The stream (all workshops)
wear histories
in tired patterns
gather dreams
in idle beds
i remember so much
and forget so little
all the pages sitting
all the fonts and words
in my head
would I be an island
for as long as I could
I would
but there is always rain
to numb the sadness
there is always darkness
for thoughts so not seem
so shadowed
somewhere between
fear and trepidation
across pages of words
left for another to read
beyond the memories
of moments held in photos
yet still I need
the days
to complete the lists
the nights
to celebrate life
and easy breaths
to fit it all in
.
it was a chorus line of hollyhocks against a crumbling red brick building
that devastated my poem,
they laid waste to the words you asked me to write,
you said I would try to hurt you with my intent,
my rhyme,
I said your prejudice and ignorance were showing,
like wearing a hooded down overcoat near the end of June
you said 'fire away' and I asked if you knew why
Bodhi-dharma left for the East,
should the moon
retreat forever
behind a darkened sky
and all the stars
fall earthbound
without their
twinkling light
if the sun should
cease to rise
the clouds go
their separate ways
and all the birds
no longer soar
i still will
not forget you
for, in all truth
i am forever yours
This is an experiment in using free verse form punctuation in a rhyming poem
Unsettling news just came my way
concerning a nearby library
that very soon would come the day
Of
. No
..More
...BOOKS!
All reading will be on flat screen
.no more rustling pages
..no covers smooth as velveteen
will aroma now be ozone
..............................................instead of leather?
the cramp the charley horse of life
winds about my soul and merges burdens
there are cold stars lighting my dark side
Dreams work my ideals away and
fallow paths dusted with old thoughts winding
trails of tears this cacaphony
caution is a blasphemy
and a sordid sun plays angles on stone angels
"Bard"
Devotion of self-sacrifice,
And the humble artist's
Fervent beauty,
Tumble upon the canvas.
Like the Shaman's Spirit Wheel
Of eternal fire and ice,
Speaks of the forming of the world,
The creator's ardent hands
Shape wet clay
On the potter's wheel,
This natural simplicity
Shapes this poet's pen.
NEW CONCEPT OF POETRY
You have given the lead
And
I'm grateful to uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu
Others may follow suit
Let’s get out of the graves,
Of our ancestors
And
Compose each poem afresh,
Unique and out of the blue
AND
WE ALL ARE SURE
ALL WILL LOVE
THIS NEW TREND TOO …
LET’S MAKE A BEGINNING
AS change is the womb
Of a newer generation
How I wish all of us knew
Fair Jerome, dedicated his life
To the study of hidden knowledge
Made it clear to anyone who cared
Chastity would have been his stay
But for the duty to his wife who bore kids
Hardliner, he was, extreme sometimes
Wished for cremation so he made a will
His lifeless body be burnt upon transition
Embalmed not, nor kept in the morgue
With attendant expenses and troubles
you are the type of guy
who ends up in night court
pleading not guilty, expounding
differences between stalking girls and
adoration
you attend political rallies for
free drinks and the whores
half drunk on aspirations to be
the first to fuck a candidate, with
you, all too eager to oblige
but you forget their names
you write on freeway overpasses
how god is necessary and so is death
but you'd never hug a tree or write
eulogies for your family. waited four hours
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