Archive for March, 2022

Angels Into The Violet

there must be a ceiling broke-through
   an atrium somewhere
      or I will be trapped
      never to fly away

they will capture me no matter how rapid 
      my wings in ascent
         I travel floor to floor
a frantic search for egress

to the underside of the roof
      no farther

they rise in chase so I descend
   once past them
      they reverse 
so I rise again

   on and on

I spy a small tear in the fabric, 
         in a corner up and away where I bob to rest
               in a panic, I deflate, collapse
press through

I am atop a tall building
   in the gold twilight

               the world stretches far beyond below 

   gargoyles, fascia, domes and cupolas
too distant, too many to discern any detail

it is after sunset
   without a sense of morning 

to fly this course is not the same, but not unlike
   that to which I've grown accustomed

            one strong downward flap at a time
         I cannot, shall never return to the world inside 
               for the tear has been mended

I am uncertain if buoyance works here 
               don't fail me

I dip one wing to test the updraft
   lean into the invisible
like prayer
      I slip off the edge

         behind closed eyes, I know
               I am alight

I pick up speed
   incredible velocity

I will
   myself to crash
to no avail

   it is out
      of my hands

to those gathered on the roofs below, I am a rapid float
   a figment
                  an irritant to the world-bound

with new confidence I bank 
            atop the hot wind
      I shout to the searchers from the inside out now, to look up

         they see me

I point
                              tucked tightly, wings pinned, I commence my take-off
                                       like a fool gone wild I ride the envelope's curl
                                 upward against immense gravity
                                     to where there is no air, no light
                                        onward to the pulsar's hum, ejecting spent stages
I soar
               I vibrate and rattle, my needles all in the red
                  gears grind, metal teeth gnash
                            the beat-beat-beat of bleeding ear drums, tom-toms

                    the sound of planets birthed, of dying stars gone supernova
                              the roar of the wrath of the Almighty
                                    a crescendo of harmony, a superchord 
                                       dissonance unlike anything I'd ever presumed godly
                        nothing is quiet, all of creation in a single sound

                              then suddenly, nothing but quiet, palpable calm
                     radiant beams of diffracted light, prisms halo
                         the myopic blur of the eternal afloat on the placenta of orbit

               this is not an exit

         this is the path 
to re-entry

below me, the earth sleeps 
   dark and beautiful
awash in its indigo

together with the blue pearl
   the black 
   under the splay of Her jeweled hand
She points me at the wares

cc: CC 2022

For Today

I use the word alight a lot
for I often discuss birds and souls in flight
   who seek rest upon branches and stars

And twilight too
   is more than mere sound     
      with its unvoiced tease
         at the beginning         
            at the end

unbreathed tongue stopped
   air pressure

too many times
   does birthed crop up
         no one really sires ideas
            or a new me
with the frequency that I imply

and reams of dreams
   a shortcut for setting
      context for symbols
awakened by cymbals 
   from the room below

   a drumroll, good speakers
         sounds like vinyl pushing air

            a zoot sizzles on a zildjian

a zephyr in the treetops,
   how I love a good canopy
      a hazy cool gone wild

in the midst of the pink, in the mist on the brink

   I ideate to while away the time
         while sexy somnambulists samba
            sweaty in summer

I write little (nothing?)
   about afternoons, interims, go-betweens
      or what the germans call something-something-blick
      the blur that's there but not seen
                               when you move your eyes from right
to left rapidly

   to leave suddenly is a theme of mine
      whether by death, or train, or a slip in the night
         usually twilight, never mid-day
            to help spawn a new you
               love lost then found!  then lost again
                  twice alit 

I overuse heaven and frenzy
   rarely mention hell except on earth
for a short while I SO LOVED 
      oxygenate and its various noun and verb forms

         even in haiku

                               (...a kid'll eat ivy too, wouldn't you?)

and photons, and light, and sentience, and all things eternal,
goddesses more often than gods, one God, non-dual, trinities,
Evans' trios and Miles's quintets
                                           peace and hope and love and Gaia

but always somewhere lurked a kiss
   a soft and quiet run of a finger
      a long stretch of skin 
         a shudder, a tickle

the lost picture of the only thing lost,
      a haunting interval

         perhaps an interim at last
a hint at what takes place
               beyond the ellipsis

cc: CC 2022

More Ambitionless

Sometimes I try
to jam a lifetime's regret
   into a single evening

Make a list of the actions I'll take
   to catch up on all the delinquency,
      make all my outstanding to-dos 
         stand down

to get back to Day 0
   ground 0's
      dust still on the black lug soles 
         I wore that day
   under my sleeve
yet branded

I hallucinate
   the airline seat
in the yard we can see
   from alan's lobby
there on the promenade

         small tug boats chugging to and fro
               atilt, washing water onto the esplanade

confetti fell, ash like a midnight snowstorm 
stopped, then again confetti fell
   on that september morning, two lunar parades within one hour

         then perfect blue sky

no clouds, except for those gathered in my mind

I deferred life despite the rain, moisture-rich air made for cloudbursts,
   kept me tentative, decidedly askew without boxes left to tick

flightless yet on the wing, never to touch down, eternally alit
   two candles

remember the rumble, the ground-shake, the cotton masks fashioned 
      from the center's tablecloths and napkins, the large shears

I dusted off a man I did not know, who was covered in powdered sugar,
   I tasted the sweetness of many lives

life interrupted

                          oh, to recommence

                                     we have yet to return
                                                   to our regularly scheduled...

the end of our broadcast day
   till 'morrow when all is righted again
cc: MCS, CC, 2022

The nubs left behind by the splintered branches, make it easy
to cling to the tree, fashioned to hold in the talons' hollows,
unwavering they perch in the northeast wind, above the grain fields,
beyond the walls, below the misted echelon

A world turned upside down, 
reversed without correction
from any brain

"The self-aggrandizing pricks doth protest too much, methinks,"
I rage, after being shaken and speared, as I go ungentle into 
that good night

They await those who will await, to while away the time
without song or whistle, no lilt, just lift in the updraft,
where to feast is heavenly, to digest and shit divine

a squadron of bottom feeders twerking their way to the top

cc: CC 2022


This poem was written in the quiet room,
words are not uttered, nor ideas harmed,
no symbols convey the shapeless whisper,
observe the poet's lips here incarnate,
the flicker in your eye is her stutter,
your blink...her babble, your tear...her sadness,
what you see is the soul, her reckoning,
her requiem fixed on the final line

cc: CC 2020

Amica Serenum

The clouds have all gone away,
so fair-weather friend -  come out,
let's play!

Until the dark skies fill my head,
the dreaded times

Where are you now?  
We can still be chums under covers, 
cuddled, withstanding wind and rain 

Until the next ray of sunshine, friend,
till then

cc: CC 2022

A Passion Plea


She said 
trees cry

I yelled,
raised the ax

bear fruit
or else

Amid tears I hear
a faint yes

You speak
on their behalf?
I ask

To which she begets
her first leaves


I once chopped down a pear tree,
and from its wood, ripped planks for a floor

Over time the floor took root in the earth,
grew to bear fruit, fine pears all around

From the one tree
grew seven


She writes the eggs 
with ancient designs, amulets on shells,
and hangs one on each branch, of each tree


She checks the covered pot of cream
and sees that the spider she placed there has built a web,
a good omen, so she calls the place Home


With the yellow flowers of early spring,
she weaves garlands as headdress for 
all the horned animals, and parades them
about as a harbinger for all good things

cc: Michael 2022

Hymn 578

Stars are formed in clouds
Of gas and dust, nebulae
Nuclear at core

The eddies mist cold
Lavender melts under snow
Bleeds purple on white

Stars provide enough
Energy brightly for years
The exact lifetime

Silence glistens here
Chilled pools beckon promising
Reflection under

We are born of stars
So proud until we pulsar
When fusion ceases

Among all two find
A sense of having been there
Empathetic eyes

Eons erase hope
What once would light forever
Turns to gamma ray

Shall never lose me
Shouts beyond the din recede
To vast empty stretch

Pridefully suns sear
Hot too fast, too self-consumed
No cheeks yet to burn

Circular water
Too near the edge of the falls
The promise to drown

Godspeed is lightspeed
We see until we are blind
Not invisible

Holding fast they plunge
In momentary freefall
Defying the crush

We are dark matter
More of us than meets the eye
Feel our gravity

Two plummet headfirst
Upturned soles to God’s heaven
The tickle of love

Ripped seams in space-time
Blessed beings emerge headfirst
The dead prefer breach

Plumes of graceful froth
Envelop twin beating hearts
Up until the sere

Nothing left to burn
Suns die everyday out here
To leave voids of love

Suddenly without
Love’s denouement sings sadly
Still ache crescendos

Massive cores collapse
Passages to yesterday
Bridges to Other

Melody solo
Lost, searching harmonically
Hearts rapt atonal

When stars burn cooler
Life has opportunity
Everywhere blue worlds

Shall never find me
Resounds off wet chamber walls
Where echos loiter

The scent of Goddess
Permeates all creation
Sweet salinity

A flickering flame
Somewhere a flue, air to breathe
Pinpoint light quite dim

Life is atmosphere
Creatures born to see the light

Ascension too fast
Lungs explode before tongues meld
Alive once again

Fine pointillism
Clarity from a distance
Planets at the edge

Shout hallelujah
Frenzied oxygenation
Salt water on lips

Behind us time looms ahead
Wrapped implicitly

Love again refrains
Adrift on sunny sandbars
Palm fruits, dates, acai

We are young again
Stellate beings thrice reborn
Twice kissed we are alone

Two swimmers azure
Water beaded sky blues hope
Refracted visions

Before words we were
Nothing, pointed subtlety
Essentially stars

Will never lose me
Mouthed indistinguishably
There underwater

cc: Chagall 2022
History does not repeat itself, 
instead it reemphasizes its points

Even if dust be reassembled,
remolded to beget the people and
the rooms where laughter once pealed,
it would not be long before they'd again crumble

Release the voices stuck in the corners where 
walls meet ceilings,
   stairways meet rooftops,
lovers eye stars that die eons ago, like them just
moments ago, 
   all of time is yet here,
      behind our closed eyes

Once upon that time, the wind entered me, danced upon
my vocal cords, vibrations of me in the airstream, 
I emanated sounds like those of creation, to pulse 
magically, ametrically, sympathetically with all the created

The uncertainty of whether I am the core or the outskirt,
   the beginning or the end,
      the reveler or the laughter,
         the ceiling or the sky,

            the edge of the dome or heaven,
               the earth or the mycorrhizae,
                  the magma or the igneous mantle,
merely me again at the core

If entropy be the gradual decline into disorder, perhaps
the dead can once again live, for death, as I see it now,
is the more orderly state of our being

To be or not to be, was never the question, 
rather to love or not

cc: Chagall 2022

Ex XY, Why XX

If my son comes home with a girl or a boy,
and tells me they are in love, I will give them 
my blessing and assist them all I can.

People fall in love with a soul, and those are everywhere.

But when my daughter gets beat by 4 laps
in a swim meet by a person who 2 years ago
was ejaculating to old Playboy centerfolds,
I lose my fucking mind.

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