poem | poem
Apr.17.2013
I wrote this poem in November of 1967 as part of my mindset regarding the Vietnam debacle. This is among a number of pieces to foment a higher consciousness as an opposition to war. The people of Huang Po are fictitious, but the implication is just.
The Folk of Huang Po
In the mountain of...
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Apr.15.2013
and so again
the goat walks upright
through our streets
gloating over his kill
such skill it must take
reprobate that he is
to unbalance the scale
we have so carefully
set
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Apr.15.2013
In the murk atmosphere
A shore casts an ink line across the page
Swells amplitude upscale toward you
In inner deep emotion not told amongst fellas’
Canaries die in caves
Moments sent back
A plenty dozen of pictures
Plop onto the surface onto the surface -your rich surface
Black and Heavy...
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Apr.11.2013
I would fall into the flame
If it weren’t for the heat
The beauty of the wax
The wick and the fire itself
All melding together
Moving together
Encased in a votive
A compound
No, a commune
Performing
For no one but themselves
Alive
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Apr.08.2013
~I didn't write a poem today, but here is one from last month. :)
The Christmas tree still stands in March,
its base surrounded by empty boxes
waiting for something...a dot of glitter,
a shiny Santa...something.
Our headboard is leaning
against the living room wall.
I am neither inspired...
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Apr.08.2013
is such a metaphor for the passage of time.
As if we know by instinct what it used to be -
mountain, palace, vase, flesh, technology.
In an older world, on Mars or the moon,
it roams the surface, mimicry of water
that was too fragile to much endure,
too precious to linger, that boiled to the...
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