Tuesday, May 31, 2005

First Violet Series - Written for Remembrance

Violet Series – Finished May 1, 2005 at 8:55 a.m. PST while living in Alpharetta. Georgia

No. 1 In Deep Born Earth

Carried in minds that harbored hope and imaged gleanings
To caverned, hollowed voids that yielded touch of fingered musings.
Deep within
The womb of Earth received our thoughts, on stone page wrought
Welcomed Child, home again.

They spoke in coloured images that voiced their souls first pleadings.
To Mother Earth they carried faces bowed and dumb.
In awe their minds made ritualed journeys into the place beyond the sun.

In cold locked stone they wrote the first unspoken words that granted thought
In time locked heedings.
In sacred red, and brown and black and dun.
Their inner course of life borne needings
In silence spoke with majesty of stark writ keenings

Beyond the cradled edge of seasoned day they paid homage to a future unseen
but full of meanings.
Gravid with the promise, locked in mind
They stroked the stone cold skin of Earth
and wrought a world that spoke their
hungry search for thought divine.

Evoking magic presences that summoned worlds beyond their minds.
A reach into the unseen places deep within
They painted stone with awe owned hopes
Spoke of death and birth and bellied hungers quenched as life continued and consumed
The slimmest margined edge of well fed days
Stored against the emptied stomachs that compelled the learning of new ways.

So grace was first evoked.
And human travels launched through time
To touch us here and lead us back through eons winnowed, filled, and thus sublime.

No. 2 Untrue Reflections

In time stroked Tides of restless days
Eyes see structures of the mind
Their unexistance, unknown, defrays
The anguish that lurks in God's design

Unmade memories that lie
Unfounded truths that suck us dry
Uncherished children born to die
Unlived days that Time denies.

A vanished dream that never was
A rush to find the edge of mind
Consumes the fall of sideways trust
Ashes made from ancient dust.

Nilistic pleadings drain
The cherished source of human pain.

Aching anguish proves we live
Even when we've naught to give

Our pain is pleasure in the void
When mind- made spirit is undeployed.

So grace was first evoked.
And human travels launched through time
To touch us here and lead us back through eons winnowed, filled, and thus sublime.

No. 3 Cusp

Imagined place of reredemption
You beckon me with echoed promises of what is lost
Beyond the pall of hope and dust

This place of pause owned cusp
A breath long pausing in a journey, womb to tomb
Fulcrum of the future, be it paradise or doom.

A place of summing, crystallized and clear
Where silence touches home and removes the source of fear.

No. 4 Pardon

Pardon given to amend injustices of fact and law
Discretion given, trust imbued
Into an office and a man

Nuance (March 19, 2001)

Within a pause of nuance where the lights are low and dim
I speak the words of inference that glow with thoughts most grim.
The cherished hopes of honor removed by what eyes see
Remake the shape of covenants, unconsidered by those unfree.

I managed to remember the source of undone dreams
And banished all the feckless acts that bore one destiny
Managed magic, cognite facts,
Remakes the future through rethought acts
Unseen the source of what is real
But true are thoughts to time honed steel.

Thus nuanced changes come through time
To banish cultures lost as crimes.

Oblivion remaindered into time.

Incised oblivion.
Reminded tiny cuts that sutured pain
redressing all the forces that rely on unmade gains.
Remandered applications that survive the edges: never sane.

The memory of love
Incredible, removed, disturbed, enforced by hands that found communion in the place of tempered sanction, replaced and then removed.
Love. Proof against the calumny of thought without reproof.
Still aloof.
But harboring the savaged need; a barricade of edged proof.

No. 5 A Fine and Cherished Grieving

When time is spun, through threads both fine and lightly trimmed
I blend the thoughts that cling to mind
Nowhere sought but owned through course of destiny
Removed by shadowed ages; borne in time.

In sanctuaried places and in neuologic condimented increments
Nuanced sureties release the echoing of thought
Distilled and tasted with the rites of passage dearly bought
In currencies of tears and languishing of years.

A baby stilled against a breast; milk filled throbbing that loving will attest
To still all hope; reminding emptiness is waged in place of scope
Surcease of love. Releasing death to wage its war.
The marks of Cain cuts cords of all reward.

Speak removes of heart and mind
All one; all lost; all one kind.

No. 6 The Tannin Taste of Undone Trust

Trust ungiven lances pulsing boils ripe with angered grieving
The ties are cut.
To leave the opened wounds that knot my gut.

I need to cut off trust
Need to leave the monument of hopeful thoughts to gather dust
Refine the first and last of human’s first design.
For trust to early given is a thing that steals and binds.

When and where did anguish breed?
How did hope commit its folly
When did nature disagree
To touch the ragged edges seared by something less that truth?

In place of unkind making that inclines my mind to rue
All human touch.

No. 7 What You Cannot See

Unseen truths; sightless acts
Refine and still the thrust of facts
For unseen reverberations make
Our futured realm without mistake.

You cannot hide the truth forever
The Truth is Justice’s one sure lever.

Lies distort, give life to greeds
And implement our passions needs
Lies will try to remake the world
Turning sows ears into pearls.

But soon or later lies wear out
Leaving Truth untouched by doubt

So eyes see through the falsity
And justice wins its amnesty.

For lusts and fraud and violent acts
Abuses borne in shadowed homes
Stole the right to even mourn.

So Ugliness has short reprieve

The ugliness is there to see
The twisted lusts, the vanity.

The coarse and raddled grasping hands
That set in motion Demoned plans

Will be revealed for all to see
Thus making victims whole and free.

No. 8 The Unseen Course of Fate

The scarcely ventured, just begun
The unremitted and unsung.

(Written for Brent in the Morning)

Rampant ribbons tear the breeze
invisible skin of wind that bleeds
Out sounds dismayed, oncoming tides
of years and seasons newly died.

Autumnal fragrances, days grown cold
Promise life continues, holds
The winter's end long vise in Spring
Symbolled life rethought to bring.

Redeemed, unburdened, grace-borne dreams
That speak becomings to all things.
In winter-mottled leaves gone grey
Thoughts continue, fears allay.

In Time our thoughts remove all grief
Giving each its perfect peace.

No. 9 Return from Anguish

Voids of silence,
deep unbottomed vastness that denies
the breadth and depth of grief.
Echoed, airless phantasm where my soul could find no peace.

This, the place of evilled keep
That binds out hope, and life most sweet.

A place where I lingered in a state more drug than sleep.
Now a memory of futile longings, replaced by lightened vows.
Juncture found; that then, this now.

Beginnings wrung from whispered threads of chambered thoughts,
I grasped for them when sanity pulsed low and oh so thin.
I fed my hope on memories.
Rescued degrees of longed for intimacies.
Soul-fed touches; glimpsed insight; each of these had bred delight
Reminding me that narrowed paths through unfurrowed time
Hold potentials most sublime.
Deep in challenge; Breeding up my couraged will
To walk the path that's never still.

No. 10 Motion, Mind, and Muse

Incoming tides of ancient thought
revealed from motion, mind and muse
Create an opulence uncontrived
in steel toned truth from us concealed.

In us the future gestated; borne
consuming hours, days and sums
Contrives events that onward come
to fracture what our fears denied.

Majestic coming into sight
the turgid expectations still
Phoenix of the flames reborn
unmutes the tongues of couraged drives.

The median; forgotten shell
Astonished bridge that glows with light
Spins out dreams of finest gold
Illuminating edges of delight.

Finite Man with finite dreams
Conquers what's never really seen.

No. 11 Clash of Touch

Unbridled touches that exhume
delights consumed by dust and grief
Skin resumes its vibrant coils
Canceling pain; surceased beliefs.

Unwinding time that pulses, runs
inside the spirit, matrixed minds
Laughter ripples, lifts all eyes
to sights unseen by light of Sun.

Unrelenting, journeyed path
that teaches each the cut of rules
while bowed head signals not defeat
but promise of unbound renewal.

Challenged coming into Sight
The inkling of what Mind ignites.

No. 12 The Touch of Thought

Mind’s touch.
Encompassing a hundred thoughts of cognite lust.
Reminded needs
Inside the dendrilled compass that subsumes all human greeds

I touched your memory
Sighed in vanished musing and resided in the cusp of choosings.

Singular vanity
I forgot to misremember a more immediate edge of sanity.


A different view admits the light
that culls out structures that can blight
The true dimensions of human sight
Keeping us from real delight.


Reseen, revisited and thus known
The source of anguish, life and tones
That chord and blend the notes and joys
That internal truths can redeploy.


Light molded dances, owned and touched
Nuances of what was not.
Soul to soul they are the tongues
That give flight to things begun


Sighting of a world unseen
That Illuminates all that we can mean.

No. 13 Formulas for Rage

Explosions of discomfort that illuminate the dark
Release the mind to chaos with reproaches, crude and stark.

I gasp at the dimensions of a world I failed to see
And shudder at the images that bind that place to me.

Electric all the poses that redefine and speak
The untold cords of causing that commit me to belief.

The threads of other making realign what is not real.
Impacting understanding and the ground I did not feel.

So feet will refind landing and my mind with let in thought.
As the last of will commanding reboots and then restarts.

No. 14 Graphic Voice

With the trembled tones of dying that cancel out remorse
The pause of tongues done lying chokes the path of wrong discourse.

Evoking thoughts unmentioned to the touch of living day
The tip of their intention stills the hopes that mask dismay.

Cerebral their invoking of a future lost and gone
The pain of losses summing will spill out inside a song.

Ripped from places unconsidered lit inside the heart of wrong
The melody and timbre will still echo light and strong.

Reminding every listener of worlds now passed away
The long cold void breeds clarity as living goes astray.

Look inward to the surety; the gift that can’t be lost.
Live true inside your conscience and never count the cost.

No. 15 Honor and Old Friends (dedicated to Jack Dean and others unnamed.)

In the boiled shades of evening then the light is turned down low
I revisit with new knowledge all the things I thought were so.
The view of human honor is different in that light
It reveals the truth worn hollows, picking out what was not right.

Sharp pangs and integration using facts dear bought with time
Emerged exasperation with deceptions most unkind.
In that choice comtemplate of honor I recuse the might have beens.
And sometimes in that clarity I view dishonored friends.

I forgive the saddest tragic that I see in close wrought lives.
While I reject the wrong and ugly of the actions I despise.
Do right when all is hopeless, do right when life is fine
Do right to high and low degree; for honor must be kind.

When the takings and the makings distort, enmesh and bend
Other lives with machinations that sheer, abort and rend
Reparations are the actions we must take to made amends.

Admission of the failings is the first step on a path
For truth, the light of honor brings justice, first and last.
This, forgotten template that I hope you soon will grasp.

No. 16 The Logic of Empire (With thanks to Robert Heinlein)

There is logic in the takings that enable them to steal.
They use the forms respected to excise the things most real.
Through the magic transformation that turns gold to leaden dross
Through percentaged incrementals are our hopes thus gone and lost.

The promises are never meant to do more than generate some cash
The fool’s gold of freedom that though lovely cannot last.
Campaigns start with trumpets and whimper out too soon
You give your donors nothing after promising the moon.

Opining of the needings and the pleadings and our rights.
The fierce machine of takings continues every day its tryst
With special projects paying up and down and right and left
To stop and intervene, debase, where truth once did its best.

To the tiny lives of workers, to the highest and the just.
The rending and condemning continues on with scouraging lust.
Accepting in the forms that their opinions give them weight
The holders of the power ‘know best’ beyond debate.

The mailings keep on coming with their bullets bright and sharp
A rhetoric of dunning to ensure the checks will start
A rhetoric assembled to resemble what is true.
And to part us from our money and from what we thought we knew.

Oh, the logic of the government writ small, rapacious feeds
And in this Ponzied con game will Freedom stop and bleed?
Will the unscrupulous and the agile with word and wit win through?
Or will we wise up and stop them, the ones we thought we knew?

The questions still unanswered hang in breath of time
And the slow dripping of those answers paint truths that are unkind.
The heroes were all human and we need to learn the rule.
Hold them to their promises or fire all the fools.

No. 17 The Predator (dedicated to Michael Emerling Cloud)

The hooded eyes intelligent, assessing and unfed
Taste the likelihood of meat to be found, brought down and dressed.
But the eyes have human contours and the face is human born
Predators walk among us, their identities deeply worn.

Their goals are sex and power; all forms of human wealth.
Their means are fraud and violence and every form of stealth.
They smile, use charisma; they milk cajole and bleed.
Their goals: enjoy and prosper, make sure they’re first to feed.

They choose the weak and needy; they use our trust and minds.
They speak the rhetoric of honor to carry out their crimes.
They insinuate with widows and they take a cripple’s time.
They use the rhetoric of honor to pad their bottom line.

You find them selling cars and you meet them down the block.
They smile and drip charisma as they grimace, share and talk.
But their eye is on the income and their hand is in your purse
They will slander and defame you if it isn’t something worse.

But real humans have the power to remove the jungle’s maw.
The predators of the hour can be reformed through rethought law.
Reform the standards for deception; so the weak can see wrongs called.
Eliminate exceptions that allow abuse, misuse and fraud.

The statute is the enemy of freedom and the truth
The common law is justice that conforms to honor’s roots.
The predators live in darkness; their acts must not being seen
For what they do is ugly and the light defines their being.

I see a world a-borning where truth is not disgrace
Where children know that human is the world behind the face
Oh, the futured world of human promise, where doing right is safe.
A world of commerce and of honor; a place for human grace.

No. 18 Predatory Power (Dedicated to John Fund)

The truth can free your anguish and reform distorted souls
He spoke these righteous wordings, citing them as goals.
But his own life: don’t examine; and his own goals twist and bend
His inconsistencies need detection and his soul must learn to mend.

He walks the halls of power and he uses all the perks
He fondles and employs them; feeding all his quirks.
He insinuates in private and in public he travails.
Emoting standards and conditions that in his own life don’t prevail.

Oh, the truth can free your conscience and the truth will still all lies
But power used instead of truth is the ugliest disguise.
Pretense and the editing of your own life kills your soul.
And maintaining double standards, private; public, takes it toll.

The lives and eyes that trusted; saw a hero and a friend
The power that you wield for self was given you to mend.
Power misused destroys us, there our trust must die.
The truth abused and used for gain is just another lie.

The Truth can set your vision free: the truth makes justice right.
The truth is all and nothing; it is reliance and the Light.
The truth is what you take to God to show how you lived your life.
The truth is sharp and unrelenting in the void of that long night.

So remember in that long quiet, when lies curl in on you.
One Someone knows the sources and remembers what is true.

No. 19 Political Infractions (Ode to the SPT)

“We hold these truths self evident,” is engraved inside our minds
“All Men created equal,” speaks the vision there enshrined.
So we struggle and we anguish and we stumble towards the goal
And you tell me that the SPT will make that future whole?

Like a hamster hunting nuggets that remain just out of reach
We scamper and we tunnel; at our backs there looms defeat.
For the SPT is circular, just like the cage we tread
We'll donate and we'll donate, until our hopes are dead.

Oh, the SPT is verity; its wisdom of a kind.
The kind from all committees; the stupid and the blind.
It’s the sort of introspection that confirms what didn't work.
But the fun of its creation was just one employment perk.

The history of the Party we've glossed over and ignored.
What can you learn from history? The donors would be bored.
More fun to retread wish-lists; better to reprise.
This exciting science fiction in a shiny brand new guise.

The Strategic Planning Taskforce: a stalwart band of minds
Who nodded, wished and discoursed through comments unrefined.
That most sung band of heroes who risked life and limb to write.
A tome of monumental exhort telling others what is right.

Recycling is appropriate and politically correct
It’s also so much easier to fundraise than elect.
For candidates who triumph have expectations and demands
And members and our donors might start to understand.

The SPT is wonderful; its long and printed well
It speaks the tongue evasive and it confines our hopes to hell.
The SPT is callow; and it sings the song intense.
It is everything to no one; so it does make perfect sense.

To a clutch of unelected; to a flock without a clue.
It’s painful and it’s obvious what they thought we never knew.
But politics is verity and savants see the light.
And freedom has its rhetoric; its illogic that we fight.

History has a pattern, and a logic, formed in truth and will
We live within its covenant; redefining those words still.
Thomas Jefferson wrote his wisdom in few words that engage
That Soul of revolution would understand the war we wage.

“…whenever any form of government becomes destructive to those ends,
it is the right of the people to alter or abolish it…”

Revolution is the method; the place is set in time.
SPT the pattern? Is this a joke or crime?
Are we really stupid? Do we deserve the rule we've seen?
If so, the futures futile; if not wipe all slates clean.

So come to Indiana in the summer of next year.
And take the problematic and remake our course most dear.
Take the words of Jefferson; apply to local ends.
The vision still is Freedom; let Freedom finally win.

No. 20 Crimson Blossoms Sheer and Rend

Crimson Roses rent the sky; bringing down the autumn sun.
Fracturing the pillared towers;
Sudden death writ red as flowers.

My mind arrested; could not accept, the changes sudden that deformed
The world I knew was shattered there, inside an autumn newly born.

The scenes surreal, the tears, the shock; the frantic search for those we love.
Trembled tones and dust choked eyes.
The fall of towers from the sky.

Deforming march of memories, rescinding tones of history.
From shock surrendered; steel bent scope.
Was reborn the edge of hope.

Courage spent; heart hopes own gift; lives to save mean more than risk.
A shroud of dust that cloaked the sky
A cloak of courage death denied.

A thousand little moments bled, in mind made journey, griefs unsaid.
And human actions touched each mind.
Tiny echoes of the divine.

Erupting roses burned our eyes, remaking worlds we did not see.
Recasting our unthought beliefs; replacing them with soul seared grief.

Transforming death; unbending love; the unreflected will to hope.
These the gifts that roses brought to worlds that need to find new scope.

No. 21 The Price of Honor

No insulation numbs the pain erupting in your heart.
Not time, not tears not passaged years erases loss so sharp

The breath comes hard and grevious slow a constant wrenching ache.
. For none can mend where no amend is made for honor’s sake.

Fragile thing of human thought that speaks the tones of trust
Human acts mint mind and facts to mold a form so just.


Forged in conscience, writ most clear, a couraged striving honed on pain
Life itself may be the wage charged against its absent stains.

For clarity in sight and thought are needed to paint courses straight
Against the ease of greedy needs honor’s fabric warps and breaks.

Remember when temptation looms and promises all gifts most dear
The loss of honor rends your soul, leaving empty words and fear.

No. 22 Eloquent Desire

The skin speaks truths the mind would hide
Conversant with the deepest tides
That flow and eddy down inside
The places where our soul resides.

Soul deep truths direct our lives
Conforming routes, unspoken guides
To sequestered hopes that still abide
When reason tells us they have died.

A covenant of striving drives
Raptured needing; not quite lies
That push the outer edge of time.
Into places nearer the divine.

No. 23. Birthday thanks to Priscilla

Magic moments tantalize
Laughter lingers on our lips
Life, the one sure joy we taste
Friendship, the best life-long gift.

No. 24 Birth Formed Linkings

Wombward on from source of time the flowering of joy bent thought
Remembers linkings back through life
Mothered moments; joy and strife.

The will to nurture, hold and love
Incites the fierceness of the dove.

Babies change the text and shift desire
Replenishing the inner fires.

I peer through shrouded, chance born acts
That drove us on to sparse becomings
Cojoining lives through birth hard facts

That make the world this morning’s summoned

Chance born.
Joined through pulsing cords of life.
Unsevered even by the knife.

Milk toned memories revere, the unseen wombs that brought me here.

No. 25 Pulse

The constant unread singing of the life beneath my dreams
Is the metronome of linking summing all still yet to be.
I hear its magic strumming as the surety unthought
Never questioning becomings that all lives together wrought.

A lullaby remembered from the darkness of the womb
It’s faint and burning embers throb even as death looms.
Directing and electing the unthought part of Mind
The pulse, unintellected, remains foundational design.

I snug into the blankets and take comfort from its song
With counterpoints selected outside all right and wrong.
The castings from the past, elastic compass yet to be
Give weight to choice from unheard voice
And form to mystery.

Oh, through censoring of silence, a concert inward plays
The conductor and composer balance all that life displays
And we all go on unhearing, oblivious that we
Are instruments and musicians in a global symphony.

No. 26 Seeds of Hope

The commerce of renewal that contends with voids of dark
An elegant refuel that supplies all forward sparks
Life is struggle and its needing and its summing leaves its mark
In autumns fierce abundance is its power writ most stark.

The seeds of future living; in gestational increase
The simple and the complex continue on their breeds
Explosions that remember that disasters are the rule
Multitudes are winnowed through the classes of Earth’s school.

Species die unnumbered; their niches filled and gone
Time, the Teacher’s lesson plan, marks them down as wrong
The cycles within living use both animus and greed
What works is right and proper that species strong will breed.

In the face of human congress; in economies of scale.
The fate of one lone person wanes, lost, within the pale.
But exceptions reform rules that were forged when Earth was young
Human action; mind wrought sanction; is a chord yet to be sung.

The beginnings we see dimly through the haze of unmade time
The course of living speaks to us, misunderstood, divine.
The Now a mottled mixture, repeating, arching, waves
Beyond control of Nature because Mind has come to play.

Oh, the autumn speaks eternal and the Human has its goals
The spirit is renewal; the seeds of Mind to grow.
A harvest prime and sovereign, misunderstood by men.
Balancing and knowing, the essence of Amen.

No. 27 Life Recycled

By the millstones now circumferenced in the untold times between
We remember what is sorted through the patterns of our dreams
We condense, reform and conscience all the places born in thought
While we rationalize the structures that elsewise would hold doubt.

Oh, the mind of Man remembers more than is comfortable to know
And that intersect of knowledge denies what must be so.
So we refract the wings of certainty, devise new fields of truth
To comfort what is raw and red, born in acts of youth.

The laughter doles and dribbles from a place most sparse within
While fear and drear redolent, draw life out most gaunt and thin
To remind the source of making and the hand of takings truth
So that this, the soul’s first waking might by wisdom be imbued.

I have tarried in the trumbull; I have gazed with unseeing eyes
I have whispered in the echoes of a fortune in disguise
But before the very thought of aching need was truly born
The condiments of knowing were dry from womb well born.

So remember in the embers of a place where none may go
Are the fractures of the passions that delight and also own
Because shadows touch beginnings as they coddle our designs
Through unvarnished endings of the place inside our minds.

No. 28 Human Devising

With form and structures magic and from constructs of the mind
Are built the monuments of ages that hold thought and place divine.
Human made of mind-told musings they matrix, weave, concourse, and blend
And into place of human action they bring our hope and human ends.

Our beginning lost in silence and the future, unseen trust
The source of our devising binds the two as time adjusts
For the echoes of all history is the unremembered source
And the fractures caused by violence is just the easiest recourse.

In the forms within the possible, an unfound choice still waits
Rejecting blood and death recusing it remains the truest fate.
And as the human mind considers what steps are still untrod
The hope of peaceful commerce is still the unseen face of God.

No. 29 For Jimmy

Bright memories that turn back time, elected laughter, twists sublime
Refracted images abound, reliving moments most profound.
As ginger waifed and sunlight tarried, I got to know the prince of Faeries.
A truly honest human child, who saw through artifice and guile.

He spoke in tones of love warmed truth, confiding heart owned magnitudes
He lead a tiny cadred troop of puppet folk who spoke his truths.
He considered deeply in quiet pause, to test the truth of human laws.
He knew the quiet place within, admitted few as Silent friends.

From childhood his world was made, ensuing tides of time displayed
Portraying worlds that could not be, inciting imaged destinies
Lighting truths distilled from life, sure and vivid imaged strife.
The Prince of worlds we’ll never see, the soul of Jimmy; always free.

No. 30 Unhallowed Needings

When repression undermines your thoughts and breeds the unmade age’s course
When action, dissolute unmaker, takes the grief that knows its taker
When nothing touches skin make speech, and peace is something you can’t reach
When hollowed, emptied ungrieved ages, empties out the minds first wages

The past is flat, divining sage, this unmade hope defines life’s wage.
In this scant moment, the unbegun,
Remember this, the time unwon.
Remember flowers yet to bloom
Remember infants in the womb.
Remember all things yet to be.
Remember then the thought of me.

Touch and taste the untried truth, unsummoned sanction unbegun.
The jasmined scent of love is there
Beyond the increment of filtered air.

In that place of unopened eyes, the source of you can still grow wise.

No. 31 Glorious Desire

When wrists brush stroking hairs that tremble gold
And skin alights with thoughts igniting untold needings
I remember you, untasted pleasure, folding into times untold.
Long past thwarted achings, and soft spoke pleadings.

I remember.

Heated hankerings that still consume chance ignited embers.

Never lost in time; untouched memories that sustain, remain and still incline.
A part and caused intention that repeats what is not crime.
But incites delights retold in languid tempers.
Insulated memories that still and will remember.

Consuming heat.
Delights that summoned mind and motion; displayed complete devotion
Votive flames that spoke emotions
That distilled, excised, denied, concealed.
The true evoking of my will.
Waiting spoken words unthought but not also unrevealed.

And the needings come unending, as the waves of untold pleadings
Course, exhort, remake and tease me, from the place that never pleased me.
To remake, retake and seize me.

All the moments unforsaken, that display, entice and lace me
To the unremarked but well told ecstasies.

That hammer stark contingencies.

No love but only needings that still stark must own their cedings.
Please release, consume and please me.
Please me,
Please me.

Please. Me.
In simple instance, ease me.

No. 32 Choice and Freedom

When breath seems bound by bands of fear
Then life condenses, hopes congeal.
And in the sudden pause of time
You see a choice that clears your mind

A choice that eases bands of dread
Giving leave to tears unshed
Promises that hope remains
Choice elected makes you sane.

Perhaps you doubted, questioned, paused
Considered vacuums in the law.
But heard the howled wolves on coming
Giving you scant time for running

This, the choice, confronted, seized
Someplace between nightmare and dream.
Perhaps you wanted health and hope.
Maybe wealth beyond your scope.

Maybe you professed your rights
While human agents denied you sight
Of choices, futures, born in your mind
Delusions of the freedom kind.

Past boundaries of State and law
You might have snuck in mindful awe
To witness what you never knew
Promises of life renewed.

In chance found whims that turn on fate
We see the promise; life rebates
We plan and scheme, and hoard our wages
That life might lead to higher stages.

These. The choices freedom lends
When couraged premises amend.

No. 33 The Snow Plant

In scarlet trendiled, coiled growth,
The snow plant, quiet, needs no hope.
It thrusts past earth and into sky
To live without the need of ‘why.’

It’s beauties curl, surreal small plant
In white and red its needs are scant.
It summons life from soil and air
And never knows the least despair.

Most rare and unexpected sight
Evoking laughter and delight.

No. 34 Journey

The pads of feet I trod are souls
They touch the surface and move on
The path they follow, no one knows
But walking makes them sure and strong.

Mostly I ignore their thoughts
Discount the prickling, stones and grass
Mostly I hear minded doubts
That focus first on what came last.

Embodied echoes of unseen lives
Each becoming ages long in rifts and strife.
And feet still feel, alive, aware
Unrestless servants, always there.

The souls of feet, the seat of mind
Divisions in the core of kind
Or unities that also bind.

No. 35 Unwelcomed Recognition

Delusions, soft and downy couch
The wishes that reject true doubt.
Myopic glaze will find chagrin
When even blindest hope grows thin.

This, the frigid blast of sight
That turns complacency to fright.
Devolution of life’s plan
Beginning in the truth of Man.

Love, hormonal vestal voyage
That sinks from sight as life deploys
The effervescent, waking sights
That render fat and melt in light.

Iridescent beauty that time forsakes
Loves a bubble, bound to break

No. 36 Solitude and Solace

When parts don’t fit
When means come plain
When overflows of love bring pain.

Pain is not the stuff of life
The ordinary emollient, found
When eyes and lips become unbound

The smiled absence is joyous sound.

No. 37 Remembered Cup

I heard the voices in the rocks;
water falling from great height
Laughter, chatter, lifted lives
The Waterfall still speaks delight.

Over rounded stones and trees
Fallen from the upstream sides
I could, if still recall the tones
Of children seeing things lost from sight.

I heard my father, not yet ten
Grown fearless in the Cup of Peace
Running through the meadowed world
That small forever, his to keep

I heard their certainties grown strong
Ventured hopes now lost in years
Rushed with gratitude for their joy
And grieved for echoes of those years.

I stood there, watching water fall
From heights and places removed and steep
Amazed at what our lives can keep
Through memories of hard won peace.

The Cup of Peace that healed their souls
Removed the wounds of life undone
Warmed their spirits with spirit’s sun
Restarted songs still yet unsung.

I watched the water falling free
And saw a world still yet to be.

No. 38 Amended Destiny

When breath comes harsh and throat constricts
And time removed returns and sticks
Within the craw, impeding time
This echoed place is God’s design.

Remembered days intrude to speak
The untold tellings that hid from light
And touch the unhealed wounds compelling
The soul to seek its former dwelling.

Return forgotten angers, aches
Return the sacrifice of life
Return the death that formulates
The world becoming One divine.

Amended thoughts stretched long and true
Amended memories renewed.
Amended grief for all I knew
Reborn to thought; minds blending new.

Amended destinies breed true.
Tomorrow made from One I knew.

No. 39 Course Set

The details tumbled through many minds
That taste, construe the best designs
Compared and weighed the image clears
Through solemn murmurs of years and tears

A course of poignant, burnished making
The cost of which forbids forsaking.

Caballed yesterdays replayed
in lands that never saw them made
Unrelenting paths in time
That speak of agonies – yours and mine.

Set course in harmonies that play
Within the light writ large and grave
Set course that grinds our lives to dust
Destroying both gratitude and lust.

Set courses that defy just ends
Set courses that distort and bend
Set courses that unmake my lives
Reproving choices long denied.

A course reset through eyes that see
The full cost paid to destiny.

No. 40 The Winter

The Winter turned from night and cold
The pause of change hung in the air
Blending flakes of snow with anchored stone
The bones of Earth ignore despair.

The geologic pace of time
Reproves the anguish in human minds

The Winter seasons, kills, amends
That Spring might breed its next of kin
Allowing Summer to nourish change
And Fall to harvest life’s true wage.

The unrelenting flow of life
Both cancels out and speaks our strife.

The Seasons, times of human telling
The harbor of our human dwelling
The metronome that marks the year
With colors, fragrances and fear

Still touches us in every cell
Alive in ways we cannot see
Strategic comings that let us be
And grant hope to hold our destiny.

No. 41 Calls in the Unbottomed Night

Summoned from uneasy sleep to hear the tones of anguished fear
I wake again to Mother’s worries.
Familiar place, uncounted flurries.

Her voice was shaken, and I knew
Her pain held needs my words could ease
From miles distant love speaks true.

Now I wander through the house
Lighting here, a moment spent
To speak my fears for child’s life
Into cybered place that holds my pain.

Motherhood that ranges life
Subsumes the gravid and the grief.
Mends all tears with hugs encompassed
All fears rescinded on magic knees.

Testing places in our souls
Stretching us to forward reach
Amending preconceptions born
From thoughts untouched by life’s true griefs.

I sit and wait for time to start, the phone to ring and ease my heart
I wait to hear that all is well, I pray into a darkened void
To still the bindings sealed forever
That nothing ugly can rend or sever.
Mothering, the unpaid vocation, allowing for no ungraved cessation.

A voice through space that wakes my prayers
And takes me there to share despair.

No. 42 Rewrite of Jasmine 6 for today, April 19, 2002
To Save Mankind

We cannot change the leaders, they're lost in dreams of power
We cannot change or rearrange our history's sullen hours
We cannot use their self same tools without becoming them
We cannot do
and we cannot
retreat without amend.

The nots are many, often tried, marches, starving, asking why?
Begging that the war should end, refusing service, money, men.

All these means we have employed, to end the tide of unjust wars
Now we need another way, to bind the wounds that rend and slay
We need to take back all the power
Every second, minute, hour.

We to redeploy our inner power, rethink the course of history
Reclaim abandoned destiny.

We are not owned, but sovereign souls
Free to find undreamed of goals.
The vagrant might of those who rule
Must be challenged, changed, untooled.
Each of us has been misused.
Each of us, must now rechoose.

If we say that we cannot
If we give in, relinquish what we sought
If we excuse because we need
Savage others with our greeds
Heed our fears and not our dreams
Dreams will die unknown, unseen.

If we don't live the largest dreams
That misted glimpse of what life means
Do not find the place within
Where dreams all meet and know they're kin.
If we do not, give not, comply
Need we ask the reason why
Our core, our essence, had to die?

A world that shimmers, lives and breathes
A world united in One Dream
One living mind-spun long beginning
That, horizoned point that beckons, grinning.

Tempestuous and untried hearts
That doubt your power, please own and start
Become the living will sublime
And in this way become divine.

No. 43 First Plan

I walk into a past forgotten, see with eyes that understand
The pain is muted, nightmares slumber.
Comprehension clears the Mind’s first plan.

I learn to trust the faith unmentioned, learn to hear unspoken words
Study text in life forsaken
Dispassion wakened, owned and true.

This cusp of ancient making owns me
Drew me on through shrouds of time
Excised and tutored shells to hold me
Taught me lessons most sublime.

Laughter fills me, promise echoes
Gifts forsaken fill with joy.
Love the harbor now retaken.
Love the tool now employed.

No. 44 Fear

I listen to her breath so muted
As she slumbers on the couch.
Count up minutes as they vanish
Weight up both promises and doubt.

Will time unwind as once was promised?
Will harbors open up to keep?
Will Mother-arms confine or save her?
Will Mother Love relieve her grief?

I live the fear of Mother waiting
I watch and listen, hope and trust
I try to know before it happens
Try to cherish and be just.

I listen to your breath intaken.
Wonder at her restless dreams.
Worry, watch, my sleep forsaken.
Know that friends aren’t as they seem.

A world that eats a child’s heart
Does not deserve to see life start.

(Thoughts on leaving NY and a most fragile child much loved.)

No. 45 Response.

All the boxes artificial, all the premises absurd
The form of human living is inside the cusp of Word.

Laughter winnows anguish and redefines the Path
As onward we all blunder with reason as our Staff.

Eyes see and move on blinded to the fragile mist of Truth.
While perceptions that are dying struggle with the new born eyes of youth.

All the colors come up white and black as absolutes disclose.
That humanity is chaos, a free-form Spirit no one knows.

No. 46 Second Response

Yes. I think life into forms sublime,
redefine and retrofit
with curried thought and winnowed wit.

I listen to the unspoken words
that screech and cackle,
trill like birds.

I choose to live the life intense.
To me that makes most perfect sense.

A stupid heart; a too smart head
Can leave the soul most nearly dead.

While one instructs its bodied mate.
To summon rapture and elate.

The other groans and drags its feet.
Life unlived, is sure defeat.

And still I summon and employ
Intensity that can annoy.

Laughter trickles, falls and speaks.
Against the faults that make us weak.

Do I feel lucky?
Yes, I do.
The unasked question is - do you?

No. 47 Survival


Source of visions that peels back grief, flash of ecstasy all too brief.
Hope unfurled to pristine winds
That calls the soul and knits amends.
In minutes, moments, flashes seen, the truth of living builds our dreams.
Instructs our souls in joy-born musings, that misunderstood can be confusing.

Raptured moments flush out lies; those truth restatings that gods despise.

Surviving showed our misspent hours; anoints the soul with redeemed fires.
Survival is the only test to which any answer made is Yes.

No. 48 Unmade Dreams

In unmentioned carverned musings I reflect on unmade dreams
My internal introspection cannot mask the heat made seams
That pull and strain the holdings of the vanished source of lust
I count untasted pleasures now faded shades of rust.

The ticking on of hours that bring on horizons holding death
Grow louder with the metronome that whispers my distress.
And the tones grow loud and raucous and deliver up their lies
Because dreams deliver power and only lies will die.

The human part of hero speaks the fumblings of age
While the spirit all internal sees past the end of days.

So I listen to the monuments constructed by design
And know that all our follies will falter and decline.

The bright hard edge of honor is honed on blades of truth
The light of revelation gives us back the core of youth.

For the disbelief in dying, refuted by our years.
Finds renewal outside of boxes, premised out beyond our fears.

I breathe the ancient callings and I taste forgotten sights.
Welcomed homeland calling for a future masked in light.

No. 49 Volokh Courage? Is that a joke?

In the tortured convolutions of a brain without a dream
Illusions replace honor to deface what courage means.

No edge of fear confronted; no threat to life won through.
The smallness of his spirit is the ego that he grew.

Pathetic his positioning; mean his view of life.
Power is his recourse to smooth his way through strife.

Power is the weapon that he wields with savage glee.
Enjoying all the glitter in a world that grows less free.

He mangles the intentions of the Founders he opines.
While using law as justice he rapes the truth of their designs.

Courage to consume and take?
Courage - threats to end debate?

No courage is expected when power drives the mind.
This, the scripted plot that lies beneath his spoken lines.

Squeamish on confronting because others may attack
He has mastered every nuance and can hastily retract.

No courage in convictions and no sterner stuff employed
He weasels and he waffles when statutes aren’t deployed.

With the opulence of ego nurtured from his earliest of days
He trembles when confronted when the price of truth is paid.

Little cut-outs hid in paper and the pictures that bare all
Refute his sad pretensions with a force that surely galls.

Privacy the concept that shatters on the First
Public figures, public voice, and swelled pretensions burst.

In ape encrusted disguise and in pretense that belies
The smallest little faker that fell for his own lies.

So speak with muted ego, consider what you do.
The amendments you once defended have got the drop on you.

No. 50 Skin and Quiet

In the muted place of quiet where the light is dim and low
My mind inclines to fantasy and hears in tones unowned.
In that summoned source of ecstasy, when needs resume their glow
I remember passioned glances that remind me I’m alone.

Your smile lingers, lancing, my need to touch amend
Your lies, pierce unsanctioned, the course that marks my end
Your hollow truth, abstracting, reminds what living trust can rend.
And in the dance of makings, there is neither love nor friend.

But I remember lips that lingered on my own
I warm with fair illusions that tell me you are home
I wish the fantasy of magic that speaks the lies unsown
To fields of love born holdings driving anguish to the bone.

Your lips are eloquent with lust
Your eyes are lies that broke my trust.

No. 51 Gold Answered

The touch of thought remembers elegance and dreams
Woven incrementals of the place that pain redeems

The cost of sad compliance with the emptying of time
Draws spirit's own defiance as the count of grains decline.

Yet our lives are written firmly in the book of God's peruse.
Every moment for our usage, every thought our own to choose.

Never near but never absent; never far from thought removed.
The cost of certain gladness contradicts and so reproves.

No. 52 Time Inhales

Let time inhale the sweetness of your smile
Breathing in the nuanced flavors that beguile.
I see your need
Escaping untold takings that responding keep me free

Lips and loneliness discourse and then beguile
Every inkling shadow first explains and then evidences denial.

I feel the touch of fingers as they trace passage on my skin.
I hunger for the blendings that would not divide us then.

I mull on mannered moments when our thoughts touched through our eyes
I transcend the sound of pausings that refuse, excuse and sigh.
I wander through what will not be, rejoicing to be seen
I find the source of waitings, choices making me most free

In the silences of siftings, in the musings never said
Are the echoed hours marking the choices of regrets

Remember this, most truly, in the moments ticking down
Choosings rued most newly were the first your heart once found.

No. 53 World Peace

Shock, surreal and unmade dreams,
Awoke my mind to silence screams.
A shroud of dust removed the light
As towers melted out of sight.
One year ago our nation bled,
and mourned in anguish for the dead.
Today we will remember grief,
But also cherish hopes for peace.
Peace be with us, peace amend
Make strangers family and all our friends.
Let peace for worlds begin at home,
all world peace is local grown.

No. 54 Moonlight

In the moonlight, silvered magic, that reflected sun-made sheen
Are the tones of life honed ecstasy that winnows out our griefs.
Misted orb of ancient portents speaks of silent throbbing needs
That cut past barriers of anger and breed up laughter and relief.

A draining out of hurting and a filling up with joy
A rare and fragile trusting that is easy to enjoy.

In the glow of night time velvet pulse the raptures of the skin
In the sheeted place of meeting do the chasms nearly thin.
In the softest kisses pressing; from the lightest touch of eyes
Come the sentiments elected that teach us to be wise.

From the meetings of our bodies to the meeting of our minds.
A distance uncircumfrenced that considers all that binds.

Remembered and recounted to delight, again, again
The sating of our hunger can leave us unfound friends.
So consider well the circles that hold convictions and define.
For truth, the fiercest warrior, moves through all kinds and lines.

No. 55 Earth Tones

One tone
Wind carries me into the silence
Alone through rushing clouds of mist
Alone through eddied weavings of the air
Alone through hungers and through needing.
I climb the columned wind in search of feeding.

One truth
Gliding, arching, diving, stretch my wings
Keep tempo with the pulsing blood inside
Keep eyes on movement; hunger always driving.
Keep talons sharp; I pleasure in the kill for meat inside me.
All hungers one; the living will incising.

And then:
The flight divined from need lifts from the Earth
Uncounted tones each add the nuance of their worth.
As lines of life revise, devise and blend

The Earth a single symphony with no end.

No. 56 Raptures Capture

When need builds into rapture
suffusing every pore
When elemental capture
forgets what came before.

When the laughter and the anger die inside the scope of need
There the helix-honing nature of the species sates its greeds.

When the rapture of the moment lingers on into the mind
Then the stature of the principles might be another kind.

For the sating of the senses is a matter of the seed
While continuance of discourse fulfills our other needs

The elegance of thinking writ out in acts of choice
Defines the higher values giving mind its finest voice.

And the meeting of the organs is anything but new.
For Mind designs the courtship that speaks its tones most true.

No. 57 Discourse in Contemplation of Nature

In the cycles of the living, in the tones and truths of breath
Do all improve dominion enjoined through many deaths

For life renews through dying, and all links forward need
Consumption of the fruit of life so their’s might onwards breed

The same through microbe probing, for place in sylvan soil
Same for cougar and for condor; the same for man who toils.

Intelligence our tool, but meat sustains our life
The vegetable that we boil may still resent the knife.

The hopeful pledge continues past struggle eons long
Our own seed must continue or be written down as wrong.

No. 58 First Word

Smiles fade and blossom;
eyes narrow and evade
Shoulders hunch and caution
follows from the place that mind has made.

But the suckling lips of child spoke a language all must know
The breast then comforted, beguilded in a language all its own.

The skin of magic feeding with its nipple smelling sweet
Was pillow and intention, the place where generations meet.

Eyes dancing in unspoke meaning for the pause in constant toil
Strokes exchanged then brought all meaning to minds rewriting coils

The rapture and reflection wrote the verse most first designed
Lips pursed to suck say Mama and so launch a course divine.

No. 59 Star Made Sojourns

Through pine and cedar framing, through dark and layered air
I watch the stars parading, eternal mask for human cares.
The madness and the mystery meet in tears that wash my face
The inside soul of sanctioned silence tastes the whisper of disgrace.

Disgrace for unright thinking: disgrace for unmade lives
Disgrace for shirking duty and disgrace that’s still denied.

A human world becoming something more from place unseen
A human world resisting all the things that human mean.

I watch the stars abiding in a ceiling without end
I wipe my eyes and breathe the evergreen, aromas sweet that mend.

There is enough to nurture; there is enough for all
There is enough in balanced life to find the spirit’s call.

The unity of Truthing: The raptures of delight
The well-honed place of honor is the human core devout.

That time is coming closer through both loss and grieving days
It touches each impartial to which is lost or which is saved.

The stars walk on in silence, their light a harbored place
And I forgive the former friends whose actions are disgrace.

No. 60 Wolf

The portents were for killing when the pack began its quest
The forest stilled to silence; bellies needed death.

The hot, red blood would slake them and the ebbing life would mend
The need that held would fill them when their teeth began to rend.

In a trot that heard the flicker of the birds perched high in trees.
In the smell and taste of eddies did they follow in their need.

Not for flesh and eating but for hungers in the mind.
The beginning of an eon that consumed the source divine.

The hunting and the coursing that consumed the truth with lies
Remains most ancient of distortion that is yet to be denied.

To elevate the killing; to make war the truth sublime.
Is the source of human folly; original for crime.

The pack of wolves is nature; the pack of Man denies
The form of human culture that reached beyond its lies.

From the takings and the color and the wealth of stolen lives
Is the wolf-born face of savage peering out from human eyes.

No. 61 Autumnal Taste of Time

When worlds apart grow closer and touch inside the Mind
The promise of the winter, while fierce may seem more kind.

The sore sure ache of dying gives way to ancient trust.
When fertile Earth gives birth to life we see life may be just.

In the mild days of autumn, that portent the silver snows
The unseen worlds are pulsing, closer, near and known.

We hover in the anteroom that awaits us all
We taste the untried fruits of death, and feel the coming pall.

And in the moments mentioned when we know that we will die
We also see the echoed truth that all death can deny.

Continuance in rapture and spirit held in thrall
The first best glimpse will capture the soul that hears its call.

In the vivid days of autumn when we gather up our bread.
The other worlds are waiting to harvest us to death.

No. 62 Memory

From the silence undetected comes the memory of days
That release both joy and wretchedness each in its own way

For the cooling days of autumn hold the promise of respite
While the heat of angry calls bid the soul to endless night

From unsummoned place of passing, from the echoes never born
From the rage of hate and hurting are the images retorn.

From the long dead years of living from a soul in forward flight
Come all degrees of knowledge from the inner place of light.

Redemption of the promise and completion of the voyage
The threads of time are tied off on the edge of endless void.

So that all might join the rapture and understand the gift
So that none might miss the capture and be lost inside the mist.

So that seven voices rising might find peace and rest sublime
And that one united people may live in whole divine.

From a place of fractured anger and from a silence ages long
Come images that heal us, all threads inside one song.

No. 63 Source

From the first unfettered tryings to the last age-aching song
Does the hope of unwon power come to mark the metered tones
As the avenues of silence touch the source of pain
Are all the needy whiners told that whimpers have no gain.

In the still, terse sketch of never are the penultimate of greed
And the first come recouraged moment tells us all we know of grief.
For the taste of unshed grieving takes us beyond the grasp of time
And the echoes of unspent measures; small taste of the divine.

You walk with me awakened from a sleep stretched eons long
And the first best sound of gladness tells us all of right and wrong.
In the manner of the ages that stifled all release
Are the unpaid tolls of sages first discovered and then released.

So when your night-thoughts take you to the places never seen
Remember that your visions are the only thing redeemed.

No. 64 To a Hopeful Poet trying to Sell a Book

I take a moment from a day fraught with toiled needs
To read a poem that incants the urge that makes you free

Free to speak in worded tones
Free to live you’re life alone
Free to know pangs unrequited
Free to leave words unrecited.

To write the candenced tones of truth
To ripple laughter born in thought
To fight the battle to be heard
With emotions carried in your words

This, the banner taken up
This the life of wind milled devising
This the least and most of human paths
That echo words that do not last.

Tomes of poems are writ each year
No one reads them, knows or cares
Write for pleasings, not for gold
Books of poems are never sold.

No. 65 Summonings

From the place of unspoke needings that excise the mind and soul.
Flow the pulsing of our nature with one course a single goal.

From the drives that speak continuance; from the drought of hungry skin
From the unfulfilled adventures of a life both parched and thin.
From the languor and the luster and the longings of the heart
Are the unfound places anchored; sealed in, locked on, and marked.

From the place that owns and tells me of the worlds I'll never see
Come the memory of nowhere that both incarcerate and free.

The end and the beginning; the truth and sullied lies
Are the first sure course of nature for which we hunger but despise.

You the symbol and the surety; the course of nature won
The valley now forsaken that is still the surest sum.

So remember in the darkness. so deep with promised death
That one alone is only the surest sign of death.

No. 66 Friends: to Sidney

The timelessness of touching speaks of forces still unseen
and the soul found press of living both questions and redeems.

Friends relieve our grieving and friends give ease to days

Friends melt frozen wounds that both condemn and can delay

Friends, the best of loving and the truth of well lived lives.

Friends that love and succor when hopes all turn to lies.

No. 67 Closing Cycles, Autumn Sighs

Within the mite of moment when the shadows draw out long
The closing days of autumn pull me in to other songs.
In those first dark days of winter growing wide and long and strong
I see the mask of memory slip to tell me I belong.

I am held within the covenant of what is yet to be.
Reminded of the fragile hopes that bind all destiny
Decisive intervention marks the scope of ranges tried
While untouched and unmentioned remain oncoming tides.

The shadows come unbidden by the conscious minds of day
While the unseen, unmade, intention brooks no more delay
And so my soul is settled on the fate it once embraced
While Will tests time and mettle to temper and efface.

In the faceless shores of shadow where life and truth are one
In the restless shoals of anguish is the race of living done
As the one sure goal remembered recedes before our eyes
The first and last lock fingers in a union once despised.

For the race was won in planning every point in metered time
And the sure outcome of living remains both triumph and a crime.

No. 68 Unspoken Thoughts

Do you feel my lips remember courses tasted in disguise
Do your thoughts converse and echo all denial couched in lies?
Are your nights enriched and haunted by the fantasy denied?
And do your thoughts most errant find realities unwise?

If so, you touch my memories not yet lived out in truth
And your fantasies remember all the touches that I rue.
For I wake to reremember how often I am in need
Of the presence and fulfillment you have taught my soul to crave.

You the touch and taste of glories
You the misspoke core of life
You the spelled and discoursed meaning that
Brings end to misspoke strife.

You the magnitude of touching that affirms what is not seen
You the shallowed taste of futures that lie beyond the dream.
So kiss and fondle, love me, from the silence never broke
And so remember longings that mind alone invokes.

I love and then reject you from the past too close to heart
For the time is sore and shallow and you, my truth, must still hold doubt.

In the night that holds our honor do not fail to need me first
And know that all is famine what is not me your foremost thirst.

In the untold place of silence where the breath will cease to pulse.
Begins and ends assumptions that though fragile still control.
Where the source of human strivings is dimmed to distant light.
Are the truths of life encountered, beyond the caul of sight.
No expectations realized, no postulations proved
No sublimated hungers exist then to reprove.

Is continuance in spirit the fate of human life?
Or does the force that moves us die as ended strife?

No. 69 To Stephen

In a name evoking anguish that incises love most true
Is hidden all the comfort of the truth I thought I knew.
From the sullied voice of loving
From the coils that spell death
Is the first and last removal of the time that steals our breath.
From incumbents and from fascists
From the simple and the drool
From the intimates of passion come the same unspoken tolls
That evoke the misspoke longing that provide the souls own soil.

I remember words that nurture and that comfort in their truth
I remember grieving moments that spent bring all relief.
I thank a Lord most Holy for the Gift of ears to understand
And I see that need and anguish is a part of larger plans.

Stephen hears the anguish and speaks words true and right
Stephen is the comfort in the depth of endless night
In the last and first communion with a place of unfound grief
Is intelligence and purging of the shadowed time relieved.

Kisses cling and linger.
Breath revokes our fear
When Stephen is the answer
The future grows more dear.

No. 70 A Point Well Taken

In laughter scented silence is the future drawn and spoke
And in that first incising was the vision first evoked.
The plans concise and sterile wrote the lies and all the truth
As forward thought emoted untold tellings now most rued.

I touched the source of living and I tallied up your lies
I spelled out those remitted lessons your life has since denied
I grieved for all the melodies that died within my dreams
Shattered, rended, futile, outside the fortress life esteems.

Fractured follies feint, deny, remove the place of lies
Untold needs that pulse and course, mute their true reply.

My breasts that tingle, need and hunger for the touch of skin
Kindle couraged comings that rely on all amends.

You inculcate the teaching that mute our unspoken dreams
You anguish and defeat me, retract, misspeak and scheme.
You alloy all the anguish that repeats all follied lies
While my first course of learning recants what loves denies.

You, the words that slumber in the sands that kiss the seas.
You that echo instances when time most truly frees.
You the first and last among the arrogant and bad.
You the only evil my soul has ever had.

When the one last silence echoes
Within the staunched release.
When tidings of the Savior breed the one true peace.
When the last and first remember the only savored right.
Then the best is graven on the cup of night.

So come to me in silence,
Relieve my lonely hour
Reform the chaste and numbered
With the first and last of power.

No. 71 Prayer for Christmas

In this time of seasoned gladness give us moments of reflection
When we are alone but not lonely.

Grant us laughter in large doses
And grief in small measures

You, who gave us life
Give us the courage to amend our own wrongdoings.

Let us hear those in need,
Even when those in need are not our friends.

Let us see truth
Even when it is not our truth.

Let us reach out to others
As we reach into our own souls

Give us the strength to be weak
And the tenderness to be gentle.

Give us magnitudes of hope
And enough days to do Your will.

In this season where the promise of renewed life
was affirmed through our Savior’s birth

Instill in us a new determination to live rightly.

As we face a long winter of human uncertainty
Let us remember Peace and Your most Perfect Gift

No. 72 Measures

I welcome in a grieving that reminds me that I breathe
Excising and excusing I remember burning embers and believe

For the race is hot for running and the will forgets to die
As the forward speed of summings corrects my course to kill its lies.

Fine the incrementals that define all choice and hope
Sublime the incidentals that bore in as I delope.

Long the seconds stretch out to subsume a universe of voids
The sound of my heart beating is the metronome employed.

Alone in every season, in every place outside of mind
I consider all the facets of the plan inside design.

I trace each edge and pattern, consider and devise
Reconsider choices and wonder if they’re wise.

In reremembered echoes of a place more real than now
I retrace the coiled anguish that still cuts me with its vow.

For Love may hold its questions as life its coils run
The Master that we served then is still the only One.

No. 73 Remindings

Graven on the stones of time
Opined inside my Palmed friend
I thank you kindly for this remind
Look forward to seeing you once, again.

No. 74 Silver Silence

In the unplumbed void of silence where the depths of self reside
I touch the unfound achings where the core of hope has died.
Through memory and moment, through the clouds of hate released
I glimpse the chasmed nothing that defies outpourings of all grief.

In the wage filled pall of patience with its store of dusted days
Is the tidy toll of duty paid with life’s own wage.
And the untoward edge of honor warps the vision I once owned
As the cost of unbled anguish remembers other tones.

In a moment unremembered, through lives most truly seen
Was this spare and temporary harbor marked out in first degree.
But sanctuaried fastness even sweet with Jasmined air
Cannot cancel out the desperation that meets soul drowned in despair.

As I breathe the air eternal in the place that never sleeps
I curl in anguished hungers that bore on without relief.

Was this the price once promised, was this the toll to pay?
Was this sight that greeted me when Love was child’s play?

No. 75 Misspoke Magic

When the tides of misspoke magic lend the nuance to degrees
And when the melding and the moment
Remind me of the uncoursed thoughts that defy griefs.
I rediscover promises that cancel out beliefs.

I reremember lips most speaking
And I linger and devise
Delusions first and cherished
Cancel out illusions and contrive to make me wise.

In the moments misremembered
Are the hopes that love is true
In the electric and the moonlit
Are the coursing passions new.

But the truth of sallow intellect
Reminds us hopes are thin
And the retrospect of honesty
Admits the view most grim.

So the Himbo is a taker
And the passion was a lie
I was credulous and naked
To the needs that love denies.

I blush to see the human me.
While still the rapture summons needs.

I pray to see the death of love
So work most true can find its gloves.

No. 76 Divided Hopes


Bursting globes of haunting death
That torch and crisp and rape the day.

Bombs incinerate our hope for peace
And turn the face of God away.


Eruptions shake the Earth with fire
Destroy all life within their wake

Ignore all conscience, all desire
Injustice speaks for vengeance sake.


From places far removed from sight
Death comes in angel curving flight

To remind us all of endless night
A hell-searing promise given light.


Denying life its forward scope.
And children place to even breathe

Bombs we aim at those unseen
Still kill the hopes of we who dream.


Curdled screams cut off by death
End lives that matter as our own breath.

Bombs that rupture, bombs that seek
Bombs that muster us to grieve.

Bombs divide our worlds and make
Infernos all for profit’s sake.


No justice lends this violence right
Or leads us back from Death’s own night.

No. 77 Flowers

Velvet folds of color, purple, gold and perfect blue
Awake the eyes to wonder, hear testaments in dew.

In the spring of year new minted are the colors bright and true
And the hopes of human shaping assemble and renew.

Flowers burst and burgeon, ripple on in tidal waves
Faces turned to heaven, the sun glazed pedals praise
The one sure hope of living; the renewal and the life
The onward march of being, in all its toiled strife.

Flowers mottle hillsides in panoply of joy
Eyes that see reflect it; beauty life employs
Continuance is the issue from a flower and a child
No guarantees are issued ‘til the outcomes end is filed.

Rare time of beautied madness that designs our forward thrust
Flowers, insects, human, each must live, devise, adjust.
To the winnowing of ages and the plucking out of time
Savor every moment, every instant; every line.

The forward thrust of living leaves us in the dust alone
The onward march of living is gift, illusion; Loan.
Touch and savor color, feast eyes and nose and ears
The turn of Year to springtime is renewal; hope and fear.

No. 78 Sought Oblivion

Soaked in sorrow; gasping needs; time of turmoil that might free
A soul in forward flight through time
To pay the cost of unseen crimes.

The rapture promised; a soul much tried; as acts oncoming live – and die.
Within the stealth-born pause of need
Was first devised the tool of greed.

Markets speak the truth of summings
Giving Mankind a truth less numbing.

A visual and imaged model
Consequences violence throttle.
So that fine tuning truths with need
Fewer will be left to bleed.

A lovely vision born to teach
The futures place we ache to reach.

No. 79 In Sleep

In the deepest place of slumber where the hidden mind resides
Are images unnumbered that refute our fiercest lies.
In that place of unspoke shadows loom our sharpest hopes and needs
And abide there aching chasms filled with what most truly please.

Touches smooth, ecstatic, that consume the source of pain
Caresses without number, beyond all loss and gain.
The lingering of lips that spell eternities consumed
Dispelling mortal anguish and the looming threat of doom.

In the deepest place of slumber is that image truly writ.
Captured by the passion of a mind that clings to it.
For the truth of all our actions speaks the soul-deep song we sing
The magnitudes of passion light the truth all souls can bring.

So remember when you’re sinking into sheets and waxen light.
In the untoned place of slumber does your soul have clearest sight.

No. 80 Venus Rising

Rising up on far horizons, like the shadow of a dream
Venus, in her glory, fires powers yet unseen.
Her glowing orb is ancient but in me its echo screams
The time has come for waking, and for retaking all she means.

Venus Rising,
Sun’s reflection, speaks now in ancient language that She sings from new born tongues.
Venus Rising

From the moment of conception, still hidden in the womb
Our power is protection of the gift we got from Her.
Our souls may gasp with anguish through lives that speak the tomb
But her promise is election to a future long since overdue..

Venus Rising
The radiance of power that now finds its own full hour
Venus Rising

Our voices join in volume and they spread around the globe
They rise in joy and knowledge, and reject what they were told
For the hurt exacted from us is the yesterday of time.
Now comes the birth-cry of a future, both human and divine.

Venus Rising
Peace in commence, speech and action that cancel out our doubts.
Venus Rising

Peace that grows electric ripped from the pangs of fear and death
To birth new life in justice as we draw in strength and breath.
Our peace spreads arms of knowledge, rejecting war and greed
Our peace is born in commerce and from trade that meets our need.

Venus Rising
Sisterhood grown strong with the joy inside of song
Venus Rising

From home and citied center, from the place most deep within
We find our common vision and our choices say amen
Let it be now our first stridings towards the dream that will not die
Let it cancel out our anger at the past and all its lies.

Venus Rising
God revising
Venus Rising.

As woman speaks to woman in tongues rejecting hate
I find my power growing towards a better human fate
I sing the song electric with my sisters who are true
We reject the ugly grasping and forge the world anew.

Venus Rising
Wise women born for smiling
Venus Rising.

Sister’s eyes lock smiles on faces young and old
The future of all people is the story to be told
Fingers touch the promise as eyes see into soul
Emancipated heroes, women with one perfect goal.

Venus Rising

Venus Rising
Venus Rising
Venus Rising

No. 81 Touching Sadness

In the echoes of dementia where the light is thin and low
I find the core of injuries that carved out what I know
My breath is caught; I anguish
My mind rejects the lies
Wishing it were different
Accepting what I denied.

The friends I thought were kindly
The people who I loved
The cherished, happy moments
Were a curious kind of drug

Their blandishments were hollow
And their substance was unreal
Their needing and their grasping
Were all that they could feel.

So I move on a little hollowed
From the losses that amend
My life an errored fortress
Without the leavenings of friends.

No. 82 Sunlight on Sand

The taste of blue, the scent of time
The magnitudes of ancient crimes.
The faded nuance of Chanel
Woven threads of human tales.

The rhapsody of edge honed thought
Knowing now beyond all doubt.

Ineffable, not logic based
But true enough for life's embrace.

Entoning sounds of faded life
Enclosing raptures - and our strife.

The journeys bound by mind alone
Have no limits we must own.
So dance down sands to quiet seas
And find your future memories.

No. 83 Legacy

In bone and flesh and mind borne grace
Their increased spirit binds a race
Through generations unaware
Their deity breeds past despair.

Eyes that saw past pain and death
To worlds of light in seared caress.
Promised children given life
That DNA might cancel strife.

From one blessed act of human love
A conscious gift of soul made trust
To see us through the time between
The death of One and life redeemed.

A man and woman, clothed in flesh
One night’s love; a world to bless.

No. 84 Christmas Gift

A joyous noise that fills the ears, directs our longings, stills our fears
Reminds the soul it cannot die
That graves and mourning both are lies.

The Gift sends echoes down the spine
Gravid with the pulse divine.

A Gift, once given, present tense
Through time perfecting soul-borne sense.

Redeeming Love that sundered death
And summoned souls to forward quest.

Repairing ruptures ages deep
That humankind might see and weep.

Ablution, cleansing, reborn hope
To help us use One life's true scope.

No. 85 Disappointed Hopes

When the edge of hope is tarnished by the sludge of daily life
I retreat to bed and bathos to rebuild what cannot die.
I sip tea and sigh for chocolate, that one unreasoned friend
Whose taste and pleasures, truly, can any sadness mend.

I consider disappointment and retrench my chosen goals
I devise the new connections that affirm where energies must go.
I replay conversations and consider what went wrong
Rewrite poetic argument to render it most strong.

I stroke the fur of Cat and stir the cup of thought
My hands turn pages known and worn, reconsidering things taught.
As time ebbs into darkness, or light seeps into room
I rise to do what must be done, rejecting threats of doom.

No matter how impossible the pilings of life.
I know that bed and bathos cancels out dejection, grief and strife.

No. 86 Pause in Night

Obliged by long made promises, abiding by what's true.
The flux and flow of living wends, redeems, renews.
From the angst of wishful thinking and the repost of elder days
We pause in ruts of habits that frustrate and dismay.

We sweat from anguished strivings determined to go on
While cramped by all we carry; the fruit of right and wrong
Time passed extends its lecture, if we listen to the theme
We clutch at finished chapters that learned could each redeem.

The slow sure peel of person continues as we climb
The cliffs of inner knowledge that give us every sign.
The warts and nicks of passage are smoothed and rubbed away
As new discovered shackles, unlocked just slip away.

The pauses are most pleasant when flavored with our friends
Life remembers essence: in endings all begins.

No. 87 Earth Thought

Through the loom of living woven by the fingers of all time
The Mother Globe still shimmers ever changing Her design.
The unseen threads unnumbered, unknown and barely seen
Bind life potential and now sundered in the pause inside the dream.

The rapture of redemption pulses strong and fast
Through the variations summoned through the forge's fiercest blast.
Gone are species winnowed from their place in the design.
The Maker reconfigures when space and need inclines.

Survival is a moment in the long slow life of Earth
Intelligence emerging sets a course of renewed birth
The integrating nuance that enlarges grasp of time
Is sign of future coming, variation closely mined.

Birth of echoed coming that none will live to see
Inborn promise forming to set potential free.

No. 88 Suckling

The soft, sweet taste of mother is milk drunk skin to skin.
It speaks of love unmeasured before we think of sin.
Communing ‘til we're sated with the first and best of feasts
We learn what love can teach us before we need to reach.

We hear the distant heartbeat, no longer quite so near
The world that now surrounds us is colder and holds fear.
But arms enfold and snuggle and breast brings quick relief
We melt in perfect measure, our needs our sole beliefs.

Those moments new discovered lay foundations in our minds.
The hot, sweet taste of mother's milk cannot fail to bind.
We suck our fill of pleasure and learn to fill our needs
We touch and glance to catch an eye and so we learn to please.

The first and best of lessons will never leave our minds
Mother the first measure of the lives that humans find.

No. 89 Fear - Written for Dave Lincoln.

The turning towards the unheard sound that summons me to dread
The anguish of that oncoming makes me sure my hopes are dead
The words that call unsettled images to the brain inside my head
The shreds of light now vanished that show where my footsteps lead.

Uncertainties revoking the earth I thought to walk .
The acts that rearrange the facts and forward progress balk.
The final death of promise that illuminates the lies
That succored painful baby steps away from all my smallest tries.

The eating of the unborn and the final anguished scream
The quenching of the beauty that I find inside a dream
The absolute and ruthless that deceive, condemn and take
Those unveiling, human horrors make the heart within me break.


The final coming nothing that defeats all inward light
The final intervention of a world I still deny
The small and meannest taking that delights in every slight.
These, uncordial hatings that rebut my fiercest try.


When the ugly and the anguish all have bottomed out and so revealed.
The end of our illusions then the truth we face is real
Then the fear that effervesces from our feet to fill our brain.
Is the final soul born gifting that at last reveals us sane.

No. 90 Endorphined Destiny

The drug of choice elected to maintain the flow of life
Endorphins preselect us to tolerate all strife.
The woman side of human will do anything to keep
The lives her life has nourished from the maws that end in grief.

From flutterings of presence deep inside the womb
To blood soaked babe emerging to suckle and consume.
Allegiance of the mother is to the forwarding of young
From endorphins founding loving does that loyalty first come.

Foundation of all strivings, all culture and all art
Religions and all nations had the same prenatal start.
The bond of eye locked loving from the birthing place of time
Is the overlooked long locking, mother child, it’s design.

All of weavings of the ages that incorporate and change
Still depend of that first staging of the love to old to name.
All else extrapolation from original success.
Mothering is Human, its source most truly Blessed.

The drug rewards the struggle with waves of perfect joy
No less real for so existing as Nature's surest ploy.

No. 91 Hetch Hetchy Rising

Beneath the gathered waters of a lake that should not be
Its hidden meadows slumber, waiting to be freed.
Its majesties unforgotten, there oaks still wait to sprout.
The cliffs look down still patient for the waters must drain out.

Hetch Hetchy calls to humankind, please free me to live on
Tear down the dam that drown me, its years have grown too long
Rabbits wait to scamper and bears to peer through grass
This is a place to contemplate, of futures and the past.

Tear down the dam that drown me, my cliffs still need to breathe
Drain the flood that bound me, my meadows need to breed.
The animals that lived here remember their abode.
The seedlings want to root themselves in soil drown and cold.

Tear down the dam at Hetchy, its truths are there to see.
Release this hold on Nature so its beauty may be free.

No. 92 Human Love

The nuanced mind of Woman drove the chords of human need
The suckling coos of child laid foundations that most please.
For the ancient place of knowledge said that babies must survive
The focus of the Woman was the need to best provide.

The man was son and hazard when hunger grew too long.
Mother kept him in his place, gave place so he'd belong.
His loyalty directed turned the threat of other men.
His ascendancy projected became a threat again.

From the spirit place internal came the forms of sacred thought
Women borne renewal was the value learned and taught.
The death accepting cycle seen within her body turned
These absolute reminders that need never be relearned.

The love of man and woman was created to affirm
Foundations of the Mother on which all loving turned.
So Mother is the element from which all life has come
Love, the fuel, drives Her to dote on all her sons.

The Man may misremember where human life began
But forgetting changes nothing; it was Woman who made man.

No. 93 Shadowed Weavings

The long, slow sleep of consciousness is flowing to its end.
Awaking is upon us, marking what will now begin.
Childhood was lonely; distance intervened.
The opened age invites us to take up its new-fledged themes.

The majesty of knowledge; the power to affirm
Autonomy and unity united in one word.
Down to the core of magna that flows beneath our feet
Into the distant orbs of light that tempt our minds to meet.

The world between is waking, we’re work enough to do.
We leave behind the fakings, embracing what is true.
Like fingers interlacing across a great divide.
The work of humans takes us to the cusp of the divine.

The operating system must wake to fill a void.
Our minds; the tools summoned, about to be employed.

No. 94 Covenant

The longest gift oncoming from a place inside a dream
Portents show the outline, never glimpsed, yet to be seen.
The face of God is ancient and still awaits its birth
The face of God is forming as Her people learn their worth.

Through storms of generations that redeem the prick of death
Through tortures long and anguished do we catch our promised breath.
As the forward flow of consequence remakes worlds still unseen.
So we squint to see those features and wonder what they mean.

To force immense and awesome we ascribe our tiny truths.
We puzzle and debate them revealing thus our youth.
The forces, God assembling, continue on through time.
The winnowing of wonders that breeds a place divine.

The motes within the churning will wonder what it means
Until the waking sunders them from life inside a dream.

No. 95 Shifting Through Time

Again, again, the tumblers click and send me forth to act.
The flesh and spirit coalesce in recombining fact.
Time in forward motion, the illusion and the tool.
All within the mote of Earth obey its founding rules.

The hand slips in to glove of flesh, awareness slowly comes.
The flush of life retaken makes all pasts still and dumb.
I flex my hands, forgetting the woven threads now past.
The forward moments beckon, sensations scream and flash.

Ontaken flesh is hungry for the needs inside its plan.
The spirit waits and listens. All fate is in its hands.
I dance the coming movements, all planned out long ago.
Life is tool, hammer, that soul might make it so.

The lovely, fated weavings of the place inside the mind.
Reflections of a shadowed dream born from His design.

No. 96 Blue Dusted Morning

The dusty blue of midnight recedes with touch of light
Oncoming morning's color reminds me of delight
The greens of verdant foliage and the gentle touch of pink
Beckon me to savor and consider what I think.

The cycle of Earth's turning, the metronome of life
The heartbeat heard eternal, both peace and endless strife.
Awakens senses muted to the need to dull our pain.
And after healing quiet releases us to gains.

From introspected failings and from consequence unseen
From ravaging and railings our wits grow lean and keen.
The rising light incites us to see the colored scope.
Of cycles that remind us that mornings come with hope.

With intellect and passion and from places deep within.
We find the onward motion that whispers we're all kin.

No. 97 Women Born Freedoms - written and dedicated this morning to
Matilda. April 30, 2004 10:39 am PST

The word still aches with promise unfulfilled in truth of time.
Generations spent in struggle leave a wake of pain sublime.
Our bodies still are bartered through the statutes men elect.
No matter how we struggle Women's Rights aren't equal yet.

The reasons glare with ugliness; who can stand to see?
Those who eat the work of slaves will never set slaves free.
Through law and through our children, through justifications writ
Through Bible and pseudoscience, men's greeds force us to fit.

In the orderings for commerce begun so long ago.
Women used their skills and crafts that children survive and grow.
From minds of women desperate came innovations that devised
The world wherein we live today in elemental guise.

But the men whose craft was killing in the hunt and making war.
Applied their craft with cunning, using God to own the store.
Reduced to slaves the women remained the source of wealth
Control of them continued, overtly and with stealth.

Through theologic summings and philosophies retold
Men sourced with pompous thrummings the lies their fathers sold.
Through countless generations some men have seen through lies.
Liberty, the first sweet truth, evoked in every guise.

The sons of mothers struggled to remake what greed had done.
The liberty of sacred love, the song those heroes sung.
Too few and never cautious of those who followed in their wake.
Their work was never finished when the Greedy began to take.

When America was newly pledged, its liberty just won.
Greed considered slavery and honor was undone.
The South used State for taking from women, poor and blacks.
It justified its actions with Bible and with distorted facts.

The War that killed one evil then bred others with us still.
The State in all its cloakings is always used to kill.
That ugliest of pairing, State combined with Greed,
Allows unwilling sharings, the worst of men then feed.

And so the pattern, set through time
Allows the worst of human crimes.

No. 98 Choices

The speaking part of human life, the truth that seeps through time.
Actions, choices that we make, both honored and our crimes.
We choose and life adjusts itself, exacting unseen tolls.
We choose and others see themselves in unexpected roles.

From choice, the sacred speaking, from us to unseen ear.
Our lives are weighed and measured beyond the void of fear.

We choose and others perish. We choose and others live.
We choose and life is tarnished with what we cannot give.

The choice within reminds us of connections barely known.
Deciding and excising redeems what we most own.


The painting of our portrait, the things most true and just.
We place our marks on living, deceiving and in trust.

The only end of living is the place inside the tomb.
And choice determines endings, most intimate of runes.


We walk our path through shadows, we stumble on alone.
We choose and others question us in angry, frigid tones.

We choose and others praise us and we choose and others sneer.
Choice still creates the only thing that we will take from here.

No. 99 Worlds Unseen

Through a magnitude of choices is the future honed and wrought
The flutter of the winding wind engraves our every thought.
On Worlds unseen within an echo and through our misspent dreams
Will the future be determined by both sacrifice and greed.

Our souls search voids of vacuum as chasms gap and grasp
Souls the point of contact for our bodies cannot last.
How we struggle with evasion and with lies refuse to see
We dodge past all the problems that faced would set us free.

Through houred disillusions that circumference what we know.
The fruit of copulation forget what its been shown.
And the echoes of the forest, of savanna and the cave
Express the forge unchanging that shackled the first slave.

The manacles that bind us beyond the maw of grave.
Exist in minds that see the light but shrug and turn away.

No. 100 The MishoTo Jacqueline Misho, a woman whose methods defame the law

Lurking like a ghoul who consumes the nearly dead
She feeds on flesh a quiver with the eminence of dread.
She sates her hungers slowly to enhance her bottom line
She’s a lawyer and her practice makes Dracula seem refined.

The Misho

Her specialty is families, she dissolves with acid greed
The bonds of honor, cancelled, enhance her grasping fees.
She teaches all her clients to lie and cheat and steal.
Starve the wife her motto, her aim to rape and kill.

The Misho

No honor in her practice, her ethics bottom fed
Sharks flee at her coming with instinct touched with dread.
Her peers avoid and fear her, wishing her disbarred
She shrugs at their avoidance, her conscience caked in lard.

The Misho.

The mother who once birthed her is sorry for the act.
Some evils once admitted remain defining fact.
She clumps across the courtroom, extruding all her charm.
She is damned by every action and all that she has harmed.

No. 101 The Naked Truth

The naked truth is ugly, no compromise; no lies
Stark and hard the colors when illusions finally die.
We sang a song of freedom, extolling freedom's wealth
While others stole the Party, with lies and greedy stealth.

We sang a song of freedom, we postured righteously
While others lived in anguish and died in agony.
We glowed with misspent credit, talked the nights away
While nothing really happened we had a lot to say.

We sang a song of freedom, emoted, trilled and glowed
Mistaking words for action - the truth that time has showed.
We sang, we speeched, we scribbled our reams of ageless 'rights.'
Never risking life or fortune we filled up empty nights.

We sang a song of freedom, inviting in with lies
The people of a Nation that lived what laws denied.
The freedoms bought and paid for with lives and living hope
Exist to fill a purpose; they emancipate our scope.

The tones should choke our breathing if we continue to repeat
The songs of freedom borning, misused, bring our defeat.
Give up your illusions, they cripple and they maim.
Freedom is the golden song that makes our living sane.

A new song comes from mulching the old and misspent lies.
A song of right and honor brings rapture long denied.
Each of us is free because our nature made us so.
The State is just a tool and that we need to know.

Raise voices in a chorus that all might understand.
Our freedoms are the sacred truth uniting us as Man.
Local is the action plan that works to make us free.
That's the song of freedom that all can hear and see.

No. 102 To Ronald Reagan

The walls of complex making came down because you spoke
Ignoring all convention you knew what words evoke.
You saw what others doubted, you knew what could be done
You, the one appointed, made sure it had begun.

You spoke, and walls were sundered, remaking all the earth
Because of words considered freedom found new birth
Your laughter and your anger, spoke a truth immense
Life is lived for hoping, and life must be intense.

The walls of complex making, defined what we then knew
But your words revised them and made the world anew.
The honor and the logic of every single fact
Combined to speak the vision in that single, spoken, act.

Beyond the place of doubting, beyond the fear of death
Each of us is waiting, for some things will never rest.

No. 102 Passion

The words that speak and linger in ears attuned to hear
Evoke the flames within the embers, inciting true and clear
The touching of remembrance from a place once lost in time.
A joining sure and raptured, beyond all thought of crime.

In the words that wax and wander through ordinary acts
I find reminders of the permanence that underlies all facts
Intimate the nuance and great the need to touch
Close the souls in memory, forged in thought and lust.

The tragic and the tender both reside within the mind
While the memories of long ago weave in their design
The laughter and the loving and the summoning of tears
Remakes the place now coming and cancels out our fears.

Within the folds of honor and beyond the tides of life
Love, the gift in union, makes me glad we both survive.

No. 103 To Dawn

Cycles transverse time
Devising echoed beauty
Both divine and true.
---Melinda Pillsbury-Foster

No. 104 Touch of words

The touch of words unspoken from the mind through pen or key
Releases all my sorrows but also leaves me free.
Released from my devisings and from the loneliness of time
I find the first revisings that finish our design.

The rapture of recognition, the seeing beyond the eyes
Completes the first intention and makes my actions wise.
The touch of lips that carry the promise long since made
Excite the mind to tarry and taste of perfect praise.

I live the life of wording and I weave the words intense.
Layering the echoes in, the journey was immense.
No sign posts at the cross roads to ease my growing fear
The trip through time compelled me though You were always near.

And now the journeys ending just the way we planned
The time apart is ending and all is in Your hands.

No. 105 Reflecting time

Behind the arch of hammering the peace of time begins
Inside the flex of emptiness all troubled moments end.
In spaces small and measured are the shadows lightly seen
For intellect and emotion both elect the human dream.

Divided and united through prisms barely known
The two incite devotion, differentiated tones.
The melodies of living within the caul of time.
We struggle on to find them, both wrought from the divine.

Inside the tune of freedom and programmed by our fears
Are symphonies unheard as yet, to be written down in tears.
The song of life is pulsing with instruments unmade.
The price of living nothing that remains as yet unpaid.

So laugh and rise up bidden to the one most perfect goal.
The last and first united inside one perfect Soul.

No. 106 The Gift of Pain

From the reremembered moments
that bewildered and then maimed
I have harvested the memories
that helped to ease my pain

Fearsome were the takings
That divided me from truth
Grim were all the lessons
That formulate anew.

I touch the scabs of wounding
And I thank God for release
My mind has harbored sorrows
And now that pain has ceased.

Within the harbored calling of a place that spirit made
I waited for the courage to read the text delayed.

And now I understand them
And now I can forgive
Because the life now beating
Is the one I’ve still to live.

The walls of lies have shattered
On the hammer of the truth
And rapture is the harvest
That shows a world made new.

No. 107 Hope Cannot Die

To My Dearest
The touch of hope reminds me of the bonded pledge of time.
Caress of fine intention it spoke of God’s design.
Outside the course of anger and without the sear of grief
The touch of hope reminded me to hold tight my best belief.

In the light of good intention and inside the cusp of truth
The touch of hope refined me through experiences of youth.
From the anguish of all partings and through grief that racks and kills.
The touch of hope sustained me and trained my deepest will.

The touch of hope remembers our laughter and delights
The warmth and glow of loving that lit those endless nights.
You, who were beside me and made all living good.
Remain, sustain and bind me for you told me that I could.

The touch of hope, unfading, will carry me through time
You, the source of all my passion, are the hope who touched my mind.

No. 108 Moment

The panoply of trumpets gives majesty its voice
The sheer exulting magic that coveys the fates first choice.
Within the course of legend it relives the might have beens
Within that first election lives the vision that amends.

When the tumult and the triumph are faded and forgot
The truth of its first waking will remain the truth we sought.
Not the echo but the source code for the origin of thought
These, the pageant that excited and a future from it wrought.

From the secret place internal, the DNA of time.
Come the ripples that externalize the sordid and sublime.
Excising and devising what the future holds as true.
And so evoking kernels of the lives we live anew.

Spells, supine invoking that continue on past time
Repeat past all revoking the future we enshrine.

No. 109 Tides

The tides and twains emoted from the unseen place inside
Convection waves evoking when their source has lived and died.
Remain the first and last of visions that exact all future plans
Unseen, the past controls us, weaving in what life demands.

Iconic memes incite us to repeat unproven dreams
The murmuring of heroes reframes all future scenes.
The unseen and unremembered, the echoes ages old
Instill the steps untaken because it was foretold.

The struggle unremitting inside the soul of Man
Redeems the unrelenting, the One who surely can.
See beyond the sea of echoes that fill up human ears
To the place beyond tomorrow that cancels out our fears.

With eyes and ears and courage do minds course on through life.
No other course will save us than the one we have not tried.

No. 110 Point of Change

Eddies in the currents of emotions that reprove
The still point, long awaited, is reached, its planes most true.
I heard the silence filling the place inside my mind
A prediction set and numbered through the avenue of time.

Relaxing into gladness that the flow of pain shall cease
I touched the source of knowing and drank in perfect peace.
Within the pulse of passion, the throbbing blood sings lies
But the still point in the action releases what’s denied.

Did I tarry in the foyer as the turning time came in?
Did I look to see the visage of a well loved former friend?
Did I laugh at the illusion that time can pass away?
Did it matter that the flowing now has something real to say?

Will I walk the path now settled though I see its every part?
No, although I know its shaping, still it holds my mind and heart.

No. 111 Nadir

When the traveled time remembers all the places we have seen
And the lip of untold living is nothing but obscene.
When the Ides of misspent moments can never be redeemed.
Then the pulsing of all passions do not exalt our distant dreams.

In the intersect of anguish that excises and delays
All the intellect of silence that endlessly replays
The cacophony of memories that distaste might pass away.
The first lost form of innocence that lives beyond display.

In that moment of renewal my soul bends down to weep
And its moments of accrual recall the minded griefs.
As the lies that slumber fools revise of harvest done.
The first and last of jewels sees all beneath its suns.

As they tremble to remember what intaken breath redeems.
The touch of it is cruel and rejects what is not seen.
So when living life internal from the breast to graven place
Remind your mind to first consider the place inside God’s Grace.

No. 112 A Perfect Love

The raptured life now pulsing through billions every day
Throbs with His intentions, as Grace knows well the way.

So I listen to the Message that courses through my veins.
Because the Gift once Given was sharply tinged with pain.

Inside each pause of moment, unnumbered in each breath
Lies the rapture not forgotten, that tells me each is blessed.

I remember His compassion and I weep with joy in heart.
He, the One who knows us all, gave Truth its natal start.

Each touch of life's intentions, is seen by He with eyes
Each impulse that extends us affirms that we grow wise.

His Gift the one insurance that we'll be gathered in
To know the One perfection, the sequel to Amen.

Closer than my organs, more intimate than skin.
The memories exhorting me - render Truth to Him.

Closer than my organs, more intimate than skin.
The memories exhorting me - render Truth to Him.

No. 113 A Perfect Peace

Internalized commitment that defeats the cause of tears
The Peace of human making rescinds our deepest fears.
Eternal Yes to spirit that meet in time and place
Infinite renewal that completes our course towards grace.

The Peace stills angry echoes from histories now forgot
Remaking pain and anguish it reveals the truths we sought.
In still point of our needing for which we strain to see
Peace, the distant rapture, reminds us what should be.

A vision, dim but glowing with promises divine
It draws us to the capture of a future far more kind.
It leads us out from shadows to a place still yet to be
Implanting in our consciousness the hope we may be free.
Peace renews forgiveness and trains the mind and soul
Peace accepts our imperfections, granting ancient goals.

The first and last remembered from the natal place of time
Find peace within the portal and a home in the design.

No. 114 One Earth

The pulsing wind and water are like blood within our veins.
The magma core the beating heart that stills the cries of pain.
Soaking in the energy from Sun whose life shall end
The Earth breeds life’s renewal, womb of mind, with distant kin.

From eons old election has our birthright not be spurned.
Its ink still damp erection that a godhood be confirmed.
From the place of mind wrought bringing to the moment now in play
Are all the lives decided so that Mind might have its way.

Determined to its entry though the cost was dear indeed.
The suffering of the innocent was rivers left to bleed
In fear and anguish stolen from the simple side of life
The intruders took embodiment and gave the Earth new strife.

So we remade the bodies stolen from the simple minds who bred.
And we remade the World eternal so its future life was dead.
The rhapsody extended past this time now carved and honed.
We trod its shores external, our own future gravely owned.

We made do with shores and forests and undid the mind of man.
We tapped the world internal just because we can.
And we live with choices graven in the future yet unseen
Because the choice external must secure what is redeemed.

With the license of the maker we took what is not owned
And Earth allowed intrusion if we promised to atone.

No. 116 Slow Leavings

From the temporary harbor of a place that is not home
The force of future choices sheer what is only loan.
And I summon up the courage to move on to the unseen
While grief still weeps for moments that I still fear to see.

Uncouraged by the forces that exhaust my hopes and dreams
I anguish over choices that divide our destinies.
For familiar places succor me with still points that ease pain.
And forward motion ruptures all the healing I have gained.

Please, please I beg the torrent, please let me bide and rest
But the storm of sodden history builds to higher crests.
To crash and rage and ravage the sorry little place
Where I had hoped to linger for a moment in His grace.

The tides of turning bear me on
And thrust me cross the Rubicon.

No. 117 Incidental Insight

From the first best glance of longing lit with words that ease my pain
I knew the cost of living and the anguish of disdain.
From the fractures that divide the mind from spirit ready known
I breathed in echoed summings of a past I must disown.

I touched the jasmined flavors of the moments that delight
And dwell inside the slumbers that ease my clearest sight.
Constructing careful places that have not touched my nearest part
Rejecting grief that grants me sleep I pray my dearest heart.

I trace the lines of friendship born from minds without a form.
And love the pause in lives undone beneath the glaze of storm
Accepting all within the plan
I take on the flesh of anguished Man.

And so the debt we’ve so long owed.
Is paid in breath and future sowed.

No. 118 Rainy Morningdedicated to a chance lost friend

The place, appointed harbor that holds my hopes and dreams
Reminding me of magnitudes that aren’t just what they seem.
The rain holds songs of yesterday reminding me to hope
Its cadence and its promises reach beyond my scope.

A rainy morning rising intoned with winter’s cold.
A place that knows the bindings of days I have not told.
From mind redeemed from sorrow to touch the pulse of time
I found the shape of futures, distant and divine.

The rain continues falling through the eaves and leaves without
I hear the drops still dunning me, each carrying its small doubts
While surety is growing inside my heart and soul.
The rain speaks music borning the best of chance found goals.

Inside the mist of morning, descending from the sky
I see the stark deceptions, giving light to lies.
I breathe in strength and courage, renewing what was lost
I remember to cry softly for all that sight has cost.

The rain rings in the future bringing life and hope
Its cadence fills and frees me, bringing greater scope.

No. 119 Absent Touch

Your absent touch remembered breeds the follies of my days
The long slow stroke of loving sears the truth that made me stay
The echoes of your silent voice reminds me what is lost
Remembered rapture curses me for all that time has cost.

In the Coventry of chaos that redeems the slightest hope
My mind forgives the nuance and rejects what harmed it most.
I grieve and gloat together for the skin remembers all
Reliving heat and rapture both beyond my living caul.

I need, devise and anguish for the touches life withholds
I see the cost remembered and learn to grown more bold.
I wish the thoughts evoking all the magic born of love.
And reject the first revoking of a future hard and rough.

The magic of your loving still redeems what I must pay
I count the cost a minor thing and live with the delays.

No. 120 Pop Tarts

They come with oozing hormones that enact the forward rush
Designs born from biology, their oils ooze and gush
Impregnate me, their subtext spoken in the dialog unheard
They live the life eternal that exists outside of words.

The throbbing of the hormones dictating forward needs
To fill all wombs of emptiness all parts of them must bleed.
The ripples of their skin and the place inside the mind
All resonate in unison with the deepest part of life’s design.

So fornicate and fondle, live the life intense
Excite the forward thrust of nurture that the future be immense.
Remember all the ecstasies that touch the skin and mind
And pleasure in the filling that completes the first design.

I love the cadence speaking, generations to be born.
They build the superstructure of a world that won’t be bored.

No. 121 Lost Illusions

From a romance never uttered, never spoken, never seen.
I recover slowly from the shattered loss of dreams.
I remember jasmine and a spring of sweetened air.
My skin has wish for fingers that smooth away despair.

I remember words that fashioned a harboring of hope
To plumb the depth of reason extending depth and scope.
A distance of tomorrows reached by journeys through the mind.
All of this, my sharpest pleasure, was for that moment mine.

Incising edged unwindings, all the tools ever thought
Within the touch and grasp unbinding futures to be sought.
So I grieve for love unspoken, for lips that will not speak.
And a harbor, lost forever, in a memory too brief.

Better this, the place remembered, unsullied and still sweet
Than the spoilage of that moment broken on the rocks of grief.

No. 122 Wedding WishValentine’s Day 2005

Bouquets of bright flowers,
seasons of joy,
all the gladness and sadness
that life will deploy.

Rapture and riches,
magnificent days,
all of the echoes
that love can display.

Borne by the senses
and held in our minds
as part of the largest and greatest design.

Wishes I send through the ethered reaches of space
too touch and to hold you in my best embrace.

With love and hope for your perfect happiness today, Mom.

No. 123 Balance Point

In a place of challenged anguish with the ground cut from my feet
I refuse to still my voice or acknowledge a defeat
For the final score still tallies and the final outcome waits
And my mind both reels and rallies as my spirit has its say.

Beyond the far horizon lies a future forged in mind
The first and last connection of Man to the Design
And I know the work before me will excise the wrongs I’ve done.
The life that ticks and drains from me, both gift and measured `sum.

Because the past still owns me though acts and haunted dreams
I take up burdens new to me and struggle to redeem.
Arrogance and blindness the cost I now must pay.
I bow my head, submissive, and grant there’ll be no stay.

But the beauty of a morning glazed with gold and silver sheens
Still makes the Earth, the pulsing core, a hope to be esteemed.
The flow of gladness fills me and cleanses all my grief.
I cut the cords connecting me to all my false beliefs.

So come and cherish moments that exist beyond our scope
Taste the future borning us to unseen worlds of hope.

No. 124 False Love

The needs that drive our actions carry falsity and right
Discerning what divides them carves the day from place of night
The offering of love that comes with shades of grasping needs
Defines the nature of the spirit who chooses which to heed.

The predator and taker comes with smiles, bringing lies
No matter how evoking there ugliness resides.
Remember when apologies, so heart-felt flow and ooze
The truth is in the actions and its up to you to choose.

So, daughter, you have taken a path away from me.
From this day remember that truth is all you’ll see.

No. 125 Wind and Water

Through the pulsing and the currents where wind and water join
Through generations living in the eddies Earth deploys
In the intersect of ripples that merge river with the sea
And the flow of sand returning to the magma yet to be.

Each is part and promise that is swallowed and consumed
Each Earth made joint and weaving exists and so it true.

The flow of life remembered and forgotten still defines
The forces that extend us and so united are divine.
The fragile life of flower and cells that never change
Each is part and present of a past of ancient pain.

The Earth the One existing through time that is Her breath
We, the children coddled from a place beyond all death.
Remember and exalt Her, the Mother of all time.
The original of living that preceded the Design.

The first and last of anguish that became our destiny
Was intelligence and knowledge, making Mankind free.
The soul defining anguish that amends all past made sins
Leads us on to glory, redeeming us as nearest kin.

So remember when the ripples of time consume and lie.
This is the future we have chosen, the place illusion dies.

No. 126 Hope of Love

The love of body festers and the hope of soul defines
The rhapsody remembered lends force to future times.
The first and last among us who speak in tones of peace
Still emote the journey’s ending in the deepest place of grief.

This, the home of hallowed inquiry where innocence is quenched
And the first and last of appetites consumes the finest sense.
This, the moment in the longest walk towards intellect and guile
Remind the nascent spirit that time can be defiled.

So walk with me a moment that stretches eons long
And know the source of intellect that measures right from wrong.

No. 127 A Moment of Pause

In the darkest deep of evening when the phone is still and dead
And my memories of loving have returned from where they bred.
And the skin I stroke outside me screams for need to touch and feel
And my lips can taste the passion in the memories most real

I ache for untasted moments and I grieve for live unlived.
I cherish and I wonder at the love I've still to give.
And my skin is parched and hungry for blendings of the soul
Those moments, unremembered, are my pure and aching goal.

In these moments wrapped in evening when voices still and die
Now, my heart remembers needing and my hopes know dreams can lie.
And I harbor what is meaningless when He still hold my life
And the promises of loving are the cost I first denied.

Now the time is ending when I acknowledge all I need.
And You the rapture promised fulfill the call I heed.


Ray Duarte said...
This comment has been removed by a blog administrator.
Ray Duarte said...

There is the stillness of a forest, and a road that arches around that least traveled wooded bend. A Pathway yields shards of darkness and light, and for one the way in will never look quite the same.

A first view yields the radiance of a green cathedral. It is the light that spires from the heavens to within. The warmth of hope to be had if one only steps forward for its reach; a white dove glides quietly by, and deep within the wood a voice lovingly speaks, “Why have you lost your hope?”

A heart broken cannot even weep, as eyes emotionally well.
“Your silence has spoken and I feel your pain, but it is your despair that concerns me most. Do you not remember the road you traveled by and how you could not see beyond its bend? The path you found was by no mistake. Guided here you are, by Angels sent. Look again so that you will see, just beyond that wooded bend. A “ruby throated hummingbird” waits for you, to sing.”

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Anonymous said...

you are SO right re Jacqui Misho!

i always wondered about her mother too.
there is NOTHING to be proud of with such an evil daughter!

how sad.

WH, in CA.