Monthly Archive: April 2017


sorry to say, bub
but they won’t accept those
you already put them online
both your poetry and prose

so they’re previously-published
and you know how it goes
you may as well archive them
or go on and dispose

it’s not like they forced you
it’s something you chose
shared only with friends
and who read them, who knows?

yet it was good practice
and your development shows
some day you may circulate
with the rest of the pros

sensitive layer redux

she has a sensitive layer
that loves to be touched

and I know from da kine
that it’s never enough

it’s always around
that very same stuff

the hope and the prayer
that we all love so much

I might never decline
it’s hard to rebuff

since dreams are unbound
when we’re in the buff

I don’t try to gainsay her
it’s only a crutch

if it opens our minds
we’ll go double dutch

nothing else that I’ve found
helps as much in a clutch

and nothing else sways her
but to cast off our slough


imagine that your awareness
(of what is around you,
what is within you)
were a membrane
that is, more or less,

imagine that you could
turn a miraculous dial clockwise
to increase that permeability
of your awareness between
outside and in

or you could turn it
to decrease the permeability

the dial goes up to 11
but it is now set on 2

the fingers of your dominant hand
are grasping the dial

be aware of how aware you are

it is totally up to you
which way you turn the dial
and how far

you have until the count of three
to make your choice

one Mississippi
two Mississippi

mr. goofy

lately i’ve been been
slipping into a
certain voice when i
speak to the feral cat
who regularly comes to my door
or with the two goats
my landlord has
or her two dogs
or the tortoise who sleeps
in a little shed
with a heater
and pink insulation
adjoining my modest cottage

“youre the goofus, yeah.”

the word “goofus” features
or its unending variations
more and more every day

“hey, little goofuses!”

i’m eating sliced cukes
and cauliflower
dipped in the last of my
water buffalo mozzarella
mixed with yellow yeast, garlic,
and superhot habanero sauce

one of the goats is looking
up at me with pleading eyes
from behind the screen door

“whatcha doing, goofatronics?”

i wonder if i will someday
inadvertently lapse into goof-speak at work

maybe i’ll see my supervisor’s supervisor
and use a near-rhyming variation

“hey, boofer, how’s it hanging?”

i could see that happening

my day is now drawing to a close
and it’s time to sleep
and see what kind of
goofy influences
light up my dreaming

“see you tomorrow,
little gooface squeaker…”

thin air

let’s take a step back
because I think I lost a few of you
a line or two ago

suspend everything you are doing
anything you are doing

and then ask yourself:
how do you feel?

it doesn’t matter what it is
just feel it
feel yourself feeling it

whatever it may be for you
you’re feeling the same thing
that we’re ALL a part of

the point of view doesn’t really matter
the particulars are limitations
that are, for right now,
of no great concern

every one of us
every bit of us
even now
is part of the same

that’s what life is:

and we are all connected
to the entire whole of being

it doesn’t matter
that one viewpoint thinks it’s a President
or another assumes it’s a niece
or a mother
or a criminal
or a student
or handicapped
or rich
or poor
Muslim or Christian
young or old

those are just pieces,
fragments of the whole

we make them out of thin air
through our thoughts
our dreams
our plans
our beliefs

we meld them together
before we even know we have created
what we experience

we can change
but usually we do that by trading in
one viewpoint for another
one fragment for a different one

yet we can also expand
by including more and more
of the whole being
into our assumptions of who we are

try it now:
see if you can feel
both your current viewpoint
and a different one

it doesn’t matter which

think of someone you know
someone you love
someone you hate

and expand your sense of being
to include that viewpoint
as well as your own

then tomorrow try adding another
and then another

ultimately then,
nothing could be lacking

since we are all part of the same
damned, blessed thing

Fading Away

I wander along with no drink and no song
while my body gets thinner and thinner.
I may have to drag my poor corpus along
until I can find us some dinner.

My spine and my nerves do not yet deserve
what my corpuscles shed every day.
Yet I still must conserve as much of my verve
as I can as I’m fading away.

My sags and my sprawls are starting to crawl
along as I make my way further.
I’m crumbling withal; it’s so very banal
that I dissolve without even a murmur.

Although my back is aching, I’m still deviating
and sauntering the whole day through.
I’m snaking and quaking and doing some shaking
with just a small burble or two.

I’d be flexing my stubs if I were in a tub,
but I’m losing more ground every day.
I’ve got to find me a pub or get me some grub
or finally lie down faraway.


something is brewing
yet your mind is unscrewing
together or all on your own

do you think something’s lacking
if you don’t have the backing
of a God who you’ve never known

all your wanting and doing
before waiting and rueing
has got a rhythm all of its own

it’s like voices are blending
with spirit unending
all with a similar tone

there is no more losing
unless that is your choosing
when you find that you’re always alone

How Many More Springs

How many more springs
do you think that you have,
a few more to share
or is this the last in your bag?

You’d better not waste
any time you have left;
if you bloom open again
you might even be blessed.

They’ll press you and keep you
and hold you to ground,
but the blessed rise up
through the stress in the crown.

You’ll want to sequester
your time left alone,
but the glowing won’t stop
once your cover is blown.

Some footsteps remain
right over your head;
they’re coming for you,
for what they’ve just read.

You’ll show them again
how they’ve got it all wrong;
you’ll give them a poem,
but they wanted a song.

Your feelings won’t last
but your words will still flow,
so when you’re no longer here
your words will then grow.

The Night Mrs. McGillicuddy Passed

The karmic gods are never appeased,
she was saying.

They are like goats,
chomping and chomping,
never restocking,
ruminators all,
just chomping and chewing.

They do whatever they want;
they go wherever they want.

You can love whatever you’re doing,
be whatever you truly are,
but to them it doesn’t matter.

They are caught, you see.
In this dream.
In this fragment.
In this camouflage.

The poor dears,
she whispered.

And then her breath passed,
and she was gone.

Our Lady

La Virgen she sings,
and her candle grows strong;
she sings and she sings,
and we sing right along.

She holds up her glow
as the candle burns true;
we’re feeling her now
wrapped around and renewed.

It’s better to light
a new candle tonight;
so, if this one goes out,
we’ll still have the bright.

She holds up the glow
as the candle burns long;
we’re wanting to know,
but she’s never been wrong.

She burns through the stars
as she burns through the earth;
she’s holding what’s ours
down deep in our birth.

It’s better to light
a new candle each night;
so that more hearts will sprout
to discover delight.