Monday, December 8, 2008


Conversations drag on from the diner to the salon… across the surface of days and through the depths of nights… they are but mere remembrances… for time is Nemesis… it is a verity that comes with an easy complacency. What we know or what we say of tortured souls resides in the distance between orbiting dancers and the strength of the bow across the strings… through our stationary eyes the room spins and whirls. All things are relative but the relationships can get perverse.

Intelligence is the access to the grey boxes of the remembered… sorting through the piles and selecting correctly the required… brilliance is to assemble the whole from a smattering of the few… intuition is to set aside the boxes and simple know… but what then of truth or faith? Those are but trees in the natural forest… wavering boughs tossed upon the winds of temptation… the shadows of the blind across the azure.

Absolute is a stone tied by a chord of folly to the neck in a graceful swan dive into frigid waters… absolute is an anchor secured in the sea bed… absolute is the folly… the harlot… the illusion in the mirror seem through wanting eyes. Verity dispels the absolute from the eyes, from the heart, and from the hands.

The neck is a curse for it elevates the head to the belief that thought is above the heart…< we look with our eyes yet we see with out heart… the thin spindle of the throat chokes the flow… the gurgling loss as darkness descends is dispelled… I thought… I felt… incoherent memories… the absolute truth is mere veneer… mere illusion… the strangled vision of desire and want… the lost illustrations of a closed book.

The grey box of absolute lies open and empty floating of a river of remorse… the effluence of regret carries the drowning memories to the sea of despair… the ice flows of abandoned love shattered of the shores in fragments of sun drenched glitter… melting away from shattering shards to smooth pebbles… dissolution towards oblivion… the absolute rendered inert and temporary. For time is Nemesis.

Sunday, December 7, 2008

Holiday Guest

First Holiday guest arrives unexpectedly. He lost his apartment while on tour due to the apartment shortage in the city. Nice to come back to no place to stay… so we agreed to let him come stay with us until he can grab anew place. The problem is of course storage.

James comes with his musical gear. Most people think that a guitar ain’t going to be a problem… an it ain’t… it is the other guitars and accessories like amps, floor modules, the computer that runs it, the cables, stands, and what-not all associated with being a modern road warrior guitar hero. Of course James does not use those terms… to him, what he does is entertains.

James is funny. He has a sense of humor, and is very polite. It is strange to watch him ask permission to make a cup of coffee. Well, of course an omelet is an extension of that too he says, You don’t even think about it… cup of coffee just means coffee, omelet toast and jam. Fact is that man can cook. So he is in the kitchen baking… singing… dancing. It’s fun. Jen is right there with him learning new recipes or showing her own. Talk about feasting.

Going to be an interesting time.

Wednesday, December 3, 2008

Love, cast your glow upon my path

Love, cast your glow upon my path

every day, exotic
as long as the rivers run
don’t let me dance alone

and held tight
looked to the skies holding breath,

when I hold you..
entwined as one
let no day be without love in my life

no longer can I deny,
hide my desires
my deity - love is a voice that wakes the wind

why am I breathless?
butterflies, be with me
love... forever and a day

shadow of light
dance of satin skin
walk these sands of time

lost in the consuming fire
with verse to recite and songs to praise
love, cast your glow upon my path

A Short Story

Henry’s fingers bleed through the torn calluses as he sips Irish coffee and grimaces with the pain… “you are a poet” he says “how can this be beautiful?” as he pushes the finger stained cup towards the salt shaker and sugar…

I say softly, “He left his bloody fingerprints on her throat, with icy hands on shoulders bare he won her heart…”

Quote Me

The pauses in conversations speak in the common language of mistrust. In them fear and uncertainty prosper when all that is required is to wait. There is nothing so terrifying as silence.

Tuesday, December 2, 2008


I got shrimped… in the cool light of that failing sun… I got shrimped and sent away… dragged away by words… oh sinful words uttered on that accusatory breath… tempest tossed on past remembrance… there but for a fluttering illness I choked… sputtered… and should have faded into the frozen distance of celestial weather… a murmuring of a heart valve… a skipped pulse… then the vacancy of the flesh departed.

How small… how coldly cruel… how petty when demeaned with malice aforethought… to stand filleted and open… grilled in the sharp cryptic lemon sauce… sautéed in the heart of a careless moment… served, then scraped aside for tastier morsels…

Silence… oh you golden idol grasped after the fact… the reaching hand touches thee only in reflection of the ought to have done… that this Midas touch turns the flowing wine into remorse… cursed that e’er did words of times passed by… polluted deeds of abandoned youth e’er did cross these lips into those pearled ears… would that I could make lies of what was once the truth.

Monday, December 1, 2008

more Autumn Frosts

I am never quite certain why this happens, but I set out to write a set of different poems and this thought of Autumn Frosts seems to emerge. It is not that the verse is unwelcome, nor that there is not potential with a lot of work to make something of them, but there are times when I wish to write about the desert, the sirocco, and the smiling faces waiting at the oasis… and still the subtundra calls out and beckons… so another Autumn Frost poem…

the leaning grains of wheat dance swiftly
tumbling in burnt power upon the prairie winds
bowing determinedly in satisfaction
whilst silvery winter paints happily to the heavens
autumn life moves with honour
the sun now paints cool magenta patchwork
the horizon wide in cracks
and glory pours throughout