we stayed miles north of ordinary
on the far side of awakening
and stole away Saturdays with
half-broke horses and ravens in winter white

the scent of us still lingers there
in wildflowers

I visit mountain sorrow with endlessly empty arms
melt beautiful from the silence of snow
let moonlight memories weep 'til dawn

waiting for you

to kiss the eyelids of my mourning sleep
so I can find you again
and fold you inside my poetry

Sarah, from next door
came by today
unannounced

whining in two languages now
expecting a rosetta stone
to translate her life into a fairy tale

neighbors, all around
a fact for pack people
how do I, a loner, oblige

a single rebuff
and instantaneous war
enemies du jour
extremist of the hurt feeling

so, I insist she sit
hoping a sullen mood
will restrain her from engaging in
chittering histrionics
trying to make a story
but....

i was a scientist once
sought an organizing system
and called it evolution
my approach is hard-wired
into my brain,
terrified of my own
conclusions

all things shall pass away,
my holy creed

i gave birth twice and my children
were small birds i hand fed with
love

there are sides to a box, equations
to solidify
and the mirror of recognition will always
draw the hand
writing on the wall

Building and structures sprang
Like plants on the fertile soil
In the land of the Great mighty
By-pass bridges provide shortcuts
To where we drill deep for oil
Sidesteps, our ancestors knew not
Yet there was peace and plenty to eat

Billboards, posters, jingles and songs
Declare the benefactor, a worthy go-getter
But behind the swanky smiles on faces
The hearts hid the fear of monstrous beasts
Prowling the land, kidnapping and killing
The atmosphere tense amidst fanfare
True sons of the soil scared to go home

I live in a world unlike the norm
Running alongside the usual
The wild and crazy having fun
I’m subdued watching on

I wonder what folks think
Behind bright eyes
Am I the crazy one?
An alien from my mother’s womb

I find it thrilling to run with the horde
Though my course is contrary to the crowd
Like an alien from my mother’s womb
I hide away from the custom

High on a Blue Ridge mountain side
with naught but skid trail for my guide
which must have been ,itself; quite old
as trees now stood there tall and bold

Matters not the time of year
but, in fact, winter was drawing near
with most leaves reclined upon the ground
where wind lent them a rustling sound

Then a stone of middling size
caught my gaze to my surprise
there among the leaves and duff
it, at first, looked bland and plain enough

can you hear me, Lord
when i cry
sometimes, i feel like
i could die
my cross is heavy
my path dark
the wounds i carry
leave their mark

can you hear me, Lord
when i cry
i am not hard yet
by and by
i wonder if you
hear me, Lord
sometimes i do
cry to you

you ramble with his poetry
book after book
but you are not a rose,
you are not a thorn
neither virgin, nor the whore
of his better days
under neon lights
and the sweat of inspiration

crying with Orbison and Lang
the touch that caressed
you deep
in the psyche of
your human jungle

you its prey,

and you build another empire
in the dust of your involution,
exhaling the animal instinct of a poem
you are its flame, but never quite
catch on fire

This land rooted in many aboriginal religions
Long before aliens came competing for devotees
Several aficionados hold onto their ways of life
At night, seek fortification from ancient deities
Then show up for supplication on sanctified days
Set aside by the invading majority, these fogies
Influenced our conducts, three faces of adoration

we do not write about
what we do not know
the so-called visionaries
in a frantic world
savoring chances taken
mourning lost opportunities
advancing with unmatched passion
a mere reflection of our double-life

we do not write about
what we do not know
but of the esoteric
world inside our heads
of displaced bullets
or the bothersome sometimes
bull-headed black holes in our souls