Monday, January 22, 2007

As he stepped forth
the wind blew
cooly
fiercely, but his cloak
barely rustled, maintaining the space within

encompassed by a delusion . . . .

Then his pain pulled him close to the earth.
And he saw his reflection in a window.

His cloak: only a shirt.
The mountain: no more
than a floor. The wind: dry...still...warm

I sometimes wonder
if I am alive.
How could a man
survive such an accident?

Perhaps all these people
I encounter now
are dead as well.

And our spirits
thrive here
in this reality.

Friday, January 19, 2007

Submission Call

Tuesday, January 16, 2007

five-dollar lightbulb

I bought a
five-dollar light-
bulb, was gonna replace
all my bulbs

with them
but the light
above the coffee-
maker went out

so I thought I’d just borrow
my five-dollar lightbulb for a bit

but as I went to
screw it in, it fell (I dropped it)
shattering tiny shards
all over the coffee maker

and me, standing . . . dammit!
my fuckin five dollar light bulb!

Monday, January 15, 2007

Stairway

"Yes There are Two Paths You Can Go By
But In The Long Run
There’s Still Time To Change The Road You're On . . . .

. . . And It makes me wonder

Your Head Is Humming And It Won't Go ~ In Case You Don’t Know
The Piper’s Calling You To Join Him"

~ Led Zeppelin

________________________________



winter-rain taps so
loudly. faint palpitations:
vibrate into sound.

Sunday, January 14, 2007

drop by drop

night drips on my face
slips into introspection
finds me, drop by drop

Saturday, January 13, 2007

Mind Dance

teeth dry. ears echo
with distant thunder

smoke tantalizes
arises from the forest

as I

walk into ancestral waters
submerge myself whole
only to emerge, dry
completely quenched

and on the other side
a spiritual feast awaits

ceremonial rhythm
announces the wise
who themselves now arise
from the ancient forest
encircling me in a dance

while feathers trace symbols in the sand

Tuesday, January 09, 2007

If You Read....

...this blog and have read issue one or two
of Flowers & Vortexes, Creative Magazine,
and would like to comment on its content,
then please, by all means, do just that.

So far, we've comments from a mother
and housewife, a college student, and last
but certainly not least, a Dr. of Psychology.

Be the next to comment on Flowers & Vortexes.

Jimmy Page (January 9, 1944)

Monday, January 08, 2007

Harry Chapin

Cats in the Cradle


A child arrived just the other day,
He came to the world in the usual way.
But there were planes to catch, and bills to pay.
He learned to walk while I was away.
And he was talking 'fore I knew it, and as he grew,
He'd say, "I'm gonna be like you, dad.
You know I'm gonna be like you."

And the cat's in the cradle and the silver spoon,
Little boy blue and the man in the moon.
"When you coming home, dad?" "I don't know when,
But we'll get together then.
You know we'll have a good time then."

My son turned ten just the other day.
He said, "Thanks for the ball, dad, come on let's play.
Can you teach me to throw?" I said, "Not today,
I got a lot to do." He said, "That's ok."
And he walked away, but his smile never dimmed,
Said, "I'm gonna be like him, yeah.
You know I'm gonna be like him."

And the cat's in the cradle and the silver spoon,
Little boy blue and the man in the moon.
"When you coming home, dad?" "I don't know when,
But we'll get together then.
You know we'll have a good time then."

Well, he came from college just the other day,
So much like a man I just had to say,
"Son, I'm proud of you. Can you sit for a while?"
He shook his head, and he said with a smile,
"What I'd really like, dad, is to borrow the car keys.
See you later. Can I have them please?"

And the cat's in the cradle and the silver spoon,
Little boy blue and the man in the moon.
"When you coming home, son?" "I don't know when,
But we'll get together then, dad.
You know we'll have a good time then."

I've long since retired and my son's moved away.
I called him up just the other day.
I said, "I'd like to see you if you don't mind."
He said, "I'd love to, dad, if I could find the time.
You see, my new job's a hassle, and the kid's got the flu,
But it's sure nice talking to you, dad.
It's been sure nice talking to you."
And as I hung up the phone, it occurred to me,
He'd grown up just like me.
My boy was just like me.

And the cat's in the cradle and the silver spoon,
Little boy blue and the man in the moon.
"When you coming home, son?" "I don't know when,
But we'll get together then, dad.
You know we'll have a good time then."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Since I never said the things I needed to say to my father before he died, I am left within a state of nothingness, reminding me of his face every time I look in the mirror. People take these words and absorb them, deep into your soul, listen to the lesson, stop to feel it.

Dad, I miss you every day. I love you no matter what may have transpired in our lives. Please forgive me as I have forgiven you. ~ your son, Eric.

Thursday, January 04, 2007

Captured

golden hoops
shine around . . . orbit through . . . pierced flesh
dangle down

against her

winter skin
covered in
lavender . . . woven threads . . . spring forth

against her

enhancing
round, sexy
breasts held

against her

against her

untitled tanka

And grayish-blue clouds
formed the feet of a falcon
slowly extending

descending upon the land
with mysterious purpose

Wednesday, January 03, 2007

No Fishing

No Fishing


massage me out
gentle but firm hands
of thought

relax my larynx
cross the synapse
between wind and speech

lead me through childhood
pastures, fishing with dad
sneaking into a pond

staring at a
“NO FISHING” sign
counting the cold
minutes until

we would walk back
through cow-patties
eyes glowing in the unknown
of night, walking for eternity

dad stepping on the bottom
strand of barbed-wire and pulling
the middle and top together

while saying: “Come on
let’s go. I hear the old man
on his way to shoot us for catching

his largemouth bass.”
  • Promise of Light

  • moon phase info
    My Photo
    Name:
    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

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