild, 
honk 

like a goose! 

Or if that won't work,
cry like a baby, 
laugh like a child, 
act like a sweetheart,
look like a jerk,
dance like a fool 

on apple juice

and let opportunity 
do its work.

take measure

I keep a level in my heart, 
like carpenters use to test straight lines. 
The bubble slips from left to right 
with every beat, and I feel fine. 

I keep a gauge in mind, all day. 
It's sensitive. It calibrates. 
Sometimes results are off the charts, 
but those are only on best days. 

I keep a range, a meter, glass 
with needle always quivering
or sitting still. Whichever way, 
I hope tomorrow when I rise, 
it always will.

I don't know what these things 
are for. I only know they're always 
there, and always have been.
I keep score against myself.

So far, I win. 

"Go Through"

Well it isn't how I supposed 
it's supposed to be 
But I know what that's worth 
and it isn't worth a thought 
from me 

When I sit here alone 
or look around wherever I roam, 
I can't help thinking I missed some clue. 
And maybe that's what we always do?

Maybe I deserve it
Maybe no one does
Maybe it's some third thing we all get 
Just 'cause

Maybe I deserve it
Maybe we all do 
Maybe it's some same thing we all just 
go through

go through 

I can't help thinking that maybe we 
(stuck somewhere between infinity) 
can never run out of puzzles to solve. 
So we make up our own
from push to shove,
just to stay involved 

I can't help remembering so much good
(and I know you will back me up on that) 
I am reasonably sure I deserved some of it 
So maybe the bad pieces also fit 
If they all connect, 
when they all lie flat, 
and we can step back?

Maybe I deserve it
Maybe no one does
Maybe it's some third thing we all get 
Just 'cause 

Maybe I deserve it 
Maybe we all do 
Maybe it's some same thing we all just 
go through, go through 

It's either that, or it's something else. 
What do you think? Does the universe 
have it in for us? Or is all the worst 
just a token admission fee. Are 
the blessings worth the curse? 

I know what I'd say. But 
I'm asking you first 

You don't have to guess,
and you don't have to come 
to the same answers as me. 

Whatever it is, we'll have to see
Whatever it is, maybe we
deserve it

well-being

Sat in the back of a long, 
deep well
Watching the water 
run up and out 
the sides 
to the sky. 
Gravity's weird 
in here, but I'm used 
to it. 

I know why

slave driver

So imprisoned
by my acts 
in captivity 
of consequence 

Oh when shall I ever be free
Oh lord, carry me

Let my words
and my acts 
be acceptable 
in this place 

Oh lord bear
my heaviest weight
carry me away, 

Oh please carry
me

caper catch

You fasten the clasp  
around your throat 
and let fly
out behind you, all afloat 

There's a catch to it 
that you cinch-caught sure,
and you know it won't loose 
'til you let it pour 
from your shoulders
and neck, at opportune time.
You'll emerge safe and dry,
home free, 
so fine. 

In such fair fashion of yours, 
you stream forth. No
crusade of yours, just
a caper of sorts - 
with a hitch at your throat, 
you grow sudden spread wings! 

And you'll walk out on air 
'til the dawnbird sings.  

caper

It was a Victorian sort
of cape
I tried to drape.
A functional garment
of independent color, and
would keep the weather out. Not one
of these vampire stage magician superhero
deals. The fact that it would swirl and twirl
well was incidental to its functionality. Point is
though: what the hell, it would probably still
strike you as the sort of thing
people would take as an affectation,
however you wore it.

canny valley vistas

Sometimes
I have an uncanny
sense that our
conversation is composed
of streams
of endlessly effortless
such small adjustments.
A continually unfolding perpetuity,
a felicity self-correcting,
in mechanism
like petals spun open
beewise in the sun. 

Other times I'm like, hey

That could strike some as a bit "much," but
probably they're not going to say it. So
who does that leave? To say such
things
to

us 

Just so some one does, 
that's the main thing. You can't leave
true shit like that lying
around
unsaid. 

manhandle

You know 
how to find your reach 
and grip

How to lever me up 
and never slip 

You can pretty much 
get me whenever 
you want 

It's as if I was born 
to be easy and tall, 
and blunt.

You know how 
to handle me deft, 
or rough and hard 
or gentle and swift 

Well, where did you get
your instruction from? 
When you never had 
one of your own 
to practice on. 

It's as if you were born 
to make me come 
to a shared 
understanding:
no game, no race,
but

we'll slacken
and quicken our pace
In this place

Where we are one,
'til we both have won.

letters lost

each little lost letter 
has no idea, sometimes,
as it stands in anonymous 
rows:

What
kind of word 
it's contributing
to. Where 

in some sentence it fits, 
and goes. One

letter won't know. And

As to paragraphs, good 
grief! No way to step 
so far back and see 
one's place in the 
prose we make 
all alone, each 
by each, building up 

to some sense 
we can never see, 
take in, understand, 
truly mean

of 
our
own. 

An intake of breath

Something the size 
of a pencil, a thumb. 
Something the size 
of a thought. Something 
the size of a raindrop, 
a sun. 

I wanted to tell you 
so much, but it caught. 

Jesus that was awful

Israel seems to be 
a problem that will never 
go away, to some. 

While others flip 
the focus, pull back 
the frame and just say 

the whole Middle-East 
is what seems
to be wrong. 

Still others zero in 
to make the problem 
Palestine. 

While I sit here safe,
dry and face wet,
excusing myself 
out of any potential
obligation to contribute
to conceivable solution. Saying 

there isn't any, not with 
the problem as posed.  

Writing prose vainly
broken up into stanzas 
propping up lines
that don't end in rhymes

Counting myself helpless
to help. Saying this "poem" 

is all I could "do." 

Welp

The Ballad of June-Bride, The Southern Belle

Her name was June-Bride, 
The Southern Belle. 
She grew up beautiful inside, 
And every June 
She took another
Husband. 

She did this
For a decade-plus,
But at thirteen
She kicked a fuss
About bad luck.
So now she has
The dozen. 

She finds them apt 
To meet her needs. 
They're all content
With pleasantries 
and Surface charms.
Of these, her store is
Ample. 

Still decades come
And go, by years. 
And she'll outlive
Them all, she fears. 

It's not so bad so far,
My dears.

It never rains
But pours sometimes,
But - never tears!
Except that stretch:
One dozen years.

For sake of form
Or something else, 
She's always felt
Compelled herself
To cry at weddings
Of her own -

- Of which 
As we have found
And known, she's had
Fair share. More than 
Enough to sample
Sighs, and scratch, and itch. 

And blush. Thirteen June husbands
After all our June-Bride hitched! 
In one sweet harness, fit to ride.
She grew up

Beautiful inside. 
And life turned out?
Okay, so far.

And not at all a bitch,
They say. 
As happily ever after goes
From here, (as far as any can see) 
To clear Eternity, or death. Or

Both?

She fears
She might outlive 
Them all.

So far,  
No funerals!
And so:

She'll dance in
Summer's suns.
Adored by all,
And 
Every
One.

Temporary non-interference pattern

Yes I am aware 
from the sum of various flanges 
and tangents, wavering, waving
and creeping in around the edges, 

From emanation and penumbra 
I neither tune out, try to shut out,
look away, nor ignore,

nor seek further into

just yet. I am again aware 

That Something Atrocious 
Has Happened. I even
have some idea 
as to where. 

I know also:

That it's too late 
for me to powerfully 
intervene to prevent 
the thing, and: 

Also: that no realization, 
analysis or interpretation 
I have to bring to bear 

upon the thing, its causes
or effects, will do the slightest 

good. Just yet, and
in all probability forever!
My "take" will be 
and do 

no good.  

Pardon me therefore
if I might (under such
conditions as always
or almost always
obtain) hesitate

to dive in 
to it. 

Whatever it is, 
specifically. I'm aware 
of where it hit.

The foretaste and backwash
of vicarious grief has already
sunk a gut-punch in the stomach, but

I know 

from experience 

how much that'll get us. 

universal dynamics

People are always figuring you
for the "angle in" they each
perceive, and note
as

potentially useful, perhaps
unique, and fruitful
for them. To manipulate,
persuade, or even
deceive. And
always more
for self than
yours, or so
it seems
sometimes.
But

Sometimes

a blessedly mutual sheen,
some union or overlap
in goals
is purposefully forged
(or faked)

for you both

To realize
oh, no. Oh yes,
we're in it together,
and clean - almost. Or
all the way through,
all the way! Forged
or faked, for
goodness
staked

found
good as could
be. Alleluia, for
you! For them.
For me? For pete's sake!
What a glorious,
breaking day
we then make.

Yes,
People are always
figuring you.

Or so it seems,
unless or until
no one does,
anymore

Or is.
So don't you
neglect to see
the chance
to take, the row
to potentially
hoe and till.

Don't
condemn
or accuse or
resent what they see
to pursue, when
they do.

That's your
"angle in"
to. Yours,
too.

Yours, two.

pure nature.

Or

would that title
go better as question?
Purity - the kind 
we mean in wonder 
or at least admiration, 
not in accusation 
of narrowness - 
or intolerance -  
Purity that simply
is

Purity of nature,
or in us, of focus, force 
or purpose - is just 
the same as excess 
without slightest
deviation 
in aim,

- isn't it? 

It isn't rhetorical,
the question. I don't know. 

Perhaps it's not a thing 
I should know. Ever since 
the fall of innocence got 
so inextricably tangled up 
in ignorance, we've been 

wondering such paradoxically 
pure, potentially perverted-
in-implication

things 

haven't we? 
Or have we. 
Or was that 
just 
me! 

Naval gazing

As your surprise fleet
of new-clad thoughts
nips nimbly through
so narrow and branching 
a channel, I stand athwart the locks 
and wonder

Are you coming down the line
on a rigid heading, or reenacting
the steps of prior self-examination?
Rather than making way by leap
and creep, right now? Or...?

Pardon me. That's kind of private
intel, but I know it would drive me
NUTS if it were all the same to me. 

Is it...is it that
on some level you have
a vested goal in reaching the same
end the same ways, always
coming through just so?

Oh it isn't, it isn't rote!
Surely no. I mean, navel-gazing
is involved, but that's only one
of a number of key bodily or mindful chakras
being gazed into and through, tickled,
like ivories, raked, razed and raised.
Like stakes. It's pure navel-gazing,
when one indulges in it
to elevate one's self
as an object of interest and
engrossment, sure. But
when one is trying to

delve, or plumb
some line, or tap and plume
some foaming spring, or fathom
and tune secret mechanisms by which
one normally turns outward to order
the world in disparate reflection
of it or them? Surely it loses
that narcissistic cast
and becomes the whole, healthy,
extended arm of difficult, effortless 
gift?

To another? Of oneself whole - by sound
and sounded, tried part. Trying to give
self true (which ought to be easy)
and deep (which ought never be 
tried).

Anyway, it all transforms into a natural,
grandiose yet innocent, even benevolent
megalomania, maybe? This golden or colorless
transparent high focus. Some angle of light,
unseen ever before. Just hit upon! Some

thing

good.

Spotted and volunteered on the spot!
Something
with the bad sense of two or more
of the ugliest words
leached away, while
the core, original sense of each
stands forth stripped and pure,
blushing.

Stood stark and bare
of sense, coming in 
swift and sure
upon the deck of one
of many ships. Armed 
to the teeth, and easy

as she goes

with it. 

between fire and flood

In the best of all possible worlds 
there is pain
on both sides, and
we know this in deep
heart and brain. Between
fire and flood, we thread our steps
knowing we can't control what
hits us next. 

So we walk in a world of
peril and dread. Between fire
and flood our paths have led. 
Bad stars of disaster redundantly bloom
'til the wide, bright expanse shrinks 
to danger and doom.   

But what we can't control has not 
got us yet.

If we counted the days 
of good rain and shine,
we would have to admit
we get most of it fine -

Still, we look right and left 
between fire and flood.
Rising high, choking out,
burning, drowning all paths
we imagine in mind, beyond 
our control.

It gets in the blood.   
It's enough to make us
wish we lived in the past,
where despite all the doubt
and confusion, then
- at least we know now 

we came through it
aright, and whole. And 
it all went by so fast. 

usual beautiful

Clarity comes 
after so long a while, 
you doubt that it ever was, 
and smile.