Sunday, February 24, 2008

Jericho Plains

Reclaim your Pony
Your handsome paint pony
Ride without fear
Across the Jericho Plains

The stones may fall
The city surrender
Yet the windswept desert
Beckons you away

The northwind lurks
The sudden silence
Screams like a panther
You are untouched

By time and place
By love's own heartbeat
your pretty paint pony
Neighs to the moon

To Fluff


Come back ancient Egyptian God
To the abandoned windowsill
Scream your masculinity
To the darkening sky
Your ladies of leisure
Prowl the forest floor
Leaves crackle beneath their feet
The sound of your name
Drifts
Through murmuring pines
Where do you lie?
Who sang your death song?
Or did you discover
Another windowsill
Another Lady
Another thread of life
Within the great circle

Spring Sunrise


Rain drifts away
Fog dances
Into the embrace
Of a new dawn

The Little Boy That Lived Down The Lane



Gone the adventures of Little Bear, and Dr. Seuss


Gone with Old Mother Hubbard, and Mother Goose


Gone the question "Who has seen the Wind?"


There is no one left to wonder, or ask it again





Gone is the road that led to St. Ives


Alice in Wonderland, the Cheshire's Cat's smile


All that lingers is the sound of the rain


For gone is The Little Boy that lived in the lane





Gone are Pooh, and Piglet, and Kanga, and Roo


Little Tommy Tucker,Little Boy Blue


No Cat and the fiddle? God what a shame


Gone the Little Boy that lived down the lane





Like the Outlaw, Being crazy is all that keeps me sane


When it comes to the Little Boy that lived down the lane








(For Michael and the memory of his wonderful childhood which didn't last nearly long enough. Your best is yet to come.)

Wednesday, January 23, 2008

The Playground


Where is the playground?
The playground of years ago

The fat water tower
Naked in the light of a blood moon
The sudden thunderstorm
Hurling itself like Comanche Warriors
Through the black velvet night
Where is the playground?

The dusty backroad
Winding through the Mississippi darkness
Quick spring rain
Carressing the skin of naked lovers
The owl seeking his prey
Where is the playground?

Dreams lost, lying as bleached bones
Visions forgotten in dusty corners
Passionate innocence consumed by fire
Reckless hearts entangled
Where is the playground?

Arise! we shall be reborn
We shall revisit our dreams
Recover our visions
Reconquer our hearts
I have answered my own question
I see the playground

Remembering Mariah, 1991-1999


Inhaling frosty air
I surround myself
With memories
Of you
Of me
of another time
Half forgotten
Yet so easily reborn

Winter Dreaming


Velvet snow adorns
The once bare breasted earth

Branches are etched
In crystal

Silence Salutes
The stark sky

I dream jonquils
And daffodils

Tuesday, January 22, 2008

Memoir


The overgrown trail
Winds it's way
To the mountain peak

I wans't even sure
I could find it
Again

But here you are
Black eyed and crazy
Seeking the stars

Winterscape


Thet white velvet
Of winter
Beckons me
As the foothills shiver

I almost remember
The high country snows
Of another lifetime
The frozen river

My dreams
Jagged and keen
Jolt me awake
I inhale the northwind

Retracing
The thin trails
And sharp edges
Of where I have been

I almost choke
Upon the memories
Rebirthing themselves
Linking into a silver chain

I shake and shiver
Reality reveals his dark
And terrible face
I will not go there again

TO L.


You loved the flaming
Gold- of October
But I haunt the snows
Of December
Seeking Mudjekeewis

I cannot lie contented
Within the cozy cabin
Nor lie my head mutely
Upon your breastbone

Somewhere out there
Where the foothills
Meet the winter sky
A coyote seeks his mate
An owl seeks his prey

I seek rebirth
Or salvation

Monday, January 21, 2008

Limerick For A High School Classmate


Peggy really gives men a shock
Her face could stop an 8 day clock
From Pacific to Atlantic
She creates such a panic
The sharks all swim to the dock

A poem inspired by Lord Byron


Unlike Byron I can still go a roving

Unconcerned as to whether the heart is loving

Or just foolhardy,taking to many chances

A consequence of reading X-rated romances



I have no idea if the moon is bright

Here in this highrise 13 stories high

No swords are involved which is basically good

Otherwise mister, I might spill your blood



I doubt if my heart will outwear my breast

Although this situation is hardly a test

Your lack of passion is pathetic,ironic

Guess I will keep searching for someone Byronic