New poems 2016 –

February 5th, 2016


It’s ok as a poet I expect to lose.

Winning is for winners who play the game,

I expect to lose, which is nature,

a game I play by myself, not about

winning or losing, but striving as all

living things for a fact escaping my brain

that lives line by line, day by day

hurt by hurt

city by city

people by people.

Birds swoop upon me as they should,

silent we grow as children,

to adults that say nothing.

it’s nature beside us that jack-knifes in silent cost.

~ ~ ~


There is nothing you can do about time,

it gives itself away, is why we lose everything,

is why mankind invented turntables to spin

LP’s, better than whittling a stick on a stump.

Best part about living is living, most people

never get that, never spin LP’s as

if that’s what we are here for.

Once you figure out life, there’s always one more

thing to figure, beautiful thing about time

is you can’t figure it; it’s a turntable.

~ ~ ~

Teppiche Transaction

Once you realize your life is a tapestry of time,

some carpet sold to you

by yourself, lonely rug merchant

that both spends time as you receive it,

is some kind of arrow shot ahead,

giving you all the time you need each day.

There was no pull from the moon,

only the magnet in your heart,

makes the tides go in and out,

so you can go to sleep.

Being alive is to have a fever

for life.

So what is your temperature

for living a life that’s cool and tepid,

all the while keeping the teapot whistling?

~ ~ ~

The Rent

Everyone’s their own in keeper,

is why we charge ourselves the

cost to fall down again and again.

Nothing to answer the questions,

only the lake, mountains to lick

air, and life keeps death away

each day so you can still be your own

landlord that never fixes anything,

but lies to you that help is coming.

~  ~ ~


Some muleskinner of my soul may have

shaved me too close at times,

either way the human spirit finds its

imagery to something that leads somewhere,

when I awake from my dreams now

encapsulated into waking reality again,

it’s funny how we are programmed to forget.

This forgetting, we know where it goes.

It goes like the geese we hear in

December going south to some warm place,

to the bosom of the planet, where I suckle.

~ ~ ~

Fell in a Crevasse

Sometimes I swoon like a mother

pregnant with time, giving birth to

children of things and places

that live beside me, far away,

never within my womb again.

That’s what time is, a birth, a riding,

crevasse when we cannot

protect our children anymore. Then we

understand we have always been by

ourselves, on our own, an illusion of help,

familiar, begotten, we are all just

poets of our lost souls, never knowing,

just asking, and thinking of the answers ourselves.

~ ~ ~

Books and Lovers

I sometimes stack books of different languages

in a pile to confuse myself.

I sometimes stack lovers in a pile

to pleasure myself.

I sometimes do nothing to nobody to nothing,

language is a crucible.

It’s the worlds between misunderstood

that loses my lovers that make

me feel better about myself.

It’s then I go back to the stack of books in a pile.

~ ~ ~

It’s there

In the end we become stars hanging in the night,

the piano player striking notes in our head,

liquor of the moon shining us to sleep.

Rivers we do don’t need anymore, this daytime that leads to night,

this everlasting waterfall of our minds, façade of our

thoughts that roll off into brick stone.

This is the place where I am, where I am not

allowed to be, where there is

no light, no dark, only truth.

No sleep, nor night or day,

only the heart beat you never feel,

but it’s there by the murmur of your quiet water.

~ ~ ~

Tiny holes inside a

canvas gauze is

where we live.

We talk a good game,

where color lives inside a hole

within a


in a café

warming cognac,

tinkering with life.

To beg time,

live one more

day, we hide

silently behind

a pillow,

ride this

lantern of LED lights

This is a dream world we live,

only she knows how to get there,

get back to that space where

bareback riders

trail away,

keeper fish jump atop my skiff,

where air and ground breathe each other.

~ ~ ~

Chambers of Emotion

More truces broken,

words fall as snow as

two lovers denied,

Earth just falls away for the day is over.


stitching from an old woman’s quilt

to sleep in

when our day is over.

Life, pages of a book,

turns day by day

stamped in dark ink

for all to read

this riddle of loneliness

was wept long ago

within confetti droplets,

purple, yellow, green,

all fall together as

chambers of emotion,

like twigs littering

Earth, swirling in

circles from this breath

that pushes yours.

~ ~ ~

Sphinx Love

To make love to a women as a Sphinx,

then one lands on

Inca land,

where Mayan symbols melt in garden graves.

Then I understood the

riddle of the Sphinx, neither

man nor cat,

not anything.

Then the cat became a man;

a man a cat.

~ ~ ~

That Jungian thing

Once you start justifying that Jungian thing,

duality of man,

that its ok to do anything you want,

then you’re better off doing just one thing.

Why not since you can’t make up your mind.

Sort of a beaver building a dam,

the river flows by you,

but you got that one thing to keep doing,

and the river keeps flowing.

~ ~ ~

The Nodder

In today’s world I could be a doctor,

just sit there and nod, say nothing

until you left, went home to consider

yourself suckered, then came back to

see me, we both nodded to each other

in agreement that this nodding is all that

will happen, then resign yourself that

all was a waste of time, no one can

help you, just drive home, unconscious

in that endless drive to a place

you never get to.

~ ~ ~

Doesn’t Matter

It does not matter how smart you are.

It does not matter how dumb you are.

To realize the difference between

good and bad has always tried to hide,

but you found the truth, and it stinks,

so you add perfume

until your soul says enough,

I want to be pure,

the world won’t let me,

‘cause the world is not with me,

but you’ve never been with the world.

So whose fault is it -

yours or the world?

~ ~ ~

That’s the Paradox

Finally the spirit came to me,

said go strong, go fearless

because death is a nothing, and

life is a everything, and

you are nothing

that can be everything.

That’s the paradox to do nothing,

be a statue,

or to be the best father you can be,

or the nest son,

does it really matter,

if you can’t face up to yourself,

so be kind to everyone, everything.

If you have a problem, read again.

~ ~ ~

Tangled up

It’s always seems like they’re tying you in a knot.

Centuries old wisdom passed, and you

never bothered to get it down.

So stay bogged down in today’s world,

transient as al humans pass,

It’s not to worry,

it’s all a silly dream we had,

so you can now untangle the knot

that so tied you up.

~ ~ ~

Creator or destroyer

You’re either a creator or a destroyer.

Once you decide what you’re going to be,

be good at it,

because if you’re not good at it;

the one you are not will do away with you.

~ ~ ~

The Way Trees Fall

The problem with building a castle,

placing yourself high up, people

will want to tear you down.

You can get there, maybe stay there awhile,

a few days, years, maybe centuries,

sooner or later if you build yourself up

That high,

nature will tear you down

that’s just the way it goes.

The way nature plays its hand against you,

the way trees fall,

better get out of the way,

finding a way to go back from where you came.

If you want to find equality,

go among the lower classes

where the lions and rabbits run,

there you will find what you are looking for,

where true equality lays.

~ ~ ~

Next Time

In the end, there is no other way,

for the next life I will melt

unceasingly to love, and there

will be no other way,

this is what I can look forward to,

this next stop, until then

I remain here in vain awaiting

some détente that will never come.

This is why,

in the end, there is no other way.

~ ~ ~

OK (2nd version)

It’s ok if I lose the game of life.

Winning is for winners who play the game,

I expect to lose, which is nature,

a game I play by myself, not about

winning or losing, but striving as all

living things for a fact escaping my brain

that lives line by line, day by day

hurt by hurt

city by city

people by people.

Birds swoop upon me as they should,

silent we grow as children,

to adults that say nothing.

It’s nature beside us that jack-knifes in silent cost.

~ ~ ~

The bartenders

All of poetry is a joke if you can’t

sit in front of a bartender,

drink five shots of tequila in 15 minutes,

walk away, come back, do it

another day, walk away, do it

another day, until that bartender

is gone, and you drink five shots of

tequila, year after year, decade after decade,

wear out bartender after bartender,

discover who is the winner,

surely not the bartender.

Just the laugher who walks away

to drink another day.

~ ~ ~