Under the Flowering Jacaranda

Fragrant, lilac colored flowers cluster

Together, like hands from a multitude,

Stretching out five-fingered petals, pinching

At the air, reaching out in a last gasp, to grasp

The idyllic serenity their aura emanates. Worries

And judgments fail to cloud their perceptions –

Blossoms signal a momentarily eternal spring.

Purple carpets the ground, providing a regal

Setting for a picnic tryst. A lingering

Scent of harmony drifts on the laconic

Breeze, calmed by the jacaranda present.

A nearby brook enunciates the whispered

Secrets which the gentle wind whistles

Through the tree’s branches. Along the Paraná

River valley, just like a mother’s love, its

Music never ceases, singing through Brazilian

Guitars made from its wood in the way

A baby coos its contentment after suckling.

The jacaranda nurtures without words,

Caresses without touching, and spreads influence

Throughout its sphere without arguing, teaching,

Scolding or demanding. It simply loves for the

Sake of loving because all-which-is deserves

Every ounce of love it can well up and offer,

And nothing is ever lost when love is shared. 

Destiny's Highways

Birds glide
through calm breezes
and knife
through turbulent winds.

Sages trudge
over rough roads
and stroll
on smooth byways.

Birds and sages know
all influences -
strife and suffering,
joy and serenity -
as equal partners
on destiny's highways.

Inarticulate Slipstreams

Bright night's asphalt steam devours
Hillside necking parked moon showers,
Beam's arced water sparkling tridents
Subvert firefly monuments;
Devoted tingle gardens' walls'
Cupboard door cradled ghostly shawls' -
Forests - now plow sunrise corn highways'
Sight broken breastfed one act plays.
Iridescent repossessed dreams
Of inarticulate slipstreams
Cascade by newborn unsuppressed
Symptoms with an acid-etched countenance;
Dispelled conditions' snowflake flair:
Wilderness - an unbuttoned stare.

Memories' Amber

In the night
light rains
from the solitary
every-star grains'
blanketed amusement
the constrained shining
all-in-one star's
perpetual light

I drink it up
to quench your thirst

You are my gift

All knotted up
indispensably untethered
your indivisibility severed
while crimson fractals
glistened individuated sparks
of memories' amber
from ancient seasons
when the unredeemed
schism fracture
birthed infinity

I-we lie
together
under the weeping willow
sorrow forgotten
stardust alive
looking through
tomorrow's eyes

Perpetual Revolutions Shimmer

From All Hallows Eve
until the next Samhain day
a worthy operation works
upon each of three hundred
and sixty-six midnights
soar through dark's blackest reaches
fathom the staircased bowel's depths
of the Great Pyramid
seek out the calm eye
of turbulent Jupiter's hurricane
which no hazy mist obscures

From All Hallows Eve
until the next Samhain day
the magical rite performed
screams its birth on the final solstice
when a cold wind gusts
through the northern winter tide
and judgment bells bellow
the highest neap captures
greed and lust in ebb's onset
and the dreams of the meek
etch future's glyphs on the blank wall

From All Hallows Eve
until the next Samhain day
time circumscribes impregnation
gestation a mere
fifty-one spins more
until the door to Aquarius
creaks open gaping-eyed hearts
witnessing the Great Wheel
perpetual revolutions shimmer
a constant seed
an eternal garden

Tolled Dull Waste

Fowl wind's
brash past
stashed
sky, blew
flush guts'
gust: blushed.

Sever all
thrill-kilt
stilled
lie, tolled
dull waste
waits: sculled.

Corrupted file's
flies memorize
disguised
profit: net's
nest subsidized.

Unrecalled Dreams

Walking through ancient corridors
over rickety bridges
behind new moon shadows

Singing atonal melodies
without breathing

Collapsing umbrella fantasies

Stranded on the edge
of a sand grain
without any salt

Drenched by your wordless rhymes
in my unrecalled dreams
as a cricket gasps

A tiny black kitten
with white paws
and a tiny white tufted ascot
who mews in the softest voice
scampers over to me every night
so that its owner raises a fuss
as it nuzzles into my lap

I hear my dead mother's voice
in the haunted river willow
awaiting the hand of cancer's taut grasp

Disconnected

On the contented fields
tiled with jigsaw puzzle
leaves - cue-cured by burning hues
where flaming dreams wander by
unlit-candle starry skies -
a day lecher never winks.
But flawed October teardrops,
crowded around faulty rifts,
pass the lines of discontent
furrowed into the ancient
brow of memories relived.
Feet feelings die by inches.
Enthusiasm falters
under the last mournful gaze
of quail eggs, whose longing
smothers calculated broods.
Clever sings in its own ears.

consensus constrained

in The Beginning
a Spark of Truth
spread through
Our World
proclaiming peace
without indemnity
blocking annexation
blotting out
the conquerors
and unbranding
the conquered
but the olive
branch lies
upon the ground
yet undelivered
consensus
constrained

Solaced Wistless Sighs

An old man sits alone in the desert

Where he dreams of an island paradise

And when the late night slips into stillness

A faint light's illness whispers lies

Winter winds howl madness through the trees

As the faces from his past make him cry

Can a tall tale promise forgiveness

Though a wall wails solaced wistless sighs

Since birth he's lived to remember

Everyday he screams his lot to the sea

As the sand mainlines the sunshine

His hand combines refined melodies

When the old man climbs a mountain

And sits on a rocky terraced ledge

The bowels of the Earth will shudder

As his mirth fills mutters, wonders fledge

The Morgue at the Buddhist Temple

The morgue at the Buddhist temple

included news crews' oglers
after six Jesuit priests tried to revive
Russian television in a city bus.

People walked onto the highway
consuming the first fetuses.

An overpowering stench
began handing out
six-month sentences
for a water-only fast.

At the gates where people cross, thousands
gather to mourn exposed potential.

The Chinese news media died
in a chic blazer of sagging standards.

Largely censored
and threatening delay,
a divided Parliament
trivialized critics
with a non-binding,
but embarrassing, gaffe –
censure for old timers making bail –
pleading from the stage door.

A warning may not be enough.

For the most part,
life goes on.
It always has.


The following is a commentary which I wrote to accompany this poem:

Individuals encounter restriction and repression. The most basic and natural social desires among all individualized living creatures is for freedom of movement and choice - in other words, self-determinism.

As greater forces of repression, restriction and homogeneity of character and socialization are exerted within any nation, religion, society or culture, the more tension and pressure builds up within the individuals comprising the unit of socialization until an explosion threshold is ultimately reached.

The history of humanity can be categorized as progressive in that it has been marked by a constant movement towards empowering self-determinism and spreading freedom of personal expression and individualism.

Senses perceive motion. Minds perceive motion through space and time. As the motion of a body through space increases, its corresponding motion through time decreases. In the same way, as governments and cultures increase their restrictions on individuals and the pressure to conform is commensurately heightened, the urge to assert greater individual autonomy also grows. However, the desire for self-determination and individualism always remains a hidden undercurrent because it wells up from within individuals and remains mostly unspoken until a dynamic leader appears (capable of expressing what the individuals feel inwardly, but which they, often, either have no conscious awareness regarding the feeling or are unable to articulate it to either themselves or others) who excites and energizes masses of people beyond the explosion threshold.

With the perpetual transition from moment to moment and season to season, the vine of liberty blossoms with more and more flowers, yielding the fruit of self-determinism. The vines of liberty line the pathway toward the liberation of those collectives of people.

Liberation is a currency. Self-determination is the product that currency buys. Wealth, in such a socioeconomic system, can only be defined as transcendental harmony - which reflects the wisdom of individuals to respect all other living creatures and the understanding by social collectives that individuals' personal liberty must always have primacy over any and all collective interests.

an isolated night

a raging wind swirls
at the fabric fix
edging reality corners
when suddenly the center
of a tortured emotional
hurrIcane arises from sacred
howling dogs salivating
salvation in witness of quail
blood spilled on the asphalt
bandaid suffocating fertility
while famished tears
deafen drowning ghosts
under a shadow-filled core
ticking the midnight moment
nourished by a preservative
laden canned fruit charade
where an ancient canyon's
hermit crab crawled under
profit's calculated violence
wondered up by the sewer stench
flowing through the veins
of an isolated night
tattered by expectation's
breathless decay

Shattered glass
A magnet without poles
The little boy crying into his pillow,
A silenced yelp
A carousel with no brass ring
The little boy's finger in a light socket,
An empty sky dwelling
A heartbeat pumping no blood
The motherless litter of one,
Dusk without a sunset
A bee sting
The boy's knuckles smacked by a nun's ruler,
Perpetual delay
A barn without hay
The child drowning in the deep end,
A dry riverbed
A locked door
The boy's menacing father lies,
A walking caricature
A searing desert
The word echoing from birth to eternity, no.

Purple Plums

Imagine a single,
shriveled pitted-prune
in a bushel of freshly-picked,
sweet, firm, purple plums.
Tiny beads of perspiration
trickle across goosebumps
eliciting witness to arousal.
Unblinking eyes gasp
at taut, silky flesh
when moonless midnights'
anticipation shudders.
The juice of the meaty delicacy
dribbles taboo down lust's chin
in a dream just before awakening.
An insistent shimmer-shiver
rapidly tattoos desperation
with every pounding heartbeat
of untarted forbidden flavor.

Up I Conjure Learning Inner Whole

Up I conjure gift rapt down
Full of sour sweetened void.
In not lying you walk out
On me, giving getting off.
Now sew future summer past,
Here a humble stumble gone:
Live-in maid made furnace die
Black the grey, doom-bloom, bleached white.
Hush the instant droning sound!
Start to measure leisure's end.
Back when battles had no front
Sky cried coddled, cobbled ground.

Learning inner whole,
Creating game's transitional
Room doorway, talking.
Riding French questions,
Twilight columned writing
(Cross-nailed language):
Endless experience vehicle.

The Hill of Desire

I knew a man
who liked to say
"He's so full of shit
his eyes are brown"
I think it's the opposite
when you're full of shit
all the melanin
is sucked out
of your skin
and your hair
it drains into your feces

I used to masquerade
as white
but the pay wasn't good enough

now I'm not for sale

I'm not a high
dollar hooker you know
I give my poems away
to everyone who wants one
freely baby
for free
guess that makes me
a common street whore

Parents teach their kids lies
about the birds and the bees

Flowers never say no
they don't share
their sex directly
flowers make love
in a ménage à troi
they need a third
to inseminate for them

See the roamin' Roman kat
combin' his cat
in the catacombs

I'll let Will
take me until
I surmount the hill
of desire

Without a Lighthouse

Grinning innocence
broadly disarms
the recalcitrant; while distant,

bright, wide eyes
capture the periphery
nakedly unaware.

Pastorally pristine
property pockets
pantomime, partially
premiering play's
partitioned preference.

Unrewarded redemption's
fog bank snares
without a lighthouse.

Among Faceless Immortals

Your soul runs, aimless
and frantic,
a yet nomadic melody,
incognito
through starless nights
among faceless immortals.

You are the daughter
of a fathomless pool:
eternity's treasure.

What key fits your lock?

Whisper to me,
kiss the breath of life
into me, shadow
me with your embrace.

Aspen leaves quake in your
wake, like sound fragments
drifting on a high tide
without a current.

Impress upon me a knowledge
of every curved indentation
in your fingerprints.

Let me count your freckles!

A rocky cave cliff-dwelling
stands sentry over eons,
even as thunderous waves
splash their salty, foamy
essence into a luminescent
halo, a planetary tribute
celebrating tomorrow's birth
simply because you sparkle
among faceless immortals.

Chocolate

Overwhelmed by the scent
Strawberries named Paula
The salty Venice Beach
Taffy air wizzed by
An August sunset
That 1971
Blurred lights led
Up the walkway
To my hippie beach pad

In the later moonless depths
We all shed our clothing
And ran to the dark
Red tide phosphorescence
Stars glittered
The night reflected on the sea
As she hummed
In candlelight shadows
We swam naked and alive
Together with Hershey kisses
Stolen from masculine jaws
By delicately feminine tongues

A Poetry Exercise and Prompt: From "Meeting the Mountain" to "Amniotic Steps"

This prompt was offered to me today by my poetry professor, Steven Salmoni. Select a poem written by someone else. Write it on a page, but leave an empty line between each line of the poem. In the spaces, write lines between the lines. Now, write only your originally created lines. Polish and edit as necessary. Dr. Salmoni also suggested I try the exercise by using the poem "Meeting the Mountains" by Gary Snyder. Below, the exercise.

First, Gary Snyder (with spaces)

Meeting the Mountains

He crawls to the edge of the foaming creek

He backs up the slab ledge

He puts a finger in the water

He turns to a trapped pool

Puts both hands in the water

Puts one foot in the pool

Drops pebbles in the pool

He slaps the water surface with both hands

He cries out, rises up and stands

Facing toward the torrent and the mountain

Raises up both hands and shouts three times!

Now, the mix: me in the spaces.

He crawls to the edge of the foaming creek

The mouth of the river open

He backs up the slab ledge

Only in distant rills do brooks dare to babble

He puts a finger in the water

He assays the value of the sashaying current

He turns to a trapped pool

Lapping interest at penniless banks

Puts both hands in the water

Reaching for midnight

Puts one foot in the pool

Takes an amniotic step

Drops pebbles in the pool

Rippling the moment

He slaps the water surface with both hands

Before folding in despair

He cries out, rises up and stands

In the black-beamed spotlight of an empty moon

Facing toward the torrent and the mountain

Daring a clock-faced wrist watch to tick off a second

Raises up both hands and shouts three times!

Ollie, Ollie, oxen free

Now, just my poem, with a little polishing, but not too much. I want it to retain its spontaneous feel.

Amniotic Steps

The mouth of the river

Open

Mute

Straining distant fingers

Dare to brook babble

Assay current's sashay

Lapping lacking interest

On penniless banks

Reaching for midnight

On amniotic steps

Rippling rings

Cross the glassy night

Before folding in despair

The black-beamed spotlight

Of an ancient, empty moon

Dares his clock-faced

Wrist watch to

Tick off

Even one more

Second

All-in

All-in

Walk-in
Free