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


                                           no beginning
                                           but a fountain of birth—
                                           no end
                                           but a final bed for mortality—
                                           a sacred vault
                                           for every memory
                                           every spirit—
                                           eternal hope
                                           of rebirth

love’s token

                                      I stop for an instant
                                      to look here—
                                      a thought of you emerges—
                                      the happiness in your face—
                                      your eyes and lips joining hands
                                      and embracing the special moments
                                      that were ours…
                                      and will always be

labor trek

                        driving a work day like a weather’d mural be—
                        to and fro knowing every pothole
                        every utility pole streaking past eyes’ corners—
                        subconscious steering every curve
                        braking every intersection—
                        ‘tis better only as a passenger
                        that marvels lost to attentiveness
                        can be cherish’d and gift’d to memory

Terra anemic

                                                     cities take a drag
                                                     trees mark’d eminent domain
                                                     rain nowhere to grow