If I’d lived my life by what others were thinkin’, the heart inside me would’ve died

I was just too stubborn to ever be governed by enforced insanity

Someone had to reach for the risin’ star, I guess it was up to me

"Up to Me" by Bob Dylan)

Monday, February 28, 2005

Failed Poet

He was a failed poet and a thief
billowed about on winds
drunken with songs
from older times:
Somewhere over the Rainbow,
Danny Boy.

A spectral waste with hollow gaze
singing innocence of youth,
pink chiffon lace;
diaphanous black and white dress
on feminine avenues
in scents of Guerlain and Shalimar.

Now he dances with the lord of death
his fingers blacken with newsprint
stiff pen sketching his last will and testament.
Climbing as high as the steelgirded sky
past the green swamps,
past the bridge of sighs
into blue timeless fields and artist’s meadows
to ransack heaven with cocktail party clinking of glasses---
He plummets to a watery grave.

In the cool, murky waters I choke him
frogs leap from his ratty collar until he gives no more breath.

I bear his burden within me
like a captive.
And on raindrenched nights recall his anguished cry
from Springs’s flood or nature’s new throat.

His citystreet lovesongs,
praises to the moon,
pure pagan lust.
The silver streams wind
endlessly without obstacle
rendering his voice audible at midnight.

Songs of beauty
sucking blood off the purple marrow
like a mighty tick
the old lecher leaches self-laceration.
I had to put him away
to drown him in the fog of regret, in the fog of illusion
to rid the world of his ragged voice
his pretense
his madness
until no more thieving,
lying, conniving poetry.

Even now his voice lingers
when salamanders turn notes of surprise
when wet rocks are jewels:
“When Dawn’s left hand is in the sky.”
“When the busy streets are too dead for dreaming;
When joys mist like morning rain
When her eyes are steady streams of light
And the world wakes in the palm of my hand.”

Sunday, February 27, 2005

Saturday, February 26, 2005

The Ruby King

“This too is within your grasp, he whispered---
the empty shell, a balloon,
hard baked and dusted visions of yesterday…”
With his green ring
Waits the ruby king;
A parting cloud on a fat grey sky,
His word is music.

Before his swirling feet,
Between ambition and striving
I count the time I have lost or gained.
Cent by cent
For what is fully spent.
Sharing your eyesight

Tears float away on little silver feet
Racing to the water
Like raindrops plocking the puddle.
Yellow chips of caution float away
On a forgetful river
As though waking to a shimmering self---
As though a glimmering dawn.

Black puddle---substance dissolving
I seek consubstantial self in prayerful vigil,
To find the magic king.

Friday, February 25, 2005


Iceciclesciclesciclesiceice

Mom

Kaleidocrystal

Krintog

St. Valentine's Horse

Pyramindow

Cedar

Blue Water

Bridge over the River Why

Cap'n

Cabbages

Sponge Flag

Seasonal Candy

Golden Arches

The Colonel

Carrots

Abstract in Mauve

Feet

Shudders Open

Spectrum

Crystal Days

The Ambassador

Guitar Method

Sunday, February 20, 2005


Organ Choir

Station of the Cross

Baby Jesus (w/bird)

Pieta (in wood)

Bishop Hogan's Confessional

Behold This Heart

Another Participant

Herb Wolf Commemorative

Gold Dome

Altar

St. Francis

Infinite Cosmos

Diversion

Repast

Tabernacle

Cellophane Window

Herb Wolf Commemorative 2-20-05

Friday, February 18, 2005


Sunflowers (The Past Blog Series)