Sunday, September 18, 2016

Sit Trust Fair

The new road
to the old moon
follows a line of wild hickories
and neon pizza lights.

A roadside cascade of orange tomatoes
splits its sides laughing
at chip paint billboards
promising a future home.

Shaded bricks bounce the bop
of a three piece horn section
like a juggler's ball
in the hand of a one armed dancer.

Everything in the sky
has wings and a song, listening
is forever. If the Son is behind your gathering cloud,
expect a rainbow. 

Friday, September 9, 2016

Street Fight

Messed up men on bicycles
riding like lost boys
after a DUI.

If there was a smile, the handlebars
pull it down to a bag of aluminum,
and sometimes a dog on a string whining.

Old Ginsberg mourned the best minds, but ordinary
johnnies and jims just take it out on someone

When the walk is all you got and all you got is on your back
you get it coming and going.

Cross in the street,cuss on the corner, count the ways
a missing Love chases the day
into night.

Monday, September 5, 2016

Splinter Group

First there is a path,
then a trail ,
always a mountain.

The smallest flower,
hidden in rocks,
attracts bees.

A fine pair of hands
put this bench in the woods,
to rest souls.

Friday, September 2, 2016

poem for Mario

Sweeping the floor,
I pick up three dimes.
Pennies, from heaven, inflated for modern

God dropping coins in my path
adds up to eyebrows and ears lifted
to whomever I'm about to meet.

I get paid to pay attention.
It's a poets life, burnishing the jewels
of invisible crowns.

If you see me smiling,
it's because you are shining bright
as His polished mirror.  

Monday, August 29, 2016

from dust, where you played

Hooked on sky
dust rises to make music
of rainbows, bridges, and the things
water brings to the table set
before the sun.
Grace spins in spontaneous space
on the fingertip of His creation. We
don’t hear what hasn’t yet been played,
but it is written; every breath
from the mouth of God
is also a song.

Wednesday, July 27, 2016


Its only a shadow across the face of the moon,
the pull on us water born is from position,
not countenance.

The eary stillness,
in a field without lamps,
is the ebbing pulse of skulled oceans.

What we learn inside the dark illuminates,
there is no light of the earth,
only of the World.

We swim between stars in the blink
of an eye, all that quiet
making a name for our cells.

Tuesday, June 14, 2016

Wet Whistle

Where I went to hear
from God
was not necessarily nearer,
the dark wood, just a spoon
stained from stirring coffee,
the stars pulsing as I adjusted my eyes.

Where I went
to hear from God
was closer to the voices in my heart
than head, and although not a fan of horses,
I sensed them beating truth around the bend.

Where I went to hear from God
plumbed the water quick to creek cold,
a drop running wrist to elbow tickling trickle,
the tangent of attention reflected the ocean

as His smiling tears.