August Shoots of Grass

August bamboo shoots collect the
Elixir of life in cylindrical cones
Reaching into heaven a proud emerald green.
A decortified tool of reinforced grass.
A lone raven lifts a wing and
Alights to the top branch of a juniper tree.
The sound from the black
Canvas attached to his frame
Shook me.
As if animal nature
Had power to generate a gust
And the will to turn his fury into a storm.
The raven swayed with his neck
Held close to his body.
The Wind obeyed him.
August shoots of grass
Across grandmother’s bearded chest.
I passed a building of Twombly’s architecture
Admiring twisted pillars and broken mirrors about the front door.
I was surprised at the absence of evil.
Orbs hung before the walls and
Wicked wires played in space. But all
Was only suggestion.
A wounded hound guarded the corner of his room
Wrapping his injured body pitifully
Around his wounds
Snarling towards the door
There was nothing to relieve his pain.
An owl in the rafters of the shed watched his every move.
The raven moved from the juniper and rested upon the fence
And watched his every move.
Tattooed women lay in the grass and
Watch his every move.
His grimace does not ease.
The face of his pain has a recognizable name.
A method of punishment exits within the subconscious.
The hound has forgotten his own name,
Knows only the howl of his pain.
Nymphs of uncut graves cannot help him.
Down the darkened road walks a being
Androgynous human he
Looks like a mountain of a man grizzled
By spit and Time
Beetles and food in his beard.
Pocket full of shells
Do I see you coming home?
Pocket full of shells.

California Eugene [fragment]

The skull wears a crown, He is king
A horse pushes curious nose
Into the eyes of a creature
That adores him.
In reflections of a still pool
Or, slightly running stream, You
can see, in reflections, the water
Ripples and waves, a
Human hand reaches toward an interested doe
and the moment is Frozen in time.
Footsteps of a small kitten dipped
into the pure white snow and
Carefully rescued, with a soft cry,
from the cold.
And then the Cat himself, sitting on top
of a mailbox with Man.
Red

Seal of Summer

Clumsy footed white sundress
Hyacinth bomb of ruby-footed rings
Rabbit woman lies shaded by trees
Hidden until dawn.
Sweet warm honey dripping golden
Hair
Bubblegum lips jade queen hides
By deep emerald pools, gullies, and
Streams and the interplay
Of shadows thrown by the leaves
Hidden by hills.
She sits next to a gilded swan
Her fair figure admired by wolf-pup
Romulus and Remus.
Face a petrified stone of amber
Eyes of ice and sunlit meadow
Reclining on a bed of grass soft
As lamb’s ear
Dew point diamond earrings playing in her hair.
The fish watch her dance
Next to a waterfall she looks
Like the creator

Of my heartache.

Dead Parachutes

She is a Nubian dandelion
She dances on whiskers of dreaming men.
Her voice changes with the shape of each ear.
Thousands of birds shed feathers
Disturbing reflections of her mind’s
pond.

She is a Nubian dandelion
Her hands are soapy with dishwater.
Wind takes away every desire.
Drinking freckled lemonade
The Nubian dandelion is a maid.

Anonymous

Finding the “natural” way of human life

Primitive existence and open love for
the feelings we share as a species

Finding a lost city of humanity with values of the
Indians and native peoples of every culture

Cultivating a way of life which sustains and protects
The ecology of our home

No capitalism, no competitive market, no business
Without the complete, uninhibited, freedom
and health of individuals

Human soul searches for places to live
Fully as a collection of memories and convictions
have built them

When we experience drugs we are convinced that the vision
and knowledge we witness lies universally
within everyone, waiting
to be told that it is okay
to begin to awaken

We can feel as connected to fellow man
As to any other substance on our planet;
see as just another form of ourselves

The complex ecology on our planet can benefit
from humanity that is a compassionate shepherd.

Lost cities, undiscovered planets

Are we looking for something to tell
We have gone too far?

That our life today does not have to be
how we have built it?

That the walls between us are apart of an
imagination which we share?

That we don’t have a need for money –
We can grow our food, we can feed each other

No one has a right to our time
No one has a right to our life

That we are born without debts and take none with us
to the next life?

That your insecurities are just a game inside
your mind

That everything people say s just a dream
Good a dream – Evil, just a dream

Neither means anything to the whole of creation.

That people who litter donated to charity?

That people who clean the street berate their children?

That the people who eat healthy and consider
themselves, have no consideration?

That the wandering man killed his own brother?

That the man tending his garden is Buddha?

Love exists without you, without me
Life is a cat’s blink

Life Synchronous

Marmoset captain, visage powerfully scarred,
Visits the Moon Loon, his master’s brooding sea bard.
Crystal laughter across the faded shores
Stands mocking the Moth King in the face of his hordes

Vicious sunrise, open parcels of dawn,
She stopped a runaway train
Silken weavers of war
Bending fragments of lime
Memories in time

Fading from mind
Faeries laying in green clovers
Leprechauns  braiding roots in her hair
Dreams are frightfully cast
On the King’s bed of glass