alternate ending

The pain to know
the weight of time
the angst of rhyme
the pressure flow
the words 

describing tender
heart/mind bender
tripping rhythms
of life schisms

once upon a dream
with a twist at the end
unimagined stream
chapter verse rend

alternate ending


what then?

in a rush to be loyal.
promised and will pay.
what will become when the contract's done,
when disconnect from daily sways
into my creative
out of my furtive
hopes to write
experience and strife
when i have no more 
to show up for?

Time Travel on a Day with Deadlines

“Time travel on a day with deadlines,”
That’s what I think over coffee, under fog
of sleep crusted eyes and rickety bones.

It’s only six, but I’m at my eight,
then my eleven.  I wonder.
“Does the car need to sweat off some frost?”

one writer morning

the wideness of my headspace
yawns the hunger open
the coffee slides
fatigue presides

sly glances of bright outside
push into my groggy
cold whispers my skin
where to begin

a magic show swallowed my genius
disappeared my idea bodies
scratching inward i dig for the prisoners
dreaded yearnings seek
for letters ... words ... 
a string of story
to explain my empty.

that thing

i sit here thinking, trying to write
and worry what i’m scrawling won’t sound right.
flowers and tingles and rhymes and such
never end up amounting to much.

i could tell you i love you but i always do.
i could use cliche and sunshine describing you.
i could write about heartbeats, breathing, and flight,
or miracles, blessings, devotion, and fright … Continue reading

Poetry versus Prose (Act One)

I can throw my thought pieces on the page, shuffle and shift them, rap them out like Tupak, or shape them like a slam – and I’m done.  Then it becomes the reader who must make something out of them.  If I’m skillful enough, the reader wants to make the effort.  If not, they skip or delete.  For me, that’s poetry.

When I write in sentences, I have to think harder.  Continue reading

nowhere is not always insignificant

we talked and in our ramblings 
    got nowhere
i felt

(not that lack of feeling meaning
        means that lack 
    of significance has taken place)

our romantic phone drippings
    were sincere 
and true

(oh, if only i could feel her, 
        heat and breath
moist and electric)

and i know talk can sometimes be
        just that
circumstances dealt

(and maybe "nowhere" is
        just a mirage)

mysteriously, curiously, physically, 
        emotionally, intellectually, inquisitively …
all i know is i miss her.

Alcedo atthis -water -splash-8

I Don’t Want to Leave

snow caps on mountains, and valleys
barren tan fresh looking basins
green clumps and sprinkles of trees
each inch a mile, and time hastens.

brightness in my eyes –
i tug the blind halfway.
periwinkle skies –
beautiful travel day.

sleepy and warm, i drift to dreams
and wait for the house to fade …
twist back time, unfabric the seams
back to kisses and touches made …

eastbound I-80 – drowsy driver warning

Time Ride (Oct 1999)

wear out the ever present smiles
tick the talks of past, feelings, and desires
stretch this new found love across the miles
and see if our wanting one another tires.

The Passage of Time

The Passage of Time (Photo credit: ToniVC)

tender lasting (Oct 1999)

into my impossible she sneaks
out of my longing she speaks
for seconds or for a day
time is irrelevant that way
she catches my love constant
and recasts for a bigger bite

    and she doesn't even know she's fishing
        every moment near her i'm wishing
                and often recasting
                for a tender lasting

                                    bigger bite

English: Fly Fishing, Sandwick

words tucked away for a future day (Oct 1999)

 i haven't said …

so now i search
for understanding 
for wisdom handing
me thoughts and causes
for momentary brain pauses
before i don't say …

i don't expect a confirmation
    in the unspoken given to speech
do i hide in absolution
    before letting pronouns and a verb teach
one more lesson
    on haste making waste
    or changing truth's taste
    or maybe one i've not heard yet

needful to say but i can't find a way
to reason and find the cause behind
what is not said, nor even read.
if i do not speak, it isn't because i'm meek

my mind and heart lead me in self-honesty
so to avoid betraying,

            i'm just not saying …

Frozen Silence

this i’m not (Oct 1999)

in the ring or out
does the loser stay lost?
is the beaten always beat?
does the paying always cost?

this is not my song
suffering hard and long
my story is not one
of painful days are done

i’m no victim.

no sorry, beaten, broken
little shaken token
of hard knocks and heavy blocks
of treacherous walking and tearful talking
painful draining
shoulders straining
weighed down with no crown
to show for
the thousand different
fuck-ups and suck-ups
troubles doubled
that have me flattened on the sidewalk.

what i am i don’t always know, but this i’m not.