Wednesday, October 12, 2016

a mother's son returns the favor

a mother's son returns the favor
that slap that made him breathe
together they cry unabated 
back to their lives awaited
from birth through separation 

perhaps they will walk upright
abandon their struggles
crawl out of the night
assure each other
that all is alright

give and take a bequest 
with no fight or resistance
only childlike insistence
only faith and fate
when a son returns the favor

Oct. 12, 2016

Saturday, October 1, 2016

book launches a frenzy of support

book launches frenzy of support 
success in vanity, press assured
in a small circle, in a Mandarin city
heavy English words in little Taiwan
feel like a trip to 7-11; letting the motor run

those dogs heard barking in the passive voice
are silenced when the food is released  
but resume yelping as a stranger approaches
a stranger whose presence raises fear
soon becomes a pack that no one goes near

fill not a bucket with filthy fairy yarns
for a river thus polluted never comes clean
no reparation but scars from hate
grant me the serenity of letting it go
allow me the peace of watching the river flow

a passing typhoon shredding paper trees
leaves a mess of twigs to burn away 
gathered round the sacrificial bonfire 
unsupported wordsmiths like torn out stumps
more concerned with info dumps

words blown off e-books like sand from mandalas
less than a whisper, more like a holler
no Amazon mermaid can satisfy in dollars
can fulfill the dreams floating in my head
of clouds gathering steam from the river bed

Oct.1, 2016

Saturday, September 24, 2016

Heinlein's Maneuver

fantastic mechanism for time travel
by freezing the door into summer
then finding and taking credit for
some future invention
it was a Heinlein maneuver

incestuous flashback of all you zombies
built  on ploys of a high school boy 
for writers interested in prophesy
bet your Dick on breakfast at twilight
it was a Heinlein maneuver

warn us what the end would be like
and bizarre human problems encountered
caused by time distortions
its relativistic dilation for the stars
it was a Heinlein maneuver

the curved world-line Einstein long resisted
of sending telephone signals down the line
to measure the echo of time 
by the bootstraps of philosophical desperation 
it was a Heinlein maneuver

like laws of logic preventing angle trisections
or squaring Farnham Freehold's family circles
he blasted him future-ward by nuclear direct hit
with popular sexual loops in time
it was a Heinlein maneuver

for the farthest paradox in the zombie zoo
for a science fiction porn-star fan's view
sex with one's mother back in the future
for strangers in a strange land
it was a Heinlein maneuver

Sept. 24, 2016

Saturday, September 17, 2016

love a woman who reads not your poems

love a woman who reads not your poems
for poetry is only what she dreams in sleep
let the storm crash and pages be dampened
she hears not a word from you what happened
but punctuates your life with commas and dashes 
exclamation marks and ending periods
picking up with you in another verse
pick it apart, it can become worse

love a woman who forgoes reading blogs
with a ringside seat to your circus
she knows your clowns and acrobatics
your frowns and antibiotics
drinks with you the wine of celebration
puts puzzle pieces perfectly juxtaposed 
with practical solutions right under your nose
with you in her heart, the journal stays closed

love not a woman for novel ideas 
translucent history over the years
with thunderclap downpours reeling you in
and forgiven flashbacks of forgotten times
she passes the chapters that ended in blaze
the pot-boiling heroines that led you astray
untitled, unnumbered, her masterpiece, you
and counts not the volumes binding you two

love only a woman who messages back
with instant cartoons of emotion
wordlessly wandering smiles away
a speechless type of keyboard
void of critique or double entendre
only bedtime stories of unwritten genre
dreary-eyed in an unconscious stream
love a woman who reads your dreams

Sept. 17, 2016 

Friday, September 2, 2016

New Vistas off the Tan-Zih Bike Path

dragonflies hover like mad drones,
searching for terrorist mosquitoes
over a tall, stiff, lawn of rice paddies,
large enough for a field of dreams.
that is what it seems to be,
from a wooden kiosk off the Tan-Zih path,
where a new vista detoxifies me,
from civilization's wrath.

unseen roosters greet the day,
like scooters in the hurried fray. 
in free range play they see a light,
a shaft from heaven reaching down
to someone's dinner plate with
rice that swayed in Tan-Zih breeze,
landscaping our viewpoints, 
with only us to please.

congressional poets mincing words
at an Am-way convention, expenses-paid.
excitement from the bleacher seat,
one and all the chairman greets.
even winners pay a price,
that losers lost poetically,
from angles they cannot strangle,
recited refreshingly. 

bicyclists peddle the lengthy path,
passing time smiling, retired, reaching
tanks and train tracks, jet airplanes, 
as alone i sit gazing through the distance, 
writing yesterdays of tomorrows as
tail gunners shoot, give me flack.
i prefer facing nature that fills my eyes,
ride further, why, in the end doubling back.

the American Eagle has landed,
this spacey traveler disembarking, 
a testament to resiliency and professionalism,
but even that cannot undo poor management,
their only prophet, the bottom line
that does not recognize alien talent
over the hill and through the woods,
new vistas on his palette

tarry not home before the storm.
finish this verse, get back on the bike. 
ride rejuvenated through green fields,  
palm trees bent and swayed.
stay not long in stranded days,
but ride along her river bed,
feel me coming back instead,
before this poet is famously dead. 

Sept. 2, 2016

Monday, August 29, 2016

A Man of Strange Beliefs

inklings of inertia flowing, 
knowing what lies over the horizon.
the Han does not reverse its courses
over wet clouds of submerged cathedrals;
danger lurks mid-brook changing horses.

a freeloader goes where food is sown, 
like a know-it-all forever knows, 
a forlorn man says "see you again"
while others know not to begin,
i say "hello; i must be going."  

blades of grass wave above the ledge,
grown in three weeks passing,
here i sit alone with the wind,
 bliss forever lasting,
bouncing off obstructions. 

drifting with what smoke disperses,
i lick the chaos from my verses,
recognize snags in yonder canyon,
landmarks of sweet affection,  
against tumbleweed distractions.

the Han cannot cease rolling,
return i here to witness,
lush green mountains rising over,
whistling through arrogant pylons, 
with powerful remission. 

     "I am a man of strange beliefs and ways of thinkin', seein' into the future and feeling things hard to explain. The trail I've been followin' for so many years was twisted and tangled, but it's straightenin' out now."*

*from Riders of the Purple Sage
by Zane Gray
august 29, 2016

Sunday, July 31, 2016

all living things have taken a break

all living things have taken a break,
even cars and cycles do not pass.
ah, there they are; two, four, seven...
even wind raises a tired puff off wild grass,
one bird hurries off fast
as a turquoise-backed beetle flays its wings;
an annihilator of manifest destiny sings. 
not a native soul in indigenous garb is left, 
only hermit crab-like men in European shells,
acting freely after subjugation,
on weekend vacations
that unions gave them,
through  red-stained bungalow sheets
written in grief...
does anyone care?
that no more birds are flying there? 
only a foreign renegade can tell;
a fighter against death, a true rebel.
alone and cultish,
clinging to the few that knew him well,
into the mire with forced grin,
aware that only he himself can win
what no one would care to know;
that living things have gone away,
packing and unpacking junk so slow,
the world renounced,
down to the lonely bone.