pelagic trance

                                 Terra’s chest rising
                                 breath wafting sea-worthy sails
                                 o’er feet and fancy


rest area

                                   break from the flight path
                                   life’s wingers on life’s petals
                                   then… a hop away


                                             of complexions
                                             of perfumes
                                             serenade spellbinding
                                             to taste
                                             to memory
                                             for rewelcomings

Eclipse Siam

                                    o’er Lavapura
                                    sips Rahu a cup of mortality
                                    under eyes of Sun and Moon
                                    to ears of Vishnu—
                                    tho’ behead’d guilty demon
                                    his jaws still immortal chase
                                    and feed upon the tattlers—
                                    soon escapees from his fangs
                                    hamper’d slowly in their wake
                                    till their slip off Maha’s doorstep
                                    renders the full smile
                                    of Day

blind dreams

                                    all beyond this flesh of breath
                                    do gaze
                                    and invade
                                    thy fleece
                                    thy savor
                                    thy redolence
                                    thy song
                                    inspiring pillow’d imagination
                                    with trepidation
                                    with amenity
                                    within night eternal

floating mall

                                      in sunshine and monsoon
                                      be my boat my treasure stall
                                      of rambutan and dragon fruit
                                      of noodles and khanom krok
                                      for fellow and foreign landers
                                      in the Basin of Chao Phraya

station of acquaintance

                                      spirits transforming their cloth
                                      yet unable to mask memories
                                      that dwell at the crossroads
                                      of moment—
                                      and sometimes
                                      those of modest dress
                                      be the fondest
                                      with a will for immortality


Glass Slipper of Bahía de Todos Santos
A Smile below Guadalupe grape dancers
Innkeeper of commerce and cruise ships
Master Chef of fish tacos and enchiladas
Night Owl of cervezas and mariachis
Enchantress of shop-till-you-drop’ers
Cinderella of the Peaceful Sea


                                  stricken by Beauty
                                  to fall into the arms of Earth—
                                  and from thy love
                                  be born the Forest
                                  the world of Us


Happy Fathers’ Day!


                                                       no fallen angel
                                                       only the next dash of spice
                                                       for my mother’s feet

In Memory

I’d like to dedicate this posting to Peter G, who graduated from Marine Corps boot camp with me.  After my short term of service, I went on to enjoy the benefits of civilian life– love and marriage, rock concerts, forest hikes, wild parties, foreign travels, dogs and cats.  As for Peter, eight months after boot camp, he was killed in a firefight,  He was only 19.  Now, looking at his photograph, I am deeply saddened and lost for any further words.  Peace, brother.

Buaya Darat

                             a thousand millennia
                             have mirror’d my awesome beauty—
                             a flower from Isla Flores—
                             an Ora
                             whose bite be much louder
                             than my bark

Breath Giver

            every eon arous’d I become
            by a stranger’s sensual embrace
            till I cry aloud a joyful cry
            and spew forth my eggs
            of liquid fire and ash
            to mingle with the suitors
            of land and sky and sea
            that my evolving world might endure
            not only to join Time
            but Her for some to really feel

daily bread

mid morn—
kitchen window opens its eyes—
charming our nest into song frenzy—
front door reveals a friend
trying to mimic our chirp—
“Morning, pretty birds!”
our hearts beat past our wings
as wild seed fills our aerial bowl
and garnishes the feet of our tree—
“Enjoy, pretty birds!”
once again so good be life—
‘tis breakfast in Vale of Spring