SNOW LADY

she stands in the snow
above the stones, words and dead flowers
and the sighs of uprooted plants
beneath the space of despairing love
below the rough rocky mountains
discovering herslf in pure solitude
unable to see the horses that have vanished
surrendering to the cold realms of winter
bleeding to death without summer fragrance
unable to shiver in its silence

this is her dwelling this is her place
the mother of stone and metal
where the blowing greeting of the wind
flows from her welded rusty eyes
over the bare weeping willow branches
climbing up the snow covered stairs
towards the temple of the frozen Buddha
and treasure of hidden shepherd poets
polishing her soul for one last poem
from a list of snow covered words

ENOUGH

unbalanced on some edge of sickness
hanging from the depths of deepness
beyond the burning bridges crossed
unable to fall because of fear
enough is enough

suffering with some neurotic neurosis
flawed by the flawless imperfections
beneath the expanse of midday darkness
afraid to look because of blindness
enough is enough

anxious from the cutting anxieties
sharpened by the unforgiving gods
hiding behind the Eucharist curtains
forlorn with empty detached thoughts
enough is enough

hollowed by the missing truth of light
between the crevice of a cracked mind
dangling from the frozen space
wretched with rancid rancor
enough is enough

butchered by the blood of Christ
flowing beyond the depressed mountains
towards the empty dead sea
ravished by the violence of crusades
enough is enough

depressed from rowing across the desert
motionless with the unreturning tide
unable to cry with closed eyes
transforming silence with words
poetry is enough

SPEAKING IN TONGUES

looking at my hands after another morning with my chain saw out in our woodlot....cursing at the MO...squitos...somehow came up with this

SPEAKING IN TONGUES

after morning of bending and strains
smothering denunciations of pain
the ghosts of three dead poets listened
hearing the voices not believing
blinking to the braided trite realities
of some church of language
speaking in tongues
rolling their eyes
flailing their arms
with jagged lines of poetic justice

rejoicing in their emptiness

playing harmonicas with no hands
learning the secret of speaking
through abstract words of death
expressed in some jazz muse
rising and falling with all the church members
guided by the ability to tell the phonies from reality
and the paramedics waiting outside
with poet doctors laying on of hands
unable to speak in tongues
only a new presence of poetry

HAVING IT ALL

for BIG TENT POETRY....possessions


HAVING IT ALL

I put all my clothes in a garbage bag
gave my broken watch to the pawnshop
returned my stuffed animals to the carnival
spent my last dollar at the penny arcade
used all my air miles to travel the world
bus tickets to tour the city
sent all my red sox back to Boston
my white sox to Chicago
soiled pennants to yankee stadium
Sinatra albums to a disk jockey with no horse
Diana Ross albums back to soul city
forgotten memories to church of dictators
sent used hash back to the Taliban
burnt a stashed welfare cheque dated 1961
pushed my old VW van over a cliff
had a bonfire for my overdue mortgage
then sent the ashes to the homeless
the empty fridge back to the farmers market
recycled the stove at some conservative convention
tore up my unpaid credit card
after my souvenirs were stolen
and my broken memories faded away
I sit and listen to my voice
having it all when having nothing

POETS BIRTHDAY

a poem from OUTSIDE the ring...this is in stanza form ... with rhyming...not how I usually write

POETS BIRTHDAY

birthday north of july unable to forsake
reading poems of Corso behind the door
arming myself with eggs and steak
unable to scramble words from the floor

begonia dawn breaking through the window
lighting candles for all to see
unwrapping blankets to let go
with the souvenirs that might be

magic in my shoes keep dancin
in time with words I'm unsure
reciting the thoughts I can't begin
noisy silence a phantom overture

putty in the words to fill the hole
plastered for bards that sound the same
searching for a lost igloo behind my soul
a freezing heart a poets flame