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Poetry of the Wiseman
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As I Have Walked:Minneapolis 'burbs
As I have walked-*
The crisp chill air of winters decline
as it drives me to seek the freedom
of the open road outside
stretching before me like a
black broken beacon
perpetually upon the horizon
it reminds me of past paths traveled
.
As I have walked
down the cool repose of the Americas
I have seen such beauty
in the simple roadside blackberries
and kind faces of drivers lonely
awaiting their call to open roads
far from the solace of the final cup
and word of warmth from waitress weary
Death of the poet: Ocean Beach, Ca:Summer, '98
Rapt and attentive I hold their tongues
Pouring out with literary mastery
through stanza every word they hush
this is freedom
And though the din may fade in
i know they cherish
to wit to tongue
poetry in motion
.
Still it is despair
held prisoner in my throat
when these words lose magic
empathies fade with the loss of inspiration
and with the loss of the audience
death of the poet
.
The heart fails not by the offensive
but indifference clearly stated in silence
no applause but for the daily bores
matters given precedence
only in individualistic sense
8-20-01 Northampton, Ma
The grand spatter contentious
of droplets patient caress
to concrete majesty fashioned,
the innumerable content of sand
Solvent, swaths of light
break towards unification
Primrose streaks highlight
the tears in blue nimbus
Amazing grace, the chortles of color,
murmuring, shatter upon my flesh
.
The beads stream down
my grand arch and hollow
are immaculate conceptuals
.
Reunite, again
invigorating florin senses
of life, recreated
in each solidified breath
Ascension
each empirical blessing
strewn upward through sinew
are drawn blades of grass
.
We paint the skies
with the blood of warriors,
the scent of funerary pyres,
and the cries of buzzards
All eyes must someday
leak again into the stratum
to fall again,
tears in heaven
Fargo, ND 1-19-02
Rumble in the Tundra: ringside@Fire vs. Ice
Twin flames dance in a wooden dish,
Yin & Yang, tripping light fantastic
above waxen pools, incense graveyards
The luminous shadow is illustrated
here in hungers pilgrimage
.
Crystalline shards of winter shine
expansive unto a glimmer prismatic
Here, where rainbows smile shattered
the air huddles and is swallowed
by miniature titans of flame
The indomitable strife wages
all employed to wicks
as wax creeps coldly
to its hunger feeding liquid
.
I am watching the sunset
in the palm of my hand
with deaf ears appeal
serving final judgment
By the Light of Reason-#O.B. Ca Nov. '00
By Descartes light of reason
by which mankinds faculties are divine deliverance
the grace of Einstein was ushered
By Galieos sufferable arrogance
Physics from his light would go unheard
the world would have kept moving
Later the sterilization of the immaterial from the equations
broke the joining of church and science
Reason became entirely based upon material function
and in this essence Zarathustra spoke
an aftermath of reason and faiths separation
who said you have to harbor faith forever
Its purpose is to accept the momentary darkness
like the unwilling blink, the vulnerable sleep
until faculties are regained in waking
the inspiration of seeing
Do you see?
The light is the ethereal purified realization
maintained in any creatures mantra
I feel I see I think I am existing
all beliefs preceding again
the language of physics in metalogical interactions
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Signs 11-12-00 On the road to Reno
In the mountains there are signs
many instructing to slow
On the freeway there are signs
directing where to go
So many roads...
What path do I travel
a query omnipresent in the troubadours mind
There are signs in the cemetery
do any tell you where you are going
or where you have been?
There are signs
The stars are read
a celestial highway
as are palms the individual path
Tea leaves tell you what you have drank
The signs of the trails of tears
are eyes weary from birth,
and signs of love simple to discern,
unabashed adoration springing forth
unreluctant delight wearisome burden
or breathless wonder
To wonder is to love the curious
so wander in each the first step
Every wanderings mark is a sign
and thus so are the mountains
Atlas Crawled over Broken Glass-& Fargo, ND 5-17-02
Watch now, the glass tesseract of our lives
sparkle like newborne snow upon Atlas' tongue
.
The tranquil pool humanity greedily craved
was divined to be poison by a prophet bleeding ash
while hungering to be human again
It's pure hell (heaven) being closer to God
when the world around you takes comfort
in lies and lives lived for the simple satisfaction
of the crystal cities promise
The Moments Respite: Washington, south of Seattle
The stark silhouettes of trees
divides the melancholy sky like black lightning
from the earth it strives
and likewise in downward angulature
does it descend with intent
to draw from the world
We live in an artwork
to which all metaphors may be attributed
and all associations strived for
Glitterdust Prophecy, I-94 outside of Billings, Mt
My beautiful my glitterdust
Oh my horse without a name
My wild my free
My lifetime untamed
Will you ride the winds current
Will you buckle so freely
Will you be one of the last
to drive me into dreams
Shall I be driven to insanities domain
Where the divine touch is so free
or shall I be shown another side of beauty
Vibrant velour after perceptions cast off shell
Closed minds and hearts shall no longer dwell
in this land of dreams
with you as me
7-02-01 NYC
The Canterbury bells, distant are singing
as leaves turn soft and flippant in the night
Heresy dwells in the garden, consoling stillness
This city, made to burn, shocks traditional light
(The imported flora gasp as folk seek frantic
what is omnipresent beyond the walls
that soft streaming sacred
Here they are, vacationers all)
Blues on bourbon are for flaky sentiments
of crescent rolls, hunger softly spent
at B.B.s Bar and Blues, where admission is free
if you purchase a six dollar drink
Where is the man of the hour?
At home, of course, watching Letterman
.
Their senses of satiation, consumeristically sought
are wrought in the blood moons under sleepless neon
Somewhere, distant from the noises of pollution
sits a woman, spread across the land
so soft and coolly reminiscent
of the man she had barely not met
*previously published in the E-zines "This Hard Wind" and Poetic Voices http://poeticvoices.com
&-Previously published in Childrens, Churches, and Daddies, Scars Publication Http://scars.tv
#-Previously published in The Vault:Soul Fountain,Five-0, the stately poems http://www.thevault.org
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Poets in the crystal city
With sparkling appeal and the time honored form, the finest poets live in a crystal palace, to each his own ivory tower. For Jewel, poet of modern beauty, I am inspired to platitudes of simplicity, she is the finest goddess, of immaculate temple and universal disposition.
Likewise, the grand contentions of Frost capture the humble satiation for rural expressions, and with the fire of passion, the pressure of critical impact, he finds truth of a simple life given to the resiliency of time.
For Angelou, the outrage speaks a volume of all days past. Be it may that she has sold her words to Hallmark verse, the revolutionary movement she inspired was a gift best appreciated in the humid New York nights. Her thirst inspires my every word.
A fine thing, to know the love of sapling youth. One of the finer poets of modern mode is the prestigious doctor William Carlos Williams, who spoke of the man being the palace, with all the hungers and urges. Yeah, my chair eats all my words as well.
And see Dylan resting, a bird upon the mend, in our glorious aviary. With the vivid plumage of Hera, the vanity and vice of any honest contemporary, he becomes a shadow that refuses to fade.
Oh, sufferable matricide and beautiful anguish, the waxen fright of Keats must also inspire. With skillful juxtaposition born of the unrequited, surely he has moved generations of life.
Yea, Bicker and blanch, Dickinson and Whitman go to show, those who cannot do are not always teachers, and those who promote are not always the most adulated. These introspective muses are my Yin and Yang.
As for Levine, he captures the cool edge of esoteric verse, witty and in the subtle rondeau of subjective appeal, he is truly an intense introspector.
Poe, tragic kingdom that he bore, whiling away the evenings in walls tainted with the black tar of the days decadence, surely he was destined to be an unsettled spirit. The walls are dark indeed in his crystal enclosure.
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