September 2008

In this shell,



the thin, ghost of worry

runs it’s nerves deep

reaching deeper

until they angle into flesh.

No one sees them coming

no one sounds the alarm.


30 September 2008


Under the rain’s smell, redolent

River night street

River night street

after summer was missing

All that joy was gone,

forgetting, forgetting the heat.

Window’s window is open

and I can feel her breath,

on today’s paper, there is a warning,

But birth is dreaming on,

no doubt, I can repeat it, a thought

will form peering out of the window

and tomorrow cold will be born.


30 Sept 08,


The intrusion of a foreign body

in a clear sky-

Instruments of pleasure

stroll the days and nights

insinurate an existence

beyond the present

beyond the bright steaming lights.



30 Sept 09

The people of my father are passing away,

three this past year

dying suddenly when the autumn came

Once we counted wedding and parties

so heavy we couldn’t keep up

our weekends filled with winks and smiles,

Thought we’d always tally them,

(Oh that and divorces.)

but deep winter and empty houses

are coming.

Dad is approaching that signout time

a tired, watchful person who reminds me

“Davey, it won’t be long.”

Ever tried to plan ahead?

It’s a dreadful ghost breathing cold words

on your neck. 

Our address books aren’t correct any more.

scratch outs are getting irritating

Christmas get’s easy, I guess,

Funerals replace birthdays.


Their gifts were heart failures

or tumors.


30 September 08

Yes,  I’ve made mistakes

regrets are leaves

I can’t rake up

multicolor dreams

I can’t bag away.


Years are a few drops

until the buckets are full

I can’t lift the rusty

broken handle

Left uncared for

untouched by time,

my page sho

the acid words

we spoke,

was that me?


My torture remained

in those curved letters

scolding my foolishness.


If a single leaf rest in the trees

who does it sing to?


Does it matter who was right?

who crossed that finished last

panting and wheezing

victory lane is silent,

except for blowing papers

papers of lost words

blowing across my cobblestone street

slick with pain.


I’ve fallen there before.

Have scars to show for it

bruises as my own.


Many times

a kinder word

may have watered that garden

instead of hot actinic words

burning leaves

wilting flowers.


1 August 04


My life is spent

dreaming of new sunlight

cast over my shoulder

new shadows to follow.


Dreaming of new sunlight

despite clouds and rain

I wait for healing storms

refresh or refrain.

Despite clouds and rain,

the wait is so long

refreshing or a refrain

as time filters by.


29 September 08


The Natural world is an old river

winding and coarsing in

long loops feeding trees and mountains.

I shall forever fish at it’s shoulders

patiently waiting for the moment

when singing water will bear me.


But to bare requires time

and this hook is worn,

the hook snags and tears,

it’s bent and used up.

I’ve lost count.


Of wasted line

but did I say wasted?


The spent line, leaders

wrapped around trees.


No, they are yet metals

for trying, cups of old

tarnished and cloudy

but trophies just the same.


30 Jan 05

Old Poem re-worked.


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