Wednesday, January 18, 2012


trees complete
but their games are slow
not so slow that the mountains note them
but slow enough that a man
notices, barely.
in my back yard
a japanese elm and an engelman spruce
grew along another in one such games:
the elm, with its drooping tresses
lashed the bristle pine
in the wind
year after year
'till the elm was so bent
trunk so broken
it had to be replaced with a stump
the spruce, majestic on one side
and looking pecked on the other
(as a hen would be, fresh from her winter coop)
strange contrast,
One stiffly still standing
the other, too motile for its good.
I note the space and denuded branches
but also that
the spruce is no less majestic
in its misshape
despite the years and wear,
the victr'y to the strong endurer

-Jay 11-2-2010

The crickets are now subdued
and like the stalwart few after
a concert
or a movie at the theater
still there
still there
still there
their voices and silence
are pregnant clouds in a cool cool air
expectant vapors.
I note them, with a
a chill too cool for my shorts and bare feet
yet my soles mark another season change
'tis thirtytwo I've seen and
I want more
still here
still here
still here

-Jay 10-23-2010

the smell of night
with its cool cool dreams
speak darkness and mystery
vision and silence
each discover'd atlantean breath spilling
out in liquid cold waves
so crashed, so crashing.
so love the night, all nights,
cool awareness of that dark
soft curving hips of the moon and
sweet mystery of stars.
night reminds me of her
her scented breath the skies,
her curves the moon
her eyes the orbs of heaven.
oh summer, oh winter, oh spring!
these languid coolnesses
and my supine soul

-Jay 10-5-2010

it always seems to be the
little ones who take ill
when the weather changes.
and late nights
and very early mornings
awake with fever:
too warm bodies
labored breathings
and congested coughs
symptoms all adding up
to one or two miserable children.
it's rainy mornings
like today
which help me realize that all
is in God's hands~
rainy nights and sick children

-Jay 10-6-2010

the crickets sing in daylight
fall, hinting the air
their paean, their swang song
urgent now
sensing time is short
and winter so soon
I note them all around me now
as I walk under dark trees
cycling the cooling streets
no longer solely the vocal inhabitants of night
now they sing all hours:
time precious
time precious
time precious

their now ne'r ending call

-Jay 9-13-2010

Fugue for me, a fugue
and when gone
this epitath:
My mote transfigured!

-Jay 8-6-2010

Thursday, January 12, 2012

Viridian Derivative

he was a transcendental traveler
enjoyed the audience of stars
his mind went on vacation
an out-o'-body trip to Mars

'The gas trees bloom right now on Venus
in the solst'ce of the year'

he wore occidental khakis
on the beach while sipping beer

He would flash and wax poetic
of these places n'ver seen
swearing truth and TRUTH t'gether
construct'd entirely new means

'tho his mind has slipped completely
and that fiction had evolved
there was peace behind his glasses
his earthbound problems had been solved

I left him with is ramblings
his toes flirtin' with the sea
and I fled to solid reasoning
back to life, to earth, to me

Pr'haps he's still there statuestanding
in cenotes of space and time
his book-stuff'd pockets bulging
and a corona, and that rim perch'd lime

-Jay 8-3-2010 at 0001

'twas a midnight burrito
with a scoop of icedcream
that i inhaled with gusto
and promoted odd's dream

Whoa! The weird and silly
so mined up from my gut,
now how wondr'us the trees then
later t'sprout from this nut!

-Jay 8-2-2010 at 21:55
How Beautiful The Feet of Him

I saw a man
with beautiful shoes today
and I wondered at them
if the shit hits the fan
will boiled Italian loafers
taste good?
I'll pass on the Gucci footwear,
and work, antlike,
against the coming

-Jay 8-2-2010
To Move Sideways

I hide in my pearlescent husk,
a mormon
the new guy
the one who doesn't yet understand the dynamic.
my silent thoughts in self defense
I feel my grip on this role slipping
eeling past me
rolling onto another, were I not careful~
I've got miles to keep
and promises before I sleep.
Ope thou mine eyes and mind,
prick my heart,
touch life to my dumb tongue
fluid words in their flow
(which now feels so numb, so cold!)
coax this crab oh Lord
from that small jealous shell
to discard it for another nautiloid!

1-12-2012 at 14:43

Untitled, 5-11-2010 at 0902

liquid light this morning
reflected back from verglas pools
the biting air and stillness
fitting partners to my morning ride
into work
it's rained for thirty-six hours
thoughts of sun and shade
are hid by banks of fog
mountains shrouded
dampened quietly in the mist
thank you for fenders and goretex Lord:
for rain and contrast,
for the sting of exertion,
for my bikeride into work this morning


Thursday, January 05, 2012

Untitled, 11-15-09

we people, divided by death
so isolated by time
just past three generations
I'd not know you in a line

and yet I feel a something
that our diversion is illusion
(but thrice told so by the market)
I stumble in confusion

no, listen. believe.
time is but mere construct
and observance, mortal man!
it feigns to erode, destruct

and so lonely, melting stone
moving mountain into sea:
our mere drop of observation
is simply the bit we see

God's road is everlasting
His scope from span to span
tautening the world and universe
and across the hearts of man


Tuesday, January 03, 2012

Untitled, 10-16-09)

How disoriented we must be!
we earth locked, after this sphere
our entire plane changed
color, light, taste, sound
all our senses tied to that orb
and newborn again
thrust into a more astral existence
made light, made fire,
crystal fire and coruscant burning
oh soul!
soul so newly torn from body
thrust into afterlife
bone and sinew separated from spirit
how like an infant we then feel,
seeking a parent to clarity
to orient and hold us
teach us to walk again (in that sphere)
reorient, clarify, direct--
if 'twer not for a loving God
who knows beginning from end
(all variations on His theme)
we'd be lost
sailors in the shell
rudderless in space!
motherless child in a faceless crowd
yet orientation must be:
we earthborn, new in that sphere
a new plane
new color, new light, new taste, new sound

Hullo Visitor!

I am mining my journal (a black 8 x 7 moleskine) for some of my poetry from the past 26-ish months. I have not posted them here before, and do so in attempt to remove the bushel from my lit candlestick. Read on, and if you like anything, please comment