my father in heaven where
hello my son
this is your father from heaven
since we parted so many have I adopted
so many lie on my lap all day
sleeping and snoring
so many want to stay with me
so son as long as you can
do remain with your clan
ere you come and then miss them too
as now we all do you

but some day when you arrive
shackled old and decrepit
how will I recognize you
O son, I am now fresh fighting
no more blue

Night scraped it's knees on wet pavement
leaving smears of blood neon-red

Ebony tree arms were reaching out
while the street-lights shone overhead

Darkness lay down on the grass
and covered itself with the dew

The stars peeped out from the sky
where they had lain, hidden with blue

Sounds and colors are muted
A different scene unfolding it seems

The night people are waking from slumber
while day ones are dreaming their dreams

grist of structure
sharp form
the tinge of brittle
time about its
era

cast us
about
beneath fire suns
and tear spent storms

our arms have borne
our hearts have shrugged
the soul shun worlds
and realms
of all this
and that

(This little ditty was written in 1993 at the closing of Sears Outlet Store #1440. I served at that time as the clerk in charge of “mark outs”, thereby responsible for every broken piece of merchandise that must be eliminated. This is the earliest poem I wrote still in my possession. I have changed nothing from the original first and only draft.)

gazing into nevermore

I see sadness and joy

yesterday's sleep

covers me

in the ash of time

I dream

as deaths wings

extinguish your light

we considered

the great sleep

in hushed tones

a simple wish

took shape

now

with the lessening

of the light,

whispers list

a ragged breath

our time runs out

there are no words

left unspoken,

and now silence

grips the night

Day Out

Sheep white against the deep greens.
And waterfalls
like painters’ mistakes
cascading in milky, mile long lines.

Half finished towns
crouch too close to the road, ramshackled wood
painted bright colours or stained deep red.
Mapuche ride horses, ponchos grubby from work,
stray dogs lick puddles and I practice my Spanish,
rehearsing words.. parade, estaciones.

A winding road of black broken rock
up to hill-billy farms;
rabbits, goats graze and horses
lean out to look us over.

Let's sit beneath this poplar's shade
on this late spring afternoon
while heat shimmers distort the glade
summer time is coming soon

Drops of sweat dive off my nose
but we can drink some cold sweet tea
we're down to the minimum of clothes
to still maintain propriety

Bumbling bees provide a hum
as they pollinate the varied flowers
the tuneless background leaves me numb
after hearing it for hours

distant drums did beat
that lonely night
when I was all alone
sleeping in the veiled forest
life seemed to drudge along
there was none to hear my song
in the far distant time at night
I heard drums on my transistor
some folks were like me
in a far off jungle merrying
they must have been lonely too
but they were enjoying
as much as I wished to

Look at that old couple there
slowly strolling their own way
him with hardly any hair,
while hers has become streaked with gray
as younger crowds swirl all around

And while they walk their private path
they smile and recall days gone by
sometimes sharing a soft laugh
quickly absorbed by blue sky
as if there'd never been a sound

The black dog

caught up with me

darting from shadow

to shade, I see the

bloodshot eyes

of a rabid hell

he stalks with ears laid back

slowly baring white fangs

my legs turn to jelly

the end may be here

In silence I give in

walking into the mist

with the smell of death

permeating everything 

there is no running now

no escape from his hell

I am bound to watch

as he rips at my entrails