Indian Paintbrush

The idylic bliss
that only comes
from leaves
gladly cruching underfoot
and nature
in all its finery
beads of water
drip down from moss draped rocks
and above them all
stands an indian paintbrush
for the woods are my Home
and where I find
meditative tranquilty
in the midst of my chaotic thought

Man, I am sick of all my shit sucking this past month
I'm so creatively dead, everythings become a rehashing of the old with some new thought in it. Maybe I need to do acid again. It sure stopped my poems from sucking in 2007 and inspired me to keep up this blog.

Lies me

a dream a dare to be different
entangled wrapped up like a small child bundled up against the cold
sheathing layers of personality
but behind the closed face...
lies me

I try to hard
I believe that as glass frost a windowpane
my repeated attempts to create
put a wall between me and these lines

whatever we want it to be

As fast as a goat on fire
the dust bunnies multiply
and my fingers land in small places
talent hidden in the cracks of seldom cleaned keyboards
self-doubt and neglected regret fester
and grow as a helium ballon fills quickl… bbang!
and quiet if the loudest sound I’ve ever heard
silence festers too, and breaks with as little as a whimper
and as diffucultly as dragging yourself naked through twisted, rusted metal
is breaking it can be even harder
potato listens
hands pick
moment happening
and ya missed it you just had to blink, didn’t yah?
rolling slowly and still getting mossy
stoned or not
cold or hot
can I get a side of cheese with that iprc makes me pee

hanging out at your house ahh aren’t u guys cute
HAPPY BIRTHDAY HAVE THIS POEM AS A GIFT

sometimes

I sometimes think about just for the sake of typing
No plan, no universal line of thought…
Just like an old hobo jumpimg on the first feight train he sees
not x caring about direction
like a school marm not really caring if every jonhy and suses in attenedance
and damn to paperwork
but somehow, I never really mmanaged to do it just yet
Like he ancedote of the doged bullet
I’m afraid any pem half-cocked is crap
and I am not on to tolerate imperfection on paper

ps thers spelling errors and this time, I didn’t bother to fiXanything! so ha

Eddies

Eddies of swirling water splashing us
as if the rivers fingers were reaching out to wave at us
Moss draped heated rocks
Arachnids await prey
My warnings come to late
I watch silken spun gossamer being torn asunder
spider loses carefully wrapped dinner
As I turn to leave the ash colored spider already begins to weave again
It's a reminder that life while fragile always beigins anew
Nature prevails

Beauty came by and by

I would sit all day content among the poet of yore
Drunk off poetries sweet passion
The forgotten language of love no longer spoken on silver singing tongues
but beauty came by and by and said
I never die

Can you spot the non-haku

Fall gently cool rain
For I am fragile to
Wash away my tears

Rooster cooing soft
Lulling hen to gentle sleep
Greeting the gold dawn

The first to greet me
silver dawn knocking for me
Sweeping away all night

Does morning morn
for its lover the night
Does the sun long
to caress the sweet moon
in a lovers swoon

Hands signing beauty
Lips remain silent
Love does not need speech