Passport

Poetry is just scribbles,
in a mass of words,

Hairs lodged in the throat,
undigested fragments,
that beg to be transcribed.

Lift into light
take off the cloak!

Heavy wool, remove the thick layers,
naked white shoots pushing up.
Whoever thought life existed beneath
     all those rotten leaves?

I keep waiting, for the shakedown
When everything will unravel,
     and become less complicated.

In the center of all, huge bites are taken out,
The body is injured.

Holes in the fabric of time,

Principles

a rush . . .
as if all that was tall straight and stable
were now bending.

twinkling
a sleepy amazement
about all that men built

from the window of a late cab
speeding home
I no longer care enough
of what will or can or might happen.

the tide of events
spins irreverent, a sacrilege
toward a private ending.
my own?
how lonely that would seem.
.
my children are my children,
the die is cast
they need me or not at all
at times my wife is a person I cannot talk to

before her I was unfocused
I had principles I was naive to
in love with strangers
eyes to the heavens.
now I focus on the earth ahead.

yet know I lie buried somewhere
gnawing to find purpose
the source of my drive
what is it?
it wakes each cursed day
setting me on a journey
through a disconnected world
listening to a story I cannot hear.

Humbleness

My son’s clear honest eye 

sees to the heart of me

I am humbled

My daughter’s feet climb my legs and chest

I am humbled

We are all made humble

By our less humble nature

But as nature humbles us

We rebel against humbleness

We strive to be

something else.

Humbled

By my un-humble nature

So my nature

Rails against my humbleness

Were I less humble

I might lift my head

And drop my pride.

How that humbleness burns!

Coming Soon - Song of Raven

“Warble daw Raven"

Wat daw Scribblers Scrabe:

Striped Babbler: “Bee-eating a Veery Nody-tail, Scrabe ‘n Averic wid English, Breton, Gaelic, Cornish, Irish, Latin and American Bird names.”

Popinjay: “Purre Goldfinch. A Yoldring Tail ‘n Birdic Grammaw, fly ao Blakeling Scribbler, daw Tail of doo Lovebirds.”

Nanny Wash-tail: “Knot doo Shabby . . Knot Pheasant . .  May-be Fowl . .  Tithys goldie Tell-tale Triller . . “

Bohemian Chatterer: “As Great Reeds go, a ‘Monarch Moualc'h’ ‘n Bird!”

Gossip Bird: “ Bass Guiss? A Pretty Quick Coot Reed! Great Divers! Knot Fody Bleeding-hearts. A Tail doo Ptarmigan 'n Ptarmigan!"

Daw Haggister: “Fody Gull Chasers . . . and Squeezy Gulls Doo . . . Moor Tits ‘n Assity ‘n Fody Plover Padges!”

Warble Daw Raven:"Io Tam Gled Io Rood '!"

"Yoit Knot Coot Wheary! "

"Alae, daw fannag of Cromadh Bend-daw Ear bird!"

"Cob Rook a Rant!"

Words

All my verse and all my song,
Was given you, and yet you're gone,
Taken away, silence between,
The words that play, and the words that mean.

Medicine

I reached for my cures, my medicine had gone,

Left with a woman who turned them to song.
I wrote down the words, they didn't make sense,
Thought they might hurt, but know what they meant.