poetry & things



In this city house amid the screaming sirens,

here in the whirling of paper and garbage

I hear the banging of trucks over broken roads,

low rider stereos, their deep boomed, throaty moans.

Here in this strange forest that flies with cactus birds

alluringly they sing in secret symphonies,

before the howling chorus of coyote calls,

the rising magnetic moon, a mountain flower

pink blushed that fully blooms.

Northern spring

Clear water, drinking in – earth soaked

purple violets and fiddle headed ferns

cold bulbs and garden tubers, buds and flowers unfurl.

This mating clash of birds, their chirpy squawks and words,

an aromatic lilac trance, a variance of blue.

Grass and toes, cool and cold

northern winds of spring.

Music school

I play guitar unpolished

red rust of my finger tips, bleeding

no school for this, still I wish

I’d somehow gone or sang with

my mouth unbound and loud

sang like a deep well of bells

that rang each day and I had come to listen.

At night

In bars wandering amid the metal and cages,

amid the loud banging of voices, dull as broken bells

rung from the sloshing of drinks, in shirts red inked with wine.

Smoulder and fog, cigarettes now drawn and dead

down this cold alley of vagrants painting nightly,

wildly until dawn.

This field

I cannot write anything, the way my heart tells it

soft in murmurs or echoing loudly as it does

cannot drift the way I’d like, floating freely as dandelion

or milkweed seeds wild in these fields.

I hear words, like arrows piercing in.

I feel shocks and waves that come

to cover me up, disappearing

facing the jangled places head on

letting go of over again

my fears, only transient clouds

and after the washing rains

the birds – singing, flying.

St. George island

In Florida

the beach cut in half

cool sun baked cake, one side blue

the other side white in swirling sands

and after the waves of tide left

birds stamped footprints

webbed and wet

that disappeared in the afternoon sun

sand art lost, and windswept.


Black, hollow world of sky – starless

alone in this darkened room

dreaming of the star showers that fell

last night from your lips


Cherry birds

Plum tree with a thousand bees

honeymoon of bliss and flowers

little winds of petals blowing round

in a blaze of spring, pink and cherry red

diaphanous and dewy on the ground.

I drown in the succulence of your lips, I kiss

drinking deep in wildflower meadows.

The sun it melts the cold to spring

and in the morning we watch cheery birds

flit and hop upon the lawn

amid the daffodil yellows.


This cemetery of broken stones, the gray hanging trees

of moss draping down to the crab grass and leafy lawns.

This silent field of sticks and bones, of breath long gone

tiny grave of an infant child one day old.

Behind this black rusty fence, wrought iron and bent

circling round the dead, a strange cage we’d like to escape

forgetting our fate, we smile and pretend.

Winter and spring branches

These winter trees

cold and shouldering winds

their bending branches unhinge

falling limbs crash and break the snow

further still a secret world of mud and bulbs

that in the spring blooms of tulips and violet mossy lawns

and too, the sun that comes to warm and fills with green the tree arms

this wooded home that breathes with sheltering birdsong.


Outside my door a cawing crow

of blackened wings and indigo

delivered by night’s shivering storm.

The wind and winter’s howling call,

scattered nests and down the feather falls.

Crack of limbs, cold and bare branched

mesquite leaves and needles spiral to the ground.

In a swooping field he flies into the tallest pines

deep and slow, the trees creak

wild in cello tones.

Ash and Spring

Ashen white clouds, pale as these grey bones

strewn across this desert floor and lit

by the glint of a million sparkling stones

these diamond pixels shine amid giant saguaro people

moving slow and trailing the sun, they fade with flowers

that come to close and hide away beneath the moon

underground, with deep rooted tubers

they move, pushing away cold stones

pushing through darkness

star gazing they dream

of Spring, dream of

the coming sun.

The desert, rain drenched

The afternoon sky with its wine dark clouds

red blushed and blue, moments before the rain drenching greys

the scurrilous skies, the black winged silhouettes that fly

amid the cactus trees, thick with chaparral

a total reconstruction of sunny soft memories

this cold tumbling storm that moves overhead

to form, this desert raining lake.

Water Protectors

We are walking, we are chanting, we are praying

though many before us were killed and maimed

we stand in peace, we are in love with the sky,

the earth, the water, the father and the mother

We stand together, we watch the river flood

through the years spilling over with human blood

Praying peace and clean water for our earth mother

praying one day all will come to know

the intricate connection we have to each other

realize how we harm ourselves

when we harm another

We cry with the sky tears

water protectors in the river

Locked door

Someone’s at the door, he wants to know me

I am lonely as a thousand dark winters

and because of the deep blue of you,

the wrecked sea of you and me

and much to my chagrin

I will not let him in.

Into the invisible

Like stars fading into the blue of day

the blackness that somewhere slips away

how the sun fire burns clouds into the air

the river that wends through lands, a stream no longer seen

a winding path, a deer trail I follow, the sun shadows that swallow

the light of this sycamore forest, where time is somehow lost

amid the trees of blue and silver contrast

beyond these woods, my eyes follow

birds, that fly into the sky hills

far and disappearing.

Cold of November

Now these clouds, the cold mean greys

sideways rain, the north lands I remember

the drowning air of smoke and fire

nights traveling the dark road to your home

the black and spark of stars, we watched

through the night, before the killing dawn

before the fog, the cold that held us down

the clinch and grasp, the slow stinging wasp

the allure and hum of bees

the honey meadows of scattered petals

only a fleeting summer – we gathered

now swallowed in the autumn thunder,

the bruising cold of November.

Meeting on Dragoon road

In the evening watching blue, pink clouds

birds and clouds whirling round my head

they fly past the place where you live

I long to fly with them, maybe tomorrow

fly to some far off place I’ve never been

but tonight I go with the stars and moon

only starlit, I drive the dark road past Dragoon

and can never explain the magnetic force that pulls me to you.

Lost in the night clouds

It’s no good this round and round my love

they’ll be no surrender only the smoulder of fire

only a dream, the beautiful fusing

of we two in the star showers ­

fast and falling, to live and die together

of love and things to remember

somehow we got lost

chilly in the night cloud weather

blind sighted and now besides you

I too can never surrender.

In the blue water

The path of the sun, with its arrows shooting us toward home

the light, the lulling moon miles, the night roads we travel

in vast fields of star flowers we are born, reflections in the river

floating we ride, wildly glide, some days on the smooth tides

with these eyes, sometimes half blind

we live and dance, we hide, we fade and die

all too soon only a light glowing ghostly

a glimmer in the blue water.

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