Monday, September 27, 2010

The Bard's Call

Will the Bard, my mentor, sends this invite:
Awake, arise! 'tis midsummer night!

From day long sleep's stupor, I stutter my answer:
Er, What? Yes, no dream this! Wits to gather.

Eyes dazed by diurnal drudge's noonday sun,
Now open lids to welcome the night's moon.

Limbs, once yeomen to practical pursuits,
Grow supple, lithe: sprouts wings of thoughts

Friday, September 24, 2010


No fakir he but who submits
to lie naked
on piercing bits
Sweet pleasures of neural itch
he surrenders
so love can reach
What Francis sought
upon the snow,
banking fire river's flow,
Spurning the gift
of vital glow,
To burn anew:
the divine to know

Tuesday, September 14, 2010

A Poem Speaks

(before your tutored eyes
by habit taught decode
this script so swiftly would)

Read me with your lips
as child's tongue licks syllables
to melt away into
its core of sense.

As written I am silent, history.
As spoken I happen, an event.

Whose words I am beg entry
thru your whorled gate, to be
the wind's song in chambers
of who sent me,

as echoes in your mind
of the geste.