Petrarch: "I live at war"

Fumble, bumble,err and stray--
old men laugh your hyenas off--
for who has never lived at war
with some young love's apartment
door?

Diet

Pick apart your rainbow,
shoot all your singing birds;
resurrect the boiled potatoes,
serve with carrots, peas and
corn.

Scruffy scrub pine,
right on the timberline,
how does the rage blow?

Poetry is:

a this, a that,

a trunk full of lead

conveying the rhythm of dull feet

trying to dance.

Soon the tide turns the
looking glass where
triumph is effort that
swirls in, out,--just
suds in our big washing
machine--where two is never
a group--not even a pair--
never canaries or silently
barking dogs just real,reality--like
shoot them all and let God sort them.
Out.

The gentle snores of mountains

with their not so gentle snow

awake the bear in me, the one

always looking for breakfast.

The whisper that someone
is right and someone else is wrong
scratches my window.....

Across the bed room,

the orange numerals click

time is the mountain

From the Dalai Lama again

resting on the thought

that my enemies teach too

of light on the mountain

"The worst lies are the ones we tell ourselves"

(anonymous)

Paraphrasing Dr. Low : Temper (angry or fearful) is an effort to believe the deceit that, in any given situation, someone is right and someone is wrong

imaginary island

easy in the sun

rugged rugged palm tree

rugged rugged one

dim hallways

pull the sky in

the lamps sunrise

thru the open window

and I see.....

Government issue,

the roof top, the tap root,

the time--please give me

more time--

to get myself together and

together we'll come home to you.

Glimpses

Anxious whispers scratch

my window panes--they

hum my tiny fridge.

Hot dry air is killing my 

spider plant--I turn off the

heat and let in outside cold.

Times Square

Copper nights that

fish their pennies--

Broadway like a

trout stream...

Truly equal

to myself  the

padded

leather seats

accost the

disclosure that

Columbus didn't

discover me.

Cadillac, wear our

seat belts. And pray.

Still With the Dalai Lama

ripples change

the moonlight

as we nightly sail

Thinking of T.S. Eliot

Let us go

let us hunger

between the skies

and share a meal or two

with a sip of life for me

and a sip of life for you.

Reading the Dalai Lama

Etch the lingering doubts

on compassion's door

open

the banner's there 

and it's carried...

Biking

Winter rain,

moving the petals

like reaching for pedals

exercises the flowers

red, yellow,blue.

Pun Fun

The paws

of these moments

that run after daylight

without ever leaving scratch marks

or fur

Unopened words in

their hard tins

as we take this voyage

on snow mountain

rucksacks on our backs

Moments soar along
crooked lanes when,
among the dumpsters,
roses bloom

Slippery feet has this night--
the tiger sleeps by the empty stairs--
the wind blows from the sea--
and the stench of the tiger abates--
as does the stench of me.

To go this together
with our old drum
the one that remembers
I once drummed alone
with you......

Chimes (to Nicole)

While we float side by side
and when the moon arrives
and the glass is fragile
we still clap and sing.

Swaying box cars
slow down your pace--
the sky is almost lightning

Clouds fly by
clean as old bones
and words fly by
baggy as old trousers
and the scarecrow sags
as do my lion dreams

sailing ships, sailing dreams
as I walk along the levee
near the moored tankers.