Category: All

What does love mean to my seeking heart?
Open your mind, close yourself around me,
Feel the beat deep inside, telling you that
Love is all the treasure sunk in lonely hearts.
Love has no price, but extreme value for us.
Love is not far, yet reaches close to my dreams.
Love is not wrong or right, but forever asking.
Love is not for reasons, bleeding every season.
Love is nothing, but Love is everything.
Love is caring for another heart always.
Love is collecting two hearts, depositing one.
Love is eternal seeking and finding.
Love is the confrontation of someone else.
Love is the discovery that blossoming takes two.

Fear and dread silently come upon me
As I look around to see,
There are lions in our land,
Clawing, marking, stalking in the sand.
I turn to look and see if others saw
That I might cry out the call,
There are lions in our land,
Clawing, marking, stalking in the sand.
But no one that I could see or hear
Came running to heal my wounds of fear.
There are lions in our land,
Clawing, marking, stalking in the sand.
I finally laid down my fear and came to where they sat.
“King of Beasts, men ye cannot rule”, I said as they spat.
“Who are you lions in our land,
Clawing, marking, stalking in the sand?”
With thunderous roar one said, “We’ll stay but a day, no more.
This kingdom is full of boney, skinny men; it is not worth a war.
We lions shall leave your land.
No more shall we claw or mark or stalk your sand.”

no!linger, here? no, not here, move on. impulse, motivation, survival,
contemplation. it is too hot. I take off my shirt for just a second.
they should have kept their flack jackets on…foolish people…
living on the Moon. I can see it now, Grand Opening of the Universal
trash can.Grand opening on the moon? of the moon? just how polar-cold
is it in the dark of night? without provocation, as it has done for
billions of years, the alien water transmogrifies, unveils the fear.
the underlining, immortal fear. that no one else sees, looking beyond
the truth, to grasp a fantasy world. a world that exists only within
the truth of make-believe. in such a world, only immortals can
contain
the fear and see the truth. yet, in this hot and cold place
we are all mortal. then who shall see the truth?
who will pull back the veil to eyes that see dreams only perceived?
there is no grand master of ceremonies, who unveils a false truth.
so we linger here, we linger here, and we will die here.
the test is too arduous, the cause too subjective a truth to claim.
we wait for a grand, dangerous unveiling of a far, more distant past.
in such a world, why linger here? no, not here, move on. for is it
impulse, motivation, survival, incomprehensible to linger here? yes!

Looking to buy Likely Lapley’s old hound,
Yankee Doodle Dandy went to Strudel Town.
“Not a hound, a mangy dog,” was all he found.
The insult spread everywhere and all around.
Y.D. Dandy caused more than one chicken noodle frown.
So he stole the mutt and sold him for a pound!
Well for such a bargain, the folks at Elder’s Town,
Looking to find a hapless, helpless hound,
Took one gander and said they all, “a mascot we’ve found.”
The new flew with sweet and swift wings to all around.
The folks at Elder’s Town bid not one, but two pounds.
There’s a moral to this story, some folks have no clue.
I’ve tried to tell ’em, right down to my blues.
So I’ll leave it to the folks of every Town,
Hoping somebody might discern the moral profound.

To have hope and hope not,

Sounds profound. As light

Or dark, life or death.

One or the other.

Never both.

No never.

Never.

inevitably, the ironies of life so dear
seldom find us joyfully willing
to understand the circumstances fulfilling
by which they suddenly appear.

—Walking Toward Death

Winds blown, pock paths worn
Days cloned, mock nights torn
Time’s tone, fail hearts forlorn
Minds grown, hail brokenness born
Souls groan, hear reciprocity’s scorn
Hatred sown, fear Joshua’s Jericho horn
Hope’s hone, rich the whetting edge to mourn
Love’s Koan, Lich Gates with rubied jewels adorn

last night I walked the streets of Old Bangkok
and there did find in the crimson dark
a porcelain doll opaquely dressed
and painted in promises surreal.
she vowed to love me long-time,
when I took her to my embrace.
but when the morning dawn did come,
the white of light revealed to me
that my doll was gone to whet
the taste of other lonely souls,
of men who measure love in long-time.
my heart bruised and ego tossed,
again i wander the streets of Old Bangkok
and there I hope to find blossoming
in the cherry light a porcelain doll
painted wet in translucent promises surreal
to love me long-time. at least,
her heart does pledge, until the daylight breaks
and turns me out once more
to walk the streets of Old Bangkok.

do not let
the experiences
of your life
impose upon you
explanatory restrictions.
whether good or bad,
you know as well as I
Experience
is the process of re-creation,
which is life’s necessity
in keeping cadence
with its deconstruction

It is Sunday, and the sky is blue because I am blue,
Through the screen an unfamiliar wind softly blew.
And I cannot think of any other reason for it to be so
Than that! And in my blue, that’s the way it goes.
The canal is low today, and at the bottom I can see
Grey sludge that makes the afternoon air hang free.

On the porch, Mr. Egret begs me gently for a snack.
To the beggar’s request, bird-witted I respond
Only to find motion in my sudden generosity to bond,
Which unexpectedly pushes me up and out, losing my disparity.

I found a spot to ponder my blue mixed with avarian charity.
Today I worshipped in a most unfamiliar place of nature’s law.
Surprised to find joy in blue filled my doubt with awe.
Somehow before the day was done, afore the night did fall,
I thanked Mr. Egret for his call,
Which helped me take the blue of Sunday’s gift to me
And cast it out upon the sea!