the clamdigger and the poet

sometimes these words are raked up begrudgingly from the muck
squishly muddy little disappointing salty clamwords
bringing their fictions to the work in the random
pullingnamesfromahat order that holds no justice
if the world is my page, i’ve got no pen for the pace
nor plot. so much is beyond my ken. that i’ll have to face
but the mood and the rhythm, that i can hold
and with luck, still win the race


for the weekly scribblings at

im telling you im listening!

i think i heard you

i must have because all

i can think about is all

the ways you’re wrong


if i had discipline,

if i didn’t eat everything i can find

if i didn’t hit the O every chance i had

maybe i could notice those thoughts as thoughts

remember that there is no wrong you’ve thought or done

then perhaps we could get along



poets and storytellers united


Pandemic Street Art (3)This erection notwithstanding
There is something serious here
He’s not only lost
There’s no where to go
You can’t listen to him
He’s untrustworthy
Only a measure of one thing
There is something missing here
Not some fluid oozing through
The fabric prophylactic
Seeds in the trash won’t sprout at the dump
The missing bit is what
Makes us human




what will hindsight say
of the moment our lives were ripped away
redefine what i mean by me
settle into my soul to stay

the lines across this page are not nearly as long
as the ones to get into the store to buy food
so many haven’t gone to the garden in years
nor to preserve against winters tears

as the last stragglers come online
the AI picture becomes complete
headlong into the breach, my friends
from this there is no retreat

oh, what i thought i knew of walls
and the prisons they make
expectations, orders tall
(its only a matter of when)
your spirit will break

my head is full of other’s ideas
i’m thrown from port to starboard
time to stand and pick my stool
up from the mud,
find the new plimoth rock


visit my fellow poets at poets and storytellers united

seen with almond eyes

Vincent_van_Gogh_-_Almond_blossom_-_Google_Art_Projecthere then are the thoughts:
prowling tigers
scarred stumps
wrinkled caterpillarlimbs
ideas and defences branch
a garden of forking paths
the crane lifts her yellow bill
in the parts that seem least sane
burst forth beautiful
surprising surmising enticing
other than these bright twigs
it’s all blues. so i’ll paint
these peachy petals
the geckos flower feet stick
to the glass
the story told here may come to pass
the empty petals are the beauty of it


subtitle: Scene with almondize

ekphrastic interpretations of a madmans visions, trees, always trees…

Poets Untied

Avast, ye swabs

Ye be a detective of sorts
With yer readin
Sifting through words
For meanin

But what gold do you find there
In those thin poetic lines?
None of that will pay yor passage
It’s only there in your mind.

I’ll take my klews from
Yellowbeard’s treasure map
With real gold I’ll buy me rum
And on the swell, take me nap

The midweek motif is evidence, or clues, over at Poets United
And it’s also Talk Like A Pirate day, one of the chief festivals of Pastafarianism. Yay! Yellowbeard is a pirate movie by Monty Python and Cheech and Chong.