On Parting.


The world will have a word from me,
before I’m dusty air.
I must pro­voke its con­scious­ness,
divulge my urgent prayer.

It will not turn my words away,
nor weak­en my insis­tence.
I must per­suade its mind­less­ness,
to hon­or my exis­tence.


Drop the White –
it rat­tles me.

Blues befit My Soul.

I see them
in my dreams at night.

A sad but steady flow.


I’m too near the ocean
to fin­ish up a stream.
Stand­ing on this precipice
I dream a sailor’s dream.

Thoughts of riv­er sources,
seem too far away.
I can­not see begin­nings
ooz­ing out of clay.

Water­falls are hard to climb,
hard­er near the top.
Fight­ing current’s not my style,
eas­i­er to drop.

Waves some­times turn tidal, though,
storms breed hur­ri­canes.
Per­haps if I assault the land,
She’ll have to learn my name.


When­ev­er was My cur­tain call –
and where was I to miss it?
No one cued my entrance,
no help could I elic­it!

What actor took my lines away –
must I stand mute for­ev­er?
Watch­ing from this alcove
rehears­ing my endeav­or!

I must come forth, this is My time –
my debut is essen­tial.
No direc­tor test­ing me
must miss my true poten­tial.


Dear friend, I know the city,
though it’s not my nat­ur­al home.
I’ve seen it take the best of us
and let them die alone.

The coun­try boys adore it,
for its free­dom and its vice.
Its lights are bit­ter jew­els
anx­ious to entice.

The streets are filled with won­der,
old traf­fic and new trade.
And there some­how more gen­tle souls
try not to be afraid.

They leave behind their fan­tasies,
as starlight leaves their eyes.
And gain the new expres­sion
of garbage-eat­ing flies.


If I could share your bed tonight
my prowess would amaze you.
I’d teach you to enjoy your flesh,
I’d tan­ta­lize and praise you.


A bar­ren field’s a King­dom
for the tree that stands alone.

It marks its days with falling leaves
Until the season’s gone.


Hav­ing nev­er been a stone before
the lack of soul dis­turbs me.
Turn­ing stone was hard enough
with­out this cold to burn me.

I wish I’d nev­er had the choice,
for then I’d nev­er miss me.
All I’d know was inno­cence,
with­out a lip to kiss me.


Slow steps fol­low the habit,
through emp­ty halls of time.
Hol­low mem­o­ries cling to cob­webs,
ban­ished from the mind.

Fevered dreams are bid farewell;
reck­less blood is chas­tened.
Chasti­ty in dry acclaim
upon the heart embla­zoned.


I had nev­er turned the day­break
into some­thing I could touch.
Until now its rev­e­la­tion,
seemed remote — too hard to clutch.

I had always been afraid to fly,
to take its out­stretched hand.
Pre­fer­ring dark­ened earthy haunts –
and fear­ing rep­ri­mand.

Now though, it seeks with vig­or,
my coun­te­nance and frame.
I may not find excuse for it,
pre­tend­ing to be lame.

Instead I have to test these wings,
and soar above the seas.
Before the sand can find a way
to sink me to my knees.


Blank vers­es,
tran­scribed from years
of ado­les­cent sor­row

Can­not be retraced,
and metered into rhyme.

They are the mem­o­ries
of ali­bis
long retired from use.

They are bold unful­filled sum­mers
where day­dreams held
more of life,
than climb­ing trees or fly­ing kites.


The Gods pro­claim my ster­ile state,
baser scenes are end­ed!
Fer­tile minds now hes­i­tate;
Chastity’s descend­ed!

Waste no time on bump and grind;
thought­ful­ness, more fair!
Lusty visions cloud the mind
and sub­ju­gate the bear­er!