Thursday, December 21, 2006


Ah! The soothing
of that whispered name-
inaudible, nearly...
yet shrouded in familiarity-
fanning the child-heart.

Yes, the wooing
of that angelic flame-
deliver us, swiftly
from this the darkest night
swaddled in your crimson cloth.

Monday, December 11, 2006


Brooch pins for my eyes
bury the cold black hole sun
blind Justice and I
have heard quite enough
and the prophesies cannot
be undone.

“While the widows
go on weeping
wearing ashes
and gnashing
their teeth
the Parties
will prey
on the young.”

They are staying,
they are coursing
the dogs of war unleashed.
She is dwindling
she is dwarfing
Our Lady, art thou impeached?

Tuesday, December 05, 2006

Thursday, November 30, 2006

A south wind blowing
stalls the migration and I
long for the Zephyr.

Monday, November 13, 2006

Host Meditation (Breadchewing)

Just a crumb in the food chain
the crust of the loaf
I heard of bread that’s forever
but can you make toast
from a slice of the life
that was broken for me
and is dipped in the vino
or dunked in the tea
that is bitter
and black
and imported from Spain
where the lovers of gold
are the mothers of shame
and if the dough is kneaded
by unclean hands
and the yeast is leavened
in man-made pans
then how is it living
in the alive sense of the word
unless one sees fit
to build a cottage for a curd.

Tuesday, October 31, 2006

Monday, October 30, 2006

Ode to an Apparition

What deceit I view, nay, venal sorcery
that bears your apparition hither.
What sweet, shy you may appear unto me
quick dares more premonition to wither.
If I could see you truly and through the veil
the moment would only swell further.
If I would feel you move me and pierce the mail
the torment would only strike surer.
Black art that brings you and hastens the vex
to madden and scourge my marrow
back dart on the wing and chasten the hex
to placate and purge thy harrow.

Monday, October 23, 2006


Ready ripe blush rising skyward
up salsa skin so hot
so smooth that I can
almost feel these podded seeds pulsing
against my palate...
Hurry hurry harvest-
hurry hurry have it
before it frosts
and I miss this florid fruit.

Sunday, October 22, 2006

Racey Risque Ringing of the Bards

The 18th edition of the Ringing of the Bards—poetry carnival—has just been unveiled, and it is stellar.

It is being hosted by the six "sexual deviants" of WetPoems© (may not be suitable for the workplace), and only "poems of the naughtiest nature" were considered. The challenge was to "unleash the fiercest pheromones" on the Ringing public, making it "the tastiest ringing to date." Due to the nature of this Ringing, the members of WetPoems tried to be especially accommodating to the participating blogging poets: "We realize that not everyone is ready to acknowledge their inner naughtiness, but we hope that by providing the option to anonymously submit to this ringing we give all of your inner sexuality and sensuality some room to play."

This frenzied orgy of poetry will not disappoint...come one, come all.

Thursday, October 19, 2006

Thursday, October 12, 2006


Solace seeking
African nights
have no center...
no crux
or core-
no birth
or ending
no shift
or swinging door.
Here the she-silk spinning
never comes to end
and strands that halt
the Zeitgeist zipper
graft hangmen’s
Zulu Zen.

So the thunder
insists upon distance
behind tall fences
containing the game
and my lover
Eroica extant
will be tattooed
with my shame.

While the dunes
keep marching westward
to the beat
of the shepherds drum
and the eyes
of Africa
as yet still dancing
while in her mouth
still none.

Saturday, September 30, 2006

Duck Blind

cattails and loosestrife
early autumn ritual
floral arrangements

Saturday, September 23, 2006

three painted ladies
two dark tiger swallowtails
one shot viceroy

First seen on Hunting Haiku Daily

Wednesday, September 13, 2006

Monday, September 04, 2006

A Hunter's Song

Now in the moon of Mabon
as the harvest and the hunt
draw the man from the hearth
and the warmth of his woman’s
good thighs…

we will see.

The home fires will be lit
and Branta canadensis
searching for maize, wheat, barley or oats
will fall to the siren call
of love or lessened hunger
in fields once thought to be

The home fires will be lit
and the stag will err
with his velvet horn tattered
in his musty rut
and soon hang
as a pendant
of hubris.

The home fires will be lit
and the drakes will denounce
their mother’s wisdom
in favor of fantasy
sweet nothings
and death
from double reeds
double guns
and breath moistened cocobolo.

The home fires will be lit
and the bruin
in avarice and desperation
will blunder into the brambles
where he’ll know the singing
bowstring too late
with the taste of berries mixing with blood.

We will see
the dance of hunted and prey
of ourselves in the fray
and wonder aloud about our fate
as the home fires burn bright
in our absence.

Thursday, August 31, 2006

Ringing of the Bards!

  • Check it out!

    The Ringing #11 September 2nd., 2006

    Hosted by Pearl Pirie of Poetry Springs Boing, Curl, Sproing

    Tuesday, August 29, 2006


    fall cardinal sins
    legitimized voyeurs all

    Wednesday, August 23, 2006

    freed of longitude
    a lilac-breasted roller
    bathed in sandalwood

    Tuesday, August 22, 2006

    Thursday, August 17, 2006

    urban garden spring
    lost and found in verdant peace
    absent fruit on vines

    Wednesday, August 16, 2006

    Monday, August 07, 2006

    Indian Summer
    when sugars are sought and found-
    picnics with hornets

    Sunday, August 06, 2006

    Wednesday, August 02, 2006

    Hyena summer
    black and blue the Southern Cross
    my star is falling

    Tuesday, August 01, 2006

    Monday, July 24, 2006

    Through the Melodeon Window

    Hey you, Cherry-Coke!
    Yes, you
    you Amish blacked
    horse whip
    cracking down the street.
    Compel me,
    opera mouthed
    and gutsy.
    Yeah you
    you thick treaded
    heel artist...
    hi-jack me.
    Grind it down,
    mouthing the edict
    to lay down my nets
    and follow your fetish
    through your plum cherry arbor.

    Sunday, July 16, 2006


    It was
    and is
    and ever will be
    in the bottom drawer.

    Thursday, July 13, 2006

    Paralysis strikes
    watching the life run all out
    the first and last hunt

    Tuesday, July 11, 2006

    indian summer
    seven times faster than we
    our friends come and go

    Tuesday, July 04, 2006

    The sleek lucky toe
    broken not once but in two
    sordid episodes.

    Friday, June 30, 2006

    Sugarplum on the 4th

    Sparklers drip and pinwheels spin
    mind aboard the carousel again
    where choke cherry lips
    and cotton candy grins
    all yawn until the spinning
    and lights go out
    mommies hushing
    and school girls shout
    "I can't see you, but I know you're here."
    as borders blur
    and smiles smear
    like fudgy finger-painting
    in electric dyes
    or neon ink across the velvet
    the symbolic blots
    kaliedoscopic crayons connect the dots
    that bend the line
    and slow the ride
    that raced the heart
    and pried the eyes

    (re-inspired and re-discovered thanks to "Almost Literary.")

    Thursday, June 29, 2006


    She so vulnerable
    Can’t swim
    Panic on her face
    In her eyes
    Survival only.

    Sunday, June 25, 2006


    The manual does not describe, in its entirety, the way things work, in their entirety.

    Tuesday, June 20, 2006

    Friday, June 16, 2006

    Tuesday, June 13, 2006


    Hold on or let go
    a cat on a dying limb -
    rage against the choice

    Friday, June 09, 2006

    hour mourning-
    gone the moon
    and night's repose.

    sour waiting-
    sun's bright sting
    cruel intruding dawn.

    flower-eyed lies-
    and dream stained sheets
    bemoan the day-lies.

    through the pane-
    glass bends sun sting
    and bends today...gone.

    Monday, June 05, 2006

    Saturday, June 03, 2006

    The Debtor

    The chase
    eleven years and running
    an enigma...
    Good! Hard-bitten kill.

    The toll
    not silver pieces
    nor two widow’s mites.
    Good! That kinder bill.

    or evade
    the severe chimera
    that bold, tailored knight.

    Drink deeply
    from this circle
    from this cipher
    bardlike, old tonight.

    We’ll sip
    you’ll sup
    sucking the marrow
    from blind hot godlike art.

    Until the ecstasy
    until the alchemy
    of the journey
    to the ill-boding dark.

    Monday, May 29, 2006

    Founders Field

    Peace in the valley
    amazing grace
    bass water
    fishing upstream
    Isaac's blessing
    Worthy Blood
    Red Gods
    a taste for game
    actual field conditions
    deep enough for Ivory Bills.

    First appeared in the "HazMat Review," Vol. 4, Issue 1, Fall/Winter 1999.

    Thursday, May 18, 2006

    False Casting

    Fishes Eddie
    mile marker 89
    one white birch
    and a two day old blood stain
    beneath the soft shoulder sign.

    The smell of the Beaverkill-
    or was it the Delaware?
    ...competing for the spotlight
    candidly groping
    the cannonball in tight jeans
    stepping off of the progressive
    charter bus.

    My mouth wide like a Kentucky strip mine
    I false cast once
    False cast twice.
    Not even my best Royal Coachman
    would entice that one.

    Friday, May 12, 2006


    notice the gait change
    the moon is full but I 'm not
    greetings middle age

    Friday, April 21, 2006

    Monday, April 03, 2006

    Thursday, March 30, 2006


    The virtual freeway is empty
    of all but venal vagrants
    loitering about
    like beggars on my corner,
    schlepping sacks of unknown contents,
    from somewhere
    to somewhere.
    Sacks of violent adhesives
    coagulating incessantly.
    Products of post-mortem
    and squatters
    and mercenaries,
    all of whom are traded
    and reeking of the journey
    like an old dollar bill.
    The future looks bright
    for pacifist vigilantes
    and for transactions
    without currency.

    Friday, March 17, 2006

    Friday, March 10, 2006

    Diva Chutes

    Proximity to well-worn trails
    a Pathfinder does not make.
    Reconnaissance is not romance
    regardless of the time, the tilth or the take.
    Knowing the sensation
    of 'chutes only half full
    I wonder about this jump.
    No my friends
    its killing
    but God won't sort these out.

    A pirouette is pretty
    but not when its chasing your tail
    and the need to know the ending
    is the difference betwen vex and veil.
    The slipstream used to dazzle
    and the sweetspot seemed in reach
    but now, with age
    comes vision
    and I wonder too, for you.

    Preference for lies and intrigue
    a spy does never make.
    Treachery is not tradecraft
    no matter the actor , the screen, or the fakes.
    Knowing the dullness
    of unsharpened blades
    I wonder about this hump.
    No my brothers
    in arms and angst
    most likely we won't make it out.

    Monday, March 06, 2006


    Scratching itches versus itching scratches

    Wednesday, March 01, 2006

    Hogweed Love

    A radical agenda
    newly emergent
    invasive, transient
    now infiltrates the harvest
    the hearth
    the head
    the bed
    through revolts
    and insurgent infidel
    anarchy of
    hogweed love.

    Friday, February 24, 2006


    swing brightly
    so circus
    ticking tango
    it's trillium time.

    Quicksilver current
    queen of shades
    on an Andalusion
    time machine.
    Brothers three
    Castor, Pollux
    and Old Jim Beam
    eclipsing Luna
    and it's only half-past twelve.

    (you've got)
    two talents
    and a burlap bag
    always the rush...
    and that right now
    Mr. Forty-Niner
    fax me
    some of that fool's gold
    I'm asking
    I'm prospecting
    asking alchemy.

    Wednesday, February 15, 2006

    Ode to Love and Appetite

    Venus could be instructed in the use of her charms
    Advised in the art of endearment
    Love, though too often confined to the loins
    Engenders itself best to the palate.
    No embrace, no kiss, nor ecstatic utterance
    Tantalizes as does a slightly teased souffle.
    Inciting pathos...
    Negotiating reluctance
    Enabling rapturous gourmet bliss.

    Tuesday, February 14, 2006

    Thursday, February 09, 2006

    ode to an oval office

    If I connect - I get connected...
    self-important - self-elected...
    and always paychecks before personality.
    Oh, sweet superficiality!
    Oh, blessed greed!
    You're all I need...
    I'm alone but I am number one.

    "Yes" I said, "I agree."
    I heard myself "What's in it for me?"
    My attention - my personal Christ.
    My lilting soul, profit, the heist.
    This the test, but it's been forty days.
    Do I speak the violence or am I the prey?
    I'm all alone except for the sun.
    I'm alone and I'm still number one.

    Saturday, January 28, 2006


    I am Winterborn, boreal, cheerless son...
    the melancholic bard giving birth to oblivion.
    I am freezing rain that bites raw skin...
    slushing blood with stinging wind.
    I am the dulling stupor entering your mind...
    the driving blizzard leaving you blind.
    I am heavy sky, hoary and bleak...
    days void of sun and draining you weak.
    I am barren trees and frozen waste land...
    the jagged ground that rips the hand.
    I am hardened lakes and ice that groans...
    the wolves of winter that ravenously moan.
    I am frost ringed moon and crystallized breath...
    cracked bleeding lips and comfort's quick death.
    I am the arrival of dread and the resident forlorn...
    the old man's heir... I am Winterborn.

    Friday, January 27, 2006

    Emptying the Ark

    Nothing has changed...
    equilibrium has settled upon me once again-
    a 2:1 ratio of salt and pepper
    ecstasy and angst
    affirmation and masochism, etc.
    And you?

    There doesn’t seem to be any flooding here.
    No roiling crest spilling over the banks.
    That’s what they call a salty solution of some noxious liquid
    found in back waters, basements, and tidal flats...
    Are they evacuating your neighborhood?

    Holding a heart shaped chain letter and pondering St. Valentine,
    bless his holy name,
    I was surprised to feel the Holy Ghost come upon me...
    and I got the Power.
    If St. Patrick wouldn’t have vanquished all the snakes
    I could have demonstrated my faith.
    But alas, no serpents,
    save the one wrapped around my heart
    who keeps force feeding me apple sauce.
    I was resigned to speaking in tongues-
    forked ones at that.
    I know, my diction.

    Now the sun is shining
    but I’ve been in this tunnel so long it hurts-
    like a bright light glinting
    off a gin bottle in the ditch.
    But I’ll be ok
    cause I asked for automatic polarizing glasses
    from the Easter Bunny
    and the government said if I was good and ate my apple sauce
    I would get them under the Easter-egg tree.
    I’m trying really hard.
    Cross your fingers and say a prayer for me.

    Thursday, January 26, 2006


    Having experienced your clarity
    your claret color
    bouquet bazaar
    and incidentally your cuts
    filigrees and flutes...

    I have chosen to drink
    and not to taste or savor
    but to empty
    and finger a song.

    Sing to me
    in your singular tone
    as a Siren brings men
    to their doom.

    Sing to me clear
    though the wine is alone
    is raging
    is rakish
    is resting
    with a touch
    here in my room.

    Monday, January 23, 2006

    Friday, January 20, 2006

    A Winter Solstice

    Dawn, just a memory
    daybreak a dream
    the morning lost in mist.

    Dusk, dripping scenery
    rusted it seems
    the fog says hello with a kiss.

    What of the day
    the hours without shade
    the heat that sustains the living?

    Her warmth kept at bay
    en route, waylaid
    and no prince for the crown she’s giving.

    Oh cruel Sun
    light of all light
    how we long for your return.

    Darkness shun!
    Shed black night...
    the murk, this fog, burn.

    Yet no blaze appears,
    no dazzling array,
    only stealing gray I see.

    An eclipse, I fear,
    has come to stay...
    oh Sun, set us free.

    Saturday, January 14, 2006

    Spring Fling

    Sometimes spring comes
    but briefly
    too quickly overtaken
    by the howling winds of hubris
    and the naiveté allowing for
    sowing, planting, growth
    as always
    subject to black frosts and
    deepening drifts
    and a shut-away sun.

    Thursday, January 12, 2006

    Tuesday, January 10, 2006


    It was the darkest night of the year
    or the longest at least
    and yet the fullest moon in one hundred.
    I was privately searching for my very own solstice
    amongst the star bright human light
    when he shattered my crystal fantasy.

    He stopped suddenly and stooped,
    reached a gloved hand down
    gingerly plucking the slender blue
    treasure from the snow, hardly noticeable.

    “It’s an ‘H’” he said, rather sheepishly, “they’re softer...”
    while displaying it at arms length, point up
    with irresistible boyish triumph.
    I was relieved that at least one of us
    had discovered millennial meaning.

    Monday, January 09, 2006

    Wednesday, January 04, 2006

    Archetype 1 (at a Jackson Pollock exhibit)

    She, covered
    in Gotham City black
    pink under, yellow hair pulled back
    intent upon number 11A 1948
    (black white and gray)
    and I, today the cad
    fomenting a first foray
    until she exited, without the black
    and walked away.

    An earlier version of this poem appeared in the "HazMat Review," Vol. 4, Issue 1 Fall/Winter 1999.

    Sunday, January 01, 2006


    she glittered me once more.
    Last time through
    that dice shake
    quick take
    and that crushed