Friday, April 29, 2011

Chasing the Wind

I am clutching at my foolishness
Dashing  the wind to the four corners.
A fruitless pursuit  to satisfy the efforts
The futility of possessions and aspirations required.

Only to bow to the successor
Who has gladly accepted my labors
History merely repeats
Circling the spheres.

Solomon in all his expressed royalty and glory
Looking down upon his hollow chocolate bunny
Should have listened to the whispered pursuits of wisdom.
Now clamoring at his doorstep.
As I hear the breezes bellowing at mine.

Recognition beyond belief
Tolerance weighs into acceptance

I humbly admit defeat
And vowing to myself
Not to tarry or belabor
The trodden path
Of four corners


"Better to have one handful with quietness,
Than two handfuls with hard work
And chasing the wind." Ecclesiastes 4:6

Thursday, April 28, 2011

Through The Looking Glass

Life brings us detours, a burrowing through the soils and sands of time and memories.
If one could be Alice would they peer through, or avoid the dimension altogether?
If time were of the essence of yesterday being today, would we live our lives differently, or continue on the same mad rampage? 
The quest, the detours, the tunneling through....the questions...ahhh yes the questions still remain.
The future leery at best , would one laugh at the days to come?
Or would they wait in silent agony as another day thickens, the passing of the sunrise?
Why is it we fear the lurking in the midst, the shadows we don't see?
What have we to gain when we choose to abstain?
Another writing of the will, strong, weathered, not forgotten, the hands of time.
Click nearly half a century later. Click Click Click...
The withered hands of the clock.
Are the dark days behind us as we enter into the light?
Perhaps it was just a dream and we are just beginning.
The softening of jazz playing in the background.
Baking chocolate chip cookies.
Forfeit not loss if we shall choose to gain..
Remain be still and know that I am He.
He who will walk you through the dark tunnels.  The leery midsts.  The weary shadows.
Never shall I leave, never shall I forsake.
My hand will gently guide you and I shall remain.
All that ever was and all that will ever be.
I shall be He.
He who will hold your hand when it is weathering and shriveling in to the gust.
The silver glimmer dust will never leave.
It shall be a part of who you breathe, who you choose to remain to be. 
"Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death....
Prancing about in the snow, not a care remains.
Learn when life's weary breath gets in the way.
Of who and whom you were meant to be. 
The sweet simplistic dance in the snow.  The silent covering of the pureness of essence.
Laughter and kind embraces.
Nary a word.  Your sunrise your sunset. Children at play. The serenity of dawn. 
Where is my rabbit? My guide?
Shall I wallow into a world of hallucinations and daydreams, or do I gently place my feet upon the soil?
The trodden soils.
Laced with tears and fears.
Doubts and hopes.
Challenges and triumphs. 
Burrowing through the tunnels.
The tunnels of time.

"Twas brillig and the slimy toves did gyre and gimble in the wabe...
All mimsy were the borogroves and the mome raths outgrabe..."

(I'm feeling a bit like Alice I reposted this...)

Thursday, April 21, 2011


The man with the psychedelic smears
and the tattered tears
in fragments of a robe,
I have come to pay him servitude
upon tranquility.

His word healing
my blood smattered hurts
nailed to the wall
and lying in pieces on the temple floor.

Tiny tiny pieces as they fall...

I am learning to fail
and fall
placing my blood-bought blows
upon his crown.

My foul apparitional image
and asserts itself
in reflected glass
and unable
to see the prisms.

I climb the steps
toward Lenten.

One heartbeat closer
to the journey.

Tuesday, April 19, 2011


Is it zumanity or humanity to explore the sensual libations

An indulgent paradise prying into the carnival of carnal pleasures?

High above the stratosphere
The strip will tease
With illusions and delusions of grandeur.
The slots will awaken and shed your temptations of inhibitions
Groveling in the innocence of lipstick smears and merging breasts.
Young women taught to put on the burlesque breath
A pilfering headdress upon succulent skewers
To taunter  in the smoke-filled pupils of desperation and lust
At the risk of the aging players hand.

Masques are masked in frolics of glistening chandeliers
While the crazy horse peeps upon the Paris Colosseum.
Crowds pressed in as butterflies flitting about
Looking for nowhere in particular but everywhere
Sweltering heat, children drag on, forced to face the immersion of platitude.

Minstrels on streets seeking to devour, to promulgate
Finding themselves aside the pillars of bridges
Hands placed strategically begging for mercy.

Here the baubled come to play
In smoke-filled cabarets
With sinister bunnies and doves flying into rafters.
While cabbies become junkies
Their dreams crumbling before them,
Foreclosures emerging highest in the nation.

What can be learned from this smattering of matters?
An oasis found in the land of drunkenness and excess
Each yearning to place that final penny
Searching for the land of plenty

Only to find it doesn't exist.

(This isn't my personal experience of Vegas...but I looked beyond my rose colored glasses.)

Tuesday, April 12, 2011

The Author's Voice April 2011

Greetings Fellow Bloggers,

I will be enjoying some solitude in the land of stimuli for the next few days.  The photo is a hint of where I'll be staying. (Wish me luck!) My brain has been a bit fried and hopefully the words will come back to me. I am celebrating a belated anniversary.  Therefore my blog will be quiet for the next few days.  I look forward to hearing from you upon my return. Blessings, wealth, prosperity and serenity!


Wednesday, April 6, 2011

The Soils of Serendipity

It hurts to love

So much sacrifice
Wrapped up in brownies
With a glaring grin
Of cynicism
And farewell.

The thank yous
And how do you dos
Lost in art
Culture and celibacy
Realms passing by tomorrow
Manners and sweet nothings
Or good for nothings
One only knows...

Sentiment once again finding her way
Through the basements
Of soggy souls and winters
Baby blankets tossed aside
Amidst a flurry
Of  clutter and lint
Dust bunnies claiming

No more I scream
Enough of this fake alabaster
Bring back the cream
The gloss, the moss
Of sweet serenity and
Long forgotten Sundays!

Trails to explore
Amongst the burning rays
On glowing skin
Always a reminder
Of the inner beams.

The dropped legacy
Shall find its way
Even if it has to dig 
In the dry parched dirt,
Exposing the innards
Of the desiccated land.

Those days will be reclaimed
Siphoning moisture
Found in the bulbous nuggets
Cherishing  them to bloom.

Tuesday, April 5, 2011

William's Surrender

Plagued for many years.
A person who lives in his wallowed barred wall of regret
Remorse yet still waiting upon.

Loving him with a vengeance,
Laden with numbed trepidation and fear.
Hollowed and unwilling to read  or write between the lines.
The words speak-easy
Sealed with a shallow kiss, parlayed upon.

Self mutilation, destruction and waning.
Across a half century.
The infantile still wanting to be fed with formula or milk.

Pressing upon false hope
I seal the letter
Yearning into the wind
This time
Let it be so
I put up the red flag
Against the wood
And I wait
Another yester year has passed
Maybe just maybe this time...
It  Will be different
I grieve a silent homage

For my brother. 

Saturday, April 2, 2011


The abhorred providential plan
A wayward son
Brute in manner of pariahs
This profligated fierce curse
Will find his way through
Sobering peril.

Mirroring the love of God
"O' Absalom, Absalom"
The father cries out!

The cheat and humiliation
Dying to human potential
And resurrecting
To spiritual strength.

Trials in batches and bundles
The bottom of the dry creek bed
Propagating  persisting  perseverance.

Unfinished frames
In the thin slices
The visages of beauty
Yet to be awakened
With determination
And prosperity.

Natural inclination
Plunging into the
Vertical and lateral depths
Seeking the absolution
Behind the seeming encumbrance
Flexing the dormant muscles.

Finding the affluence
Partially amassed
At the termination of the trail.