Prone yet unprepared

a fantasy about our hero waking up
in his own bed finally, after the longest journey
looking in the mirror
will he see a hero? will he recognize that face?
will that wound heal, or will he have found
new ways to ignore it?

lost in the yellow wood
chased by the demon Despair
Thwarted by the demon Difficulty
constantly pulling our hero away
pouring poison into graduation
getting stuck on the horns until
they turn to face you, bull with no shit.
sherlock, you’ll never get there by thinking
it always was observation your power.
you’ll need to label those two roads
before you’ll let yourself choose.

theres two things about that decision.
1. your wordfilled mind might guess correctly what your wordless heart knows for sure
2. the decision has nothing to do with roads

Pan is trying to show you, nascient hero
Difficulty is not your enemy, but sloth and ease conspire
The garden told you that all day, what did you learn?
Are you still bringing Anger and Discontent with you?
is it yet time for you to barf up that apple? or will it have to get worse?
the long line at mcdonalds makes it clear.
Feel the sunlight on your skin. Heart discerns but
mind won’t listen until VitaminD comes along. heh, look at that
vita mind.

With all these characters i can’t see anything
if i stay on the stage. but, out in the stalls
things become clearer. widen that perspective a bit more
and set the theater on fire

maybe the whole globe will need to be lost
for the raft of Love to lift us up

or not exactly. what about this:
the globe is my idea of self, every Thing in the world
that’s what needs to go away, (and it will need to get worse to drive our Hero out)
the earth, the world, is here for a purpose
which it is fulfilling, in spades
think only of this as you cut into it,
here i am, cutting into it. this moment
holds everything you need

even here, i’ve told myself what i insist i don’t know…



Brendan at Earthweal is blowing me away,.  what a finely polished mirror!  Thank you Brendan!




Missing online

i’ve spent so long online
grasping at some semblance of connection
zoom for work, zoom for social
online shopping cart for stuff
that shows up after i’ve forgotten
what i ordered…

there is something
missing here.

no, i don’t mean any of that.
so much of those things i thought were vital
aren’t even missed anymore.

what about that spark that leaps
between our nearing skin

what about reaching
into another human being

oh there are things that
the internet cannot replace

but perhaps, just perhaps
that isn’t it, either
and there is nothing
in my heart. In my heart.

move remember love surrender

i did not let my body move
i would not let my mind remember
i could not let my heart love
i have not let my spirit surrender

my awkwardness kept me from sports
my chest grew anyway
so i was teased about my breasts
which i tried to hide away

cornered too many times
by my girlfriends to whom i lied
in order to avoid regret
i quickly learned how to forget

She broke the bond built the wall
severed the cord between us all
what else could i do, what else could i know
so my own heartwall did grow

craving all that i denied myself
strenghth in body mind, and love
my will invented stories
i could not believe, nor prove

i did not let my body move
i would not let my mind remember
i could not let my heart love
i have not let my spirit surrender

now in the middle of my lifes summer heat
shut out into the desert i made myself
dried up date and burning meat

she’s sat outside my walls for years
waiting for me to ope my gate
turn the crank and grease the gears

i tell her i’m trying to release
to open, to love, to grow
to learn who i am and find that peace

accept that I am whole, complete
to claim my inner dragon beast
to love the me i finally meet

afraid she’s about to give up
desert her post, abandon me, walk away
spill the wine, smash the cup

i did not let my body move
i would not let my mind remember
i could not let my heart love
i have not let my spirit surrender

now i shed my scales, drop my armor
my bloody sword clatters on the stones
time to pick up my self, my amor
listen to my deepest tones

time to run up the stairs,
from the bottommost chamber
open the cage, lay heart out bare
time to own my title, Sir

i love my body, and so it moves
i love my mind, and all remember
i love my heart, and so grows love
and to God above i surrender



global poetry writing month asks for repetition,

imaginary garden asked for rebirth

global poetry writing month asks for repetition


there is a slight sting
along the eyelid edge
as they close
(the longing of tears to escape the eye)
but then the heart’s stars are discerned,
beyond the horizon of seeing…
the burning is only the residue
of trying to see.
once my greed lets go,
the dark becomes comforting
as the world of stars unfolds…



Day Nine of GloPoWriMo invites us to write of the big and the small.  Reminded first of oaks and acorns i began my research and I came across this article, which was clearly contrived to play upon my fears.  is-google-making-us-stupid  Why yes Mr Carr, you’ve roused my inner luddite, and surely Google exacting an inconcieved price, Google is making us stupid.
Memory leaned on writing and became weaker for it. Love leaned on thought and became weaker for it. Thought leans on information and atrophies as well. As Love seems more distant than ever, as our devices change the way we live and even think, can Poetry survive?


information used to be rare, coveted
squirrelled away in the vaults of libraries
Like diamonds, sparkling, brilliant, tiny

contemplation was huge, they say, back then
monasteries full of acolytes, each in their niche
repercussions were considered, prominent, huge

gutenberg’s carnival contraption dunked authors
into a sea of readers. Authors mulitplied to meet them
every word finally met the page, though some were worth little

now we are caught in a net of our own making
the rare and precious information now as ubiquitous
and as expensive as air, so common, so pervasive, so vast

the skill of the hunter is diminished, that focus
that concentration. All depth is lost, the sea
is a pancake, concentration lost in moments so miniscule

my mind melts and its effluent drips down over everything
covering my heart and drowning my soul in snippets
Prose is dying, will poetry, in it’s absence bloom large?

no i fear. for isn’t poetry about the heart, first and foremost?
it is the key that opens a door to a perception hard to find
by other means, yet the internet has made that door a mote

yet like daffodils under snow or fallen logs, how can we know
what circuitous route the heart will take to blossom anew?
our minds will never be the same once we grow and expand



Coconut Heart

when i die
crack open my heart
like a coconut
peer into that water

open that water
you’ll find you in there

once you know this
mind won’t matter
emotions won’t matter
i can never leave you

see how these words reveal
that i have not yet lived this?



My poets heart,
Like the night
And potatoes
Have a thousand eyes
And when I look through them
I can’t help but see
There is where
the new growth will be