Thursday, December 31, 2015

i have a silly song
humming it to myself
or to those who listen

kind to be good
and good to be kind
right now never ever better

no to no
yes to today
the day before and next do not exist

i planned
hundreds of things
a thousand stories or more

just me
\getting drunk

Poem - ordered minds / bearing down / or bowing

you go
i read about
st joseph of cupertino
flying and floating
in holy view

rigorously punished
by his superiors

then i read
basil of moscow
naked in
all seasons
shaming ivan
the terrible

brutality of
by idiocy
through madness

ordered minds
bearing down

or bowing


New Years Eve

Wednesday, December 30, 2015

Poem - there isn't enough at all / if i make it so

there isn't enough at all
if i make it so
i can believe it is impossible
and make it true
chase it right out of the room
or out of my life

what is the best advice
i'd give another -- even
to a fond friend?

it will all be alright
if you step back and let it be

be ready to catch
if your turn comes

then pass it on
any joy you feel

without delay
or a second thought


Wednesday, December 16, 2015

Poem - under the branches of a secret oak tree / on the top of a mountain

under the branches of a secret oak tree
on the top of a mountain

you watch as a storm develops
your hands scratched a bit

from climbing up the rocks
with your bottle and book of poems

the poem book fell
but you kept the bottle tight in hand

a warm consolation
you button up your coat

the wind increases
you hear the book feathering pages

until the rain spatters
matting the paper down

you drink from the bottle
wonder what it is like

to be stuck by a lightening bolt
under a tree in a storm

or what it is like to be hung
like judas betrayer of christ

the climb down is dark
wet cold and muddy

when you sit in the truck
see your face in the mirror

you look like you don't know
anything at all


Monday, December 14, 2015

Poem - i have seen two people see the same moon / rise through the night sky

i have seen two people see the same moon
rise through the night sky

they were together but in separate places
in inches years from each other

or possibly closer and closer
my car continue i see the moon too

in seconds two strangers lead
full lives in my mind and heart

how can the mind move so fast
i wonder in reality if they are closer now
or farther


PCH / Main Beach
Laguna Beach
December 2015

Friday, December 11, 2015

Poem - Charles Vance Millar

irresistibly i see him
balancing one or ten dollar bills

on the ledges of his windows
during a crisp fall day

so the wind would blow any bills
randomly into the street

stories below and
he's notice when it happened

take out a pair of binoculars
and observe who got random cash

laughing dryly
wishing he had a string

to jerk the money
out of the hands of the greediest


for Charles Vance Millar

Poem - memory fails when there is too much / memory

memory fails when there is too much

one thing coming after the other recollections

like tracers or explosions so frequent to

outwardly all appearances become like

shaped like people and things but none

thinking goes higher until it

into a blinding scalding


Poem - The Picture of a Chair

A chair that has had too much sitting
the paint flaking off

in a police station
at the end of the world

one winter day
when the light fell to the floor

cement and tile
co-mingling as they fall apart

two choices
boot in the mouth

manacles on floor
of cold dark room 3 days

or sign statement
in language you can't read

you are not
a tourist or photographer

they say you are a spy
or a saboteur

who gives a shit here

a small man
with manicured nails

and a very
shiny suit strong cologne

is high
as God here

you refuse
they laugh

all in good fun

they bundle you
into a van take you

on a mountain pass

near the border
in your socks

a sim card
is still in your mouth

a bit

you recall later

the last picture
you had taken

of a chair that has had too much sitting
the paint flaking off


Monday, December 07, 2015

Poem - but you are a saint

unwashed scoundrel

you the most unliked person
in all the world and
everyone loves you

how is that so
how many rivers did you cross
or prayers did you say

did you cross alps
on your knees with only
pants and a switchblade like i would

i am a ruffian

oh world
you hated by most
are wept over holy bones myrrh

you owed me money

but you are a saint
debts out of circulation
i bow to your shrine and steal

your toe bone


Poem - sea money in my palm

"Am I walking into eternity along Sandymount strand? Crush, crack, crick, crick. Wild sea money. Dominie Deasy kens them a'."

James Joyce

sea money in my palm
a prayer
to god who i don’t understand
here i am
with sand in my pockets

my day
may it be rescued from me
let it be
saved from all my ideas
then i know
things will turn out well

then i admire
blue sky
with the ships pointed this way
or that
sea money in my palm


Sunset Beach

Friday, December 04, 2015

Poem - there is a line / of ships on the horizon

there is a line
of ships on the horizon

i do not know
where they are bound

nor do i know
what cargo they carry

they could be
empty or full under sail

when i see them
i feel full of hope of life

they symbolize you
me and everyone else

all have something
undertaking a voyage

like the boats i see
destination unknown

i believe when we arrive
we'll know harbor

and be grateful
for such a journey


for Emily

Poem - freighters / bound


for where
i do not know

they leave
on a cloudy day

ahead of
a storm

while i
find sea money

cap tops
and wood

some from
a tsunami

half a
world away

laid out

the horizon
1 2 3

to run


then go

as the sky

and waves


Sunset Beach

Thursday, December 03, 2015

Poem - your own voice

the highest mountain
is in the mind
there is no peak taller
no finer edge to traverse
to a summit that readily
will raise itself
as you attain it

like looking for the devil
as you go you will find
the devil looks like you
because he is the one
you want

they tell tales of phantom ships
seen on the horizon or
bearing down out of night

peak devil or transport
all fade if you discard them
or any idea of their virtues

nightmares robbed of sympathy
become murmurs

murmuring turns
to a soft hum

your own voice


2015 December

Wednesday, December 02, 2015

Poem - then all other things will follow

your phone is like a wall
i will never get over it
a device not for communion
but for denial and self reflection

i accept this and i hate my own phone
supposedly designed to connect me
it has separated and alienated
i must be the bad one

i remind myself to be the superior man
then all other things will follow
weak men of character encourage themselves
saying terse things quietly



Tuesday, December 01, 2015

Poem - a moon rises and we both admire it

time robs me of all my illusions
there is no happy ending

but then i disagree with myself
there is always a happy way

i set up automatic alerts to protect
from fraud and theft
my card is safe

the suitcase is light as a feather
for the homeless teen who
lifts it from my car

i am the broken window in the back
the glass on the seat and regret
there wasn't more

the robber and i are connected
by the promise of a sweet evening

a moon rises and we both admire it
he is happy in his way and i mine

inside we both have possibilities
beyond all conceptions


San Francisco
Diamond Heights

Poem - hemingway said take as much

hemingway said take as much
away as you can and what is left
you may have written something
that is true but try as i might
there is a field at dawn and
i am not your type but who is


Saturday, November 28, 2015

Poem - we took your yard from you

we took your yard from you
the one you liked to dig in
and tout trucks with loads
back and forth back and forth
from one imaginary work-site
to the other ones

i found out later
the neighbors looked at the marks
on the slats of the fence
where you stood to greet them
as they came and they went
you were gone for good
now on an opposite coast
they said they missed seeing you
missed you every day

when i knew this
all the time i hated them
was reformed and i felt
a double great loss for
your beautiful innocence
and my dark stupidity

since then i have resolved
to err on the sunny side of the mind
and we play all the time
in the park


For Daniel

Thursday, November 26, 2015

Poem: just a poem / can save the world / one line at a time

dreamers all
undependable dreamers
a poet male or female

some worked by gas light and had ink
other with just a pencil by moonlight
some had no paper no pen and no light
they wrote and remembered it
they spoke it in code or
they told the work as they were burned
in jail buried alive
in the madhouse forever
left on the island of poverty
unpardonable all of them

walking down the street
you saw them and hated them
wished them erased
disgusting and unemployable
not of any use

until you fell in love
with someone
or needed a reason to hope
couldn't understand or take it
not even for one more monument

a scrap of verse
who would know
a few trailing lines

just a poem
can save the world
one line at a time


Poem: a senseless book / of unrequited love / from victorian times

.. after 'Flights of Fancy, or Imaginary Scraps'
   by Charles Carrick

a tormented book
of unrequited love
from victorian times

i halt at it because
this could be me even now
doing work after work

creating a private world
as broken and limited
as the real world

a reality that can be
a prison of my own creation
inwardly expressed

or outwardly proclaimed
displaying a lack of faith
or a flaw in courage


create and have hope
spring from your sadness
or doubts mature into truth

that in turn invalidates more doubt

through rigorous action


but how i would enjoy
the attempt to loaf and bluff
say this too shall pass

how i would like
to linger with blots and stamps
late at night flickering flames

behold a sweet moon

and weep my heart out


Napa, 2015

Thursday, November 19, 2015

Poem - The Hunters in the Snow, 1565 - a painting by Pieter Bruegel the Elder

looking at it
was all i wanted

the frozen countryside
on a muted winter afternoon
the color light grey and blue
the rest white

paths between
frozen ponds

black silent trees

and a fire
outside the inn where they
roasted chestnuts

i wonder
about the heft
of the spear and
how cold your feet get

what the
overcoat feels like
and above all

sigh of
a swaying
half-broken inn



The Hunters in the Snow, 1565
a painting by Pieter Bruegel the Elder

Wednesday, November 18, 2015

Poem - the invisible library / exists in the sky

the invisible library
exists in the sky
read night or day
in every cloud

morality tale
or parable by the face
of the moon

exaltation mantra
or psalms from
the sun

star koans

blissful endings
in every deep blue
dawn or dusk


Tuesday, November 17, 2015

Poem - but tonight

i saw buddha
in a dream
only his eye fit in the room

he looked over
the top of the wall
and said a few things

naturally i can't
remember what it was
but it was good advice

awake i keep
looking at the section
of ceiling his eye appeared

but tonight
i will dream of a boat
or a fish or a squirrel


Friday, November 06, 2015

Poem - A Poem to Tu Fu

he walked down to the river
saw blossoms in the water
wrote it as a conundrum of color
riot hinting at life and death and sex

my river here is a ditch
it looks ugly at low tide
the stuff i see is trash
cars groan down the road

i remember another river
in a wooded valley steep
where nothing bad happened
and i was happy

knowing that the river
in the valley has not changed
or i am here still looking
at a muddy bank i'm grateful

i can go up north to see my river
with any blossoms that fall
or i imagine
signifying everything


Tu Fu

Poem - Joy is Life Itself

eventually there will be none of you or me left
even a stone or a monument will be swept away to make room

the sentient being who has to do this job will be pissed
of who the fuck put this gross old shit in the way here

so i'd advise you to be sleek clear and clean
and whatever you try to emboss on the world

let it be useful for shade or comfort of some sort
it may stay of it makes a laugh because joy is life itself


Poem - my writing is only as good / as my friends

my writing is only as good
as my friends

those who inspired
even through sadness

some of my finest ones
others i can't learn from yet

i hope someday i will
thank you

in the meantime
on goes the day

all hopes too
like magic


Monday, November 02, 2015

Poem - even have a smile when / it is getting dark

i remember

there was nothing of the braggart in him
nor was he foolhardy or oblivious to danger
a friend who truly had no fear whatsoever
towards fellow man or at least

he was not compelled to do anything
as a reaction to his fear
he was a keen observer of people
was interested in all the varieties and
how we all felt and thought

he was ugly and his eyes were bright
he had long fingers and he kept his nails long
for playing the guitar he walked as if running
he never stopped smiling a stupid smile
and beautiful women loved him dearly

gorgeous women wanted to be around him
because he was so ugly and smart and he never
took anything from them and he gave them
happiness and made sense from
what they confided in him

selfishly i hardly learned anything
but i did gain a great desire to be fearless
to tell the truth and to listen to beautiful women
because of him i believe in art

still i learned very little from him
but the desire to be with the truth is burned into me
it haunts me i am compelled to be like a bad copy
or bloodless shadow to him who is now gone

he rests

i must carry some of this way on
make life more than just a span of time
to never leave a room in disagreement

walk a city as one yet never alone
even have courage when
it is getting dark


For Rubin
Second day after November 2015
Huntington beach

Wednesday, October 28, 2015

Poem - who choose the / wrong trail again and again (but those who see / do not give up)

in denial i measure time
by how my desires for others arise then fail

a pitiful kind of cosmology
for one who lives in self examination

occasionally i gain consciousness
see how this game is played in my mind

i realize why they say
the best time to pray or act with devotion

is when it is totally hopeless
and such acts seem to matter not

because my ordinary mind
is full of ordinary thoughts

true awareness' view
is anything than ordinary

they speak of beings
whose enlightened gaze even into hell

can recognize and aid
if comprehended or asked

i'm like a million
other wayward fools

who choose the
wrong trail again and again

but those who see
do not give up

they are like light


om tare to soha

Tuesday, October 27, 2015

Poem - it is on the small things we do

it is on the small things we do
or in the ordinary seeming

that happiness is ready
to spring forth and surprise

because the joy in all things
is never far away

delight is the light
behind every star

if you see anything
that is God


Oct 2015

Saturday, October 24, 2015

Poem - the pond / is frozen

the stone won't sink
or go in the pond
is frozen

last week it could
through just a crackle
of ice

everything is tan
blonde or brown even
the earth

except things
highlighted by frost

the sun seems
like an old man or

peeking out a window
you can feel a ray
and then gone


Poem - brighter or darker

if you look up
the tree branches are bare
they wave in the sky

against this
the ducks and geese fly
you feel winter coming

bonds between people
home get tighter as
the chill commences

each lived in place
so familiar becomes
brighter or darker


Oak Park

Monday, October 19, 2015

Poem - the street psychic can cleanse your soul

the street psychic can cleanse your soul
for ten bucks or sell you a joint
if you want real help you can call
this number and ask for brittany

how long will you be in new york
and where are you staying not times square
midtown mahattan for you or near
bowling green by the battery

people like you are used and use new york
so who is the victim not him or you
we're like bumper-cars and cony island
and he thrusts his pelvis at your face


Poem - and i have gained by you going

i had no idea
of your dishonesty

and when you betrayed me
for another

i waited after you left
for what i do not know

i waited to see
the moon rise with a star

bright in night blue sky
to show me some new things

arising out of darkness
they are brilliant

beyond the sad whiles and plans
of those who are cowards and even me

so as the moon rose
i knew more would come to me

you have taken nothing
and i have gained by you going


Thursday, October 15, 2015

Poem - i keep reading / i read about language

i keep reading
i read about language

i read about
writing experimentation
in canaan in 2000 BC

i am told M
represents water
drawn from the depths

a S
is a snake or serpent
who endlessly devours
its own tail

how Romans
were slow to
adapt Latin inscriptions

how it could be
corrupted Phoenician
or some other untraceable
Indo-European script


my mind travels
through different






each with a history
all with a struggle
all attempting
to capture

a loving thought
or a judgement of death

sheep owed
lost n found

lies jokes and
exquisite stories

scratches of lines

lives lost and saved

Wednesday, October 14, 2015

I did not believe him, I've heard lots of tinfoil hat schemes.

He was convinced that black self-driving trucks trolled the neighborhoods at night, their payload a concealed quantum broadcaster that influenced the thoughts of sleeping people.  In the morning everyone would have an overpowering urge to have a Pepsi -- or report any suspicious activity of their neighbors.

I did not believe him, I've heard lots of tinfoil hat schemes.

But when I lived in Quail Meadow, I had a neighbor woman who was completely out of her mind, she said that the government and local authorities were spying on her through her TV, computer, and light-bulbs -- I didn't believe her for a second.

It turned out the NSA was spying on most people in the United States any way they could.

Being in a surveillance state, a state with secret security laws, subtiley corrupts the mind -- I don't know what to think anymore. The shadow government has no idea either. I decide to start collecting old national geographics. I want to read about the past, have a gauge about what came before, as we shut down our libraries, discard the books, electronic document and history online becomes authoritative, and can be rewritten at any time.

Then I go back in my mind the 1880s and try to live there, before our data profiles could be pinned by a metadata needle to a state like a butterfly to a collection card.


October 2018

Wednesday, October 07, 2015

Poem - i dream you are nearby

i dream you are nearby
and i can save you
it is not too late
i call your phone
i am surprised to hear
it ring in a pile of rags
abandoned or lost
in the shack i am
standing in


Monday, October 05, 2015

Poem - but you never forget how it feels

while waiting
on hold

a song says
we get
run down
by dreams

other music
some day
you'll know
you are
to be

and to be
ready to
move on

all like
fragments zen
speckled with

with such

as a play-dough
of desire

or mind
making shadows
light and wall
and silhouettes

but you
forget how
it feels

Poem - Perhaps

he is alone
on the beach
with a selfie-stick
going through the motions
digging in the sand
frolicking in the waves
sending pictures perhaps
to a woman far away

in halting
pantomime he moves
pacing out and redoing
one shot or another
getting the splat of a wave
against him how fun
how refreshing it is
see you soon

the choreography
becomes painful
the sun is hot for his dog
so he decides he has enough
with the phantom beguilement
he has spun
walks up the cliff
limping just a bit

when he is gone
i don’t know
if i should be angry
amused or afraid
the sun is the same
and so are the waves
his staggering dance
just holes in the sand


Friday, October 02, 2015

Poem - to break free of time through architecture (we arrive and depart unexpectedly)

we were beautiful and lived in the future
but the past caught up with us
like with everyone else who tries
to break free of time through architecture

because death is in every straight line
invested in every curve and plane
only apparent when time takes its toll
on the euclidean environments we erect

there is no rampart real or imaginary
bubble however perfect that will exclude
the gradual corrosion then final rush
into dissolution of all sensation and feeling

walls are like bookends and inside
the contents of life a story is bedded
any number of people are there to be seen
to grow up live love and die

who is watching and seeing some say God
others say the abyss no sight
the spaces heroically go up then decay
we arrive and depart unexpectedly

when we are not here there is a hush

like in a dream you might come back
look and say yes here was my table and chair
there was my window with the view
the moon or star rose and i was enthralled


Monday, September 28, 2015

Going Back to The Tomb of the HMO

I think, if a tomb is designed right, people will come by and see it and be your friend -- even though they never met you.

I go to the cemetery where there is a tomb that looks like a small office building. The guy who built it was the in business of HMOs. He perfected the concept, promoted it, was joyful in it. His tomb is made of grey marble, and there is a glass door to a small office, with two chairs and a television hooked to a DVD player. It looks like there has been no presentation for a long time. There are a few signed art prints on the wall, under glass, done in a tasteful LA style from the late 1990s, they are very expensive. Opposite the office there is a glass wall and a marble room with two stone covered protrusions that remind me of boobs or a pair of photon torpedo tubes from a science fiction movie.

This is where the caskets are implied -- one end of the casket, hanging about a foot and a half over a slate colored stone floor for all eternity. The other 75% of the casket is set into a slanting wall. I wonder if it is their feet or their heads, poking out of the wall. Part of me says 'feet' and the other part of me says 'heads'. No way of knowing, unless you want to get in there and crack open those torpedo tubes of eternity to see.

Everytime I see the tomb, I always leave feeling Death and Business are spectacular. When you combine the two realities in a tomb, I feel so morbid, I am amazed. I look at the architecture, and I want to work there, and cry at the same time. I am like a ghoul with a resume. I see my own death in a very nice silver suit, made in Italy. And I look good. That is what has got me coming back to The Tomb of the HMO.

The view is pretty good too -- you can see Catalina Island on a clear day.


Pacific View Cemetery
Newport Beach, CA

Saturday, September 26, 2015

Poem - 3 AM

there is nobody here
but us and the freeway

the diner never closes
the flies never sleep

no local food no sleep
tables being disintegrated
one meal at a time

we've got to get to LA
or vegas right away
like you'll die trying

but which town
should we go to

we flip a coin


Poem - tooto hytho aliang trumo

to hide what i meant
i wrote in code

i wrote of love
i wrote of insecurities

this was a year or so ago
i have lost the key

all i have is the cryptography
and no meaning

the notes saying like

queto meego beeto tryug
sheddo skapso filgo eum

hyrida zeeto soggum palo
eenugo ummins chan so fa


tooto hytho aliang trumo
saang whythe erago turmpin

meeps frang tragral solom
baatch egrim tentro glama

i keep the papers
and someday i might make sense

of why i had to hide
me from anything


Poem - ( i take the picture anyways )

i can't take 'a selfie'
because when i see myself

i immediately suspect my own face
as that of a character

a criminal or suspect
not of anything heinous

but yet complacent of
abetting the most stupid of things

capable of threadbare excuses
and yawning laziness

transmitted through

(i take the picture

Poem - let me make you / something / to eat

when a child cries
in the middle of the night
i get up first
this is how i am

cooking and washing dishes
doing the laundry
a kind of monster
i suppose

what happens when men
become gracious or helpful
the whole world
could end

or when women
no longer have to figure
a way out so as
not to impose
nor be a slave


but back to now
are you hungry or tired

let me make you
to eat


Tuesday, September 22, 2015

Sir Francis Drake and the Spanish Galleon Chorizo

In Bodega Bay, on a bright summer morning, I take my son Danny treasure hunting. Along the way I am able to teach him a few things.

1) Treasure can be ANYWHERE, you never know where it might by laying, and how!

2) Pirates were hiding treasure all over the place because of leaky boats and navigational errors in the swashbuckling days before GPS and iPhones.

3) When treasure hunting for buccaneer spoils, you must shout “AH HA!” and point dramatically from time to time. This is to keep all treasure hunters on their toes, and show places that could be significant — like a clue.

With these things explained, we are well underway, going down the road to the beach. Neat vacation houses give way to breezy vistas, hills going gently down where you can see Bodega Bay and the water glittering in the sun.

“Dad, what is sawshuckling?” asks Danny.

“Swashbuckling? That is a fancy word for dancing — pirates love to dance like maniacs before they attack.” I tell him, and I show him a few of their moves.

“It looks like karate.”

“Sure — Pirate Karate!”

We are passing the last part of the golf couse before we start on the trail down the bluffs.

“AH HA!” I shout and pick up a rock.

“What is it!”

“This rock is exactly the size and shape of the Star of Peru!”

“It is?”

“The Star of Peru is a fabulous diamond that drove sultans and emperors mad!”

“It is?”

“Of course! Didn’t you know Sir Francis Drake came here — he had three captured Spanish galleons groaning with treasure raided from the Spanish Empire? One was the galleon Chorizo — it was leaky and damaged from a storm Sir Francis Drake weathered, escaping from the Spanish warships sent from Cuba to intercept him.”

“He did?”

“Yes! Sir Francis Drake made landfall, and decided to unload the leaking Chorizo and bury silver plate and pieces of eight, gems and silk and pirate gold, somewhere around the beach and bluffs!”


“And it has lain here waiting to be found, because Sir Francis Drake never returned!”

“AH HA!” shouts Danny.

“You bet! Keep your eyes open!”

We walk on the beach, drag seaweed on the sand and climb rocks. Danny finds a great stick that is a sword. Dogs run by, we explore tide pools.

“We must be getting close!” I yell.

“How do you know, Dad?”

“We are treasure hunting! When you are treasure hunting, you have hunches. I can feel it!”

AH HA! In a remote section of the beach, we find a cave, blackened by smoke from campfires. It is just big enough for a few people to sit in it. Danny and I see how far it goes back — back far enough where you have to crawl, and have a flashlight. We sit inside the cave, and look out.

“Do you think Sir Francis Drake found this cave?” ask Danny, very seriously.

“Of course he did.” I say. “But he didn’t bury the treasure here.”


“This cave too small!”

We exit the cave and I tell Danny about the adventures of Sir Francis Drake, and how he circumnavigated the globe. After building a sand castle, we get hungry and decide to go back to the house.

“Did you have fun looking for treasure?” I ask Danny.

“AH HA!” shouts Danny.

On the first day of third grade, Danny brought the rock we found that is just like the Star of Peru, and shared what he did during summer vacation. Now his classmates are interested in searching for pirate treasure in Corona Del Mar.

Because when you are looking for treasure, you can find it just about anywhere.

Friday, September 18, 2015

Poem - years ago / you were flying away from me / in a toy spaceship

years ago
you were flying away from me
in a toy spaceship

the ride
we all had one
it would turn us in circles

you were in front

time goes
and you go too
still flying away from me

and time
reminds me of being
like a toy spaceship

each body
going around and around
some go before others after

it is all we can do

free will as real as the
illusion the rockets fly

but then i don't know

  time goes
  and you go too
  still flying away from me


I Put Band-Aids Over My Eyes Today

I put band-aids over my eyelids today. They are very comfortable. I listen to Johnny Cash sing a song that goes "As long as the grass shall grow..." The backup singers are very lyrical. He's singing about something horrible, betrayal, but the backup singers sound cheerful.


Sept 2015

Thursday, September 17, 2015

Poem - the opposite of faith / is not fear

the opposite for faith
is not fear

it is faithlessness
and we do not have it

cast into a human shape
the form is faith

you can heave great doubt
or fear and still have faith

in fact there is a thing
called 'holy doubt'

it prods me to know
my faith

to discard superstitious
or magical thinking

to find the higher power
as i evolve

because as i revolutionize
the higher power does too

and i must keep re-
finding it

any static god
is not god

i follow what has
barely been touched
by books

i have found it
through action

it is experienced
right now absolutely

beyond suffering

and aware


Tuesday, September 15, 2015

Poem - how i wish i could remember / we don't always need to know

i dream of perfect worlds
where there is no sin nor fall from grace
i wake up and they dissolve

how i wish i could hold onto them
but i am conscious now
of how we can create a billion things

i hear myself praying in the dark
dedicating my life and everything too
because i am alive and day is starting



Monday, September 14, 2015

Poem - by the same old liar

i wondered about it
then i didn't wonder about it

not thinking was not an answer
it just happened

like noticing particles of dust
in a sunbeam

or realizing you just woke up
to reality

a break from the customary
conversation of moods

now inner babble shown as
false predictions of some future

by the same old liar


Poem - i don't mark time

i don't mark time
if i exhaust the horror
of possibly dying

i don't get by
if i can really let go

i can be here forever
if i stay centered
in the moment

i will have no fear
if i buff off my own

clarity is its own



Poem - it hurts

they are gone there are no tears
only a dislocation
or something painful

fear or despair

just like that in the heart that loved
so smoothly and
automatically before

it hurts



Thursday, September 10, 2015

006. Playing the Anachronistic Social Game with the Director

The Director is here, smiling, nodding.

"Hello men!"

"Hello there."

We wait.

The director looks at the dogeared papers, the battered books, the map, the small lead figures, the small rocks we are using to keep everything from blowing away. "And what are you men doing today here?"

"We are playing a game."


"Yes, a game from our youth."


We wait.

"And how is it? How is it done?" asks the Director, blissfully unaware.

“It is a game based of social interactions while playing a persona in an anachronistic period of time, related somewhat to the Middle of the 1200s AD.”

“Oh! Using papers.”


"And those small things?"

"Metal figures on a map simulation."

"And those things?"


"Manual random number generators!" yells Terry, starting the Director. Nick shushes at him.

"How intriguing!"

We sit there for minute, but he does not leave. I see Terry is wanting to say something, possibly explode into profanity, but he does not. 

“Everyone has their own unique persona, based off a series of statistics.” 

“Interesting! In the interest of the community, for understanding, to be connected, I shall participate." the Director sits down.

He remains, smiling, utterly content. Terry is holding back profanity, his face a bit purple. 

“Then .... I will assign you a persona!" I shuffle papers. "You will be playing a rouge”

“Oh! How fascinating. What is a “rouge”?”

Nick sighs and looks at the sky.

“A rouge is – never mind.” I look though the old papers. “You will be playing a priest.”


“Yes a religious authority. Someone who dispenses a religion.”


“Isn’t it!”

"Can I be a monotheist? A monotheistic Priest?

"Absolutely. So now you are in the wilderness.”

"Wait!" says Terry. "I think he has to be a pagan priest."

"Aw." says the Director.

"OK -- we are in the WILDERNESS!" I shout. 

“And why are we there?” 

“You are part of a party of several adventurers who have traveled many weeks to get to this place.” growls Terry.

“And why are we here?”

“Rumored nearby is a magnificent tomb, filled with treasure, and also peril.”

“And why are we here, exactly?”

“To find the treasure.”

“And whose treasure is this, lawfully?” he gets very serious. 

“Nobodies! I mean, the person who this treasure is, is dead. And their family is dead. And the local municipality and governing authorities in the area immediate and adjacent have no interest in it. It is not part of the meta economy, nor the macro algorithmic projections for the “good of all”.”

“So strange!” 

“It is a game.”


“So shall we continue?”

He rubs his hand together, “Please do! I think I am getting the Nag of this.”


“Getting the Nag, yes.”

“You mean getting the HANG of this. Anyways, your party breaks camp and proceeds down the valley.” I pretend to roll a dice behind the screen.  “There you encounter five brigands.”


“Socially irresponsible young people who take things from others without permission.” Growls Nick. 


We sit there for a bit, the Director smiling, the sun shining.

“So now you choose to do something, to interact with them.”

“Well! I give them a – a --- a stern lecture!” 

I have never seen the Director so excited. He is beside himself, bouncing up and down just a bit, and he plants his elbows on the table. A few of the figures fall over, but he does not notice


The Director waves his arms in the air. “I lecture them to convince them of the harmfulness to themselves, and others, by using those actions that take things from others without permission! I tell them about the greater social good!”

Terry stares. Even Nick is taken aback. 

I pretend to roll a dice again.

“The brigands are moved by your oration and decide to give up their life of crime. They depart.”

I start packing up the board and game pieces. 

“Well, that’s it!”


“Oh, yes! You won.”

“Fastest we’ve ever seen!” says Terry. 

“All done! Thanks!”

The director gets up, still a bit giddy. “Well, I do have to say, that was very enjoyable.”

“Well done!”

“My, I will have to come back and play the anachronistic social game again some other time.”

“Aw shucks!” says Terry, turning purple. 

“Well, then, I will see you later.”

Off the Director goes, sufficed with goodwill and joy to all.

"It's like he just got banged really good for the first time in his life." says Nick.

We wait until he is out of sight. I take the map and the dice out again. 

"OK -- where were we?"

"Brigands" says Terry. "I take put my bow and fire two arrows."

"I cast "fireball" at the biggest brigand and back up between the two fighters."

"Men at arms advance." says Montesquieu. 

Rengszal Retirement Village
formerly Palo Alto, CA
August, 2055

Thursday, September 03, 2015

Poem - a floating card

a floating card
lit from above
with smoke curling below

behind pitch blackness

the card is the ace
of diamonds while in dreams
it means nothing and everything


you die
and your family
who knows no one here

swoop in and claim every bit of you

mementos they
rather not have they throw in the trash
or burn so it is all sealed




it has always been
this way


Tuesday, September 01, 2015

A Poem for Douglas

this was when i lived in a huge house
and you pretended to swallow your arm
as we sat on the patio at night
filming this was your new bride

your video face and shoulders lit brilliant
we had a fire nearby that i kept stoked
animated you are and happy even sly
won over totally by new love

i found the mini DV tape the other day
both of us are divorced and someone else
lives in that house with the pool
and the manicured backyard

i regret some things and not others
more is not seeing you for many years
and how we are friends now separated
and how delightful you were to your new wife


Sunday, August 23, 2015

Poem - when i first saw you in the room next door


when i first saw you in the room next door
i noticed you looked exactly like the picture i kept seeing of you

as you sat on the small bed i almost was afraid
you were a hologram or dream that would vanish if i made a noise

i wondered if someone was in there -- in you or me
if i was a hologram or a dream that would vanish if you made a noise

i wondered if i would look like a picture of me
if you kept seeing it over and over again in the next room


i gave you a small rock and said
it was a wish fulfilling jewel

a stone of pure dharmakaya
that though ordinary in appearance

was an expression of infinite
purity beyond all compare

you smiled

--- - --


for Bhakha Tulku Rinpoche

Sunday, August 09, 2015

Poem - in the room looking at you smiling

moving through the unavoidable tears
we end up at a party surrounded by wonderful balloons

the table is set and all we have to do is enjoy
not go down the back stairs to the sticky payphone
and ask to get picked up and dragged back into the night
that will never be knowable and ever end

thus i steady on the path
not cocky nor afraid but my eyes to here
in the room looking at you smiling


Monday, July 20, 2015

Poem - on a martian autumn day / we will play cards

on a martian autumn day
we will play cards

and see how the garden
is doing the trees

imitating the waves of
amber from earth

we will talk about
how the travel has changed us

being reborn through
the long dark journey

before us we look
into the belts of jupiter

we look to the next
star with where to go


Sunday, July 19, 2015

Poem - her name is kuntozangmo / the primeval mother

i met the source
of all time and space

her name is kuntozangmo
the primeval mother

she looked like pamela anderson

as she talked

her body would flow in and out
of her own mouth

she reclined on a nice couch
i sat by her

she smiled at me
with some fine wrinkles around her eyes

she showed me
how nothing external has any fixed characteristics

by demonstrating a host of objects
places and things dissolving and changing at great speed
in the sky above us like they were fireworks almost or splendid illusions

i said but people have fixed

she said no they don't
even people have no fixed characteristics

she smiled sweetly
and i felt better


for Jñana

Poem - how would i like it to be

we are not required to be kind
or be present to one another

there is no penalty
other than what i deny to you

will be scarcely
rendered to me when i ask

starvation is my curse
for not giving sustenance
when i had it

faithlessness is my lot
when i did not encourage
as others wavered

aimlessness is my path
when i decided to wait
on the way

inescapable fact
there was never a time
i could not give

it only takes effort
to love or hate

how would i like it to be


Wednesday, July 15, 2015

Poem - all i have to do / is to look for it

if my heart is as small
i will cry and i will lament

i will find things
causes and conditions

i have done this

i said i live in a ruin
or a joke or a void

i said tomorrow
will be a better day

when all true purity

is only in now
right now

i put my glasses on backwards
and decided i was broken

i did this to me

you have nothing
to do with it


i have the key
the solution

to leave misery

it is in my mind
it is in your
mind too

all i have to do
is to look for it

and not stop


for e

Tuesday, July 14, 2015

Poem - i need a frame for your picture

i need a frame for your picture
the portrait it is here on the blanket
that covers part of my desk
red and white stripes 
a rustic fabric
like the zen you wore 
when i met you and had no idea
anything could ever 
separate us


For Tesdrup Tharchin

Poem - i face the ocean always on the ocean's terms

i face the ocean always on the ocean's terms
the sea's mood is automatically mine

standing on the sand at lowest tide
before whole day has arisen

looking back the beach rises sharply

i can see just the tops of the houses
mansion and structures the sea will erase

there is no staying here how hard
or for how long you swear you'd like


Station 12
Sunset Beach
July 2015

Poem - by those liberated from fury

in deference if i meet you in a dream
i solemnly acknowledge you
awake i pretend i do not worry
or even think how precious you are

this is what i have been taught
by proper cowards

by those consumed by loss


change and the arising is constant
of a consciousness that challenges
the dread monotony of assumptions
where even selfish fear has no hold

this is what i have been taught
by proper teachers

by those liberated from fury


July 14 2015

Thursday, June 25, 2015

Poem - on the second floor of a rambling victorian house - this means we are family

i had a dream i was sleeping
on the second floor of a rambling victorian house
that was painted white inside with brown carpet

it was gracefully falling apart
due to age and use
the rooms were bright and bare
with the expected scrollwork and wood details
smothered under many layers of paint as to hint
on how crisp the lines of sleeping shells and pearls
and other rambunctious seagifts clustered around ceiling
say where a gas jet chandelier used to hang
yellow gaslight through frosted cups long gone

the dream beds were made of bread
that had just been baked so i poked a hole
in the center of the mattress to get comfortable
and I lay down under a comforter

I looked at the second floor of the house
which creaked from time to time
as the creatures that lived there moved about
half book and half salmon emanations
who had their own culture
and shiny supple sayings

as I thought this one came upstairs and saw me
did a double-take asked who i was
i said we were in a dream and i was part of it
so the creature exclaimed good, as odd as that is
this means we are family


Wednesday, June 24, 2015

Poem - i'm only angry if i think i'm someone

i'm only angry if i think i'm someone
who had something to be angry about
and it was happening for real
in a dream
and i was the center of attention in the dream
and whatever happened was important
like a prize of a hundred singing harmonica fish


for Eeek

Poem - i can sometimes watch people

i can sometimes watch people
moving to and fro
over the scenery like patterns
colorful and gliding along
or like leaves suspended in water
or even fish in a tank
or just quirky emanations
like sparks from a stone
or another mythic caesura


for Eeek

Tuesday, June 23, 2015

Poem - everything is full

everything is full
with no room
or just a bit of room
for anything new

but for a few things
please no more
of a day that is sad
or ideas of nobody

we don't need
space for end of
or gonna or was
never or could


Friday, June 19, 2015

Poem - they carved out / this place that we fly in and out of

the water mirrored the sky
indirectly it influenced every mood

when i cross the bridge
i look for the stumps of the landing

it is long gone
but it is where orange county began

back bay
keeps telling me the story

of spanish pirates
and the schooners of lumber

and farmers and banditos

the dying
cattle and zealots

they carved out
this place that we fly in and out of


Back Bay
Just Before Summer
Orange County CA

Monday, June 08, 2015

Poem - you get close / like a light (it plays / on my mind)

you get close
like a light

then recede
without touching anything

just like a
lost boat or plane

that decides
not to make landing

in darkness and doubt

nothing over certainty


it plays
on my mind



Friday, May 22, 2015

A Poem for Ruben: or cry much over this but i have

“And one by one the nights between our separated cities are joined to the night that unites us.”
― Pablo Neruda

i never expected to find out you were dead
i expected to hear you were a christian pastor
who played rock n roll in his own church
in tie dye and hippy graciousness


i expected you to be old and have 15 grand kids
27 great grand kids while you never slowed down
with a guitar in one hand and a book in the other

long snow white hair and bald on top
knowing cezanne, miro, randy rhoads, and queen


would always be here as long as i was
not here in the rooms i occupy but spicing up life
for those around you who were lucky enough to know you


i saw your last picture you had that same smile
and a fire in your eyes like it would never end
the world and the universe and all of us in it too


there is no end nor beginning nor middle nor
any point whatsoever as one turns towards omega point
and we will all be united past all cares


knowing all this i miss you dearly
our time is so short so fleeting
you would forbid me to be angry

or cry much over this but i have
the final gift in memory now a smile


For Ruben Lovato, Jr.

Poem - i had a dream about being high up on a terrace

i had a dream about being high up on a terrace
looking over a long blue plain
where the clouds scattered over it
like they did in barbados
over the sugarcane feilds

you were not there but everywhere
in the sky and in the chair
and the table i looked over
in the dream lunch remains
i had eaten

then i forgot you existed
and kept looking at the clouds
how they sent shadows down
the darkness wedded
with the light green
on the earth


Monday, May 18, 2015

Poem - he put a poem on twitter

he put a poem on twitter
it ran away like a little animal
and had fun


Thursday, May 14, 2015

Poem - in little gilded cages

i was very excited to read they were making
small suns out of onions

i looked a bit closer and it seems they are not
making small suns out of onions

but now i think why shouldn't we figure out how
so this next winter

everyone will have a few suns at home probably
in little gilded cages


Poem - and the grass has grown a mile high it seems

i had a dream
that suggested i be sanely useful in this life

like clear water is
for thirst or food for an empty stomach

but i am easily angered
or my attitude is completed baffling

on one hand i am generous
then a few seconds later i am irritable and selfish

then i realize
wrangling with any idea of attitude is unworkable

because attitude is a construct
working or not working with it is a construct

a construct is a construct
only by letting go can i let go of anything

then inevitably things are simpler
and the grass has grown a mile high it seems

 to Jñana

Wednesday, May 06, 2015

Come up with the concept of a higher principal that is powerful enough, more powerful than me -- and it is not spiritually deaf to me.

Wednesday, April 22, 2015

Poem - just out of sight

i wait for it to start raining
i write an email to someone

always something new to learn or do
every single day in this place

i heard an old man say this arising
it is like watching an airplane

some get farther and farther away
while some appear closer and closer

if you can't see the flight
it does not mean it is gone

like a ghost
it is just out of sight


Robert Holbrook Smith

Thursday, April 02, 2015

Poem - i make friends with crows

i make friends with crows
people say they are the bird of death
but we get along just fine

in the sunshine over snacks
they tell me jokes about the sky
i tell them jokes about what i think


Poem - getting ever higher and brighter and happier and faster and higher

i had everything and then my life started being destroyed by my success
but because it looked so good from the outside no one felt anything
as i began to crack my co-workers feigned indifference
and my opponents celebrated with a party

so i celebrated as well to outdo them
insane through laughing and the debts and highs
getting ever higher and brighter and happier and faster and higher
and we all were laughing and partying and excelling and being the 1%

i blacked out
i woke up in a graveyard

i broke the fixtures
in a hotel in las vegas

i drove a bently
into a river

my ca house
burned down


2 boxes



not understanding what i am seeing over the top of a wall
it could be palm trees but i don't know in what town
i am this and i don't know where i am
i have this coat and paper

they stole from me down there
took a book and a switchblade and note pad and pens
besides the oil stained creator by the dumpster on the corner
i have always been here i will always be here hello they stole from me



Wednesday, April 01, 2015

Poem - i heard about how you cry at night when you go to sleep

i heard about how you cry at night when you go to sleep
how it all catches up there in the dark

it amazes how lonely we all can feel when there are people
all around us who love and want to be loved
we deny them

i do not understand fully nor will i ever know
the inside of a sun or the tide of a new world
or even you

i am handed what i have to make more from nothing
and when i act in faith and courage
everything changed

to be human is to pine of impossible things at times
a preferred moment to never end

or an earthly love
be forever



Dream of Laser Vsion

I had a dream where I had laser vision. At will, I could shoot red hot beams from my eyes and wield almost anything together, instantly.

I found this ability to be incredibly useful, and I enjoyed offering to help people with it. I never though just how great it is to have the ability to fuse metal with your eyes. I was all over the town, being of service -- fixing cracked lamp-posts, unlocking broken doors, rescuing trapped motorists, thwarting crimes, or opening jammed time-lock safes.

But then in the dream I decided to live a life of crime, because of my super-power, and I ended up stealing large public sculptures. When I became a villain, I also gained super strength, and I met this pretty girl who had super strength too.

We joined forces and ravaged the city, both of us ridiculously strong & in love, with my melting vision, and no one could stop us.



Friday, March 27, 2015

Poem - here i'll distract you with a poem that is hopeful

here i'll distract you with a poem that is hopeful
look out the window do you see that bird

what a nice nest she has with chicks that she feeds
you can see how happy they are and so is she

is it not wonderful that in the heart of this world
new life is always barging in as soon as some goes out

all i need to do is look around with a steady gaze
and not hold on too tight when the day starts or ends



Poem - memorization is the calisthenics of the mind

then i saw your boyfriend
or someone who acted like it
and i drove home and started a new painting

even bigger than the last one
to keep me occupied and not thinking
about anything

and i started memorizing
the midnight ride of paul revere by longfellow
because memorization is the calisthenics of the mind

because my mind must be lazy
for me to feel this way

my activity is selfish and
infected with bad motives

or middle age is a desert i cross
and after this is fucking death


Wednesday, March 25, 2015

How to Climb a Rainbow

If you're going to climb a rainbow, you need feather shoes. I prefer goose down shoes -- but any small feathers made into shoes will do.

Ideally look for the cool kind of rainbow that happens as early in the morning. Without any residual heat or glare from a whole day interfering with your climb, it should be simple to go up the side.

Handle the rainbow carefully, don't crimp or put dents in it as you go, or you could get lightening or scattering that makes the rainbow go away.

You can stop at the top, enjoy the view, then slide down either side.

I heard that some folks ride the top of the rainbow as it moves through the sky. I have not tried that yet, because I need to get more confident in my climbing technique and having that feeling on how long the rainbow will be around.

3 25

Tuesday, March 24, 2015

Poem - i wrote anotehr poem'a the end of march

i wrote anotehr poem'a the end of march
typed wrong
i didn't fix it

i keep reading joyce's ulysses
slowly and as i go
i start to comprehense

and i am shocked how easily
deadilus gave up the key
amd two pence


M 24

Monday, March 02, 2015

Poem - i am the oldest clown in peru / not him

i am the oldest clown in peru
not him

he is a liar
never even attended clown school


Poem - nothing vanishes in to thin air

nothing vanishes in to thin air
whatever it was is still before us
in plain sights

for whatever reason
we simply refuse to see it


Wednesday, February 25, 2015

Poem - i have been out with the stars

i have been out with the stars
and i ate with them

they told me we are small

that talk so much


poem - time halted and became one / i saw william blake at the window

tranquilly we relit the stars
and they burned brighter than before
seized by our imagination

passing between one or the other
as if in a field full of flowers
bejeweled in feeback of ions

time halted and became one
from the womb of space
i saw william blake at the window


Tuesday, February 17, 2015

Poem - i would think about all the moody things i thought

i would think about all the moody things i thought
then go through old juvenilia until i started throwing it away

because i'm no rimbaud or later even a wallace stevens
and so here i am throwing away all these lines

loosed full of hope on a page when life was a big unknown
and now consigned to ashes in a box labeled BURN

but the moon is a crescent over the bay tonight
and a fire down on the beach would be a prefect thing

i'll burn the old with the new and nothing else need to happen
the perfection of what is burned written or said

i can write it later and burn it again after this
even unevenness arises evenly in this flawed human being

praying to god or the literary angels to be spiffier
with a little light on the beach under the stars



Poem - they said my ego is a joke / stop laughing this is serious

they said my ego is a joke
but pay attention to it
and you'll always have
something to laugh about

i go back and read
about the shortened lives
of those who loved and wrote

for one
after a lingering
yet graceful death
gloriously he was burned
in a an iron machine on a shore
as a great storm came in

my burning heart
will never be snatched from the flames

i will write this poem
at the mall stop laughing
this is serious


Thursday, February 12, 2015

Poem: when the revolution started \ they killed him \ he was a poet

when the revolution started
they killed him
he was a poet

you must kill
all the poets and writers
when a revolution starts

we don't always know
where the poet's and writer's
sensibilities lie

they shot a lot
on the side of a road
it is simple to do you see

after he was dead
all sides mourned him

we persecuted
the commander

who had him shot


on the road between
alfacar and the village of víznar
the day was splendid

hearts beating faster
a humming bird flashed by
stomach full of nectar

humans loved by god
slowed to the roadblock

the hummingbird loved by god
over the ridge to a tree
and rested


how big is the mind of god



Tuesday, February 10, 2015

Poem - but i will always be willing to come back

i keep realizing i am in nowhere
then i am walking back in my mind
to the present moment

when i get there it is like breaking
a glass window the whole thing shatters
with my head

i stick around for however long
and then my heart or my imagination
whirls me back out to wherever

but i will always be willing to come back
it seems to be important to be here
in this batting cage or battle


Poem - not knowing / all i know

not knowing
the exact name for something
proves you have not
destroyed the purity
of what it might be

then going
more into not knowing
to some a void
or waste to be avoided
says ego

all i know
is the sun is like a hot balloon
and this grass is splendid
with you


Poem - i live in a city of words

i live in a city of words
in a so so neighborhood
of one of the small paragraphs
you should have read it
before i got here

i am the citizen of a work
that is full of magical-realism
and won't be published

it will be buried
in my body and my mind when i go
to the library in the sky

we are all short stories
and poems and collections of verse
walking and talking and dreaming

some are lists and others
diatribes rant or manifestos

but we all have work to do here
and that is to narrate
to help make sense
when the plot turns

or a chapter begins
or ends

 - - - -

Thursday, February 05, 2015

Poem - even unto death

brother of st francis to the center
of a town that hated him
to be humiliated

the citizens freely and enjoyed
abusing the man and beat him
screamed and spat

the brother went back day after day
for more abuse from the people
how easily did he fare

for in all of us are crimes and deeds
we have done to ourselves
and we have inflicted

we acting out of self-admiration
with spite or amusement
even relish

even unto death

a juniper tree bends under a storm
is greener and is thankful
for such punishment

indirectly shields weaker things
by being upright and easy
giving but not breaking


for Fra Ginepro

Tuesday, February 03, 2015

Poem - conquered by any simple act

when i read about the sad thoughts
a russian astronaut had when he beheld the earth
pollution and inequality
technological corruption

i see a hummingbird flash up to my window
and i realize i must go get a feeder
to feed all them in the neighborhood

conception in the world seen from space
or seen from my seat or in our minds
conquered by any simple act


Monday, February 02, 2015

Poem - go to any lengths so get the message through

i want to tell you something
i want to know you again
find you

go to any lengths to get the message through

but it was just a dream and at 2.45 am
i turned into a old indian
who had a hat


Wednesday, January 28, 2015

Poem - every sunrise shows / the world is new

i rouse
get going

i must see

every sunrise shows
the world is new

i arise
to see it

then praise
the day

i spent

how the day

was new


Jan 2015

Tuesday, January 27, 2015

Poem - and she can arise from any place

the moon looked like a banana
and the star a fleck of foam

i found a tiger striped shell
as it was getting darker

the side scalloped like where
a miniature venus began life

the sand here is mixed with
action figure arms and other plastic

the goddess of love from the sea

i adore her any season
and she can arise from any place

all of my ideas shattered
if i accept for them to be overcome


Sunset Beach
Jan 2015

Monday, January 26, 2015

Gozo Wonders Who is the Divine Educator?

Gozo wonders who is the Divine Educator?

He asks Ellen.

"Clean out all the old food from your fridge." she says.

Gozo does so.

"Is it rotten?" asks Ellen.

"Horribly so. Disgusting!" says Gozo. "How did it get that way?"

"It happens. Thus a message from the Divine Educator."


Oak Park, IL

Poem - and it is just that

and it is just that
a glass of chardonnay balanced on
the edge of a cheap white wood table

about to fall
in or out of love before
the hat drops because who cares

nothing happened before
any words said before don't exist
people before are just dreams and not real

before before the word
keeps coming up before before
what a horrible feeling now to erase w wine


next it is night
and a streetlight is shining through
a window in a bedroom you don't like

you are far away
from someone you don't remember
but they are on your mind


Friday, January 23, 2015

Poem: and i am in the dark/ and i am in the dark

and i am in the dark

children do not
turn off the light
like a grownup

this other me
i face every night
can be quarrelsome

can be vain

can be angry

can be lonely

and has opinions

is happy

is inspired

even courageous

can be quarrelsome
i face every night
this other me

like a grownup
turn off the light
children do not 

and i am in the dark


To the Machines: I Find My Complaints Are Going Away

What was shocking: I did not expect to get a real person on the other end of the phone. When a real person answered, my objections were erased. I realized, after hanging up, that I prefer to complain to machines.

I thought about everything I was unhappy with, or had any complaint about. I had told a machine about it. I sought them, their mailboxes, their blind email lists, the message servers twirling out there in vast computing cloud spaces.

So now when I have any complaint, I write it on my shoe and walk on it until it is worn away. Or I take it down on a piece of paper, and burn it. Or I tape it to a dollar bill, and spend it. Or I sing a song, and make it rhyme.

I find my complaints are going away. The ones that remain, are just enough to keep me going. What a remarkable and strange place to be. And why the second surprise? Do we all live our lives assuming to know one's self, often to the point of contempt -- but quite frankly, we live with a stranger?


In Any Direction I Wanted To Go

When I fell in love with you, it happened quickly. By the time I was all the way in love, in a way that would hurt me keenly for several years, it was like I had taken a new book off the bookshelf of my head and said this looks like a nice story to read.


I heard the story of a woman who had a Zen teacher, and she confided in him how a recent breakup had hurt her heart to the core. He gave her some specific practices to do, like a short mantra to say, and a way to meditate on impermanence, and suffering in others,

He left and came back in a year, and when she saw him, she said she was still hurt over the ending of the relationship. He slapped her in the face, and said "Too long! Let go!"


Far from my home and my bed, the freeway was shut down last night, without any detours. I drove in neighborhoods and towns I barely knew, down long avenues without any traffic, seeing rows and rows of bright lights as far as my eyes could see.

Under the black sky, everything looked clean and golden, and the traffic-signals were always green, in any direction I wanted to go.


So See Everyone Including Yourself

I see that we are used by what we think of others and of ourselves. So see everyone, including yourself, as being made out of ice-cream and cookies, or flowers.


Tuesday, January 20, 2015

Chung Tzu and the Invisible Man

I'm feeling invisible, today it feels alright to be invisible.

Chung Tzu comes in.

I sit very quietly. Chung Tzu looks around the room, he hums to himself, he picks up this and that, he sits on the couch and he reads part of a book. I am invisible. Like a statue, with no movement.

"Not bad!" says Ching Tzu, and he gets up to leave. "But since you are still thinking, you might as well get back to work!"


Jan 2015

Monday, January 19, 2015

Chung Tzu Smiles and Claps His Hands

I am sitting on the roof, singing, when Chung Tzu climbs up the ladder.

"Hello there sparrow!" says Chung Tzu.

"Hello there!" I reply.

"Where will you fly today?" asks Chung Tzu.

"I'm going to stay right here and sing!"

"And why is that?"

"Because I can fly all over the place anytime I want!"

Chung Tzu likes that so much, he smiles and claps his hands.



Thursday, January 15, 2015

Poem - because things are never dark and listless / in the radiance of our minds

spicer wrote words are like furniture
and i agree to invite the ephemera
to have a place or rest here

charming to and fro in my mind
the breath of the wings of reality
just glittering on the surface

or wherever else it calls it
to have a comfy chair
or couch by the window

to get out of the cold or nothing
remind us how wonderful it is
to have the courage to imagine any kind

of ladder or magic carpet or meadow
that will drive boredom away or
even charm indifference into playing

new games and telling the best stories
because things are never dark and listless
in the radiance of our minds

they are barely contained in their
pure excellence and shining


Poem - wherever we are

at some point the artist or writer
all you have is your work
and it is not well received
or seen at all

i saw a flat marker one time
in the corner of a burying ground
and i scraped off the mud
and some letters chewed away

APRIL 14 1905 - M -- 1953

i imagined all the poems
in shoe-boxes in fleamarts
writers in tiny towns or city
small apartments still giving
it a go

most of their work is bad
but they can't or won't stop
or their work is great
and more is the pity
wherever we are


Monday, January 12, 2015

Poem - meeting each other again / in the realm of desire

you were a little man on the path in purple
and i asked you where you were

and you said you were you
because we are all somewhere temporarily

i can't make sense anymore
because i'm looping 100% of the time

or i am not lost at all being very polite
and listening carefully with a mind that is empty like the sky

do you think the sky
remembers or forgets anything

every bird and cloud
and all us beloved on the path below

meeting each other again
and again in the realm of desire


for Tsedrup Tharchin

Sunday, January 11, 2015

Poem - i have no complaint

my teacher he looked at me
and recognized a reality
of me in me and around me
one i come close to realizing

or i have not come close to realizing
but possibly i could see some day
in the meantime i will walk
along the path like i believe

i know i believe in him
it is the only reason why i do
the results he had i want too
however long it is to attain

i give things up i bow and bow
i bow to you i bow to him
i bow and bow and bow
i have no complaint


For Tsedrup Tharchin

Poem - the emptiness is like an open window / or a doorway it leads places

i don't want anything from you anymore
i don't need anything either

life is a hole that i feel in my heart
but it does not need to be filled

the emptiness is like an open window
or a doorway it leads places

if i have a part of me not complete
then i can always go with change

i can get beyond opinion or hope
because these rest on stability

we are not so much doomed to be separated
as to become whole beyond other


Friday, January 09, 2015

Poem - we did all these things / right or wrong

we did all these things
right or wrong

with mistakes that can be made
and possible delusion

i'd hope we'd be into
gardening or making shade

for that extra hot day
next summer


Poem - towards the viewer / on the bridge that the highway crosses

on the other side of anaheim bay
on the bridge that the highway crosses

all the water is still
dawn not here yet but coming soon

the lights of the drilling platforms
all uniform yellow and bright

the reflections of them
go straight down

towards the viewer
on the bridge that the highway crosses


Seal Beach
Jan 2015

Wednesday, January 07, 2015

Poem - When

when the wind picks up
and i am alone on the way back

my eyes remind me
in what i see of a mustang horse

a running horse in the sky
that can bring my love back to me


Tuesday, January 06, 2015

Poem - A poem written and posted on the Internet

listless stupid
but at this time in my life

no justification
for suck and drawing air

don't bother to listen
just watch what i do


Poem - being angry with you / is like being unhappy with a graveyard

being angry with you
is like being unhappy with a graveyard

everything is dead there
but some of the words are interesting


Poem - if i keep praying for you

i followed the instructions
i prayed with you in mind
until my head fell off

i prayed for your well-being
i wished you peace of mind and security
i honestly wished you happiness
i said give you safety
and not only for you

but for your parents
and family

new lovers
and jobs you might take

i prayed and prayed and prayed
for months and months
until i forgot to keep doing it

now i remembered
and i started again

because i hated you
all over again

but this time i knew right away
how i live is a horrible self pity
and i'll never get out of it

but if i keep praying for you and others
i just might be redeemable

i'll hate you
and love you

so here is to
forgetting through prayers


Poem - A Short Poem

i do not despair
i write more

i make notes
6662 heil ave

greater poets
captured this life

i bang words
together like pans

musical words
of the greats

bang bang bang
klang klang

if i do it 10.000
one may be ok

someone might read
it and then cry

if i wrote a poem
and some made it
into your heart

i want to give
to you

something that


2015 Jan

Poem - A POEM FOR ROBERT or Keats was right

he's dead
and his poetry

is going
going going

   'writ on water'
   it all is

   Keats was right

i lived at his house
for almost two years
or was it there

have i lived

i could have
scooped up
page after page

in my arms
at the time

poems were
common as leaves
in the font room

like leaves
unraked in
the yard

and his
file of
and organized

whenever i saw
the organized
of what
was in and out

i always felt
hope even
for me

bob i miss you
and how
you could laugh
at everything

even if it

and you lived
and it was you

two slim
volumes i have

the rest online

will be going

   'writ on water'
   it all is

   Keats was right


For Robert Funge
not well done but
Bob you know how I feel



the virgin mary
lies in bed and
she appears to
be dying

the room is full of
men -- well it was
a man's world
and the virgin mary
had to die in it

one of the guys
holds a nice jar
or bucket

soon it will
all be over and
including the
virgin mary
will be relieved

and there
is a bright little
side gallery
hardly anyone
goes into

and you can sit
in nice leather chairs
and be quiet with
the porcelain
wedgeware china

and over there
with a statute
of laocoön
in the garden


San Francisco
Legion of Honor