Friday, June 26, 2009

It is interesting being me

Wild Kingdom
A stranded firefly
lumbers across the carpet
dressed as an alien
marooned in a too big world
sending a chartreuse mayday
to the futile depths of space
in a desperately erratic
Morse code of sputters
splashing across a nylon savanna
guarded by purring lions
with bells on their necks
as this make-believe
tableau from Wild Kingdom
plays out an all too familiar scene
to the sounds of
the eleven o'clock news
and Mutual of Omaha
would never grant a policy
for the life of this wayfaring stranger.

Thursday, June 18, 2009

RYAN (Entire Film)

Watch this. Now! You won't regret it. I hope.

Wednesday, June 17, 2009

I am so happy I live in the country!

snapshot (6-17-09)
rivers of light
spill through
in the canopy
snagging on
the boulder
of a house
in the woods as
a butterfly flits
a jeweled dance
in and out
scarlet leaves
to the rhythm
of cicadas

Cute kitty

microcosmic drama (6-17-09)
tiny deaths happen
at an alarming rate
in my bedroom
a slit in the window
becomes an entry into
an otherworldly realm
of luminescent lust
where yellow eyes
with emerald
rimming black
dart around the room
backed by muscles
frozen in half stride
and a pink nose
sniffs the humid air
while whiskers twitch
in an unseen current
of stimulation from
frantic wing beats that
ply the murky light
in a dance as old
as winged creatures
who search the night
for answers to questions
only they know
more often than not
taking their secrets
to an early grave of glory
in the fiery pyre
of the light they must seek

silently and softy
the killer pounces
and powdery wings
flutter in the lamplight
while collected stones scatter
from the bedside table
in an inconsequential
microcosmic drama
that unfolds
under the magnet
of the artificial sun
meant to dispel
death and misfortune
from the darkness of night
but acting instead
like a siren song
of untold promise
as hunter meets hunted
and this tiny death
isn't so inconsequential
to an egg sac
that will never cling
to the trembling underside
of a tender young leaf
and the sounds of soft purring
whisper innocently in
my bystanding ear
and soft fur well fed
on the wings of moths
presses against
the crease of my neck

Tuesday, June 16, 2009


Life in geologic time (6-16-09)

Strata one
The waves slap
at my tender toes
insinuating themselves
in the whorls and ridges
of the mountain range
of my skin
feeding the greedy
roots of desire
seeking entry
to grind away
and pry my bones
into tiny
grains of sand
to be washed away
into the order
and chaos
of the universe.

I pull my foot back
and watch the water
drip harmlessly
as I wonder what’s
for dinner and hop
away into the comfort
of home where Mom
awaits and pots sputter
and hiss.

Strata two
Currents ripple
across the surface
unaware of the
riot below
as eddying mountains
flow in counterpoint
to a rush of raindrops
hurtling down
in discordant chaos
gushing wildly
in the eternal
flow of progress
as each tiny
clod of dirt
melts and flows
in a water-laden
ballet of nonchalance
journeying toward
an igneous ending
or a sandstone sunrise.

Uneasy at my core
I turn in bed and
pull a pillow
over my head and
try to agree with myself
not to ponder the meaning
of infinity
as raindrops dance
a haunting tattoo
on the eaves outside.

Strata three
Lives rise and fall
encased in stone monuments
that will eventually
grind themselves
into nothing
yet momentarily
stand sentinel
to the brief flicker of
projected reality
defined by mothers
and fathers,
lovers and daughters
worn down by water
mixed with liberal
libations of love
poured into the ground
until eventually
the soil grows heavy
and threatens to dissolve
leaving a whole
in the quilt through which
all is forgotten
and names wear away
above chiseled dates
that fall off
and run away
to join the circus
of the netherworld
deep inside
the cavern of the past.

Fish dart and twist
disappearing as one
and I swim toward them
dazzled by the ocean’s
warm embrace as I skim
the surface just above
the outstretched arms
of a coral forest
oblivious to the waves
that gently toss me
to and fro
drawing me deeper
out to sea.

Strata four
Blind eyes gaze
upon vast plains
of eroded lives
drifting in dunes
of irrelevant detritus
collected from years
of living and loving
hating and mending
only to be ground
by the forces of life
into meaningless bits
of sparkling dust
that catch in the wind
shimmering with hope
and joining others
in a silent storm of
as random shapes
take on totemic
forms in the embrace
and quiet comfort
of the lulling breeze
that gathers strength
with each new grain
that swirls and adds
to the muffling blanket
that covers the hills
and sweeps out the old
and in with the new
as the winds of change
inevitably scour clean
the agreed upon reality
of our lives
and all must surrender
to the silence
of the great cycle
that builds up ranges
from individual
grains of sand.

As I sit and watch
the evaporated ocean
fall from thick fat clouds
I see a flash of silver
from the corner of my eye
as remembered fish
jump in the waves
of my mind
and infinity beckons
because it holds
the idea of you
as this world fades down
to a pantomime of grief
but I know the waves
that slap at this shore
will bring about change
and this grain of sand
with all its unique
whorls and swirls
is but a tiny part
of the mountain of humanity
and as surely as
that long ago coral
has eroded into the beach
so will I join you
in the pantheon
of all that is
and all that ever will be
for without each tiny
cube of sand
that changes back
into a mighty stone
the greatest mountain
could never be.

Thursday, June 11, 2009

Sounding alike yet???

tomorrow’s amber (6-11-09)
a mosquito lands
in a sticky thread
thrashing and waving
mired in a thick
rich sap
that runs for millennia
frozen forever
in a snapshot of now

It's time for a drink I seriously think! :-)

Poison ivy (6-11-09)
old habits cling
to the surface like vines
and when the rains come
they flourish and grow
spreading in cracks
and digging in deep
tight to the wall
of the past and the old
crumbling the foundation
and taking hold
but swing that silver blade
and sever those ties
clear out the past
so the rock can breathe
and sunlight can warm
those cold old crevices
and the water of now
can wash away that “ago”
but don’t be too eager
to dig and to scrub
at the shadows that surface
like the blood of a lamb
for the sacrifice this makes
is part of the plan
and if you dig too deeply
it will stain your hand
in a way that will never leave
what marks out today
will stand out so boldly
but as the days pass
and time erodes
these bloody spots
will wither and age
and begin to seep into the stone
but if they are taken too quickly
too much of the foundation
will fall apart
and isn’t it sweeter
to gaze at a wall
that shows the mark of time
and has some history
the stories they tell are
more than just vines
but only if you are willing
to give it some time

I really am posting these as soon as they come...

The portent (6-11-09)
What the hell was that?
Could you hear it too?
There. Can’t you feel it?
Its an echo of blue.
A chasm is forming
and I must go to sleep
for it is only in slumber
this world takes me under.
What, you might ask,
is this all about?
We’re entering a world
where no one can shout.
Hush you up now
don’t wrinkle your brow.
A soft crunching munch
starts sounding and pounding
in the back of my mind.
It signals a rounding
and beckons the time
when old thoughts must leave
and new ones are mine.
Open the door
let the waves come on in
a gentle sigh falls
as great a journey begins.

I don't even know what this one means (but it sounds cool!)

Ancient Invocation (6-11-09)
Of faeries old
and faeries bold
and all the things
I’ve never told
among them all
in this great hall
stands ever gold
along the wall
a perfect likeness
and yet despite this
coming round
and through it all
to your great highness
I will bow.

It was raining - can you tell?

the rumble path (6-11-09)
trailing across
a slate gray sky
the rumble path stretches
crescendos and fades
as far as the ear can hear
rocking the world and
humming the stones underfoot
like the tails of fishes
flashing in the sunlight
and slapping the surface
a momentary glint
in a pool filled with dark
then diving away
leaving only ripples
to mark out the past

I am out of clever blog titles...

the scrying stone (6-11-09)
veins and fractures
delve deep inside
but your surface this turmoil
so brilliantly hides
as reverent hands
caress your smooth skin
so cold and aloof
yet allowing me in
gazing far inside
your hidden world
mysteries and passions
are soon understood
energy wafts
from the core I hold dear
and so your secrets
I long to hold near
open to me
these mists of the past
and allow me your visions
but please not too fast
guide me and help me
to enter your world
and give me the gift
that allows me to see
but tinge it with wisdom
and a life understood

Another day another poem...

rainy day release (6-11-09) - {this title might change...}
silver sage hands
and deep veined green thumbs
flicker and twist
here the storm comes

gutters hush
and anxieties flush
in a sluice of cold desire
raging within is a burning fire

writhing limbs
entwine and entangle
completing each other
in every new angle

pillows float by
in a cloud-laden sky
and a rhythm is reached
as the storm clouds pass by

bursting from within
the end is so close
as thunder heads mount
and lightning bolts stroke

the final release
floods window pains
mingling with all
yet ready again

gentle winds rumble
and tickle the skin
as two lovers sigh
and don’t even notice
the clouds in the sky

Wednesday, June 10, 2009

But I think I went one too far...

Sometimes you should stop while you are ahead... Here I go back into trite cliche-ville! I am only posting this one because I want to be honest about this cycle of poems... The others are MUCH better... Maybe I will tweak this one or maybe I will just let it whimper off into the sunset where it belongs...

left behind (6-10-09)
i yearn for the comfort
of your warm embrace
because the emptiness left
makes a poor bedfellow
and the harder i try
to put on this face
the farther i fall
away from this grace
i have carved for myself
and everywhere i look
i can still see your face
and cannot escape
from this hollow place
you left behind

today is the first day
i did not cry and i yearn
for the comfort
of the day i can say
i cannot remember
the last time i cried
for someday i know
the tears will be
left behind too
and that doesn’t mean
i don’t love you
it just means
i will no longer be
and no longer see
myself as the one
left behind

When you're on a roll...

superstition (6-10-09)
hooty owls cry
in the dread of night
thrice heard but
never forgotten
merely searching for love
or defending a nest
but inspiring fear
in the listening ear

how many times
did the lonely owls call
disproving that myth
before you died
and left us all?

on this dread night
as the bull frogs moan
and the hooty owls cry
tiny insects
fly headlong
into a flickering flame
victims of instinct
and harbingers of
nothing more
than an insatiable
quest for the
comfort of light

Why stop...?

to end a thirsty night (6-10-09)
etched and echoed
in subtle shades
of blue on black
darkness falls
to sheets of light
by a symphony
of croaks and moans
punctuated by the silk
of distant rumbles
as storm clouds skulk
across the hills
and gentle breezes
caress the trees
to the plippity tap
of lazy drops
soaking the sand
and spreading relief
as insect melodies
weave an alien song
to the beat of the night
and the sponge of life
sucks away this drought

And finally a little rhyme time

sycamore song (6-10-09)
twisted and gnarled
shaped by the wind
your fibrous arms
sway and bend
in a lover’s dance
of arches and roots
dappled shade
passes underfoot
and your bark tells
of stories seen
and others things
that might have been
protect me from
this world tonight
as try I may
and try I might
to see the world
in your loving light

I like my new stones! :-)

singing with the stones (6-10-09)
suspended on chain
and humming with strength
you beckon me closer
your truths once again
dazzling my eyes
with blind memories
of secrets untold
and vague shimmering
as futures unfold
in mountains of time
all worn down to nubs
yet building again
in resurrections of life
and these ashes of mine

See what happens when you open the gate???

resurrection (6-10-09)
(was that a sigh
in the darkness of night
or the winds of change
blowing again…)

crystal fingers lift
from the cradle of dark
prisms of life
and light will ignite
in a thousand jagged sparks
as flesh meets with stone
and rock becomes bone
in an ancient dance
as myriad as life
unfolds in the crease
of the breast of the night
and a new life is borne
on the wings of the light
that bounces and plays
in the lives of our days
a resurrection of time

the circle has been found
your time has come round

Tom and Jerry!!!!

Click the title of this post to go to a cool blog about Tom and Jerry!

Amazing hand art

Cool - you should look for the book "Hanimation" if you like this...

Tuesday, June 9, 2009

Stolen from Lawrence Marshall

Just watch this!

Stolen from Aaron Springer

Who in turn stole it from YouTube! This is just too perfect not to share. Thanks Aaron. :-)

Monday, June 8, 2009

Senses (hmmm....)

the air i breathe (6-8-09)
honeysuckle jasmine
pig shit and pollen
the world whirls
and swirls in
a thick soup
of unmade memory
tendrils of life
inhaled and changed
nourishing choking
and cleansing
rooting forever but
blooming tomorrow
as the wind rushes by
in the current of time
and a long
forgotten seed
sprouts in the mind
as an unseen
molecule of memory
bursts in vivid light

Tuesday, June 2, 2009

An unexpected visitor

the mourning dove (6-2-09)
you come to me
from a clear blue sky
in a flurry of feathers
and a jacket of fur
(lined with a tooth)
your heart beats
the rhythm of life
a song in the hand
of a tone deaf composer
as your infinite energy
mingles with mine
a symbol of peace
and divine transformation
so fragile
yet stronger than time
you left me
the gift of a tiny feather
an emblem of power
and grace without end
but the legacy you leave
is a life touched forever
and a journey through grief
so hard fought yet true
sweetened by love
(yet still missing you)
coming full circle
as the moon shines unseen
in the heat of the day
while one life must end
for another to bloom
in the light of a dove
in the palm of my hand

Inspired by this event (but the dove did not die - that refers to something else in the poem...)