Playground Sneak

the stealth Dad,

trespassing

for children’s play

one eye over shoulder,

a gentle touch at the gate

dusk

cuts into afternoon

shepherd the young onward

through drizzle

and the quizzing eyes

of legitimate residents

outlaw father

stepping softly

across alien space,

a small price to pay

and will gladly pay again

Cloud Language

spy the sultry dusk

billows,

an intimate ceiling

burning paths

for living dreams

thank with a knowing wink

that cloud cover,

letting us hunt

in that first light

without a burning glare

eyes wide to drink it in,

that beauty that makes us mad

and forever fleeting,

made with water in air

The Sunlight Iron Flash Muses

the heat of spring

brings the office people outside

brisk walk

to hide our wandering eyes

as the city aligns

to sight the sunning flesh

such fleeting seconds

stitch together the patch-quilt

of our day,

and fuel us

through carnal night

when our real work

is done

First Bite of Spring

The first bite of Spring

is the cool chill

that doesn’t sting,

is spying the last piece

of melting snow

with a smile and a wink.

The first bite of Spring

is to smell the coming bloom,

to see that slight blur

of color that promises

to unfurl.

To drink in the Spring

is to tread that dangerous place,

and yearn to soak it all in

before it burns our face.

Warrior at the Bulk Discount Club

some solitude

amid the bustling shoppers,

rain-spattered, unshaven,

somehow proud

cart-pusher

cubicle sharecropper

weaving past

old and young,

dodging evidence

of decline

to get the provisioning

done

focused

like a beast of prey,

bringing the kill home

to start the day

Rebellion of the Cluttered Mind Warp

submission grows slowly

without time to think

numbed with the circus

our gossip

and drink

rancid workthink

bleeds into leisure time

these precious hours

somehow no longer mine

and thus

the chase for daily bread

cascades the worry

in a dreamer’s head

but lo and behold

with such lust to lash out

and take hold of that lightening

to bring real life about

Kings at the Half King

surly adversaries

after hardly a pint

proud of our heady resolve

and might

making our plans

over soggy-soft coasters

the loud happy babble

of still-youthful boasters

let decades slip past

and revisit these scenes

as hardscrabble years

claim the hardest of dreams

true resolve doesn’t die

but grinds away

and lives on

as the quest will consume us

in our own haggard song

February Spring

disjointed sun,

breezy strolls

where should be

lashing cold,

something broken

on an axis

rusted and old

false joy,

a gift poisoned

with a bad whiff

of heat damage

time slides forward,

a broken ride

swinging heavily

to an abrupt end

we keep our eyes sharp

to find

pockets of shade

to build our fortress

The Gospel of Swords

Blessed are the clear-eyed,

the keepers of swords,

by their bold blood

our lives are forged.

Lift our hammers

and our spears;

leave plowshare angels

their slavery

and tears.

Rejoice the future,

present and past.

As we make our history.

the die is cast.

Weeknight in Hell’s Kitchen

Down the dark avenues

where footsteps fall off of crowded curbs

to scuttle past the slow flesh night life,

the neon punctuates

roiling twighlight.

The pastel dusk

is our emperor,

ordering us to sweet sin

that tastes better

with the ghosts of old crimes.

Let us lapse

into madness

drunk on laughter

with old friends.

Let this all

fall out of favor

so these streets

will be our secret

again.

Winter Thrives

let it pain us to the bones

the wind like splinters

that fires the soul

solid strength

piling higher than snow

savor the chilled air

the frost breath

that finds you there

to chase the skies

to fight, to dare

the hard, the cold

is winter’s great flower

breathe it deep

to gather power

Kisses for the Whale

empty box rowboat

in the living room

sets sail

orders from the captains:

kisses for the whale

sharp-eyed daughter

in thrall with her game

a glimpse of immortality

on the strength of our name

jumping and playing

no riches can compete

blood of our blood

makes a life complete

the news comes down:

there’s trouble in the skies

no worries from the captains

the ship is doing fine

Cosmic Dragons Loose in the Business World

There were cosmic dragons

dancing around me

at my office.

They praised me

for drinking coffee

and daydreaming.

The eyes of the other staff

were on me

when I tried converse

with these dragons.

They apologized

for their aloofness

but I accept this

as a sacred burden.

They motioned

to guide me away

but I remain

at my desk,

writing poetry

and devising

grand plans

that might please them.

Gotham Guide Stones

grandeur and gutter

in two short streets

consuming sights

indifferent

to the time

we try to keep

glittering glass

on sidewalk and sky

wearing a stone mask

but searching

every face that passes by

armies of strangers

spin their dances

like demons possessed

angry undercover poets

blind

to how they are blessed