Poetry! cont’d

Hi Friends,

Here is another poem for your reading.

Morning Star




                        Wildness   Willstar   Wonder

                        Over running fields of hills

                        eyes of minds wide open skies

                        bedrooms of pens and pads  pencils

                        (like the old climbing tree in the yard

                        sapling not gone but changing

                        child not lost but embracing)

                        family songs sung to Morning Star

                        on pictures drawn on hands and eyes

                        of memories of nest, fold away to rest

                        and treasure

                        and measure

                        by boy young girl tom and newly

                        aphrodite’s blooming pink and truly

                        springs quiet silent vibrancy

                        pure allure of Woman’s prophecy

                        holding elegance to change abjure

                        the new blossom on thriving life

                        spring suns delicately drawn picture

                        by newly bled by season’s unseen knife





                                                                                                ©19 apr 86

And one short one:

                                       Here Comes Everyone


                        My flute was trippin’ out on Donovan

                        I was trippin’ out on my flute

                                    Here comes another bag of skin

                                    poot, pooting its little path along,

                        Turret cavity resonating

                        to recognized ideas.

                                    glopt glupping and thinking of






                                                                                                            ©5 Oct 90


Hello there,

Two more poems for your consideration.



       A Winter’s Passage

All  our love, she nestles in it,

tries to pull it all about her  as a blanket, warm,

while about us the wind howls

and we soar through the starry blackness

alone, space not big enough

inside our heads to take it all in,

Heart born clinging form

wrapped, it is said, desperately in

the eyes of some humans,

some sad eyed lost wandering children of the world

who never knew what it meant

who never came home at last

to universe….

©Dec 87



        First Night

A moment sat at night

eight months waiting

to be there

at the Barnes & Noble

and I remember: Sacramento

a feeling of my mind

and body

as a dream, land of dreams, it was

land of dreams: bitter and sweet

eldritch and banal

hot and cold

hot-salmon neon light

alleys: dusty

with dark and the haze of

distant streetlights.

Sacramento, intersection

of California dreams

at once north and south, neither

L.A. nor S.F.

more like Chico and Berkeley

funky sactown, I love still, where my

children come from

and my parents die –

Best of my life

I gave to you


do you

remember me, in your

asphalt and pavement dreams?

at your bars

so well used and timeless

same bars

that Sam Clemens and Leland

Stanford drank at, boots on, stepping

carefully over the horseshit?


you ever

dream of me

climbing the Pioneer

Bank Building to your skyline?

playing to your Capitol


from winos’

park benches?

Loving your skies and nights

hating the heat I loved

walking the sidewalks flat

watching rivers of cars come and go

commercial node of the north – ?

– For I remember you

one thousand miles away and

six-thousand feet in the

air, on a night

I waited

eight months



with no

home and no car

to sleep in

(slept in a tool

shed rain drumming

roof) – I

remember you


spirits of the

dead, and –

I love you.

©31 May 05

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