"When power leads man toward arrogance, poetry reminds him of his limitations. When power narrows the areas of man's concern, poetry reminds him of the richness and diversity of his existence. When power corrupts, poetry cleanses, for art establishes the basic human truths which must serve as the touchstone of our judgment." - John F. Kennedy

Thanks for finding me. This is a fairly random sampling of my poetic rumblings beginning in the mid-70s to present day. Not definitive or complete, just things that struck me again for one reason or another on revisiting. There are a couple of previously published collections here which might be good places to start if you are diving in blind from the precipice.

Try the collections MEET THE BEATS or GLIMMERING RAY DUET (both archived in June 2008 in the menu below right) for starters if you are so inclined...

As of 2016, I will be publishing my song lyrics on a seperate page from the more poetic scribblings here. Pieces that first appeared here and then later were arranged for music will remain here in their original form but may appear edited on the lyric page. Check out the links section for the original song blog.

Sunday, June 1, 2008

Triple Feature


vast the search is on. Water flows down hill. Blood pumps thru
open time to tone the body and feed the soul miles of vein, artery, capillary
futures. for the impossible tumble towards the flickering flame
Odd that has created just enough motion planets orbit
I'd thought just enough friction suns. Rain falls from the sky.
I was past all that. to spur a bit of forward movement Isaac Newton
Somehow Forward towards something rubs bump on his head, enjoys a fine
presumed I was the "whatever," "whomever," "wherever," snack amidst
settled into life fill the void. brainstorm. I watch as she
cross-country uprooting scrapes her cuticles away with
years void, hole, emptiness, space, a one-sided razor blade
behind me, or so they'd have you believe. Just last month
The precipice beckons after 40 years of trimming
grants wings to the brave and clipping and ripping
the foolish sanding, harnessing 20 nails, toe and
the young. finger I was slapped awake by the
 I am a loner confounding realization
The echo crosses who hates to be by myself that the entire
the chasm like the heart-warming brass call of the dinner bell
across though being by myself doesn't bother me nail grows
the fields (contradiction is the norm) not just the tip. I
come, dive, fly as long as the acceptance of the fact watched
whatever happened that I have an option a divet I'd furrowed
to the thrillseeker to not be a long time into my right
open-minded try-anything-once wide-eyed mystery chaser alone fuck you finger-
The jolt of freedom finally so is present. nail ease
frightening it's way from it's birthplace out lemming-
security, boredom, complacency like over the edge.
so cherished. and gone. I guess I'm one of the lucky
so clung to that call of the unknown ones to
the deep, dark, intriguing mystery have never lost
finally ripped from Van Winkel-esque numbness a whole
pierces the ear like that first note nail and had the
February 1964. Sunday night. joy of wonder minus
Your humanity spread out before you like a field on fire. the pain.



- 6/6/97 for William S. Burroughs (1914-1997)
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