Sunday, December 11, 2016


you were told to wear clothes
and given rags to hide your beautiful nakedness
the beings of the forest no longer knew you
scent of water soil and green buried in the sweat of the coerced
an acrid odor
fetid like swamp and all the most delicious prey know
to flee deeper into the shadows that fall across your eyes

buried dreams speak as loud as innocence lost
                as loud as murder

you were given food and you were grateful
belly swollen
stick limbs
you saw your brothers waste and die
turn grey
no dark mahogany coffee cream-soda chocolate burnished skin
just pitted with death and foam at their mouths
no voices left to cry for
                just one sip
                                just one bite
your mother’s shrunken breasts, her salt tears
she had no chance to save them
                are you the lucky one?

the stories in your eyes are nightmares
piercing the lies we tell ourselves in worlds of plenty
                it can’t happen here
the sadness fear and anger eyes of betrayal
you work to pay for all that was free in grandmother’s time
your father held you to the sky in one brief moment of joy
                another nick in the wall of eternity
before the rains dried up and the grasses turned to brown
receded down to dust that rises
coats your skin and chokes your throat
the cycle of the bees broken
no more milk no honey
your mother’s breasts are barren

and help arrives to steal your mind
the price of food and land that used to be yours

you were churched and schooled enough
to pray for the success of what destroyed you
you spoke to me with tortured eyes
you demanded more and, not given
turned in upon yourself
the anomie of unanswered Want
the empty depth that hardens
                                breaks you
the atoms of your death can’t even feed the hungry earth
                no water

we’ve changed the planet to fit a mold
cast by a being no one has seen or heard
except in dreams or visions
and still you stare with ancient eyes
your urgent aching songs unheard

we lost your ripe juicy lips and cheeks
your golden dark
                your sturdy limbs
the center of your spinning galaxies

yet songs like molten honey burn and seduce
sun eye unblinded by the night
                and like the sun
                                you rise

Sunday, November 6, 2016

Thunderbird Boogie

I.                    The Argument

autumn air is crisp and clean
mountains dressed in gold
and russet
evergreen spikes interrupt holiday clad hills
scent of the dying old year
sweet and smoky
warmer than years gone by
the climate altering our round of days

I take off layers of scarves and jackets
fall teasing my nostrils with chill promises
but summer haunts the hillsides
not giving in to expectations
occasional surprise of flowers unblemished by frost
or even the sudden snowstorm that came the other day
sparkle spot of crimson orange violet
violent explosion of life that tells me
everything has changed
is changing
that unseasonable soft warm sudden breeze
shimmer shakes unfallen leaves
music of a world in flux
the veil between hard world and cosmos rent and gone

what have we done?

living out the blessings of the past
while stealing futures unknown and unsung
our fortunes blind
we gratefully accept what is not ours to take

so many lives I cannot know so many places I’ll never go
the shimmering buzzing ghosts of bees
brought to death by human machination
fills ears and eyes
drowning cries of those whose lives destroyed
by hunger war the need for flight
and in that endless running
homes societies torn down apart

the guns
mangled bodies
the dead cities
starving wasted limbs and giant liquid eyes

who has looked into the eyes of the children of war?

not I, in my golden cocoon
as nests of poisonous snakes multiply unseen beneath my feet
fed by greed and willful ignorance
no predators left
the forests have fallen to the giant teeth
the grasping jaws
of those given license by some made up God
whose fabled grant of Dominion usurps the natural law

the knowledge of the Old Ones tossed aside like worn out shoes
ancient wisdom torn and spat upon

Money knows Best!

II.                  The Vision

i saw a charnel land
isles of death
the blackened stalks and stumps
 the silent skies
world waiting for the end of days for humankind
the heart of the cannibal giant
dreamed into being by the worst natures
dark lords of hate and envy

from Lovelock Cave the Si-te-cah poured forth and Danced
in the forests raging ragged redhead pale faces
swelling with greed
heart-fed veins black snakes beneath the soil
blood black viscous
defiling the land and the crops and the water
hundreds of unknown and unmarked spills of blood and oil
the tops of mountains gobbled by the great maw of the eater of worlds
the State’s private army pollutes the ceremonies
ravages the prayers
persecutes the most powerful of the powerless
anyone whose humbling
will make the State appear potent

earth’s children running naked from the flame breath
dragon breath
earth’s children standing
like stones
block passage of the snake’s foul head

the cold dead world
no food for the living
yet incubates seeds of life deep within
shrugging away the takers
flicking off like fleas
like lice
crushed beneath boulders heaved by the Mother’s giant roar


she calls on Thunderbird
Great southern condor
to cast his vast shadow over the land
to circle and spiral and dive
snatch up the hydra!

the snake coiling pregnant with black death
spilling deathblood deep into soil and water


will we be as the numberless stars Rising
or will his wings blot out the sky?
                The Dance of the Thunderbird has begun

Saturday, November 5, 2016

Being Becoming

chasing the muse
i let her catch me
and fill my soul with her sweet honey
but sometimes she hides
sometimes really well

you never know
from behind which tree or cloud or stone
your muse will surprise you
seduce you again
it will be like she never left

Monday, October 31, 2016

Ascending Moon

now is the time
as november’s dark descends
to learn to love the night
now is the time
to remember all that’s lost
and let it go
to trace the shapes of dreams in constellations
against the cold black sky
night bleeds slowly
into zen brush wash of day
an occasional flash of russet sinking
measure by measure into deepest umber
the edges of the dawn and evening
run together
blotting out all memory of golden light
and colour

trees newly unburdened of their leaves
stretch blushing toward the sun
not settled yet to nakedness
to pallid dormancy
till spring shall clothe them once again
in emerald finery
clouds layered in sheets of grey and shadowed mauve
illusions of swirling softness smothering;
the dance of death and sleep begins

one momentary ray of apricot november sunlight
limns the lengthening shadows
in antique gold, fading to silver
as the ascending moon opens up the door
to all the halls and rooms
and wildernesses to come