Selected Poems


The snow is drifting all right
Beside trees and bushes
Creating irredescent light
As the moon passes through another phase.

And she's sleeping
With breathing deep
My tormentor, my hippocrit;
She's resting, she's asleep.

The wind is listless
The flakes are faultless
As they stack up one by one
Like grains of sand in an hourglass
Outside the door.

Thoughts rush
And dodge
And badger.

Thoughts whisper
And whimper
And daze.

Thoughts offer
And promise
And pontificate.

Thoughts shutter
And shake
And chill.

Thoughts, thoughts
And more thoughts still....


Uneasy on the dance floor
I've lost my youthful will
To please and perform
And drink again, and drink again.

The beat's not right anymore
I'm slowing down I guess
My feet are leaden and mislead
It's harder to say "yes."

I'm troubled like a troubador
Who knows one song too well
From singing it he's fading
So lightly he can't tell.

The end of thing is changing
And tomorrow is a blur;
Like a lover who is leaving
But tonight's too cold for her.


Pleasantly, even happily;
Bumping on rock, in rut,
Splashing as we go,
Hidee high, hidee low.
Somewhere waits the blade
Thumping and splashing
But where? When?
Now here's a smooth strech of 'pike,
The wheels move easily again.


It occurs
That I sometimes
Catch up with myself.
All my reading,
All my note taking,
All my current plans complete.
Then I just am,
Standing at a junction
Free to act in any way,
To go in any direction.
It's wonderful
Just standing here
Watching thoughts
Come and go.


There it is the new moon now
Settled in for a new cycle.
Craters shadowed in sunlight
Motionless, drifting,
Facing Earth like an eye
That never blinks but winks
Slowly half-shut, just a slit,
Then gone...
Then wide open again
Like a light at the end of things;
Another full moon,
Another lover's dream.


I love you
I love you
I don't want to lose you
You're mine
I'm yours
We are
I love you
I love you
I love

When death knocks on my door
I think he'll sigh real low
Like a woman in labor
Or a man working hard.

When death knocks on my door
I hope he'll find me
Surrounded by my dreams
Stroking a dog in my lap.

When death knocks on my door
I know he'll be welcome
As all things in their time,
As all things in their time....

Crack the sky
Shake the sea
Flatten a mountain's peak.

Crumple a plain
Straighten a coast
Drain a lake.

Sink a continent
Burn a jungle
Drink a river.

Love a woman....

To A Soldier Dying

You are gone now, lost and unseen.
You were struck down straight and clean.
Time was your enemy, ambition its aide;
Together they slew you limply
And gracefully you feel.

Take comfort, you were not the first,
Nor will you be the last.
The evil-doers still march on
Inticing dreams in silver cast.

Quietly you transpire.
Upward now your days swiftly pursue,
As inwardly congeals your desire;
All in union pressing forth with you.

Death is strengthening the weaker you grow:
A silent pursuer who you never know.


Jesus, I'm tired
Of those memories
I fired.

It seems so long ago,
But it was only then, you know.
Then, now, when:
Yesterday, tomorrow, and again.

Success soothes,
The war -- the whore -- that wooes,
All is forgotten, those two by two's.

Time ago, time ago,
Time to go, time to go,
Over and over and over and then:
Yesterday, tomorrow, and again.


Completely shaken
Leaves flutter no more
Just rest on colding earth
Wait for changes
And the soil once again.
Around, grasses brown
And sun diminishes
Insects freeze
And birds are gone

Springtime is the lover's season,
Winter is the warming time,
Summer's when lovers're teasin',
And Autumn flaps its wings in pantomime.

A silver morning's misting rise
Unfolds before my very eyes,
Like ice melting from a wintered lake,
Slowly, as if for the viewer's sake,
That he not miss a single phase
From ice to water of nature's ways.

It's not the solitude
When I'm alone
That soothes me;
It's more like the sea
Or a thankless eagle blown
On wing suddenly
(And I dare not intrude.)

Poems that flow
Like fresh air
Or fly like a sea-bird
That doesn't care,
Efface the ticking
Of the time machine,
And rush through minds
Again agleam:
It's a way of life
I cannot shed;
Life is a poem
From born 'til dead.

Why does it seem within some women
One is lost in sensuousness and facets
And folds of attractiveness and ardor
That combine and recombine endlessly
Creating a kaleidoscope of impressions
All warm, all wondrous, all womanly;
Which ever way the head is tossed,
Or a careless are, just placed,
Beauty eminates and minds rush
With hot blood, while another
Woman -- herself a wonder, herself
A beauty -- strolls past unnoticed?


I once knew a guy who ran
Ten miles every day because one night
After smoking, smoking, smoking
He pressed his hand
Over his mouth
And blew without exhaling.
A small mist of smoke
Emanated when, hand removed
And mouth wide open,
He breathed out again.
Then he did it again,
And again, and again, and again.
Each time a small mist of smoke
Emanated from his mouth.
Then, he began to think,
"My lungs are still
Filled with smoke,"
Though he hadn't smoked
For quite a while.
"This is disturbing," he thought.
"What if when I go to bed
And the smoke reamins
Within my lungs?"
(it does, you know.)
Thinking further, he thought,
"A strong exhale emits the gas,
Perhaps I should breathe vigorously
At least once a day."
And so, he started running.
I learned all of this
One day after running
With him,
Although I met him at the start of two miles
And he was already at eight.
Afterwards we showered
And went off to dress.
I met him again at the mirror
As we both combed.
He told me his story
As he soothed his hair
And calmly lit
A carefree cigarette.

If wishes were fishes
We'd all have a fry.
If wishes were horses
Beggars would ride.
If wishes were insults
We'd all have to hide. | Search | Ask | Archives | Online Store | Contact Us
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