Autumn morning
coolness

an inner emptiness

persistent shadow
of our human
brokenness

bathes like a glee-filled
babe in fields of quiet
joy as maple trees

whistle within
a welcoming

lonesome
wind.

      gift                                                                                                                              

 

Guanajuato dawn

 

an empty plaza except

for two stray dogs

 

promiscuous sniffers

slop through puddles

like drunken monks

 

bubbling fresh pillows of rain

birthed from gray sky’s

baptismal bed.

 

van morrison’s lush

‘brown-eyed girl’

swirls towards us

 

the Irish bard’s gift

sashays from the yellow church

with peeling paint where

 

a leg-less beggar

huddles alone

on cold and broken steps

 

his prayer for our world

unspoken.

 

enchanted by this rain and van’s

song of first love in green grass

 

you hand the man your cup of coffee

his brown eyes calm thankful

his grip proud and strong

 

as the dogs now still

gather ‘round us

 

morning’s storm no longer drenches

the ancient church’s fading doorway.

                             Boy

 

Two small feet in scuffed tennis shoes descend

into the damp basement of a two story

house immersed in a roiling sea of black weather.

 

The boy drops onto sturdy wooden planks,

Step by step--

until the cement floor rises to meet him

alone.

 

Strange feelings in his belly suddenly present.

So soothing here within this quiet.

 

Somehow only when by himself does this vague mist fall

unpredictably, subtly onto his lap, gently entering

the short body to meet an emptiness,

 

Step by step---

 

he had not known was there.

 

How does he know to welcome this astonishing

surprise, like the night his dream’s flying seahorses--

speechless and soundless, arrived from a faraway sky?

 

Step by step---

like a wild stallion and chestnut mare

together asleep under a sprawling

mesquite in summer afternoon’s full flame.

 

Becoming aware of ripening, or the exact

uncertain moment conception….

 

Step by step---

 

mysteriously happens,,

ODE TO GRAPEFRUIT                                                       

Your happy tongue a fat

planet eternally orbiting

the yellow-orange sun

of sweet luscious grapefruit.

 

In love with its plump flesh,

how its ode-orous radiance

enters eager mouth’s cool cave

 

where you speak a lusty grinning

silence, a born-again tongue

your first language,

 

loose and fresh, new

as a white dwarf star. 

 

And Juicy!

 

Breakfast astronaut, strip off

your space-suit, free-float naked

in your capsule, burst into pleasure’s

sweet music, this citrusy tang

 

where gravity’s absence titillates your

taste buds, lightens all flesh

and linguistic pretensions as it hijacks 

this rocket ship towards an untraveled

 

atmosphere,  seduces quite hasty

like tasty hot sex in the shower

at home far down on earth.

 

Your face fiercely amorous, eyes

sparkle with inhibitions unraveling,

as flying soars further, rivers of juice

flood  across your chin greedily.

This hunger for new worlds to traverse

fulfilled by what flows in-between your

zillions of taste buds, one orb of fruit

 

and by these tiny oval seeds, containers

of cells to flower in secret your blooming

bright brain, explode galaxies of big-bang desires.

 

Oh astronaut!  Let yourself languish and linger,

be astonished inside grapefruit's

succulent pinkness, this stellar ripening

 

that’s nourished and grabbed you

star-struck for good.

 

Taste its foreign fecundity,

 

Savor its puckering liminality,

 

Explore its other-worldly carnality,

 

Hear its tingling full-flavored poetry.

 

Yes my dear breakfast devotees:

You wild devourers

of these fresh tangy softballs

fallen like home runs from heaven above

 

simmer and sizzle

sing if inspired

in this obscene solar system

 

inside your private Sputnik of love

while your requited cravings

beguiled, beguiling

 

you crooning and raving,

a glad captive of your fruity

 lunatic’s mooning,

 

ecstatically sticky

all morning long!

            map

A map in my happy hands

teaches  'surprise' and 'explore'.

Stokes our excitement

of the newfound nearby ocean

a crescent sandy beach where

 

we may doze on comfy orange towels

dream of children giggling in the surf

during dazzling afternoons

 

and then the sudden horror of your falling

out the second story window

from where we hoped to view this sea

onto cold black ground beneath.

 

Now instead I lie alone 

these days and nights

of unrelenting down-pour

to explore oceanic grief

with your picture where you're dancing sweetly smiling

placed next to a bag of your favorite ginger candy and

this flickering candle that grace

our unmapped losses

on my fireplace.

Song

An empty plaza

except for two

stray dogs sniffing

promiscuously

 

rain like fresh pillows

from a bed of gray sky

 

 and van morrison's

‘brown-eyed girl’ lush

 

and swirling towards us

 

from the yellow church

with peeling paint.

going for coffee

from far across

          an empty jardin

                music cries and cries. 

                  Our hungry fingers,

                           in secret, 

                                                 touch. 

                        .                         rain

                             

                                   ink skies 

                     Flood Light                                                       

 

When imaginal light   FLOODS    the mind receptive,

 

becomes a Bosporus deep and broad enough

for a tiny wooden rowboat tattered                wandering  

 

a freighter huge, slowly steaming eastwards

smoking creeping like an insomniac’s tortured

evening

 

and a robust swimmer blue-skinned pounding

her warrior’s arms ACHING CURVING through

cold clear waters swirling      AND, and

 

only AND,          when our humble breathing body staggers

sprints with its myriad moles, scars and scabs, rippled

muscles, weary afternoons and its sex                 MARRIES

this light’s MIRACULOUS infusion                        what occurs

 

takes our babbled breath away,

 

EARTHQUAKES us to another kind of earth

3,000 feet beneath this mundane ground,

straddles us like a lightning bolt from a manic lover

 

ELECTRIFIED     BOISTEROUS

 

all the way from Europe’s insane wars to

Asia’s perfumed slavery days, from

the cloistered monks of Benedict to

 

the masters of the GOLDEN WAY and far,

so far, beyond. 

 

ahh, when imaginal light       FLOODS

the mind receptive

Going for Coffee

  from far across
      an empty jardin


          music cries and cries


           Our hungry fingers,
                     in secret,
                                          touch.


                        Sky of ink 
                                          Rain.