POEM: Downstream Movement

everything is one thing.
the way we are rivers.
and all things are nothing;
as takers are givers.

i'm flow-er and flow-ee --
twisting as I'm drifting,
not fancy or showy 
nor highly uplifting.

just a leaf on a stream,
bumping into others,
gliding through a fond dream
with sisters and brothers.

POEM: Burning too Hot

The festive fires were burning hot,
too hot for their own good.
They melted through the rocky ground
just feet from where I stood.

I stepped back, wondering whether
the fire would burn right through
the planet to the molten core 
making a jet-like flue

to push the planet from its path
out toward somewhere strange,
and by the time the fire 'd frozen
we'd be beyond home range.

Then I realized that it was I
who burned far too fiercely,
and all this from my febrile mind 
was just thinking weirdly.

POEM: The First & The Lost

So long ago I remember 
events that weakened knees.
My mind a haze, my heartbeat hard
my soul eager to please.
When I was moved by subtle touch,
a gesture, or a tease.

But now that I'm an older soul
I've lost that state of mind,
but wish the world would grant me yet
one golden chance to find
the return to that state of life,
where love and luck are blind. 

POEM: Everyday Magic

If you can't see the magic in
a flower or a leaf,
how can you see it in the work
of some cutpurse thief?

And if you can't see it in stars
of a hinter night sky,
how can you see it in the tricks -- 
a conjuror's slick lie? 

There's woe in where we find great awe --
those simple illusions.
And what we miss reflects our keen
everyday delusions.

POEM: Sun Slave [PoMo Day 25 – Aubade]

Warm light filters through the window,
killing the perfect night.
The gravity of bed still holds -
as eyelids deny sight.

And life's order would wrench me out
from under the cover,
but for the allure and the bliss
of my love, and lover.

Why must the sun be on the march?
Why must we heed its place,
and surrender that entwinement -
chest pillow against face?

POEM: The Shepherd Dream [PoMo Day 23 – Eclogue]

I lie on the sloping hillside;
damp grass tickles my neck.
I hear the bleating beasts kibitz
as dogs keep them in check.

My eyes closed to the azure dome,
until eyelids grow dim.
I open wide to see the sky,
and note that it grows grim.

It's time to consult my sheepdog,
"Should we beat it, or stay?"

He barks to me, "Now can't you see,
the clouds 're dirty wool gray?"

"I see it clearly as my hand,
but what does that shade mean?"

"It means you're not a shepherd, and
you may need the latrine."

POEM: Infinite City

In my dream, the city stretched out
beyond what I could see.
Colorful concrete pillbox roofs
spread to infinity.

Oh, such an infinite city
must have some great allure.
Miracles, mysteries, mayhem,
and madness - that's for sure.

What secrets reside behind those
thick and dampening slabs?
What unknown fortunes have been lost,
that now are up for grabs?

How many souls are lost right now?
Panic starting to rise.
How many will be found in time
due to those spying eyes? 

There's some magic in this city,
I'm sure that there must be.
For everything can happen when
you stretch to infinity.

POEM: Nimbus

Anvil-shaped cumulonimbus cloud. Pike's Peak, Colorado - NARA - 283883
An anvil crawls across the sky,
of soft shape but steel gray,
and I wonder when to expect 
the inbound tempest fray?

When comes the lightening and thunder,
the shaking window sills,
the neck hairs standing upon end --
herald of lightening chills?

Will it pass by rumbling distant
or strike the local spire?
Will it rain so hard that it puts
out its own blazing fires?

POEM: Cyborg Days

I feel it coming, cyborg days --
locked into the machine.
My program playing out the code
of some new subroutine.

To know it can all be dialed in,
with such fine precision,
the love and loathing that provide
the root of all decision.

And will I be a mindless drone
on a robotic ride,
seeing life like Doctor Jekyll
while living as Mister Hyde?