Tag Archives: poem

Labyrinth [Free Verse]

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the vaulted corridor is
lined with portals to places unknown
and linked to other hallways
in an infinite labyrinth

one can go from "here"
to anywhere,
but there's no map 
yours will be a stochastic journey;
one might prefer to systematically
 duck one's head into portals,
getting a feel about whether 
a given route seems favorable --
but we all know that one must often
travel through unfavorable territory
to get where one wants to be

and so it's like being thirsty in a life raft --
as per Coleridge's Mariner:
"Water, water, everywhere, 
Nor any drop to drink"

in this case,
 it's a free ticket to anywhere,
if you can only find your way,

but what're the odds?

The Flood [Senryū]

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a farmer surveys
his new stretch of sea,
mulling careers

June Rains [Haiku]

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house & garden
glisten from a soaking
of June rains

Quiet Moments of Buddha Time [Poem]

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in quiet moments
of Buddha time
i watch the world
like a man who's blind

i sing my songs 
like a drunken sage
and offer curses
as though free of rage

High Tree Hawk [Tanka]

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the high tree hawk
scans for prey from lofty heights;
the rat scurries -
unaware of far-flung foes,
but side to wall all the same

Visionary Poets [Free Verse]

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Blake had visions of angels
&
Ginsberg had visions of Blake

I'm sure some 
angelheaded post-Hippie hipster 
has had, or will have had,
 visions of Ginsberg,

But who are Blake's angels hallucinating?

Maybe the angels have no eyes
and have
visionless visions 
of visionary poets?

Cemetery Walk [Free Verse]

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And in the end,
the dead are still
and the graveyard's quiet
is not so bad.

The monuments weather;
in due time,
letters become less crisp
&
dates become debatable.

A clean read means
there maybe someone 
left to mourn.

And fresh flowers mean that someone
has tracked their melancholy 
through the place,
and the air feels heavier,
and my mind feels heavier.

And I read names:
familiar & not,
popular & not.

I read names to distract me
from thoughts of my own dead --
to avoid tracking my own melancholy
through the place.

For, you see,
I've brought no flowers.

In Medias Res [Free Verse]

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Journeys start with a cattle-prod jolt 
& a kick in the soul --
not at an airport,
or a ferry dock,
or a taxi stand,
or at the curb.

By the time you've gotten that far,
you're already traveling.

By the time you've "decided" to go,
you're already traveling. 

Travel begins earlier,
if in the dark,
because travel is not a dream,
&
only dreams start 
in the middle of nonsense.

Real life flows down 
a continuous and unbroken
stream of nonsense, 
drifting at a rate slow enough 
for your brain to make a movie of
rationalizations,
so that your brain can tell you: 
that you're in control,
that you know what's going on,
that you know what will happen next,
&
assorted and sundry bullshit like that.

Chicory Dance [Haiku]

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chicory -
its little blue flowers sway,
 dancing with stems

River Trance [Common Meter]

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I sit on a green grass riverside,
watching brown waters flow.
Some karst monoliths stand behind
in which scrubby shrubs grow.

I feel my mind could be swept on
down to the sprawling sea,
while my body would stay behind
asleep with back to tree.

And panic and freedom both rise -
untethered from earth's hold.
As I see the future and the past
blended at the threshold.

And space, like time, has no meaning --
just an amorphous blob.
I awaken gasping spastically,
my pulse in a wild throb.