Monday, December 15, 2014

Fall Awakening

Fall Awakening

Opening eyes upon
riotous morning
beneath a waning moon,
nestled within a
vault of trees,
senses enlivened,
primeval sounds of rushing river
birds in the midst of greeting
the glorious sweep of nascent daylight
within the arc of rising sun.

How fortunate to be
given yet another day,

this fleeting dream of life.

Tuesday, August 26, 2014

Song of Life

From within the vault
this aged brain
where thoughts cascade
in infinite relief,
where recollections
bundled with chaotic memories
both invited and discouraged

Swift the currents of time
undaunted in its fibrous passing
unblemished by conceit,
maddening are the rush of moments
often too shrill to
pardon endeavor
no matter how sincere or

From mother’s precious loins
forgiving of all transgressions,
delivered to this wily planet
among the bosom of expectant family,
born to be enshrouded with the mystery,
majesty and woeful misery of this
all too human race

Humanity with its collective,
torturous past,
shimmering present and
dubious future
awaiting to receive
yet one more genetic representative,
one more pair of eyes to see
with imperfect vision,
to embrace the scope of
the human world,
its foibles and misgivings.

Infant caresses the world,
invokes its presence with nimble fingers,
ingests every bit of nuance,
every shape, every texture
within its grasp,
absorbs color, radiance and light
with absolute and joyous abandon,
consumes any love that
appears within its ocean,
every delight that beckons
from its world of waking dreams.

Yet, young life must also
pass within the formidable boundaries
of pain and disappointment,
take upon itself
the truth that only darkness
can reveal.

Surrounded by a world
replete with motion,
embedded within the matrix
of the living,
filled with the language
that is the gift and curse
of being human.

Growing child finds its limbs,
begins the journey
so oft repeated through the generations
that separated humans from
their ancient beginnings.

Evolving being
endures the separation from
mother’s boundless affection
to become person,
to adorn the mantle of
to straddle aching spirit
with whatever the
necessary progression of time

Into the house of the father
where reality is honed,
admonitions crafted,
made aware of the
frailties and cunning
of the age,
brought into the universe
that humanity imposes
upon its own resolve.

Love and the
shadows of love’s affection
applying colors that
imbue the living with
the architecture of meaning.

Love’s untimely absence
strains the character
of living,
likened to a broken rudder
hapless souls become
shipwrecked on the sharpened stone of
unquenchable desire.

inundated by
waves of fitful growing
composure usurped by
mad rushing hormones
made witless by
nature’s relentless prowess,
moon’s feckless imposition
and time’s ceaseless progression.

When all the youthful incantations
are thoroughly tested,
when disappointment becomes
idealism’s bedfellow,
when all the limits are challenged and
barricades made feeble by abuse,
gravity establishes its ascendance,
upon the bedrock of the spirit.

Time is ultimately discovered for the
malady that it is,
years wreck their havoc
upon the soul of the present,
death casts it shadow
and the future contracts,
leaving the appreciation of
precious passing moments as the

one true solace.  

Sunday, August 24, 2014

Moon and its Reflections

Moon so vivid
intercepts the
tumultuous wellspring
of my imagination,
plays havoc with any residual sense
that i may hold
of my composure,
strips the night of its
most insistent darkness,
enlivens the senses to find
sustenance from
conflagrations of the heart and
reminds me of the sweet conjunction
of the present with the

power of desire.

Ghosts and Other Apparitions

I hold your vaporous memory
within an aspect of myself
that i tend like a favored blossom,
I gather your ghostly apparition
into the vault of what is most precious,
though you have deserted the
sweet nectar of life
some time ago.

As the past stretches its days
into an horizon of shadows,
I hold onto echoes of your sweet nature
within the cavern
that is my mind,
I do this so as to discourage

despair’s most eloquent logic.

Death is Not a Preamble

Death is not a preamble
it is not a transient depot
on the way to glorious eternity.

Death is not a
bit of unpleasantness
to be endured briefly
as the soul continues its ethereal journey.

It is not complex,
it is not inexplicable,
it is as simple and straightforward
as the final song of an aged sparrow
as it falls from its tree
into the waiting earth and
quickly transformed into its carbonaceous parts
to feed the earth and continue the cycle.

Life is the wondrous malady
we all share that will
inevitably take its departure.

We are the transient exemplars of
our species that requires
our individual deaths so that

it may live on.

Tuesday, February 18, 2014


it is the cacophony
of idle sweeping sounds
that imprisons me,
it is the shape of words as
they coerce the lips,
harness the throat
and bend the mind
that coral my spirit.

attempt to bridge that
monumental chasm that separates
one mind from the next,
it is at the forge that
molds and fashions
words from idle speculation
that i labor,
it is with a reckless hammer
that i strike upon the anvil
that is my mind
as i attempt to bend the path of
illustrious time to meet
my fiery aspirations.

formed in careless utterance,
to dislodge the shackles of silence,
constructed with precision to
woo a prospect of
romantic vision or
impress like a wily magician.

harbingers of good and ill,
conduits of the wily emotions that
speak of dreams and
hint at what is to come and
what has passed within the
wake of time’s incessant motion.

keepers of thoughts
both gracious and defiant,
capable of persuasion
that can placate or
insight insidious rebellion,
that can speak of kindness and
quell strains of violence that
plague the human soul.

my hopeless addiction,
my incessant bedfellows
whose lyrics can
strain my composure,
whose sonorous renditions
can make me weak,
whose insistence can
make me irritable.

welling upwards from
subterranean domain of
inscrutable id
to play havoc
to perplex in
wildly chaotic parabolics
to induce euphoria or
unspeakable dread
ultimately laying waste
beloved yet fleeting composure.

can be vindictive,
can be sublime,
roar out of my throat
or come in a whimper,
can sustain my fragile grasp
on the soul of existence
or be the witness to
my undoing.

Whether in a palace
or graveyard
words inhabit the
vault where memories
reside in the heart
of that eternal ocean
that hapless citadel of knowledge
and resistance.

it is the cacophony
of idle sweeping sounds
that imprison me,
it is the shape of words as
they coerce the lips,
harness the throat
and bend the mind

that coral my spirit.