Coastal mist and mountains blue as ache—
Troubled waters in midair, streaming across
Such mirage of openness and tangled range,
When will the gathering skies sing me aloft?

Light — splits as it shatters,
Mundane comforts failing,
The souls' world in tatters,
I wake to nothing— railing.

Light — splits as it shatters,
Mundane comforts failing,
The souls' world in tatters,
I wake to nothing— railing.

.
Light — splits as it shatters,
Mundane comforts failing,
The souls' world in tatters,
I wake to nothing— railing.

Under fish scale skies—breaks the sun,
In myriad eyes, beamed longing across
Stupendous arcs in highest procession,
As we make our way in glittering dream.

Under quilted clouds, in rains we swim,
Wrapped in fibers and whim, a webbing
Embrace and steeples of mind to shim,
As we enter the waters from a shooting.

As child we ask, 'do we return to whence
We came, or do we end, after days, time,
Thru sorrows and bliss and sleep but lent,
Balm for us to bear loss of spent dream'?

Under winking stars and full faced moon,
We sing our songs writing a story loosed
And pray our hands, to a feather will turn,
As we make our way thru glittering dream.

.
Under fish scale skies—breaks the sun,
In myriad eyes, beamed longing across
Stupendous arcs in highest procession,
As we make our way in glittering dream.

Under quilted clouds, in rains we swim,
Wrapped in fibers and whim, a webbing
Embrace and steeples of mind to shim,
As we enter the waters from a shooting.

As child we ask, 'do we return to whence
We came, or do we end, after days, time,
Thru sorrows and bliss and sleep but lent,
Balm for us to bear loss of spent dream'?

Under winking stars and full faced moon,
We sing our songs writing a story loosed
And pray our hands, to a feather will turn,
As we make our way thru glittering dream.
.

.
Under fish scale skies—breaks the sun,
In myriad eyes, beamed longing across
Stupendous arcs in highest procession,
As we make our way in glittering dream.

Under quilted clouds, in rains we swim,
Wrapped in fibers and whim, a webbing
Embrace and steeples of mind to shim,
As we enter the waters from a shooting.

As child we ask, 'do we return to whence
We came, or do we end, after days, time,
Thru sorrows and bliss and sleep but lent,
Balm for us to bear loss of spent dream'?

Under winking stars and full faced moon,
We sing our songs writing a story loosed
And pray our hands, to a feather will turn,
As we make our way thru glittering dream.

My story ends of sparkle,
Hands, winding me in fable
The dark lines of her lashing eyes
Are burning rings, shear ice,
Covering the lost ponds of spring,
To see her in the ripening fields
Is to know the myriad colours
Of flowers, wild with loneliness,
She is always numbering the days,
Always on parade, hair, with out end,
Tresses trailing the wind.

My story ends of sparkle,
Hands, winding me in fable
The dark lines of her lashing eyes
Are burning rings, shear ice,
Covering the lost ponds of spring,
To see her in the ripening fields
Is to know the myriad colours
Of flowers, wild with loneliness,
She is always numbering the days,
Always on parade, hair, with out end,
Tresses trailing the wind.

My story ends of sparkle,
Hands, winding me in fable
The dark lines of her lashing eyes
Are burning rings, shear ice,
Covering the lost ponds of spring,
To see her in the ripening fields
Is to know the myriad colours
Of flowers, wild with loneliness,
She is always numbering the days,
Always on parade, hair, with out end,
Tresses trailing the wind.

My story ends of sparkle,
Hands, winding me in fable
The dark lines of her lashing eyes
Are burning rings, shear ice,
Covering the lost ponds of spring,
To see her in the ripening fields
Is to know the myriad colours
Of flowers, wild with loneliness,
She is always numbering the days,
Always on parade, hair, with out end,
Tresses trailing the wind.

My story ends of sparkle,
Hands, winding me in fable
The dark lines of her lashing eyes
Are burning rings, shear ice,
Covering the lost ponds of spring,
To see her in the ripening fields
Is to know the myriad colours
Of flowers, wild with loneliness,
She is always numbering the days,
Always on parade, hair, with out end,
Tresses trailing the wind.

.
My story ends of sparkle,
Hands, winding me in fable
The dark lines of her lashing eyes
Are burning rings, shear ice,
Covering the lost ponds of spring,
To see her in the ripening fields
Is to know the myriad colours
Of flowers, wild with loneliness,
She is always numbering the days,
Always on parade, hair, with out end,
Tresses trailing the wind.

My story ends of sparkle,
Hands, winding me in fable
The dark lines of her lashing eyes
Are burning rings, shear ice,
Covering the lost ponds of spring,
To see her in the ripening fields
Is to know the myriad colours
Of flowers, wild with loneliness,
She is always numbering the days,
Always on parade, hair, with out end,
Tresses trailing the wind.

My story ends of sparkle,
Hands, winding me in fable
The dark lines of her lashing eyes
Are burning rings, shear ice,
Covering the lost ponds of spring,
To see her in the ripening fields
Is to know the myriad colours
Of flowers, wild with loneliness,
She is always numbering the days,
Always on parade, hair, with out end,
Tresses trailing the wind.

In November early, I planted true,
A yew, golden under Pagan moon,
It's fibers I laid into moist dark soil
And set her proudly in foggy shawl.

Before six moons had turned down,
Her needles fell out of limbs frozen,
By wind and rains *****, unclothed—
Sun-clad boughs now fodder to moon.

.
In November early, I planted a yew,
Stately, golden under Pagan moon,
It's fibers I laid into moist dark soil
And set her proudly in foggy shawl.

Needles sparking into everlasting air,
Green and gold under mantle of sun,
Wisdom staggered, grounded so fair,
Bark, red knowledge of salmons' run.

Before six moons had turned down,
Her needles fell out of limbs frozen,
By wind and rains *****, unclothed—
Sun-clad boughs now fodder to moon.

In November early, I planted a yew,
Stately, golden under Pagan moon,
It's fibers I laid into moist dark soil
And set her proudly in foggy shawl.

Needles sparking into everlasting air,
Green and gold under mantle of sun,
Wisdom staggered, grounded so fair,
Bark, red knowledge of salmons' run.

Before six moons had turned down,
Her needles fell out of limbs frozen,
By wind and rains *****, unclothed—
Sun-clad boughs now fodder to moon.

Was there a word,
Plain or shimmering,
Cast of gold and mercy,
In the bathing light of forgiveness,
Tempered with down and feather,
Wrought of worthiness and pride,
The mellow flame of tenderness
And shearing morning sun,
One tabulation of saving flesh,
The tapping root of the knowledge
Tree, the forge of stainless metal
And touch, stone direction,
One healing humour, cardinal
As blood, forceful as the salt
Journey bearing the pines
Of lodestar coordinates,
Spotting the Xanadu ex
Of the lost lovers?

Was there a word,
Plain or shimmering,
Cast of gold and mercy,
In the bathing light of forgiveness,
Tempered with down and feather,
Wrought of worthiness and pride,
The mellow flame of tenderness
And shearing morning sun,
One tabulation of saving flesh,
The tapping root of the knowledge
Tree, the forge of stainless metal
And touch, stone direction,
One healing humour, cardinal
As blood, forceful as the salt
Journey bearing the pines
Of lodestar coordinates,
Spotting the Xanadu ex
Of the lost lovers?

Was there a word,
Plain or shimmering,
Cast of gold and mercy,
In the bathing light of forgiveness,
Tempered with down and feather,
Wrought of worthiness and pride,
The mellow flame of tenderness
And shearing morning sun,
One tabulation of saving flesh,
The tapping root of the knowledge
Tree, the forge of stainless metal
And touch, stone direction,
One healing humour, cardinal
As blood, forceful as the salt
Journey bearing the pines
Of lodestar coordinates,
Spotting the Xanadu ex
Of the lost lovers?

Was there a word,
Plain or shimmering,
Cast of gold and mercy,
In the bathing light of forgiveness,
Tempered with down and feather,
Wrought of worthiness and pride,
The mellow flame of tenderness
And shearing morning sun,
One tabulation of saving flesh,
The tapping root of the knowledge
Tree, the forge of stainless metal
And touch, stone direction,
One healing humour, cardinal
As blood, forceful as the salt
Journey bearing the pines
Of lodestar coordinates,
Spotting the Xanadu ex
Of the lost lovers?

.
Was there a word,
Plain or shimmering,
Cast of gold and mercy,
In the bathing light of forgiveness,
Tempered with down and feather,
Wrought of worthiness and pride,
The mellow flame of tenderness
And shearing morning sun,
One tabulation of saving flesh,
The tapping root of the knowledge
Tree, the forge of stainless metal
And touch, stone direction,
One healing humour, cardinal
As blood, forceful as the salt
Journey bearing the pines
Of lodestar coordinates,
Spotting the Xanadu ex
Of the lost lovers?

Was there a word,
Plain or shimmering,
Cast of gold and mercy,
In the bathing light of forgiveness,
Tempered with down and feather,
Wrought of worthiness and pride,
The mellow flame of tenderness
And shearing morning sun,
One tabulation of saving flesh,
The tapping root of the knowledge
Tree, the forge of stainless metal
And touch, stone direction,
One healing humour, cardinal
As blood, forceful as the salt
Journey bearing the pines
Of lodestar coordinates,
Spotting the Xanadu ex
Of the lost lovers?

Was there a word,
Plain or shimmering,
Cast of gold and mercy,
In the bathing light of forgiveness,
Tempered with down and feather,
Wrought of worthiness and pride,
The mellow flame of tenderness
And shearing morning sun,
One tabulation of saving flesh,
The tapping root of the knowledge
Tree, the forge of stainless metal
And touch, stone direction,
One healing humour, cardinal
As blood, forceful as the salt
Journey bearing the pines
Of lodestar coordinates,
Spotting the Xanadu ex
Of the lost lovers?

Was there a word,
Plain or shimmering,
Cast of gold and mercy,
In the bathing light of forgiveness,
Tempered with down and feather,
Wrought of worthiness and pride,
The mellow flame of tenderness
And shearing morning sun,
One tabulation of saving flesh,
The tapping root of the knowledge
Tree, the forge of stainless metal
And touch, stone direction,
One healing humour, cardinal
As blood, forceful as the salt
Journey bearing the pines
Of lodestar coordinates,
Spotting the Xanadu ex
Of the lost lovers?

.
Last words with her,
So indifferent, so short,
The spoken tongues lashed
Indecipherable, unearthing
Doom, whitewashing the truths,
Forgotten blues of California sky,
Abandoned in that glean, garish glare
Of yellow sun,
            Fearing naught, the dark moon
Would soon arrive, taking place of all
Our glazed, lost, light.

Last words with her,
So indifferent, so short,
The spoken tongues lashed
Indecipherable, unearthing
Doom, whitewashing the truths,
Forgotten blues of California sky,
Abandoned in that glean, garish glare
Of yellow sun,
            Fearing naught, the dark moon
Would soon arrive, taking place of all
Our glazed, lost, light.

Last words with her,
So indifferent, so short,
The spoken tongues lashed
Indecipherable, unearthing
Doom, whitewashing the truths,
Forgotten blues of California sky,
Abandoned in that glean, garish glare
Of yellow sun,
            Fearing naught, the dark moon
Would soon arrive, taking place of all
Our glazed, lost, light.

Last words with her,
So indifferent, so short,
The spoken tongues lashed
Indecipherable, unearthing
Doom, whitewashing the truths,
Forgotten blues of California sky,
Abandoned in that glean, garish glare
Of yellow sun,
            Fearing naught, the dark moon
Would soon arrive, taking place of all
Our glazed, lost, light.

Last words with her,
So indifferent, so short,
The spoken tongues lashed
Indecipherable, unearthing
Doom, whitewashing the truths,
Forgotten blues of California sky,
Abandoned in that glean, garish glare
Of yellow sun,
            Fearing naught, the dark moon
Would soon arrive, taking place of all
Our glazed, lost, light.

Last words with her,
So indifferent, so short,
The spoken tongues lashed
Indecipherable, unearthing
Doom, whitewashing the truths,
Forgotten blues of California sky,
Abandoned in that glean, garish glare
Of yellow sun,
            Fearing naught, the dark moon
Would soon arrive, taking place of all
Our glazed, lost, light.

Last words with her,
So indifferent, so short,
The spoken tongues lashed
Indecipherable, unearthing
Doom, whitewashing the truths,
Forgotten blues of California sky,
Abandoned in that glean, garish glare
Of yellow sun,
            Fearing naught, the dark moon
Would soon arrive, taking place of all
Our glazed, lost, light.

.
From their private jets,
The primal privileged
Spot a spark earthwards,
The glint of the rolling
Out of guillotines.

Guillotines so tall, waiting,
Just for them and they know
It was coming, as they know
They have it coming.

The rabble they so despise,
Yet pander for as they pull
Wool and leave all in cold,
The wretched who someday
Read injustice in the leaves,
The Princes of sham, cloven,
Always bearing woven bags,
Carpet dreams of desperate,
Down trodden, never fearing
To be trampled, till the blade
Is shining in the searing light
Of new day.

For retribution is a fable
The reptilian upper classes
Are cold to see as it strikes,
Their forked tongues,
Eventual as slimy winter
Strangles themselves
In a hollow cave,
Unmarked.

Even the dirt is soiled
With their fame, their
Scaled names, even
Sun will not shine
On the bloodied blots
They have wrought.

Such murderous stiffs,
Who enslaved all warmth
And empathizers in a rug
Fit for a tomb.  And all their
Art as false as they!

The earthy shall rise
And salt their mortal
Wounds, songs will not be sung
For the indifferent masters
Who now pour into streets
Made for severed muck.

The only beauty they left:
Opulent, soppy-red coiffured heads
As they roll on the potholed,
Sooty pavements.

Little dull birdies  .  .  .
Love own songs by mirror pond,
  .  .  .  Graceful swan sails by.


Hello Poetry  .  .  .
Dawn lords with simple vainness,
Watch her crown herself.


Hello Poetry  .  .  .
Day sullies night, bright vanity
  .  .  .  Dawn is a poser.


Hello poetry  .  .  .
Even vain rube's bio drains,
Spews self promotion.


Here is Pantheon  .  .  .
Dabblers, self aggrandizers,
  .  .  .  What a hollow hall.

Little dull birdies  .  .  .
Love own songs by mirror pond,
  .  .  .  Graceful swan sails by.


Hello Poetry  .  .  .
Dawn lords with simple vainness,
Watch her crown herself.


Hello Poetry  .  .  .
Day sullies night, bright vanity
  .  .  .  Dawn is a poser.


Hello poetry  .  .  .
Even vain rube's bio drains,
Spews self promotion.


Here is Pantheon  .  .  .
Dabblers, self aggrandizers,
  .  .  .  What a hollow hall.

What pang without her,
And I— heaven's solitary one,
Bluebird in the sky.

Her laughter echoes,
Sorrow follows after dream,
Silence in morning.

Her laughter echoes,
Sorrow follows after dream,
Silence in morning.

Her laughter echoes,
Sorrow follows after dream,
Silence in morning.

Empty house creaking,
Trees writhing in judgement winds,
  .  .  .  Her footsteps leaving.

Entire world heats up  .  .  .
No shows on saving humans,
  .  .  .  Reality TV.

Sun God— broken heart,
Daylight feels like Kryptonite,
  .  .  .  Mythic irony.

Green wings, floating seeds,
Deep oceans in water beads—
Mist, steeps mystic winds.

She is still with me,
I hold her each dying day—
Creases on photos.

She is still with me,
I hold her each dying day—
Creases on photos.