On the same Page

On the same page 12.10.14

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The breathing elements

When my eyes are swallowing
majesty bolting in rays from behind 
skies full of clouds,
mountains stacked tall on 
the sighing ground,
I imagine this earth like
Grandpa’s Thanksgiving-full napping tummy
rising in and out,
an alive giant,
a witness to the bustling motion
of slow evolution manifested 
in lazy rivers crawling over sedimentary slabs,
fields electric with wild mustard seed,
boulders spewed from ancient volcano,
and hatch cracked by winter’s freeze.
There is a grand affect,
a connect,
that overcomes my distracted humanity,
that seas of blacktop, stucco, and steel
will never my attention so command
as this virgin landscape
this time-carved land.
Published in: on October 20, 2013 at 12:40 am  Leave a Comment  
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Wanderlust

I wanna tightrope walk on contrails,

skinny dip in the zephyrous yonder

lost in wild blue wanderlust thoughts with you.

We can linger in the umbra

when the sun holds its nose and dunks under;

let our starry Van Gogh eyes

light up Cheshire bright

and wink

like Betelgeuse and Orion.

We can fit our feet with Autumn leaves,

surfing the dusky sky’s coffeebreath breeze

and jump into the raked piles

of our fall in love.

Published in: on November 6, 2012 at 2:29 am  Leave a Comment  
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Santa Fe in September

It’s been a long, hot summer
stretched out
like lazy men resting in hammocks,
and now, driving the country roads,
the landscape cloaked in sepia tones;
yellows, browns, and clay
and the weight of sun’s rays
hot on my collarbone
are what drive me home.
 
My troubles?
Just those water slick mirages
400 ft ahead.
 
The tumbleweeds ‘long the railroad tracks
are spent and dehydrated tangled brat’s heads
waiting for Autumn’s reaping wind
to lop them from their earthly neck
and send them rolling like poor Antoinette
down ghost town roads.
 
The fruit stands are closed.
 
The corn walls were hauled off
like a set change
ready for the second act. 
The barren fields, 
harvest’s yield,
already nestled into cellar beds;
jars of toil for mouths unfed.
 
But here am I
in Indian summer oblivion
soaking the last blobs of color
from valley horizons,
meditating in the last throes
of a spent landscape
before full resignation.
Published in: on October 21, 2012 at 11:21 pm  Leave a Comment  
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Summer’s Salts

There was nothing but summer there,
daydreams and miracles in ragged hills strewn like teddy bears 
with seams ripped open wide, thunderhead cotton exploding out
thistle in the sky, songs in our mouths.
Every inch of river new as I
carving curves in banks like exercise
        
The sun hid behind the moon
bashful it’s radiance could not compete
with eclipse-red lips, sundresses
breeze brought kisses and big sunglasses…
 
And hitting high in the afternoon, there
were we, strings, vibrating
and still,
hot
air
 
nothing could touch what was
so full; 
humidity so thick
and bosoms
uncooled
and souls, how we beamed
in the half light of the interrupted sun
we came undone and back again
and saw ellipses in holes by pins
 
the friends,
they know 
how slow summer feels,
with drips beading and falling from behind knees
and bits of cotton that drifts from tree to tree
and me, I was completely taken, and given back
so I could do it all again with similar results:
riding green sloping hills on river’s edge
and sweating summer’s salts.
 
 
Published in: on June 11, 2012 at 1:21 am  Comments (6)  
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The Voyage of the Enigmatic Body

The back is the Pacific Ocean of the body

so vast and open

it’s ridges, exposed islands

and ribs like ripples

rolling towards the shore

…..

The arms are the maps of the body

with trails, tracks, story-scratched

highway veins, tattooed names

and territories light and dark,

half sun-marked

and hands that tell you where to go

…..

The eyes are the moons of the body

glowing, round radiant,

distant and ofttimes cold

celestial and mystic

piercing through you and millions of miles away all at once.

…..

The hair is the clouds of the body

swirling, curling around those lit moons

Sometimes calm and sometimes stormy,

drifting over mountains and oceans

always in motion

…..

The shoulders are the mountains of the body

bearing the weight of the world,

buried in the mist of clouds

standing tall and proud

or bravely chiseled by time

…..

The legs are pillars of the body

often of ruins or great oaks

tested through time

and still erect, if not a little cracked

supporting what was once great

and drawing our eyes to heavens above

…..

The belly is the shore of the body

the land, the sand

where children are raised

and man lays his head

it’s a centrifuge, a core, and more

a middle ground worth fighting for

…..

the bosom is the tree of the body

with two red leaves

bearing fruit for all to eat

with passing seasons change and wilt

it’s sibylline beauty

almost eternal

…..

The vagina is the spring of the body

welling sublime waters from deep within

giving life

from it’s stark abyss

a fountain that sustains

and nourishes its thirsty patron

…..

The enigmatic body is an earth,

a heavenly creation

of vast planes and craters

harnessing it’s unique and unrivaled

beauty, purpose and divine transformations

and only its climate determines

its inhabitants

Published in: on January 7, 2010 at 2:10 am  Comments (1)  
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Under the Shade Oak Tree

relaxing in grass
I’m gonna spread myself out under that shade oak tree
and close my eyes;
feel the breeze flow across my cheeks
my arm flung on the ground behind my head
light and hollow inside,
heavy as wind chime lead
singing, clanging songs as it moves me
this serenity soothes me
If I could only squeeze
the essence of this peace
preserved into a vial for consumption
when the fires of hell are raging.
Published in: on November 9, 2009 at 10:42 pm  Comments (1)  
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A dash of pepper

Black flying birds like a dash of pepper in the twilight sky
Scatter down through the naked branches that winter disrobed
Ice glazed puddles, breath you can see…
The beauty and solitude shivers through me.
Published in: on January 12, 2006 at 2:57 am  Leave a Comment  
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