Foot Paths

 

*

*

cosmic road

 

*

*

diggin’ the New build

The old Church ruins, they make a great quarry.
We’re recycling the mortar that was cast for the glory
Building the new order brick on brick…
Casting out the old stones that no longer fit.

Experience is a Mason with a sweaty brow,
Creative hands and intuitive know-how.
Whether abstract or Bauhaus I cannot say.
Insight designs new drafts every day.

These days everyone is building to be saved,
Some erecting towers others digging graves.
Observatory, fall out shelter, prison, or athenaeum,
Throw away your spade and start diggin’ your freedom

*

*

*

*

Late summer Rains

 

Late summer rains come

with a damp cool breeze

nostalgic perfume of

the new Autumn tease

*

The moon hangs inviting

like the wink of an eye

from fresh friendly faces

in my youth long passed by

*

Late summer rains came

through woods we would race

hid in the tree house

hearts give way to chase

*

Later summer rains now

put my mind at ease

remind me of places far

from the aging Autumn tease.

 

*

 

*

Look there…

Behind that mansion…

 

 

That opulent keep

 

 

Of worldly sculpture and lavish furniture…

Of cultivated culture and expensive dinner attire…

Of banker’s sweat and American dream…

 

 

 

 

Stands a sanctuary

For wild pigeons

Lovingly taken care of…

Tucked away…

As if it was the greatest treasure…

Protected by a keep.

*

 

*

*

bay side Baltimore beats

Free hand drawling of Jimi Hendrix, fashioned somewhere between charicature and Mattisse. I watched him sketch it from a book at a table in Barnes and Noble at Baltimores Inner Harbor at a quarter ’till noon.

…But that was twenty five minutes ago…

Outside between the Bookstore and the Chesapeake bay, I follow a beat beat of makeshift percussion: to a makeshift lunch hour improv jam. four young men shirts off in street band bangin away. It so damn hot and humid ,the couples in the paddle boats seem to wiggle to improv percussion rythms.

A small crowd gathers… eating their meals … mouths dancin to the music.
White-collar conservative businessman hurrying down the street rushing from this place to that: Stops for a moment for a moment… 6 became 9…
Nods in Appreciation : for his momentary freedom; and heads off to his next appointment.

Older male, black, thick glasses, Kentucky Fried Chicken work shirt on, rolls up im his beat up bicycle.
The music troupe ask him to join in the beat beat. First their invitation… then his apprehension… soon the quartet becomes a jazz quintet, as he melts in and pounds away the bayside Baltimore beats.

Lunch hour ends as the crowd slowly scatters, the musicians all shake hands and part…

And I head downtown to pick up our hundred dollar reserved tickets for the concert and art exibit we all planned for tonight!
*

*

*

*

these woods

I have protected these woods
for as long as i can remember
the rains drops of April
o the leaf fall of September
The secret trees have grown
and I’ve defended their splendor.

But I could not have predicted
my woods sparked into a blaze
but the random storm lightening
leaving darkness,smoke and haze
And i was cast out of Walden
left with nothing but dismay.

With no living timber to guard
With only dead ash to defend
I could see no real purpose
No meaning to comprehend
I wondered if , like my Walden
I too should meet an end.

Whether provoked by perfumes
Or a feeling deep inside
I really don’t remember
But my eyes opened wide
And began walking towards
the foreign horizon with each stride

I walked through the tall grass
over the flowering landscape
then I stopped to watch the herrings
fishing on over a blue lake
In my woods i never saw them
my woods had never had a lake.

And i looked at the flowers
and I looked the tall grass
And i realized tall woods
That were so guarded from trespass
Had blocked off the sun
From new splendors in the past.

Leaving behind me-as-defender
In the past smoky ash haze
I have become the explorer
New landscapes i will blaze
The world is to be discovered
With infinite pathways.

*

*

folly of youth

 

*

*

 

 

Vague silhouettes flash by when I close my eyes

Quick images in black & White…

Thought race fast…

Flowers burst with color…

The world is alive…

 

*

 

 

As a friend, as an old enemy

Sometimes I hear memoria,

echoing from my troubled past,

through a consciousness portal

the expression is immortal

the songs of life burnt too fast.

 

 

Angels are occasionally trampled,

when sharing heartfelt lullabies,

but their song resignates

over all past mistakes

 

and their spirit never truly dies.

for kurt cobain(1967-1994)

*

 

 

 

cracker

hey brother lets go out
and blow off some steam
we’ve all been workin towards
the American dream
++++

thirteen hour shift
deep in a earth shaft
fourteen ton haul in
daily coal draft
++++

we got no time
for the fishin today
the stream soot black
nd the fish gone away.
++++

the air full of grit
in this broken bone town
everybody’s glued
their eyes to the ground
++++

overheard the wife
talkin the other day
wants to grab up the kids
and move far way.
++++

we came to this country
with nothin but a name
traded that too
to play the immigrant game
++++

coal minor,draft writer
it don’t mean a thing
we’re all workin toward
the American dream
++++

well times marchin on
i got some money in the kittie
gonna send all kids
to the big college city
++++

Hey brother lets go out
and blow off some steam
we’re sendin our kids towards
the American dream
+++++

to backbone of America
to the salt the Earth

*

*

what a world

What a world this would be
with no comparison…

An ethereal relief

with no carving…

a figureless painting…

Joy is formless without suffering.

Freedom is valueless without bondage.

Love is unknowable without loneliness.

Fortune is immeasurable without poverty.

Rewards are not treasured without disappointments.

 

In the pursuit of the

undifferentiated afterlife,

Where no conflicts

in the mind can stimulate,

Where no choices are

left to be made

but singularity,

One-ness takes hold over everywhere.

 

That which is the same everywhere

Might as well be nowhere at all

*

 

 

 

 

 

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