You looked like Mother Mary

You looked like Mother Mary,

Out in the field,

Shirt off shoulder,

Hair down back.

You looked so small next to that tree,

And no matter how much you grew

 you would never be as tall as that tree.

I was always wondering about 

your world, your breath

your fragrance the wind carried

and married me to your soul.

No amount of flower similes would do,

Waiting on heavens brew,

Waiting for the first drop to fall,

Waiting for them all to say YES.

The blessing awaits you like 

the dry sand awaits a big wave.

I often wonder about the rocks,

If they mind the process or just wait patient as time has her way.

They say Mother Mary gave birth to the CHRIST.

It seems she gave birth to LIFE, LIGHT, 

Heights of hope, and LOVE.

Pure white against the green grass,

Watching time pass,

Like the rock,

Without clock,

Without watch,

But watching.

Only Sun and Moon and Season

The reason we are born is worn on our sleeve.

Until we leave life’s gates,

And another field of view waits

You always looked like a mother,

Full of care,

Hair down back,

Shirt off shoulder,

A bright star in a black sky.

You entered my blood last night

You entered my blood last night,

Past the entrance of lions.

Worked your portal through all mortal accepts,

And cured all defects set in from birth.

Each breath I held in my hands,

Wondering if I should just blow it from my grip

As what lies beneath slips into wordless intangible thoughts.

I blew it away like dandelion dust you wish on

Or candles that you blow out at birthday parties.

At my birth last night,

 The red moon was the midwife,

And at midnight I lit the candles instead of blowing them out.

Placed one at each chakra and let the wax melt,

Before the flame of love.

Divine psychedelic, angelic voices 

Spoke and broke………….silence

Until nothing existed except memories

And as the memories to went up in smoke

The signal sent to the stars and planets, 

the choir of the higher I AM,

Then it made sense 

 I AM STRENGTH ON THE WAVE LENGTH OF COMPASSION

I AM ENDLESS MOTION OF THE SEA

I AM A SACRED SEED PLANTED IN THE ONENESS’S HEART

I AM ART……………..LIVING…BREATHING

SEEKING, SPEAKING, PEEKING, coming back down low.

Below is snow and above lava from the volcanic panoramic view

From the heights in nights where we collapsed into each breath

You entered my blood last night,

May all my cells interact and crack the code

The electric star download.

Windy roads

Windy roads, dusty dirt,

wild flowers, natures skirt.

Her dreamy dress a tapestry to express,

embody, embrace, and engage.

Trace her form on paper only to later

realize it was empty, destitute.

My pursuit to speak on harvest 

was the hardest to capture.

In the void, in the space, 

that’s where words 

Speak the loudest,

In the lines, in her face,

In her tears, in my chase,

Everything left to change colors and fall to the earth.

Windy roads, dusty dirt,

wild flowers, nature’s skirt.

Running through a field of myself 

to find myself.

Letting the water become still

So the reflections will perpetuate…

Maybe it’s to late for us now.

Maybe these final hours 

we should stay in bed and dream.

Maybe the band will keep playing,

while we sink deeper into brilliance.

Maybe this oblivion is really an oasis.

Lets face it when the rain comes, we run.

But sometimes you have to just dance in it.

Let it soak your clothes till you shiver.

Silver lining with perfect timing is saved

for movies bittersweet endings.

And when fall has finally fell, 

to let winter in to tell,

what spring will bring to summer,

This story of young lovers will unfold.

Windy roads, dust dirt,

Wild flowers, nature’s skirt.

Golden rays of harvest sun, 

before the flood of rain to come.

Speaking from here still dry,

with the future tears to cry.

I’ve seen nature sad before, 

seen her eyes well up with emotion, 

seen her ocean rage with swells,

seen her lava pouring out of the earth’s heart,

Seen her people and children weep, 

been in her cave so deep,

Seen fear tear some apart left in the dark.

So before we sink into sleep or hell

Let me tell you what I think.

These roads we walk together will lead us home.

Where I will write poems upon nature’s skirt,

And everything we try will work.

White snow with winters last years thoughts

White snow with winters last years thoughts, drank.

She breathed into me a breath that washed upon the shores of an island.

Dragonflies recognize,

Children pay special attention,

Mountain top earth reaching clouds.

It may have changed when I went below the earth.

Like a tomb for death, a womb for birth and the darkest night upon the soul. 

When the sun sets upon these mountain meadows yellows and all shades of pink.

Your pallet which you paint the planet must weigh

as much as the mountain,

Fountain head,

Countin dreads,

Laughing red.

Its as if the colors story is more important then ours.

Ours a moment of time frozen on a full moon.

Ours is new moon mountain top.

When time finds us where will we run?

When time finds us what will we have done?

I saw a stack of thoughts upon her lap,

Thoughts of flight before a crash,

Metaphors for the ones who ask.

Without a question lovers hold hands.

Without noticing lovers stare into each others eyes.

Scanning faces for traces of these feelings.

We’ve all gone without.

No cup to catch the water in a drought.

If nothing is for sure I would like as many moments more as I can count.

Submerged into full merging,

With water fall.

All this joy in one place,

All this beauty in one face,

All these steps to be taken,

Making it up as we go.

I have seen the garden in bloom, 

fully open in my room,

Moon peaking from behind trees that stood silent.

When the sun goes away do you get sad?

When the breeze passes and this building collapses to ashes do you run for the lasting?

White snow melted and drank,

With the lips we kiss and thank.

She breathed into me and I breathed out this poem.

When the morning came

When the morning came,

It rained lightly.

to tuck you gently to sleep.

Deep where you thought you would never be

Forever free to dream,

 Amongst the ocean’s might.

What a sight to see the first ray of sun

A NEW DAY come.

When morning whispered just below her breath,

I thought, I think…

You were there.

Full of care.

Full of shinning.

Triumphant and strong,

Daring to be brave and go too where 

Life and death meet,

Greet the moon and bring back secrets, 

buried in the world’s dream.

What will be the last song?

What will be the last song?

The last words on lips?

Shuffle the files of music’s magic memory

There is a spot,

not on earth but within.

Where lives dream something that feels so old,

that feels brand new,

something the creator drew.

That is all I am,

that is all you are.

Not far from here I have slept under her stars,

the ones that take light years to reach us,

                                                   teach us,

distant land,

                    distant man,

                                        distant sand.

What last thing can ten thousand, eight hundred and eighty eight songs say?

What can I say?

For years I’ve tried,

listening to the winds reply to jump into her…

Step to the wind 

that which changes,

that which we breathe

I used to leave youthful riddles

but now in the middle I cant be so bold.

Can’t give to one more then hands can hold.

I’ve slept in places it pours like rivers in floods.

Dripping down cave walls,

dripping down urban sprawl,

dripping down in striped malls.

It has been a second,

a moment,

an infinity,

since I have walked in poetries path.

It has been a first that I walked in candle wax.

Who will cry more?

Who’s sky will rain?

Trained to seek satisfaction in the packaging that technology provides

Trained to seek satisfaction in the packaging that technology provides.

Unwrapping the present with the past

Looking for the future

In the last lost moment of now

Trying to find happiness in the commercial breaks

In-between being programmed

Damned to be entered by unwanted TV guests

But advertisers suggest that I buy now die later

Computerized monoculture

Trained to suppress by TV light formation caress on the back of eyes

In the box doing time

My eyes keep moving for motion of eyes is related to thoughts

But alpha waves of the brain say that no one is thinking

Nature is to slow go indoors to watch their nature show

Selling blow,

Mind candy rots spots in tot’s fragile mental environment

REPENT, doing double time contradictory doublethink

1984 war is peace brink…freedom is not free

Pink clouds hold me to the earth

And as the earth sighs ….I sigh

Sing a new song

For how long can we wander steep mountain heaven?

And not drink of our divine being?

All seeing, complete wonderment in the establishment of beauty

Grace in each face smiling

Free styling in every moment we breath

With each response ready to leave the old behind

In typed fonts of ancient glyphs 

I’m digging through the record stacks of facts

Art that stimulates thoughts

The sound of the drum brought from distant shores of Africa

What’s moreisless

To be blessed by the rhythm of drummed words

Background trackers,

Searching for the time footprints of footsteps

Leading nowhere or somewhere or maybe even here

  Where can I go?

The forests of snakes and serpents

Pens and dens of wolves 

Rest young lion by Zion’s gate while the lamb enters the mind state 

In CHRIST like speech in Christ like feet the same path eating the pie doing the math

Nothing lasts forever but I’ve never seen never, 

nothing last forever but I’ve never seen never.

This universe

This universe, my universe,

Our universe.

That breathed us,

Same breath that frees us.

What is ours in truth never leaves us.

Personification or individualization

Of the one mind of creation.

Found in, around and throughout.

My creator drew a circle.

My creator made a space.

Through all my searching,

I find no place,

Where separation stops the reflection of your face.

Ever present I feel your hand

Land carved by mind.

ROCK AND WATER

SKY AND CLOUDS

BREATH AND BREATHER

When my feet touch your qualities.

When my eyes behold your quantities.

When my little hands hold this world.

When it all fits inside my heart.

That’s when the circle completes me

The circle my creator drew.

The gift of breath born anew

And given to you.

The paper was older

The paper was older, more days away from the day it fell

and it’s hard to say where I am at cause only time can tell

and I am reaching for heaven even in the midst of hell

The paper was off white like a lost suburbanite 

lost at night in wrong neighborhoods right across the tracks

and that what I am leaving, 

and that is what she cries

when she is grieving 

and it’s hard to say for sure what I am believing

cause each day it changes like passing seasons

We all run but we all have different reasons

The paper had it’s day,

 if I gave it a chance what would the paper say?

 If the child stood up to speak with a sad look and spoke

“You have turned the living God into idols in books 

sold church to thieves and crooks”

Would the cycle of dogma be broke?

 The crime of the minds that always shouts “mine”

the self doubt saying your not divine.

This is what the trees said before man made disease lead to

extinction of a story

But it shall rise again

like the good friend in just the right time

this story,

broken apart torn in two pieces

hand to hand combat the first eastern European contact

You used to speak so loud, I used to listen

You used to seem so proud, about that vision

but now searching for the truth it’s been hidden.

Just a child on the edge of the dream forests 

The black trees tangled up in the blue sky

One cloud left, one mile left to hike

“How does it feel?”

Rolling stone gathers no moss

burning bridges to Babylon

How you gonna get across

Kept looking in the direction but got lost

This is a message to the pretty people

This is a message to pop culture control

This is not a message from your t.v.

This will not be emailed to you 

This will not be my up date on face book

This will never be read

This is a message to everyone who only “thinks” they are cool

This is a message to viper room side walk

This is to Hollywood and it’s cocaine

This is to money and those who believe in it

This is for those who money is the god they trust

This is a messageto your t.v.

To your house and surrounding areas

This is a message from your bloodline to your bloodline

She calls me sometimes

She calls me sometimes....

"HEY sometimes, sunshine, star child."

"HEY light beam"

Sometimes she calls me from my dream.

The whistle on the stovetop from the steam,

The tea is ready.

Once again come apart at the seams with art,

with art, with art, 

WHICH IS HER.

She calls me sometimes, 

I hear her voice and

respond skipping.

 Sometimes she lets me be beautiFULL,

she sees beyond the fear.

Her voice is intense like the plot 

thickened with suspense.

All those nights in my tent better have some

happy ending (BUT THERE IS NO END)

Then why are we pretending we are not special?

SPIES and species.

If only it were silent long enough you’d see her

splash in the ocean 

like a whale beyond the bluff.

FOREVER ECHOING.....ECHOING....

Wind chimes

and gecko signs.

All night again turned to look to the moon the

only friend to this SUN

I WONT LET THE FIRES DIE OUT.

IF I HAVE TO GATHER WOOD FOR CENTERIES I WILL,

FROM THE FOUR CORNERS OF THE EARTH I WILL, I AM.

More wood and words and humming blurbs,

coming from the suburbs to barefoot in the jungle 

I AM ROOFLESS,

ROOTLESS like a lotus floating

on the surface

  I AM RUTHLESS in my pursuit of the truth.

The suit of spades and switchblades, the good old days.

SHE IS CALLING

especially to the mothers.....

 TO SEE HERSELF AS HERSELF THEN FREE HERSELF

TO SEE HERSELF AS HERSELF THEN FREE HERSELF

Until all gods and goddesses are washed clean by

millions of years of 

rocking in the cradle of the word womb. 

WHEN SHE CALLS I CRY,

I cry because my attempts to be her 

by making art never will give birth 

to the world.

ONLY THROUGH YOU

I cry because of the love pouring out of every pore

and it shouts to the world.

If anyone is listening, glistening,

shimmering, ROCK STONES AND STARS

Give birth to US 

I AM REBORN SWORN TO DEFEND THE TRUTH,

RAISE MY YOUTH WITH NO FIST RAISED 

BUT OPEN HANDS

LIKE THE Sands IN THE HOUR GLASS

Smashed.

“Hey sometimes, hey sunshine, starchild.”

Letting dreams roll off my mind like water

Letting dreams roll off my mind like water.

Past flashed into the state right before you awake.

Meditating, awaiting.

She golden sunset perfect ness,

youthfull fullness on the begging of soul quest.

Kind characters of lost memories come flooding back,

to say things so abstract that they seem to have no meaning,

but that is just how it seems.

Beams of light descend into my dream state 

between there and here I get lost.

Meditating, Awaiting.

Remember the one, like days past in youthfull sun

like on the swings or the playground you run.

Shooting stars and speculation as to what lies behind that black blue sky

and although I still don’t know

now I don’t ask

just trust in the dreamer to fulfill the dream

Lucidly pouring intrinsic words of wisdom

Lucidly pouring new stories with new morals

Meditating, Awaiting.

For the day society gives up material pursuits

and begins the search for culture

for meaning beyond the senses

for wisdom to guide us in this age of information.

If the friends you I have left behind don’t make it,

I won’t fake it

I’ll cry tears from the universal eyes and baptize them in the new paradigm

For every soul shall see home in this eternity of infinite dreams

and I’ll be

Meditating, Awaiting.

Like the dreams that roll off my body and return to the source

the ocean.

Late Sunday afternoons in Nicaragua

Late Sunday afternoons in Nicaragua

Sun on pastel doorways

All dressed up sitting on front steps

Watching everything pass        watch it pass

Different dreams are dreamt here

Different thoughts projected

Supplanted white skin; 

reflected in the brownest of eyes.

The eyes; 

the color of coffee and tobacco dried

Brown like the dirt;

Earth blue like the tears cried

Skin smoothly glazed in the days of sub tropic sun

Hair; 

dark black and full of mystery

Face of the elders wrinkled containing all the history

To be passed down to eyes beholding humility

Away from the market place; the elegant elite

Consumer shores of scores of stolen profits, slaved prophets

And now home to president puppets

All this is passing               watch it pass

Passing in the afternoon on the block

Swings still squeak as children play hide and seek

And I try not to disturb the status quo of the flow of life here

Just observe the words of tongues and share some insight

Of sun, moon, and starlight

Oh to be a poet in the land of enchantment

To capture the beauty of woman on parchment

All on a Sunday afternoon in Nicaragua.

YO BESO TODOS EL SOL SE PONE

YO BESO TODOS ESTRELLA IN LA NOCHE

PINTO LA LUNA IN EL CIELLO

PINTO LA LUNA ROJO

TODOS PERSONA EN EL MUNDO ES A ARTISTA

It’s like the heat of summers end

It’s like the heat of summers end,

                                                      is a prayer for rain.

Like the dance is the calling to the falling water,

Carried from evaporated ocean with its memory,

Only to be born again when it falls on parched earth,

                                                                  Dusty dirt.

Days like this, all I can do is thank the waters power,

Its force, its flow.

It is hard to even imagine what fall feels like,

Although it’s right at the edge of my bed.

Ready to ripen for the moons,

Ready to become the dead.

She changes the leaves color like her dress,

Puts out her fragrance,

Breaths out “YES”

I have seen many beautiful things robed in her moon light gown

I have seen some struggles in a puddle till I put them down.

Words are useless

       Only signs or seeds until it produces

Feelings of wind on skin,

                                         Feelings of sinking in,

Feelings of remembering.

Words are useless until they can blend like paint,

Stay in the form of a saint,

Then leave you completely full,

With nothing to say, but wanting more.

Colorful calligraphy, word sounds, planted poetry.

In a few years these poet trees will be an orchard

In which our children will play,

Will watch days go by into seasons.

Few have ever come back from the deep black cave of self,

Some are left speechless, unable to hold the reach less void.

Pictures cannot be taken, images cannot be made.

Until you’ve laid in an orchard of your own words,

Eaten from the fruit of your own thoughts.

One day food will again be free and never bought,

Only shared upon tables of abundance.

The Creator has made it so.

We have made it so.

It’s like the heat of summers end,

                                                      Is a prayer for rain

Like the earth and her children calling to be washed clean,

Only to be born again’

Upon a new earth.

I’m thinking I should cry a river of tears

I’m thinking I should cry a river of tears

In hopes it could take me from this desert of loneliness,

away from fake friends, ex- lovers phoniness.

I wish I could.

I wish my eyes would make it rain,

Dull this heat my mind complains, my heart retreats….

Who knows what is just beyond this desert.

Who knows what this night will bring,

Facing death faceless like a beggar, a poet, a King.

Life sometimes takes the brush, the colors, and the place to gain perspective 

of the important stuff.

Nature never interrupts, waits patiently for us to notice

hopeless, devoted.

In a moment when it all gets stripped away, ripped away,

Leaving no walls to climb or hide behind.

Left with a shaman and a mid-wife at midnight.

Midlife right about to awake,

Snake curling up my spine,

Dark shadows deep definitions define,

Just a moment we share in a speck of time.

Left prominent, permanent pictures pressed into parts of my mind.

And don’t think that makes you special.

And please remember you are special.

Tears right now are like poems

I’m only hoping for both.

Contradiction, pulp-fiction written on the inscription sitting just beyond reach.

She said I needed the desert,

only because she never saw me in the rain.

She reminded me of snow,

Reflecting off flow like pure sun.

When I reach the water after this hike, this run,

When the desert is behind and done,

When I taste the first drop of your wetness to bless my lips,

When I first fall into your deep embrace,

In this breathless baptism, when it all comes back

And I remember why I am here and who you are,

And it all makes sense, and poems fall from our beautiful fingertips, 

and kindness is the only thing to pass our lips.

There; this moment is just a picture, just a memory

As if the desert wasn’t even there, 

And we were swimming the whole time.

May all these tears we cry be the holy water for change.

I wish I could.

I went outside to let it sink into my being

I went outside to let it sink into my being,

like the roots of trees mingle with soil,

like the rain absorbs to the earth,

the tears I shed fell from the deck and landed on flowers below,

the flowers that will grow there will coverthe whole world

Your spirit:      the wind through the chimes,

Your spirit:      like mine always free.

Me? It only makes my prayer stronger,

only makes my life more thankful.

The tears overwhelmed me in a wave that sent my body to the ground,

the place that we return to…

the place that grew us with it’s soil,

I felt you moving in the space above our bodies,

stopped the other day to think of how many memories go to the grave

with each of us.

I believe that these feelings and memories are germinated there,

like winter gives way to spring,

and the same way spring gives birth to summer,

I don’t know what to think of heaven,

but I do know what to think of the sky,

it’s many colors,

horizons,

and layers of atmosphere give way to something greater,

something…science can only reach in equations.

But WE the children of the mightycreator,

know beyondand grow beyond these limitations of earth,

a far greater expanse of meadows awaitsus,

takes us into it’s self and we combine.

May each of our journeys be filled with peace and compassion

In whatever form you become I’ll see you in all…

small to infinite.

I stand in the middle and behold you at the end,

watching my son who follows from the beginning,

this cycle may never end,

this path will not bend,

The tears of your passing are like ink on my page

color on canvas.

So, now that is sunk in,

into my cells,

into the pages settles the ink

and your foot steps dust has settled form your life.

I look to the first sun rise of another birth,

I look to the tear seed of hope as it falls to the earth,

I look to another tomorrow,

In complete surrender to life’s mighty mystery.

May we all face that night with strength and courage and reverence

Standing at the half way where the sea meets the coast,

where life means the most,

as years roll by like a river flooding the banks

all I can do is give thanks

I searched for it

I searched for it, 

The sound the hit of hammers on the blank white.

It always called me out,

Like the sun from behind Brooklyn’s buildings.

Breaking, awaking out of cities states.

Out of mental gates to the great day.

The day was waiting outside for me to come

Down four stories, tell four stories.

But I was stuck with Thelonious Monk in a room, 

With a blank white sheet ready to great god in any moment……

How bout you?

Skipping down a street in uptown?

Humming on the subway?

I look at every stranger as a possible teacher.

I look at every situation as an affirmation of spirit.

Broken down breaths breath easy against the street….

How many dreams does it take?

How many deaths does it take?

How many words does it take?

As different as we are like snowflakes melting.

Changing our shape,

Shape shifting in the re-gifting of will.

And I WILL

And I AM

I feel we are ready for the real.

No more makeup, no more back stage,

The stage is set.

Rehearsal is over.

Showtime

Glow time

NO time left, Right? Left, Right?

Now that I have found the words,

I’ll build around them and surround them in one adjoining breath of life.

And so it is….

I saw her dancing in the ocean of sky

I saw her dancing in the ocean of sky,

fully realized, all alone pulling the tide.

Inside I collapsed, my frame couldn’t hold the weight of words 

that I speak.

    Turning in I saw colors flowing from my mouth but no sound. 

Burning in fires light,

I saw her dancing, 

pulling behind her all sorts of jewels. 

 The trees that once stood now only fuel to keep us warm.

I heard a wave crash, all that is left is cellular memory and ash.

I put poems on the fire that I have never read,

     in hopes that the one dancing would be lead 

out of the sky and into my arms.

I put poems in the fire that I’ve never read 

 in hopes it may be bread for the hungry.

My head was split in two,

in between the sun and his day and the moon and her night.

My flight made patterns on paper that I haven’t touched,

  made indents of thoughts that broke the silence.

         How can it be fixed?

Glued back together? Cut and pasted like a collage?

I ran to her but it was just a mirage,

just a shadow of a memory.

    My destiny was to be humbled before the moon.

Bending my split head to the earth the continents spilled out,

I placed a black sheet there to catch the crimson,

trying desperately to make sense of the illness inside of me.

My destiny was to die in some future date,

 leave only art and my son behind to shine,

     I saw her dancing with the angels,

or we were the angels dancing,

I couldn’t sing lost my voice in the fire silent was the choir,

pausing to watch her becoming,

        Becoming full,

      ready to wane, 

my heart was full and in pain,

But that was just a second in the eternity,

eventually we all will dance, 

we all will become full,

we all will split and spill,

outside to inside out,

         I heard the wave crash,

         nothing left accept smoke and ash,

 I can’t explain the visions any better than I can explain those times

when I’ve seen GOD.

 It’s just a feeling, just a hope, just a prayer,

and out there somewhere is freedom,

but then out and in only begin….

    the cycle, the circles,

        the spillting,

  the waning,

the dancing…..

SO what can I say that has not been repeated?

What can I say to a voice defeated?

What can I say about a poem never completed?

Answers may never come, 

but I’ll run to you,

Drop this poem in the fire and

       dance with her until I am full.

I saved a butterfly today

I saved a butterfly today,

it was caught between the drapes and the window.

The sun was out, out drying the ground.

It warmed the house to a nice end of summer temperature.

The wings could be heard fluttering against the glass,

as I opened the window and placed it in my hand it calmed,

and then flew out towards the sun,

              towards its inevitable death,

  towards its destiny.

Maybe it was you who I touched,

brushed my hand freshly shower soft by your wings,

and freed you.

Watching you fly away didn’t bring any sadness,

but the way you flew to the sun brought joy.

The path of the star is lower on the horizon,

about to sift my sky like the way the music sifts into other sounds

and it seems the soundtrack to my life has been played before,

in roses I’ve laid before.

The earth shook beneath me for the first time,

its motion could be felt through out my entire eternity.

If I get still I can still feel the after shocks,

no one can enter what the knower locks.

I watched as my canvases all moved with the earth,

waves of magma under us, seeking release,

the friction of the earth, but the sky did not move….

I am MOVED, physical, verbally and this motion can not be stopped.

It rains down drops of enlightenment from heavens eyes dropped.

It rains down in freshly turned yellow,

it rains down in moments of understanding.

I used to try to catch it on my tongue,

but now I don’t run, enlightenment will come in the speed in which I lead

myself out of the darkness and into the light of the future…

   Its like watching a movie that can read your thoughts

and around each turn is another pile of attachments to burn.

Some cant bring themselves to do it and through the night they are cold,

be bold let it all go and see what comes back 

lose track oftime and sleep all day.

The mountains air is fresh, the altitude is high,

some when they see all of the materials burning they laugh,

some cry…..

NOT YOU, NOT US

trust is the fire I burn….

Like that butterfly that surrendered in my hand.

and I released it to the sun,

I release to my destiny.

I put the blues on my desk

I put the blues on my desk, you may know what this means

Put every shade upon the paper.

I have put the mind pictures into action in my dreams

I laid upon the floor for the first time

you may know what this means

Looked up at the ceiling which seemed so high and sighed

The light spinning the weight pinningme to the earth

my body in it’s many forms

the shadow of the nights breathe on my door step

This is not the first time I faced the night

journey dream state awake in life

How could one with all their soul speak

what the creator only whispers to you

How could one battle lost mean defeat

how could one see the beast and then retreat

how come some only need materials to feel complete

I’ve walked with opposites reconciled

poles blended in balance

Once you get still the voice sings

Once you face your self,

you erase yourself

and paint it back

and paint it black

      and with the source reattach

I don’t want your paper, your stacks, your money, your bread,

your dough, your dollar, your god, your bomb,  your oil,

Your scratch, your life, your ash, your stash, your cash.

I put words on my desk, 

I have put blood.

I put poems on my desk,

I have put wood.

I want to skip down city blocks,

I want to sit lost in museum spots

I keep sleeping for the night vision to play during the day

I keep laughing to paint amazing words you say

I will paint a bridge one day we will walk across

and never return

Until then fill the world with light like already do

I heard the plants calling for the gardeners touch

I heard the plants calling for the gardeners touch

like canvas calls to the painter brush

like formless clay speaks to a potters hands to take shape

and the way past poets words make me still see

See something that was on their mind,

I get tangled in it sometimes, some vines

have held me for days

I don’t mind as the summer sun sneaks more behind pines 

cool wind covers the plants as they sleep

It seems that all that is real is entangled 

and all the words unledgible, 

and all the world is unattainable,

      but this does to stop my words that I send up to the sky, 

this does not stop me from transforming

white into something more,

Watching the seasons pour past my eyes 

years like leaves turn yellow and fall to the earth

to be eaten by other plants or trees

No remedy to attachment but letting go

It’s easy to speak that, write that, want that,

and still it can hurt

watched a three year old turn inside out with tears

shedding them like skin, like clothes once worn

and the seasons still pour

and the birds still soar 

sure of the first leap

the first step

the first kiss

until all the seasons have turned 

until all the firsts turn lasts

the last step

      the last kiss

until all hellos are farewells….

When I can’t see the purpose for all the suffering

I run to my garden let each plant drink up my thoughts

like a fertilizer

let the smell enchant me

let the beauty put me in awe

let its stillness inspire me

Thirty rings circling, 

four skies changing

and I still fell new born, fresh

Unless my body grows weak

unless the inspiration all dries

I will channel all I cry into

something for you.