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through a windshield (11-25-2023)


thru all the glue

filn history's glossy cracks

and all the pines

from wane to wax

we were(are, perhaps)

moonrise bent

lain with backs

pressed on tarmac

slid red, long

longer than we thought possible.

dream-licked heads

shattered and spread :

painted lines on painted lines


painted lines

down along this serpentine road.

without a motion ...

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A Night Walk

I look up at the stars at night,

It's quiet and so dark. 
There's one that shines so very bright, 

I wander to the park. 
A bright and beautiful shooting star, 

A cluster of twinkling lights. 
I wonder if I could travel so far, 

Or climb such great heights. 
For I do want to see them all, 

To marvel in their beauty. 
Vast expanses I feel so small, 

Milky Way like the blue se...

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A dramatic monologue from a Submarine Captain

I'm in this long metal tube, alone in the deep.

Searching for something, but I can't really see.

I hear a noise, it sounds like a scream.

I gaze out the window, a Siren I spot.

She points to the hatch, I know that I shouldn't.

But her song is so beautiful, she entrances me.

I reach for the latch, I'm twisting the bar.

Shes nodding her head, she's captivating me.

I can't sto...

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There I was,

Standing in the storm,

Walking through the dark world,


All alone. 

Light was dim,

Lamps burnt cold,

Silence all heard,

But my heart's wild roar.


Then there You came,

A gust in the storm,

With Your competitive smile,

And encouraging eyes,

"You done, already?", 

You said, with that smile.

"What more can I do?"

"Race till the t...

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left alonedark nights aloneLifeRealcaptivealonelonelypoetrylitcreativewritingfreedomstorm

Twixt Pen and Eye

I, poet, may write of love

and in that moment feel

a meaning clear:

yet my soul knows love

my hand will never pen


You, reader, read that word

and think to know my mind  


              I say you cannot know the love

my heart placed behind that word, only

your sense of the love you thought you saw


The poet can never truly speak

and have his reader k...

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I Tried To Give You Up

I tried to bury the fountain
along with a rainbow
but I found you in my bed again
scribbling with crayons
I tried to cover up my tattoo
all these years of printing hearts
upon my sleeve
always yearning to improve

I tried to marry another way
pass the time with some other face
put my tools back in the drawer
and step away from what’s been said
I tried to give you up
as if there were ...

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A Living Corpse

At age three 

I dreamed.

Of lands full of sweets.

Of an endless coloured street,

stretched as far as I could see.

I dreamed of my toys,

that entertained me with their noise.

I dreamed of everything and more.

I dreamed.


At age ten,

I heard.

About wondrous lands that decorated the earth.

Of all the plants and birds,

our Mother gave birth to.

I heard abo...

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The Door

Unknown reader, be glad that I have opened the door and let out

the dust of my verse for you to see an age after the words first found form on the screen, or

perhaps I have let in your imagination so, turning, you can see a single almond

blossom, pink amongst its pale russet leaves, to tempt your words out


Unknown traveller, on this day, stay, venture out

and, before they fade,...

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As I write, each line reaches for memories

lost, fallen beyond the edge of the world:

kamarupa dwelling in infinity, fading


when my lines do not find them

and my words fail passion and desire.


Eons, lost pasts. Which of them

could dream my frail dream of this

verse? Which, thrown


across the fabric of time, could make

nothing everything?

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