Surviving our childhoods

Surviving our childhoods

Floating a sense of Hope

Inside the perilous

Untethered without rope

Inspiration buoying

With your success in sight

To define myself that

A capsize can upright

Planning for the future

Planning for the future

The only true abstract

The kinetic landscape

Where chaos turns exact

And finds definition

Swinging hammer to nail

Vapors and future verbs

Solidify detail

Avoiding any trend

Avoiding any trend

But fashionably late

An oak tree in navy

Birds in shoes out-of-date

The cutting-edge grows dull

But passion is real

Time cannot take from it

Fundamental as wheel

All these Rothko poems

All these Rothko poems

Of two color blocks stacked

Can I haiku or ode

This self-imposed word tract

In my mind I Chagall

Or Van Gogh or Vermeer

But when the words settle

They are always two tier

Looking for the entry

Looking for the entry

Of the artistic stone

In dance, in music or

In Life, where ever thrown

The beginning, the start

And not on the ripple

Originality

Not sucking a nipple

Nothing special or grand

Nothing special or grand

Just a beautiful day

Finding myself happy

With so little to say

Wordsmithing and wonder

And pondering aside

Just enjoying the time

As I roll on, yes glide

So much is seeping through

So much is seeping through 

Efforts left for the trash 

Arches without keystones 

My heart a hidden stash

Growing old as fewer 

Chances present themselves 

Wanting new perspectives 

Six to one, half of twelves

Born without arsenal

Born without arsenal 

Trying hard to defend

Weak against enemies 

And gullible to friends 

Time and experience 

Pencil sketches to oils

Protecting boundaries 

Bridge over troubled boils

Here in the darkness peace

Here in the darkness peace

Two black cloaks on the World

Two sleeping bees in the

Joe Pye Weed flowers curled

And when my eyes open

A sense of solitude

The individual

Amid the multitude

Without dam, without walls

Without dam, without walls

My valley wide to wide

Immersing myself in

This tsunami of tide

My homestead of thought hit

I will need to rebuild

All that I knew is gone

The open mind's been filled

The beauty of silence

The beauty of silence

No echoing or call

Travelling butterfly

When the flapping wings stall

When the eyes see silence

Constellation or cloud

Bulbs breaking ground, moments

Of prayers in a crowd

The time passing unmarked

The time passing unmarked

Speeding empty train cars
And like clouds, can’t be held
Nor the sky and it’s stars

Grasping for graffiti
Or thimbles full of thought
But days, a rushing daze
Fleeting and can’t be caught

The Overwhelm surprise

The Overwhelm surprise

Placid clouds, diffused light

A slumber of silence

Gentle peaceful twilight 

Expanding the heart

Inhaling the exhale

All the intake of one

Incredible detail

Self-centered and awry

Self-centered and awry

The spinning plate wobbles

Too much perched upon the

Self in time just bobbles

All witnesses must lie

And not speak of the fall 

Someone must be at fault

Not self, no not at all

Problems are not clover

Problems are not clover

There’s more than boats and oars

Oceans ever changing 

Mine are not just like yours

Sense similarities 

See differences, listen

So much is fingerprint 

Each problem a christen

On a clarinet note

On a clarinet note

Lonely twilight winter

Sentences tossed until

They break apart, splinter

In the evening vacuum

Bumpering left and right

Seeking punctuation

To make the words finite

My blood is stained in spots

My blood is stained in spots

The stains pass through my heart

Superbird gone, starfish

With rays somehow apart

Under the piano

Turtles from Chinatown

And Mrs. Robinson

Dead in the road they found

We are cutting loose threads

We are cutting loose threads

For a better finish

We tidy up our lives

So not to diminish

Yet struggles and dead-ends

The processes of work

Are part of the journey

To finery from quirk

In between two deep breaths

In between two deep breaths

Is the center of change

The uprooting of same

For the unknown of strange

And learn from our mistakes

Take note, guardrail the heart

Feel and feel better, let

Time invite and not part

Demising these thoughts of

Demising these thoughts of

Bridges without bases

No chance of arrival

No destiny places

In this corner of World

Tending to shoelaces

Life, a series of steps

Small crumbs or no traces

In white oil paint rolling

In white oil paint rolling

On avenues of yes

Moments incidental

Keep asking me to guess

Blanking out the present

Elevating from past

In clouds of existence

Ever changing forecast

Here in the turbulent

Here in the turbulent

Navigating the wake

Cross-hatching and weaving

Against the water break

So difficult to live

When you are surviving

Necessity comes first

To avoid crash diving

Find a fresh perspective

Find a fresh perspective

Back away from the cliff

Are these real mountains

Or merely but a drift

Whether my perceptions

Be either true or false

The intent is to change

Add a beat to a waltz

Basking in autumn light

Basking in autumn light

A homeless man aloof

His walls exterior

The sky above his roof

What a day like today

Must be for the fateful

I in my pleasure dome

Questioning my grateful

A distortion exists

A distortion exists

A breached reality

Not a broken promise

And not duality

A fragile filament

Acting as a lighthouse

Ships seeking safe harbor

Lured into a shithouse

Across sunsetting fields

Across sunsetting fields

Sensing longevity

An oak standing in rows

Yet, purely brevity

The beauty of being

The good and bad and such

How much it means to us

But that, too, is not much

Privacy and fishbowl

Privacy and fishbowl

My mantra, a motto

A dingy mid-ocean

Silent winning lotto

The message is not mixed

Not visiting Venus

Our two bloody thumbs meet

It's not intravenous

Nothing left on these bones

Nothing left on these bones

The carcass is picked clean

A skull head in the sand

Even vultures can glean

First life is gone and then

Anything life-giving

A circle of mushrooms

For a tree not living

Up above silent planes

Up above silent planes

And below on the ground

Fall shadows long and stretched

On this small piece of round

And all the come what mays

That never came to be

Are not in this round hole

With this round peg of me

In a forgetfulness

In a forgetfulness

Waking a sliver slice

A sequence of seconds

Gone forever suffice

Even the packages

Tied with ribbons and bows

Are suffering the loss

Of who recalls or knows