2Voices

2009-03-08T05:49:00.000-07:00

waiting patiently
first daffodils hold their blooms
until I notice

Christmas

2008-12-25T21:24:00.000-08:00

frozen grass crumbles
beneath bare feet going to
refill the feeders

The Immediacy of Dreams: The Convergence of Being and Meaning

2008-08-03T08:46:00.000-07:00

No single light cuts through
an image of cacophony dreams
sibilant whispers
white-noise voices
continuous word picture
illusions drift shifting
disquieting unsilence
each desperate grasping
demanding the attention
of his moment

Empty the dishwasher
put away clean
to make room for those
cluttering the counter

Seeking measured order
in the mundane ritual
of daily dutiful chores
in his moment

Hashbrowns into a hot skillet
salt, pepper, a drizzle of olive oil
two eggs over easy in the
well seasoned cast iron

Push clear to one end of the
kitchen table the detritus of
this weeks bills, prescription
notes, bird books and the flyer
announcing imminent school
year functions

Thirsting for the release
of physical exertion
to quench the dream desires
in his moment

Set in that clear space the
steaming breakfast plate
toast on the side

Reflecting upon the
morning haiku
dew diamond pendants
in symmetric suspension
grace last night's cobwebs

so both fed and nourished
in his moment

2008-05-05T05:09:00.000-07:00

politicians speak

eloquent promises made

we hear rushing wind

2008-05-04T07:47:00.000-07:00

filled the bird feeders

and not a moment too soon

flying pigs return

2008-05-03T07:46:00.000-07:00

recompiled kernel

now my PC will not boot

enlightenment lost

2008-05-02T07:44:00.000-07:00

gray light dawn window

closed against last night's rain wind

strain to hear the birds

2008-04-29T04:39:00.000-07:00

reading popcorn poems

satisfying salt crunch but

soon you must haiku

2008-04-28T03:23:00.000-07:00

Actors peel the new

onion of a character

shedding pretend tears

2008-04-26T23:59:00.000-07:00

when children are old

flowering dogwood planted

today will blossom

2008-04-25T05:22:00.000-07:00

curious fingers

swirling the pollen mist from

Japanese Black pines

2008-04-24T11:54:00.000-07:00

grass covered two track

leads deep into twice cut woods

we walk holding hands

2008-04-23T23:59:00.000-07:00

sitting statue still

too close to your thistle seed

one fearless finch feeds

2008-04-22T05:16:00.000-07:00

exquisite bare feet

on morning dew cold flagstones

coffee cup embraced

2008-04-21T23:59:00.000-07:00

promise turns beneath

plough then harrow preparing

earth for seed returned

2008-04-20T04:17:00.001-07:00

cricket celebrates

sings of daring escape from

tarantula's cage

2008-04-19T23:59:00.000-07:00

twilight softens long

journeys through course busy days

letting out a star

2008-04-18T11:05:00.000-07:00

earth quake threw us out

doors shivering to discover

Spring blood on the moon

2008-04-17T03:30:00.000-07:00

choir dogs sing nightly

staccato counterpoint to

coyote solos

2008-04-16T17:35:00.001-07:00

in age delicate

first flowers open slowly

something must be done

2008-04-15T15:20:00.000-07:00

teacher before a

final blackboard dreaming of

eureka moments

2008-04-13T08:42:00.000-07:00

tucked into wheel wells

perched on dry all terrain tires

sparrows watch the rain

2008-04-12T13:01:00.000-07:00

starlings too big for

the feeder scattering seed

to sparrows below

Burning the brush pile

2007-11-18T10:00:00.000-08:00

I waited

After a summer of stories
spreading like wild fire
burning drought
scarring our lawns
parching our lives

I waited for this
long gray day with its
on-again off-again
cold soaking drizzle

this November evening
the neighbors must
think me daft to start fire
in the rain

the primordial spark
then small tasting flame
grows in a tinder hollow
first beating breathing
hungry heart of fire

hunkering down
sitting on heels
shovel handle
staff at hand

willing the fire to live
a human windward shield
my back soaked
the small light playing
in early evening
shadows

sputtering, guttering
twist licking turning
small flames embrace
dry branches dead leaves
sizzle quickly

burning the brush pile
has begun there is no
turning back as there is
no turning back to place
the limbs upon the trees

more drizzle damp fuel
placed upon the rising
pyre steam wood smoke
carried alee by not so
gentle evening breezes

as darkness encroaches
the breadth of now
involved fire lashes out
brighter for the night
a primal circle of light

radiant heat contrasts
the rain soaked side of me
that faces from the flames
chilled through to bone
an unkind balance met

now roaring in a wind
whipped frenzy fly ash
glows dancing
high into clouded
night blinking out

circle light in darkness
alone drawn across ages
of silent sentries standing
face front to warmth
back to nightmares

rising now beating back
light cold rain
this living ravenous
ethereal entity calls
out for greater sacrifice

I will wait
as the brush pile burns

Did not grow up

2007-09-23T10:32:00.000-07:00

His children did not
grow up in his father's
house

He cut his hair short
as he should

He shined his wingtips
as he should

He wore shirt and tie
as he should

He went to work
Sundays to church

He marched.

His children did not
grow up in his father's
house

You ran away as soon
as you could

You stayed away as long
as you could

You changed the world as much
as you could

You sang the songs
protested the wrongs

You marched.

Our children did not
grow up in our father's
house

They are page space tagging
as they can

They are jam mix ripping
as they can

They are wry cyber sliding
as they can

They run the net
computers alone

They march.

i want to be alone

2007-09-23T10:22:00.000-07:00

i want to be alone

lonely and cold.

feel the cold night air seep
under single covers

i have slept out my dreams

damp twice used towel
beneath my feet

i will do laundry today
or tomorrow.

to hear nothing when
the furnace kicks out
no rustling or pitter-pattering
no busy-ness no
fuss

being silent
listening

up and dressed,
packed for the day
leaving this room
closing the door
like a motel room
disappearing
when the door is closed

walking away,
through the lobby
of my own home
hoping not to
bump into
someone I know

i long to hear my own thoughts
without the guilt of
having to steal them

2007-09-23T09:50:00.000-07:00

cold dark water runs
turning over tumbling
shy brook trout smiling

2007-09-23T09:49:00.000-07:00

two loaves of fresh bread
give them both away and ask
what price the new rose

2007-09-23T09:46:00.000-07:00

conical morel
capped elf dancing merrily
he was just right here

2007-09-17T06:06:00.000-07:00

cold shoulder morning
winter wrestles throwing fall
sunshine breaks the hold

2007-09-17T06:05:00.000-07:00

dawn's darkness threatens
promises of midday rain
sunshine afternoon

2007-09-17T06:04:00.000-07:00

geese speaking from flight
dusk migrating to darkness
southern promises

2007-09-17T06:02:00.000-07:00

soft cold rain declares
the turn of summer's last song
split oak embers dance

My Father's Dream

2007-02-12T18:29:00.000-08:00

I had to learn to see

my father's dream mirror,

to know the flowing

continuum of desire.

Reflected,

the fleeing siren

singing beyond the edge

draws my father's dream

to bittersweet straits.

In his dream mirror

the image reversed

My father's son,

the reflection

of myself,

the being,

the illusion,

locked in mortal

stare,

becoming one.

Rising to youth's fury

I donned the armor

of my father's dream,

picking up his sword

of temper

going forth to slay

the long dead dragons

that lurked specter like

in my father's closet.

O'er the vast ranges

I sought the beasts

that would torment

my father's dreams.

Yet long bleached bones

denied the quest

and scattered scales

bespeak the dragon's

plight.

Here upon the endless

barren plain majestic

borne upon a wing

the last slow spiral

has fell the mighty

dream beast.

Brought to its knees

for the want of fuel

to feed the kindled flame

of passion.

With the last expiring

sulfurous miasmatic rattle

of passing dragon

the armor

of my father's dream

fell away

Where barren lands fall

to the furious seas

I stand naked

alone.

My father's dream

a fading visage

My life illusive

memory

like a dragon

taking wing

though their bones

lay baking

upon some barren

plain.

2007-01-28T09:10:00.000-08:00

early daffodils

renewed by receding snows

thawing ice stream flows

Two Pennies

2007-01-01T12:40:00.000-08:00

They threw pennies

At the feet

Of the man

Asleep

When he awoke,

as in a dream

they turned

away

He rose to walk,

leaving them,

in his wake

From a distance

he spoke softly

words carrying

clear

across

silence

“Take up the pennies,

cast down your

Crowns.”

After he spoke,

as in a dream

they turned

away

Fingering tight

draw string pouches

absently counting

gold sovereigns

No Liberty

2006-11-11T20:37:00.000-08:00

As rising wind bent supple limb

I turned quick, the tree gave

a short sharp sigh

No liberty have I this house

though here do I presume

this porch

Ominous thunder unrelenting

from mounting summer storm

lacing heavy falling rain

through twisting maple leaves

I would have shut the windows

to the rain but no liberty

have I this house

What majesty this house does

hold, full and frail

replete and torn

it whispers soft kept secrets

The rain now just a gossamer

veil, a black cat sits expectantly

just inside the closed glass

doors, mute requests for food

or a scratch behind the ears

Yet I cannot oblige

I have no liberty this house

The Siamese guardian returns,

dry, no worse for the sudden storm

complaining in haughty cat fashion

that I should either feed or

leave, my choice, but please decide.

Holding Dear The Night

2006-10-31T08:08:00.000-08:00

Sleep came fleeting, scant breeze

Barely aloft the humid night air

They walked slowly, stretching time

tentatively hand in hand

unsure of the path

across moon shadows laced

with the sharp bark

of night dogs

Sleep came on cat's feet, stalking

scenting the heavy air, pause

Two children alone together

not knowing life's course

fingers interlaced

neither leading or following

quick shallow breaths

tight hearts pounding

Sleep came in silent release, day's last

lingering details displaced

Leaving deep shadows for the

embrace of forest's undergrowth

weaving through tendril vines

shoulders touching hands

clasped tight to ward off

the trepidation darkness

Dream as an extension of day lights

the inner recesses of sleep

Following in each others foot

steps, desire's siren song

calling from the heart

of the forest glen

pushing deeper pulled by

an unknown promise

Dream as a mind story unfolding

revelations showing at each new crease

Stopping by sudden unspoken need

exertions' panting leans against

the cool smooth Beech's skin

soft loam under foot

quiet hand never leaving

gentle holding hand

Dream as an artesian spring over

flowing relentlessly over filling

Continuing the journey of

unspoken need now oblivious

to primal night fears

willful hesitation giving way

to instinctual surrender

racing to the forest edge

Dream as a mist shrouded vision

a reflection in a window

Emerging from forest's last

holding grasp to collapse side

by side enveloped by soft

meadow grasses bathed in

bright moonlight drifting

to sleep beneath a starry canopy

Sleep came with hushed breathing

holding dear the night in a dream

Amid Warring Cries

2006-10-06T15:41:00.000-07:00

Amid warring cries for peace

we have heard the lullaby

and succumb to the dreamless sleep

rocked in the handmade cradle

of the eternal holocaust.

We drift a warm bed made

when half the world away

a mother cries, “My Sargent son

of only nineteen years is dead;

laid aside his hero father.”

To enter the maternal void

of wedding white she bespeaks

the seed of new cries, she carries

tears to his shroud, accepting

his honor within a folded flag.

There alone to join as one:

we have laughed and loved,

and now fought and died,

all in the name of freedom,

it's golden chariot to ride.

As the one, another yet becomes,

amid warring cries of peace

we drift a warm bed made

to enter the maternal void,

there alone to join as one,

as the one, another yet becomes,

rocked in the hand made cradle

of the eternal holocaust.

Queen Anne's Lace

2006-09-29T07:58:00.000-07:00

Débutante dilettante

Hungry stares

wanton sighs

soft velveteen treasure

naughty

tatting crossed thighs

Demure lilting laughter

veiled wide

tell-me eyes

soft silken born whispers

haughty

tattling lies

Victorian secrets unkept

half hidden

half worn

soft satin filigree accent

knotty

tattered and torn

Suburban domestic

enchantress

forlorn

soft cotton white matron

machine

lace adorned.

Two Voices

2006-09-25T06:39:00.000-07:00

You have every right

to be upset with me.

I came unannounced

to visit him and

and be with you

We will banter

he and I

recalling and

regaling

while you sit

quietly reading

the last few pages

savoring those

last few

words.

Politely present
practice poise

enduring

time worn

versions of

lost loves

and

labors glossed,

triumphant

youth's decline

two old men spar

exchanging practiced

subtle jabs, each

with fighter's pride

showing off his

fancy

footwork

Stealing

the warmth

from candle

flame cold

illuminates

surfaces

polished

exteriors

angular smiles

flat

laughter

stealing

eyeful

glances

soft cloth

drape caress

full round

thigh line

descending

to ankles

with

bells

on

The book

finished

returning

from some

literary

distance

with

dancing eyes

Adrift

2006-09-13T16:27:00.000-07:00

Sitting alone, except for the
insistent cat at my ankles,
across the dayroom, through
the open door
I watched my father sleep.
Propped up with pillows,
covered with an unwrinkled
sheet to guard against the
coming evening's chill

He was not sleeping but adrift

Hunkered down against Spring's
last morning frost with steaming
coffee fresh from the thermos
and a cigarette, lit from the last,
intently watching his rod tip
for the tell-tale tickle
of a brown trout. Perhaps a
third to join the other two
already nestled in his grass
lined creel.

The rod tip turns

With practiced measured patience
he safely sets the coffee aside
and caresses the rod, finger
touch upon the line

The rod tip turns again

"Hot damn" says he and deftly sets
the hook

"Hot damn!" His exclamation
rises with the sharp bending
of the rod, the drag screaming
as the trout turns, three pound
mono filament tears the stream's
mirror surface

Slowly reeling, in command, rod
held high, tip turning, taught
line slanting toward the unseen
prize

Whispers, so as not to startle but
to sooth, "Come to me. Come to Papa."

The trout turns again, the
drag speaks its high pitch
complaint, fishing line tears
another momentary fissure
across the flowing stream
and then goes slack

Weary of the beguiling trout
reeling in the soft slack line
holding hope until the mouth worn
worm surfaces.

Better for this fight, not broken
his practiced hand sets a new worm
to hook, lets slip a silken cast
and reaches without looking for
his now cool cup of coffee.

Then again to drift

Cathedral

2006-09-09T07:11:00.000-07:00

After the world is laid to rest
well before the first light of dawn
silent darkness shrouds
majestic spires reaching up
to touch the stars

A pilgrimage
responding
to a calling
without course

Standing very still, willing calm,
surrendering, only to be present
letting the night settle
around me

The journey
becomes me
complete in
the first step

In time the mind's darkness of night
breaks, the obscuring veil is torn,
ever so slowly celestial light contrasts
the earth and sky

long countless miles
parched
beneath midday sun
continuing

Half seen steps lead into the
unfinished foundation, reaching posts
and crossbeams promise a glorified
sanctuary, the labor of man's strong hands,
the vision of a fearless heart

cleansing travel
removing the past
weights
leaving the world

In this soaring hallowed emptiness,
amid half laid walls latticed with
rough hewn timbers, creation's
presence stirs, its living energy
as the laying of hands, uplifting

bone weary
stripped bare
well fed
arriving home

Ode to a Lady

2006-09-05T11:45:00.000-07:00

Early morns cantankerous

billow fight for

dawn's first gray lights

Slowly tumbling mystical

winds rolling lithe

between cirrus lovers

Venus and Mars stand

watch at the edge

of awakening skies

Auroral coming hidden

then beneath

percale heavens

Quiet parting simply

night slipping into day

two alone go their way

Red tears cried for

the mis-picked velvet

petaled rose.

Returning

2006-09-01T19:31:00.000-07:00

Returning to the labored

silence of a now empty

home.

Once where there were

rains of fortune

the planted seed

of two hearts

we shared the quiet held in

each others thoughts.

Words pierce flesh

solitude tearing

warm hearts with dry harsh

winter winds.

Brown leafless seed pods

in a vase on the

buffet next to this months

bills.

Two Voices - Forward

2006-08-29T17:34:00.000-07:00

Two Voices

A collection of poems written over the course of nearly 30 years. From the arrogance and innocence of youth to the vengeful musings of a crudmugeon. Romance, philosophy, death, religion, even *gasp* heartbreak are woven through these paltry offerings. In these scribblings you will find unfinished paintings. You will see the reflection of the war years... you have to choose which war - perhaps the one that best suits you. You will encounter mystical prophets and nearly naked young ladies and grumpy old men.

The title, Two Voices, is the mystique of this collection. Two Voices is the dance I don't do. Two Voices is the magic I don't do. Two Voices symbolizes the relationship between my writing and your reading. I "speak" with my one voice and you "hear" with the second voice, your own. So we collaborate. Much of the content that you will find in my work is not there in my voice. You will paint the picture. You will hear the music. You will write the poetry. I have written these pieces. They will not be rewritten - so I can say that I don't dance. I have imparted meaning to these collections of words. Yet the value comes from you reading them - so I don't do magic.

The title, Two Voices, is an insight into my writing. Seldom if ever do we hear just one voice in our world. More often than not we are subject to barrages of voices all speaking at the same time - and then there is our internal voice(s) offering continuous commentary. Many of these pieces are an attempt to capture in some small measure that multi-dimensionality of voices. Or at least two.