Saturday, July 29, 2006

This Morning
there’s some blue
flowers just beyond
that dew-dropped bush
so many flowers
so many nights
I have filled
with my days
but this
this morning absorbs me
consumes me like
transparent-brown-morning nectar
and then I noticed a sound

a glass harmonica

in the far-away morning

in the still, wet, cloudy-gray



in the infinite space of mind

a vast hum

the words of me
floating . . . rotating . . . orbiting

without limitations

. . . without limitations . . . .

at least here, within this morning

Wednesday, July 26, 2006

this is my life

the wave
in the water


Go to the old man
make his days
your own

the water spoke of second chances
opportunity to right wrongs, new lives
old ones, ones who should be but are not
were the voices of the water, and my father

with proud words, the words that never were

and as the warm water
caressed my skin, their dreams
ran over me, and I began to cry

realizing why . . . I
bathe in souls
and visions

Sunday, July 23, 2006

Stephen King

"Talent is cheaper than table salt.
What separates the talented individual from the successful one
is a lot of hard work."

Tuesday, July 18, 2006


"Now that we're here,
so far away, I feel like I can face the day.

And I can't believe that I'm not ashamed
to be the person that I am today."


Well, I thought I'd share a part of me via a quote.
And now, I'm off to pretend I'm brilliant.
They fall for it every time.

Monday, July 17, 2006

Mickey Rourke

My man said:

"I cut my little finger off
because I thought I didn't want it.
I was angry about something
so I decided I didn't need the end
of the little finger on my left hand.
I didn't cut it off completely -
it was still hanging on a tendon...."

Saturday, July 15, 2006

Visitor: Syd's Song

flower-bubble ash-
tray gather secrets
messages from burning visions

to come

deciphering night’s
long, shotgun style, box-tunnel
starting here
at my table
peering out over
wandering jews . . . wandering

searching for the moon: light-junkies

waiting.........for............ the........... Sun

and black-eyed suzies with dried, curled
yellow petals stiff with their lifelessness
and, at the other end of this box-shaped
vortex, traveling out my windows: turquoise

jewel of infinity gleams
refracting light
from a thousand points

while silence awaits . . . any sound

but not one echoes
throughout this chamber
no whipping white cloths
to cover the doorways to hide
what lies beyond each threshold

While the hum of a nearby machine
and the ticking of a clock
were the only indicators

that somewhere
at some point
there must have been- life.


I debated with myself over the addition to the title. It was my first intention to dedicate to the man, but I didn't necessarily write it with him in mind, but only with his state of mind.

Thursday, July 13, 2006

Syd Barrett 1946-2006

"You reached for the secret too soon. You cried for the moon."

What Syd has given to this world
continues to ripple . . . throughout
the waters of my soul.

"Shine on Your Crazy Diamond."

Sunday, July 09, 2006

The Flip Side

Well, I know I’m quite the pessimist sometimes, but, for whatever reason, things don’t seem to be going too well with what I’m trying to do over at Promise of Light. I don’t think that people realize I just stopped trying to publish my own work, and suddenly wanted to publish other people’s work, because I am that much in love with words, with the people who speak them, and this world in which we hear them in. I have lived life like a true artist since I began to truly understand, since I began to truly listen, to beauty and pain, side by side like the yen and yang, like the slick, black streets of a rainy night and the blueness of a sun-filled day. Any minute resource I obtain now goes toward my new ambitions for others. I say this not be recognized, but, perhaps, to be understood. But being who I am I will never give in, it’s simply not an option. And, as I mentioned, on the flip side, or side by side, or even the other side, there’s always optimism.

~ James
On July 3, my eight-year-old son, Alex, collapsed on the baseball field here. He had complained of a mild headache for a day or two. My dog, Jack, had just died of a heat stoke the day before, so you might imagine what was going through our minds when we got the call. "Alex has passed out on the ball field, and I’ve called an ambulance." I’m a fucking mad man in stressful situations, but I knew I had to stay cool for my son.

The ball park was just minutes away, but the ride felt eternal. Tammy kept saying it’s okay, it’s okay as I held both sides of my mind, trying to make it and my body be still. Even though, I had been teaching my internal dialog a lesson of calmness while running to him, I still exploded on anyone close enough.

Then I saw a fellow father, Chip, an off-duty Kentucky State Trooper with his shirt under Alex’s neck, his hand supporting my son’s head, talking to him and gently holding a cup of cool water to his lips. I shut up immediately when humanity forced me to and watched, dazed, calmly crazed now. I slowly moved the person to my left to the side, leaned over my son and asked him if he was alright. He didn’t answer. I saw green everywhere dad, he said. When the paramedics arrived, they asked the usual questions: what his name was, what day it was, who the president was.

They tried to stand him up. But my son could not. So, he was carried to the ambulance. Tammy asked me if I wanted to ride with him. I said nothing. I couldn’t muster a word. But as I sat in my car, weeping for him, for me, for her, waiting for the ambulance to drive away so that I could follow, Chip touched my arm and said these very important words: "I was out there as a parent today."

So, here’s the note I just wrote.


I so wanted to show my appreciation to you for what you did for my son, Alex. I am all too aware of what might have happened to my only son if you hadn’t reacted as you did. And the message you conveyed to me when I sat in my car, I heard it louder and clearer than any message I’ve ever heard spoken: "I was out there as a parent today."

The cliche I could never repay you comes to mind. And it is true. I could never. If I were a man of wealth spoken for by the dollar, much would you have. But I am only an ordinary man who tries to touch the world with his words. I knew the first time I met you that you were a good man, when you treated me like a human being, like you understood because we were both fathers. And Now, it is I who understand: the word good just isn’t good enough to describe the man who you are.

~ James

Friday, July 07, 2006

Sneak Preview

The following poem is included in a manscript that was, until now, unseen by the public in part or otherwise. Tell me what you think.

Aunt Diane

When I was a boy
everyone said Diane
was crazy, a lunatic

I remember her sister
relaying how appalled
she was that Diane had claimed to be God
(and later that she married her elderly father-in-law


Tales and images burned
a young boy’s mind, instilling fear

for a woman whose face
looked evil– even when she smiled at me

Georgia 1984: Frank died
And Diane came to live, in nearby Lawrenceville
and take care of an old woman. I visited the "rich"
woman she was nursing, saw MTV for the first time
Video killed the Radio Star, Money for Nothin’, and Beat It!

She had a Mustang II
listened to Dire Straits
played guitar, was schizophrenic

All I knew was she wasn’t
the person I’d heard about
She was kind, and seemed to
love me, everyone. I know now
that I loved her too

On the day she died

my mother and I
my brother, and sisters
sat on a blanket in the living-
room. Diane played her guitar
I recall we were all laughing
making animal noises. She began
to make the strangest noise I’d ever heard

We continued to laugh
pointing at her, until her face was
a swelled blue, and her guitar fell to the floor

I remember confusion
my mother’s face blurry

Paramedics ripping a
plaid, snap-buttoned shirt
her pasty white breasts exposed, her

body jolting, convulsing
as the electricity traveled
through her lifeless mass

and watching them stop
pull the white sheet over her
face and looking at their watches

For many years
Diane would appear
in my dreams, asking
me why I had laughed at her

But I could never answer
just lie paralyzed by fear, and wait to wake.

Sunday, July 02, 2006

The Promise of Light

bright orange snapshot sun
sink until you speak


a single promise to all who listen

tomorrow I will rise

over the mountains and seas, land
reminding you of the only constant
you’ve ever known

Saturday, July 01, 2006



moments before
the storm she calls
forward as a breeze

touching . . . ruffling . . . each leaf

and limb, which whispers
sad secrets into God’s ear
he stands as a worrier

with visions flowing

out from behind him
up and around him like a long
sapphire cloak waving with the wind

balanced and focused

movements and thoughts
a feline’s stride across
soft, shady, summer grass

and upon me there came a mist

quenching my tongue
cooling the taste
of morning sun
  • Promise of Light

  • moon phase info
    My Photo
    Location: Far Side of Sanity

    And the iguanas dance in the desert/a thousand miles away from this place/and this face: stoned immaculate.

    "Let us remember . . . that in the end we go to poetry for one reason, so that we might more fully inhabit our lives and the world in which we live them, and that if we more fully inhabit these things, we might be less apt to destroy both." Christian Wiman, Editor of "POETRY" "Hang on to your hopes my friend; That's an easy thing to say, but if your hopes should pass away, simply pretend that you can build them again." ~ Paul Simon

    Powered by Blogger

    "Imagination is more important than knowledge." ~ Albert Einstein