'Tis

it was never he
nor father, nor son
nor lord or master
it was never she
nor mother, nor crone
nor maiden shone
it was never beast
nor half beast, nor metal
nor stone or alien
to any of what it is
it is as familiar as any
symbol on any temple,
church, mosque, or altar
and as escaping as any
notion dismissing it
it is more eternal than
the abysmal night sky
and the turning seasons
and flowing tides
it is the multitude
the gathering throngs
and the nothingness
found in silent songs
it is the you in me
and the I with you
it is the mystery
the truth and forever unknown
it is the heartbeat
of a seed never sown
it is the light and the
shadow at the end of the hall
it is what is left
when there is nothing at all

May eve

crow calls from the roof

gloaming gleam off his coat

solar sink past the leaves

laying light on the lawn

iris velvet in the eve

poppy silks cross their legs

canine nose chases scents

tales of rabbits and their ghosts

neighbor's smoke drifts aloft

catches gold in the air

slumber thoughts rise in shadows

dreams whisper in the breeze

crow calls in taking flight

flying feathers of the night

Above cubes

the sky is tiled and stained

and spotted and torn

dust has turned to grime

in its crevices

and only segmented slabs

of lights peer through

a drab grid of aged clouds

these clouds have valves

to drizzle their rain

in case of fire or smoke

or someone too mischievous

and in an effort lost

someone else attempted

to hang cheer in the form

of a pastel pendant banner

across the skeleton of it all

Ticked off

scribble dribble

the ink draining pen

pain pinned in

pouring out the within

dripping time

the leaky faucet

draining the Pacific basin

in miserable gifts

of too many minutes

the grainy seconds

of Sahara sands

that engulf the ticking hands

prison keep keeps

heaping bodies on the bank

drowned in relentless tides

of boredom

bides

May dream

pale porcelain arms broke

leaping to them for shelter

and fell into wet depths below

among a fetid predatory scent

and gray and green and stones

the surface so far and wanted

to breech and breathe and bail

from the darker world below

with muted sounds and moves

scampering up the steep cliff

mounted with swaying grass

to sit and stall in the silence

in stirring smoke of a friend's pipe

and delving speculations of this

Spill

it can all spill out
and the mystery is soiled
with knowledge
the beauty that comes
with sweet ignorance
becomes splattered with
the death of it all
what drains from
the basin of truth
and floods the thirsty
who drinks from the hose
coursing with enlightenment
only the fool who will
take another sip
and sip the drink again
never leaving a drop
in the cup to drip

Capitulate

it was some vague conversation
with god last night
this one or that one
who knows whose god
it didn't give a name
so I didn't have to worry
about using it in vain
and such vanity
to think I would want to
but back to whatever was spoken
must have been about
a bacterial notion
the microbial sort which
seems to be the stitches
holding all the seams together
it must have been revealed
the primordial pool hasn't past
but is an eternal water park
built for someone's amusement
and only when we are handed a towel
and told it's time for the lifeguard's break
is when we abandon our rafts
to the ravenous currents
of the pool's cold depths
I like to think that's what
those two nuns wearing their habitual habits
were conversing about
in the grocery store near the yogurt the other day
but their language escaped me
and all I can do is surrender
to the idea that they were

Creaks on the green

his knees creak in stooping
bones grind in their joints
mimicking his friend's arms
that groan overhead
in the lively April breeze
he remembers when the boughs
were mere whips when
he sank their roots into the earth
their size a reminder he
hasn't much longer to stay
on this side of the soil
sweaty brows sting in
the afternoon sun
as he toils on the green

blooms have come and gone
as the many winters
have stripped them away
yet some have overgrown
in his small dominion
some may call a backyard
loss is the constant
he has gained from
having his life so long
the dandelions and dog shit
keep him busy as
he toils on the green

Kiss of tulips

the trumpets sound

an enigmatic herald

though Demeter rejoices

of her daughter's return

her children have risen

with different colored 

silks tied in their hair

twas a royal hue

they once waved in

the April glint and glow

but in this rain soaked

early morning hour

they awake in the

stains of battlefields

they stand tall in the

light from brothels

they blush in the 

rouge of maiden cheeks

from deep within

their mother's heart

they have donned the

vibrant rust of the

Earth's molten iron core

Remains

the rot waits
and waited too long
the dismal hangs above
a sky whose cobwebs
haven't been dusted
the leaves loiter
something the worms
have turned their
noses up to
the corpse remains
a stain unmoved
from the fibers of time
tissues overlooked
by beetles and young flies
fluids without flow
for the frost and thaw
and erosion of their banks
an ignorance of passing
an arrogance to linger