When Light Becomes Shadow

baroque dressed ideas

run rampant the backyard

retreat of thought

trying to fit in

while turned out

as commie hippies

cartoon pirates

fuzzy narcs

none of it made any sense

but it didn’t need to

because

either it fit in

or it didn’t

a comic strip is a comic strip

zapp commix

yarrowtown

felix    blimp joe    blow

whatever it was

it was likely based on lsd

innovated art

more fun to be a part of

than to be dong in retrospect

even while capturing psyches’

tapping into the darkness

omnipresent is the juvenile

dystopian future well being

intended and unintended at

the same time when the

heroes and heroines are

no longer clear cut

sadomasochistic sons

playing one last song

for tea sipping brothers

slowly slipping away into

the night

one last time

one last time

and whose co-op story

was one that flew

out of sanity’s meaning

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prose picket

poetry as protection

is dawn breaking

a waning gibbous

half perched in daylight

pale beryl skies

reminds us that

creatures within our minds

are not forgotten

poetry is the totem

of reverence

tying us within ourselves

to our spirits heritage

to this world

from within our hermitage

what becomes

i still myself

for what’s coming

an uneasiness

prevails over calls

from family

asking if i need anything

but still

i recall

what it was like

hearing her anguish

when i told terrible jokes

or her still hand

caressing my shoulder

when i was manic

in the midst of my madness

calming me in my upheaval

stillness settles

a fog rolls over

i grow weary

and still

121 (2)

One More Production

this is my last day
on the continent
how sunlight tastes
like sweet wine

this production comes to an end
our sun turns nova  burning rivers
and seas into super heated-gasses
leaving nothing but char behind

lonely is it
to know
what’s here today
will be gone tomorrow

it all makes for
a spectacular show
some seek safety
in Gaias’ basements

others seek out
earths roof
perhaps for a better
zen-ful view

stadiums swell with
last ditch faith

the colosseum fills
with friendly masses

china’s great wall
besets the devoted

all beside who believe
hope to be pious

when life’s breath fills
our bellows one last time
with too-perfect-for-breath
wafts of life

all we can do
is exhale collectively
at once
while life’s vine
shrivels in permanence

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What Solicitude Yields

brahmins preach rigidity
this conformity only complicates
the matter

blood love and sacrifice
the only way to God
there must be a different way
in the order of souls

a streaming of reflections
undisturbed by constraints passed
down by masters of solicitude

pain     suffering     mortality
these are our common fate
can i extinguish my desire
can i cultivate nonattachment within myself

will the yakshi flourish
what will blossom at the sound
of her laughter

perhaps a mango
like at sanchi
or    more simply
the fruit of her desire

ananta coils around my dreams
yielding them into life
reversing into thought

reflections and musings become one
resulting in a creation of myself
into existence form a worldy one
from a nature-state of oblivion

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Diversions

chai tea tastes like
the memory of my grandmother
washing dishes in her daughters ranch
while i watch old black and whites
saturday mornings before
i played in the park across the street

she used to stray out of sight
but    i can’t say  why for sure
it could just have been
to make me feel good
or   perhaps   she needed
a moment of mourning

how she sauntered her stories
with ballroom dances
big band folly and love
for her husband
it    kinda    just for a moment
made me feel there was a place for it all  
even for me

the gentle solace in her voice
as she dispensed peace
in those family homilies
did wonders to ease
my pacing spirit

she didn’t know it (nor did i)
but  in doing so
she saved me    both
from myself
and from the murder
of crows at home

life is a one act play
it’s most endearing qualities:
everyone plays a part
the whole world the stage
and the multidimensional platform it takes

time passes
continuing from
one generation
to another
passing from one heartbeat
to the next

indeed
how these memories
season our lives
my cup now empty

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