Saturday, December 22, 2018

Walt Whitman’s Ghost on the Q34 Bus



He stalks our dark canyons
by firelight
casting star-shadows
on the rain-slicked streets

Rejoicing
at the church of life
at our chaotic march
led by endless, sacred dreams

He lets it all
flow around him,
such joy among the throngs
that fed him long ago

Packed to the gills,
steaming the windows
with breath
from every corner of Earth
so many mysteries, lives
intersecting in this beast

Walt Whitman,
your Holy Ghost
rolls on
even here,
an overcrowded bus
on the ass end of Queens

You dance on the fingers
of old maids, immigrant children
and harried drivers.
You keep us hopeful
when humanity fails us, again.
You are here,
in every strange swirl of humanity,
in every passing glance at forbidden fruit.
Your ghost sustains us, reminds us
that there is joy to be unearthed
like gemstone treasure,
even here.



Saturday, December 8, 2018

Transit Banshee Night Song


all night
disembodies voices
echo
in florescent-stained night

repeated
like a mantra:
Q44 bus…Jamaica… to the Bronx Zoo
rote monotone
encapsulating dreams,
soundtrack
to a future hero’s story

we slumber through
this siren song,
part of the ambient Gotham song
that lulls us to sleep;
we dream
in Viking runes
and ceremony fire,
savoring
what the waking city
will bring us
tomorrow




Saturday, November 3, 2018

Couch Song Armory



We have our own song
for when the whole family
fits on the couch

a glad song
carves memory
forges mental ammunition
and bulletproof souls
to last
in the savage lands
beyond our living room

so here
among our cluttered life
we run a musical boot camp
for the woman soldiers
of tomorrow



Friday, August 31, 2018

Weary Bleary Fog-Eyed Burn



at some point
we betray ourselves
at work

the way our eyes
glaze over
at meetings
or how the inner fire
shines through
when talk turns
to the outside world

pleased and relieved
to be the outliers,
the tired dogs
that can do the harder work
without pretending

cloaked
in solitude
to dream
of better things



Friday, July 20, 2018

Day Adventuring



day adventuring
is driving, moving
to keep moving,
staring at rusted rebar
prodding wrought fingers
out of New Deal concrete
kissed by aquamarine

it is
reigning
over dead end streets
or quiet parks
where ducks wade
out of reach,
feeding sun-touched turtles
for their boldness

adventure is somehow
snatching solitude
like urchins steal bread
and pray
to the hedonist war gods
that we do not hang for it all

Sunday, July 15, 2018

A Climbing Rock



A father’s job
is a climbing rock
to be that rough path
that winds to the top

to rule with love 
to tempt the fates
to put muscle on bones
and food on plates

hewn from
ancient tectonic madness
to guide through scrapes
and be a salve for sadness

unending
unbending and deep
to protect, defend
and lull to sleep


Saturday, June 23, 2018

Early Fireworks



spied over
illicit rooftop visit
shining for miles
blasting holy glitter
on cloudy night
and muddy waters

glowing from the bridges
and the old towers
these mercantile dreams
made real with gunpowder
centuries still

Let this magic
never fade
from our red-blooded veins;
let us always retain
this rough-trade explosive crazy
that somehow,
against all odds
keeps us free.



Saturday, June 16, 2018

Americans Setting Fires



our blazes now
signal only faded glory
facades of parchment
paper over
our revolution story

the few of us remaining
that have a faith to keep
grip our pistols tight
and set ablaze
this sickly barn of sheep

Friday, June 1, 2018

Los Angeles at Night



the palm trees
stand sentry
and whisper
bloody secrets
in their own language,
dark tongues
swishing sultry gibberish
with their shadows

starry-eyed young
infuse our air
with chiming dreams
thick in the lurid haze

we make our way to cars,
to move forward, onward,
riled by the possibility
of night
and the searing heat
of tomorrow



Saturday, May 26, 2018

The Truth of First Light




the pull of sleep
loses its hold
when the dawn
first light offers
to burn off the cold

the sweet dew chill
little sought
but for the take
a just reward
for being awake

catching the sky
blue for the right eyes
to set our hopeful gaze
and have adventure
before the heated haze

like the hunter
who sacrificed the night
this is the moment
arrived with first light


Saturday, May 19, 2018

A Cold Forest Lament



the woods play tricks
and leave the weary
to walk home aching,
tiring with each step,
mired in a vulture’s quiet

boundary and man breaker,
jester and solemn teacher,
the land reflects
the mind of the hunter:
sometimes mad,
but always hungry



Saturday, May 12, 2018

Shadow Zen of the Misfit Drones



better to stay a secret
in our own universe
riding hobo rails
or trout fishing across time
dodging train yard cops
and Kodiak bears

being free to fail
or be devoured
in the wild
or overdose
on lollygagging poetry
and ecumenical oddity

such a better end
than succumb
to those
landlocked sharks
that chew away our time
branded
in sterile horror

we’ll show them our masks
—a wink and a nod—

and turn back to the real work
of salvaging our own souls


Saturday, May 5, 2018

Victory of the Walkabout Tribe



A time to gaze
To let the mind graze
Walk to an anthem
Heard only by you
To watch dreams being dreamed
And to dream your own too

With future rejoicings
Overheard from within
The Walkabout Tribe
Will make you their kin
Through flush summer heat
Or steel-winter cold
These starry-eyed dreamers
Shall never grow old



Saturday, April 14, 2018

How to Keep Time



like a starter pistol
shot up close
breakneck lessons
at the speed
of bumpy hayrides
pumpkin patch
rollicking
in fast-jostle motion

counted
with giggles
and stolen snapshots
one day at a time
up to bedtime
in joyous bedlam
reeling

pulling in memories
like a fighting ocean fish
gorging souls
in a cosmic fish fry
to the light
of fireflies
as children laugh
out in the dusky light


Friday, March 16, 2018

Coffee Run



alone
on a workday hooky walk
away from the stifling desk
out and about
breathing in
the rambling New York stew

a plastic bucket drummer
fills a park
with magic beats

French-speaking tourists
shuffle by
on shoe-sore feet

spy the people
plodding on
drink in the sight of them
and then
move along

bank these visions
for later
for day dreaming
on stalled subway trains
modest joy
in the lonely life
again



Friday, March 9, 2018

Mad Life Fever Check



Lone wolf squad of one
preying
in the slumber of the sun

raging daughters
with more fight than sleep
tiptoe through the darkness
in a mad poet’s creep

our night becomes morning
as we feed on the blue light
joyful
with the rest of the world
out of sight

right in our minds
with wild dreaming fever
our job
to drive mad
and be our dreams’ keepers


Friday, March 2, 2018

Covert Poets of the Cubicle Empire



Covert poets of the cubicle empire
hearts aglow with soulful wildfire
stealing seconds and minutes
to keep themselves sane
amid the mind-melting workday
that gets in the way.

Secret scribbles
and sketchers of dreams
ride the blue night
sewn up in memory’s seams

We mouth the right words
our uniforms stay
but our souls still sour
in the true poets’ way

Our secrets are kept
within some kind of trust
as most of the bosses
wish they were us

Friday, February 2, 2018

At the Tinkergarten Class



love
that boils down
to the pure enough

eyeing the girls
scooping mud
in headlong innocent greatness
among the clatter
and the chatter
of the catty city mothers

lone wolf father
proud among the pack
as his girls
school the other children
rule the roost
unafraid

hands deep in the ground
to let the cool Earth
bathe our good anger

content, for now
to not destroy this world



Saturday, January 6, 2018

Dance of the Frozen Devils


the good marrow
can be ice and snow
as we clutch hands
and brace
against the windy cold

the warmth inside
feels better
with a thawing face
only after such blustery violence
do we find our place

drinking it all in deeply
the close comfort
leaves us sleepy
but we spark again
alive at the freezing source
to dance with fellow devils
joyous
as life runs its course