This blog was created for others who will hopefully glean something from the words I have written.Not much to say except I ran off from an orphanage when I was 13 years old.Hopped on a freight train and joined the circus.Have been wandering ever since.I am grateful to be alive and my only desire is to leave something here for others to gain from.If I can accomplish that then I have successfully reached my intended goal.All we have left in the end is our legacy.
He dreams of flying High in the sky Soaring in clouds Asking himself why Does the horizon seem To never end The sun seems aloof As boughs of trees Which seem to bend His heart is upon the wind On warm days amongst Other fellows Whose feathers seem To kiss the wind
Within the world Long forgotten words In the expanse of all that has happened It's significance of greatness Overwhelmed me until I could contain myself no longer It then reduced me to tears Then in all my fears that I might forget The words appeared Then faded quickly Beyond redemption of my grasp What was left were all the memories Their intricate inter twining Until I realized I could not live without For this was the true meaning of love For me
We walk in the shadows Of our former selves The earthly bonds Of days gone by In remembrance Of all we have seen Those innocent days Which now magnify Time is the only part of the essence That cannot be recaptured Part of our dreams Or so it seems Only in memory is enraptured In the shadows Of what we once were To the sound of the tinkling brass
Victory comes from within oneself Deep beyond the shadowed eye Amidst the tugging of hallowed emotions Looking for position as they vie With no disturbance in tranquility Influences work towards the center At the end of each day it is the way Mutterings of yet a dissenter Yet victory within itself Will rise to meet the occasion Removing doubt from the voices Who flee from their own persuasion
He has always been handled With gentle care Milford the duck Who I won on a dare Last summer down on the beach I ran a race for the fuzzy fellow Now he lives at the house with me Where things are pretty mellow Mr.Perkins my old tomcat Naps with Milford each day On weekends he goes to the beach With always something to say Pelicans fly and Milford watches Although he has never flown I don't think he knows he's a duck As he mutters in monotone He's a pretty cool guy if I say so myself Showing off to get a few laughs Quite a celebrity in his own right But he can't give out autographs
Origins of life Flocks gather Migration makes its demands Departure to other places Where once were welcoming hands Places of solitude Close to extinction Unable to be saved by grace Unrelenting pace Thriving within the insult Of waste Poured upon the land
He knows his world has changed Covered in the pitch of tar Black death until his final breath Upon this scourge That defiles the land Caused by the hand of man Until his final breath He floats upon the sea Folded wings with open eyes Behind him a world dies Celestial bodies shine down He only questions why In remembrance of The blackened royal crown
Giant Anaconda coils Sucking black blood From peaceful lagoons Rest upon the banks Constricted in the deluge Brought on by the ooze That engulfs Drawn by hands Stretching out Over wetlands Upon beaches Into the far reaches Poison flows Into what it blankly bestows Crushing what remains In the wake of blackened days Far from the cities without pity Instead of feet pounding Upon concrete pavements Intaglio engravements In the once golden sand Where quiet bliss engaged Life fluttered in the moment Alas the invasion begins
Velocity abides in sanguine motion A disposition of characteristics flows Throbbing pulsations within the vein Concealed in the outer barriers Of the androgynous city Stamen and pistil thrive ambiguously Alongside of each other Untagged emotion within heartless objects Stifled in the temporal moment From the blazing yellow eye Like melody that flows from the violin
Blower of the horn Such was the day Mass exodus of all life Sowing of seeds Ripe for planting In search of its own midwife Before all signs Or the meaning of symbols Sweet music freely flows Teeming with life Electrified energy Truly the show of all shows Primordial ooze upon the place Surrounding ether above Such is the Horn of fruitful compassion In likeness to the pure white dove
There was a school of angel fish Only three remain It looks as though they will not make it Before the coming rain That big crocodile waits patiently For them to come his way It looks as though he's going to have Those angel fish today But wait here comes a gust of wind As I sit upon this log The crocodile is changing Into a harmless frog It looks as though the fish are smiling Maybe all along they knew The crocodile would not get them The magic wind had told those fish And calmed them with a clue
Bare limbed trees October days Auburn leaves released The crow sentinel ponders On quiet coldish morns Sloughed flowers Blankness in its stare Such are the ways Visitations from the corvid Deep beauty In the silence Upon the window pane From that which must refrain Bent boughs pose Posterior limbs reach out Grasping in their hold Gentle winds in cold rain The sentinel observes In that which remains
Beneath the folding hands of Heaven Underlying provocation within the sky Anticipation of the revelation Within my own disguise In realization of wanton To dancing in the rain Celebration of joy and sorrow The bliss of knowing pain Crows invade my inner mind Along the Oregon coast Where trees speak only to me My sight of a shadowing ghost Solitude a cherished thing From childhood dreams Not yet realized In such things concealed From whence it had materialized
He merrily washes her every spring Never missing a stroke They've been friends since childhood Since their eyes had met On warm days they slumber Under the rays of the sun At night she sleeps by his cage A friendship that's never done
Weeping for me Although in my presence I reside in your heart Everything in life is temporal The essence shall never depart Comparison to what is mundane Nothing can ever possess All that is placed in our care Not meant to cause regress What exists continues forward Beyond the limit of decay Energy disperses back to its origins Swiftly it goes; As if riding upon a Galloway
Tall grass reaching out In the field of chirping crickets Coarse blades attempt to cling What might lurk in thickets Imagination runs rampant Unlike wheat mingled with chaff Far off is the trail With its epitaph Although a bird looks horizontal To see open skies Tall pines near mountaintops A song that never dies In this place of silence Nature coexists in tranquil peace Distantly is heard the bleating ewe In this gracious masterpiece
Only the eyes are left intact Ravaged in time to disrepair Few would notice what's inside Even less would care The real beauty that resides Within my silent heart Of broken dreams and promises Which are never kept In latter days The sun shone through As though I'd never wept Hope dashed many times Still this child inside Quietly trembling in my waiting My heart will softly abide
As if their fate had always been A planted sapling long ago Located on the silk road Before the days of Marco Polo The tree grew strong and true Many things passed before it In days of dark and morning dew Generations came and went Wars were fought in discontent Yet the tree remained It knew itself in gracious times Hiding in invisibility Quietly as its great trunk climbed Great storms could not prevail Yet lightnings could not avoid It struck the great tree one day Ending what it had enjoyed Slowly it died as it roots gave way Until it fell as some say A peasant passing by gave notice Seeing its beauty even in death Sensing all that was united Until its last breath With loving care he carved from it Through out casting winds that blew For in the work he poured his heart As this he always knew Fate would keep his work together In days of dark and morning dew Two chairs were formed One for virtue-One for strength Carefully he carved them out Endurance in each length Together they have always been And this will always be
Familiarity in the air Last chance to savor the odors of it On my train ride to destinations unknown Far off from what has been mine A voice from the man who brings my hay Laughter of children in the park Others of my own kind alongside There is more fear in the trembling Of others compared to my own Cold steel doors encase me The rumbling of these wheels is not friendly Anxious for the time when they will cease Observing the moon that follows Wondering if there will be one When this journey ends Will there be laughter in the air Are there others of my own kind Someone remarked that I would be reunited But I do not know what this means The smell of the herd fills my trunk Thickness in the air and in my throat I am at the mercy of the steel monster As it pulls me to my next horizon Far beyond the limits of these tracks
Each day that passes Taken for granted Although such days that seem to go Details under a crescent moon That seem to somehow know In the passing of time Of a twinkling star Although its beacon seems afar An insignificance in the total array Surely the light that enters the eye Is sweetness unto the mind Furthermore unto the soul Water is not missed from the great well Until the well has run dry Yet the thirst is much greater Than what can quench the thought Earthly delights within the meaning Of a heaven burdened with frought
Engulfing rains pursue just out the window Reflections into the mind of the nomad Into what has been seen Once exposed to such elements Never able to place things in reverse In the unrelenting noise of the machine Thunder's voice remains unresolved A mystery which cannot be solved Familiar patterns reappear Into prisms of another dimension Beyond the realm of all fear Addictions dissapear within the abyss Unto the nomad who has seen all of this Hounds and jackals howling as in like Of the voices in corridors Relentless water pushing against the dyke The golden bowl disintegrates Voicing its rage Until the integrity of the mind Surrenders to its cage
My spirit lives within the roots Of this dying tree A hummingbird senses Touching what's left of me Essence of nectar within reach Yet my presence concerns What must beseech An inner calling Hidden in silence The gentle whispering That floats across the meadows Then upon flower petals Resting upon these wounded branches That have fallen to the ground Light halfheartedness that flutters Yet no tear is shed Or greater happiness found
On this vast plane of measureless intensity Where all flesh has sought out to be dust Blown away like traveling tumbleweeds The intellect remains intact somewhat Contemplation begins to set in Deep reflections within reach In the great expanse of time All earthly desire becomes extinct On other plateaus there remains A desire of connectivity With the upper energies That flow like rivers Over the hills of far away
Parallel platforms of rust On vertical walls that clutch Stench from laundry permeates Looking down on the street below Sirens crush the air Destruction of peace Only the deaf can survive Untouched by surroundings As the radio plays Vain attempts to squelch Sounds in the city There are no violent screams It is much more subtle than that Sirens blare Whatever their cause No moment is captured Where something is not alive Woe unto such places Where only the deaf can survive
Gentle rushing sweet breath Soft wind beneath my wings Transformation has brought this The cocoon withers upon the branch Shimmering as though It were saying farewell Soon it will crumble into dust As the new journey begins Fragrances of spring's aroma Flowers that sway in tandem Dalliance flourishes beneath skies Touching my newborn wings Distantly the whippoorwill sings Flaunting its plumage openly Living in dark forests of the countryside By its ways many will abide My wings flutter momentarily In this my season under the sun Until one day when I return My season will be done
There are no dark forests in my realm In places I go where no other has been In times when melancholy begins to set in Rather it is mistaken by others as sadness On my path to the place In my quiet heart Dried tears upon my pillow Mistaken for tears of pain When they are really tears of joy Still-it must all be concealed Behind my eyes which see Beyond the horizons of what others look at Yet they do no see me The noise in the streets evades me I am there but not really here Muddy colored clouds fill the grey skies Into my heart which denies All sadness from making its home In the travels within my mind Wherever I may roam
Through the fog A belltower rings In this city of silence A voice faintly sings Beneath the fog in the lull Energy stirs In heaven and hell Judgement is sustained In the countless monuments Built for those who impose Mourning not for their souls Only for the loss Of their physical presence Within the power they do not possess Better to pray for their souls Than to remember the last kiss
Regardless of where I may be In a city of lights Or a farm in the country Wandering aimlessly at night In untraveled paths Only familiar to me Other animals may come and go Aware of my presence in passing Yet they continue to graze Traveling in their ways Knowing there is no impending threat In my cloak under the guise of the night Moon shining bright Concealed in thoughts that take me To places where I must go In the unspoken languages That are often misunderstood Where words do not mingle with actions Actions that speak louder Than any tongue can begin The utter loneliness also brings solitude Which clasps onto peaceful melodies Into the ears of those who can hear it Traveling softly in the fields Seeking out those who desire Solitude that comes with loneliness After the stars have risen In a most forgiving way
Other than the sound of the train in the distance That rumbles along on the track Many times I've succumbed to its pull Never bothering to look back Endless hills that met with fields Miles of silent corn Grazing cattle looking on A scarecrow in the shadows forlorn Old farm homes that seem to know Paths of the wayfaring man Who wanders aimlessly over the prairies Like tumbleweeds upon flagstone That smolder in the sand This field of dreams over a horizon That never seems to end Along the old dirt trail and beyond Where a heart can slowly mend Flowers do not offend me Neither do the trees Quietly observing the rabbit in the distance Absorbing the slight of a breeze Timeless chapters in an open book Under skies of blue Dirt trails hidden in time In the midst of the morning dew
A thing of beauty which may exist Alongside the same of another Does not exalt in its difference Coexisting with the other Moon and stars Sun and sky Each sways in the wind Each shall live and die Side by side Their compliment is brief A season passes swiftly Yet it is not a thing of grief Their season has been spent In the winds of summer days One embracing the other In spite of different ways
By someone who thought Them to be flowers Their meaning meant more Than just mere weeds Given to me with innocence With no other reason in mind Having been taken to such places Nevertheless I find Staring up at silent walls Contemplating that which verily falls In truth my heart is absent From places that thrive within
On this dreary day I cry in the rain To help me forget The inner pain Upon these rooftops Engulfed in shadows Far from the scent Of flowers in meadows In my observance of these Nimble towers in concrete Domes of glass which Reflect in light It is dimmed by the rain Upon the solemn window pane From places within Where nobody peers out Into the street Where the struggle moves forward Amidst the sirens The complaint of trees Swaying in the wind Their branches seem to speak Yet nobody bothers to listen Upon my place I see it all An evasive sun refuses to glisten Amongst the commotion Delirium sets in quickly It can be seen in the pace Of those who walk the avenues Stumbling over the pathways That which seem to lead nowhere Except where it all begins and ends To this I say: Fluttering in this wind With these tired feathers I caress the air Touching the sky as far as I may go The wind shall moan Acknowledging my presence Giving way unto my wings
Faceless in the expanse of time Its extent is vast As my sphinx like form Thorns bruised me Deeply into the abyss Like plundering harpoons Seeking out fleshly desires Remaining embedded Refusing to succumb For in such despair There also remains hope From the place where I reside Those who may wonder Seeking out truth over desire Such purposes remain unrealized Great riddles flow Begging to be resolved
Each day comes with morning dew Emergence from the evening darkness Under crescent moons that labor Stars that glitter in eons of time In the ether of continual flux it thrives Yet the single crimson rose survives As the only thing of beauty In a world of monochrome Amidst multitudes of fauna That cannot answer back Unable to return such compliments From whence the horizon begins or ends Regardless of the crimson rose In messages it sends It stands in solitude momentarily In the flora which it offends
Although viewed in highest of esteem Greatly overshadowed Or so it would seem Found upon rungs in ladders Or lingering on stairways It very seldom speaks out Flaunting in the shadows at times Yet it seeks out the light Briefly as it may be The rays of the sun shine Upon such the stoic figure Encased in its own fashion Content to ride upon the wind Loosed by chains Which might otherwise Hold it from within
We found him on a mountaintop Many years ago Frozen in a block of ice Buried deep in snow We thawed him out Then gave him food Hoping he would change his mood He only grunted Then stared at us in silence ~ Soon it came time to leave We decided to take him along Giving him a name-Bruno Dressing him in a thong Next day came and we were home New York City here we come! Bruno looked at all those lights Smiling at everything ~ Next Sunday we took him to Times Square We gave him Rum to drink After five quarts he'd had enough Now he lays there on the sidewalk Barely does he wink Occasionally he grunts a bit Refusing to depart Onlookers go about their business As Bruno lays there on the sidewalk Oblivious as a fart
In dedication to her spirit To that which I have known Erected by these humble hands Unto her heart enthroned Upon a mast her garment In margins of silence Abstract in its many ways It flourishes in defiance To all that has ever been Or all that ever will The never ending throb within Of which will never fill In the heart of my hearts There is nothing more to say No tears except for joy Under skies of gray
Carried by gentle winds Dreams reach out in frolic Touching our hearts In ways only known to those That allow them in In likeness to the tumbleweed It rolls across the prairies Over haunted mesas With ferocity in its gallop Under the burning sun Its spirit coaxes the mind Inviting those who journey Over such horizons That flourish in the wind
Upon such spans of time Where leaps of faith require Unspoken words steeped in symbolism Bridges patiently wait For crossings into the abyss Beyond dunes of sand Other dimensions exist Where bliss transcends the present What is known and cherished Places where tears are shed no longer The silent voices Heaped into one place A solo journey Derived from secret wishes Unfulfilled dreams become null It is a place provided Where a searching soul Can find its rest
Nowadays I receive many kisses But it was not always so Laying in the sun thinking back To the many years ago Abandoned in the city park Under an old oak tree Nearby a tree line By the baseball field Where no one could hear my plea I found shelter under the bleachers Far away from the many creatures Living off scraps thrown in the park The warmth of the sun Versus shivering in the dark Countless days that turned to weeks Hunger pangs screaming out The rest is history As you well might know Stumbling towards voices heard Before the winter snow I was taken in By those whom like you also know Where I receive many kisses Laying in the sun
Profound journey since childhood Grace seems over each horizon Far from light at the end of my tunnel Desire to retraite from any cliques Knowing full well the intentions Yet the chain does not loose its hold Living in darkness Much of the time in paralytic chaos Demons knock upon my door Refusing to flee Deprivation of my dreams Instead hauntings from childhood Creep in unaware Their resolute of carnal ways Tears at my heart In reaction I flee to the place Where my inner heart may find A temporal place of retreat Far removed from beasts Who claw ravenously Quenching their thirst Blocking out the sun's rays Neither its warmth can be felt Upon my face Yet neither can it reach Such woes within my heart
A tree that poses nakedly Bending in the wind Even though it stands in silence To the utterances of chagrin Observance of its many leaves Shimmering in the sun Each leaf moves in its own way As it has always done Some leaves sit in silence As though in contemplation Others dance in the wind For that is their salvation No leaf is regarded For the movement of its pose Reaching out and touching In the only way it knows Seasons pass by swiftly Giving way unto winds To dust upon the ground Yet no leaf has ever sinned
Jane Doe was what I named her She was saved from sudden death Discarded from a moving car As nature held its breath In the cold rain Along that lonely road She slept the forty miles Until I got her home Now she sleeps in my palm All her worries gone Upon my pillow she will rest Slumbering safely from dusk to dawn
She has a song within her heart Down such trodden paths she goes Through villages in their silence Until her voice is heard In likeness to the softness Of the gentle warbling bird Each one returns unto its nest But only long enough to rest For it has much work to be done Its song which must be sung Lifting up the spirits Who hear the gentle song Where two hearts have met In such happiness After wandering in their search The sound once found Is only the beginning of the journey
It all began as a paper moon Sailing over a cloudless sea The world paused on its own axis As the music believed in me Each note struck lit a star Until the night was gone A vessel floats outside my window Waiting for the dawn Over horizons never seen Until the notes shall fade Once again it vanishes Amidst the melody played
Winding streets of layered passion It followed me down the path Demonic dragon of latter times When days were filled with wrath Burning desire lurked in the mire That ugly breath of molten fire Relentlessly in my shadow Angel of death with trumpet in hand From edges within the dark forest Invasion within dreams To and fro over the land Desolation upon the rooftops Unable to any longer hide Face to face with the dragon Stripped of human pride Wandering spirit that drove my soul Such cries of pain in the dark hole Emergence under guise of night No journey planned into the light The dragon hounds me Into streets where chaos awaits The monster licks at my heels It knows the hiding places Where it lurks till the fallen man kneels
Wherein lays the fear in such happiness Albeit the joy found in thine sorrow Thriving in streets of broken pavements Which nobody can ever borrow Day unto night Positives unto negatives Beholding to one another Each needs its opposite to exist Grumbling in the streets Of protesting mutter Its thickness produces chapters Events in each life Memories alive which still survive Through waves crashing that bring strife The girl with sclerosis who struggles To move her hand in a wave The man in the airport during segregation Who is now in his lonely grave Crossing over bridges that link In remembrance of lessons learned Yet the journey to the crossroads In such places that have been yearned Bridges that connect past with present Revealing the entire mind set Onwards it trudges over the bridges With no expressions of regret
Of all my hopes and all my dreams Written my songs for many years Seldom are they played by others Who have not felt my tears Down in the Quarter The energy is smooth The slow motion train Runs smooth in the groove ~ There is no place though Like the home place Near by the railroad tracks Where I can play To my sweetest friends To the sound of the clickety clacks
Welcome to Brooklyn Don't let the door Hit you where the sun won't shine We didn't invite you here in the first place We don't want to hear you whine Pay your parking tickets And any other fines We feel like putting on you If that's not enough We'll think of some others All we know is you owe Us our just due The city runs on everyone's misery Without it no feather in our cap Our reputation precedes us greatly We're the city that dishes out the crap Millions are spent convincing people To visit us because it's so fine Once we got you in our vice grip What is yours belongs to us so don't whine Spend your money then get the hell out There's millions more just like you Who will innocently visit our waiting jaws To pay us what we feel is due
On this bald hill the new year hones its edge. Faceless and pale as china The round sky goes on minding its business. Your absence is inconspicuous; Nobody can tell what I lack.
Gulls have threaded the river's mud bed back To this crest of grass. Inland, they argue, Settling and stirring like blown paper Or the hands of an invalid. The wan Sun manages to strike such tin glints
From the linked ponds that my eyes wince And brim; the city melts like sugar. A crocodile of small girls Knotting and stopping, ill-assorted, in blue uniforms, Opens to swallow me. I'm a stone, a stick,
One child drops a barrette of pink plastic; None of them seem to notice. Their shrill, gravelly gossip's funneled off. Now silence after silence offers itself. The wind stops my breath like a bandage.
Southward, over Kentish Town, an ashen smudge Swaddles roof and tree. It could be a snowfield or a cloudbank. I suppose it's pointless to think of you at all. Already your doll grip lets go.
The tumulus, even at noon, guards its black shadow: You know me less constant, Ghost of a leaf, ghost of a bird. I circle the writhen trees. I am too happy. These faithful dark-boughed cypresses
Brood, rooted in their heaped losses. Your cry fades like the cry of a gnat. I lose sight of you on your blind journey, While the heath grass glitters and the spindling rivulets Unspool and spend themselves. My mind runs with them,
Pooling in heel-prints, fumbling pebble and stem. The day empties its images Like a cup or a room. The moon's crook whitens, Thin as the skin seaming a scar. Now, on the nursery wall,
The blue night plants, the little pale blue hill In your sister's birthday picture start to glow. The orange pompons, the Egyptian papyrus Light up. Each rabbit-eared Blue shrub behind the glass
Exhales an indigo nimbus, A sort of cellophane balloon. The old dregs, the old difficulties take me to wife. Gulls stiffen to their chill vigil in the drafty half-light; I enter the lit house.
A magpie sits upon the railing Watching a smattering of crows Howling in the midst In the fog upon the ship An ocean engulfs it With loneliness in the dream Odd as this all may seem In the journey Of never ending chapters In life that approaches Heavy hearts Cautious ways My folding hands await Accepting what comes forth It is the journey of a lifetime Upon the moving ship Trudging onwards in this ocean Such thoughts overwhelm In greater numbers than plankton Much farther than what is seen
