Poems from the dark and poems from the light.
These were written for self expression and fun over about 15 years. Some are serious, some...
Random                                                                        August 2000

Bland and canned and taken back
Somebody, please, take up the slack
Nobody there, nobody there
Why not take a noble stare
Boredom, boredom, boredom, boredom, boredom
What I need is not in here
What I need is not too clear

Amazement, variety.  Is there lack?
Not tight -- tight help?  Tight bring it back?
Trying to get there when no one’s home
Trying to get the poor dog a bone

No limits on length, except for the strength
No limits on style, no limits for a while
Limits on time; limits on rhyme; limits of mind;
            limits of mine.
Took my time; broke my mind

Random.  I’m random.
Effective, defective.  Some kindness though.
Feedback for me to stub my toe
Feedback brings the chariots a swinging low
Time together, time apart
Absence makes the heart grow fonder
Absence gives me time to ponder
Self-reflection (self-absorption?) -- that which kills the warrior
Direct experience of reality -- that’s what Don Juan said.

A Response to Carl Jung                                                                    Fall 2002; Spring 2014

The form and the void, from whence came I?
From the darkness and the light,
            From the creepers in the night.
I came from One I know not well --
            I came from One who will not tell.

Or maybe It does: move from the belly button and step into the open space.
The inklings, the scratchings, the restless tides, mounting higher and higher,
            Bursting through to a moment’s clarity -- step into the open space.
Provide a space for others; pet a gray cat.
            “Take some time.  Get to know yourSelf; get to show yourSelf.”
            “Didn’t I meet you at the Steinman bar mitzvah?”

Become fully human.  It only hurts for a little while.
And grace and love and peace, be they ever close at hand.
            May they flow throughout the land.
Become that Flow, the eternal Tao.
            So be it -- the cat’s meow.

Religion and Spirit                                                                               ~ 2005

Adults were there and the discussion was black and white
A man mentioned the “spirit” as part of the plan for the night
But another objected to Religion in this secular world’s discussion
But “spirit” had been said, which prompted a woman to ask “What’s the difference?”

Religion has buildings and budgets and vans
It has doctrine and beliefs to be spread over the land
Religion makes war in the name of peace
Religion sprinkles babies under the baptismal wreath

…And the Spirit moves over the face of the waters

Religion has clergy and pews and choirs
Religion seeks members and money and flowers
All will be equal and happy and gay
We will make sure that you don’t lose your way

…And the Spirit moves over the face of the waters

Religion has speeches and monuments and symbols
Fire and brimstone in the pulpit with an audience that trembles
Religion preaches canon and morals and wrongs
Religion has right and left, each with platforms so strong

…And the Spirit moves over the face of the waters

Religion has cemeteries to house the dead
And a bookkeeping staff so the congregation’s not in the red
Religion has heaven and hell with a great final reward
But reward only for those who believe properly in the word

…And the Spirit moves over the face of the waters.

Mess                                                                                                   2014

Life is messy.
No straight lines, no single causes
People yelling all the way for many clear-cut causes?

Might be love, might be hate, all are very vigorous to participate
Get out my face, you stupid whore; get out my way to the peaceful shore
Alone, glaring, stunned, isolated – where is the warmth

Warmth of a smile, warmth for me every once in a while
Warmth for the clerk who’s acting a jerk, warmth for the ugly guy driving a Merc
Warmth say goodbye; warmth I gonna spit in your eye.

Warmth – not for them, for goodness sake
They want themselves our place to take
They want our culture to forsake

Been to the market, been to the vine,
‘Business man come drink my wine’…
Says it’s sour, might need some power, who’d you say is in the watchtower?

The Word

He said he would                                                                                           
But he wouldn’t

She said she could
But she couldn’t

She invited
But he had no reply

One word was too vague, one too clear
One too accurate, one too academic, one too threatening

Inside the one is white
Is that sharable?

Some get it by feel
Some say they “know”
Some are free
Some are free to go

He was surprised
He didn’t think she meant it

The inner and the outer
The intent and the action
The shadow and the fog
The Presence and the meaning
The mystery and the Clock
Good Saturday

Early, gray. Coffee, oatmeal cookies, music.
Orange cat, beige cover, red plaid pajamas. Colorful.

Morrison (Was good looking)

He stares at me from the cover. Naked, longhaired, boy-man.
I liked the music.
Sad, drunk, exciting, provocative – great mix.
The words always surprised – the way they fit the music pattern.

He’s gone. That door is closed. The past is past.
Part remains.
Want the danger, want the excitement; overcome the fear
Want the passion, want the connection, want  want  want  want

Leaping Poetry?

Here a psyche, there a psyche – everywhere a psyche psyche.
Still . . .
Dreams – vivid with emotion, color, drama.
Different . . .
Stomach on the ground, guts on the line – Risk
Real  Real  Real  Fire  Fire  Fire
Don’t stop.

Long Haired Man

I am a longhaired man
I saw it from afar and it was intriguing
I saw my running shadow
Hot, naked, wet, inspired
The hair and the wind
Some women want to touch it
Some men want me to cut it
Some cat thinks it’s a strange mate
Tickle, duck, look
Swat it back

It’s ancient and ritual
It reminds me of Him . . . of them
Those who went before
The brute, the hunter, the orator

What’s there?
In the hair?

Virility, strength, power
The curl and the flow
The romance – him and her

Hanging in the victory, snarled with dirt and dust
Swinging with the music – in the night, in the light
Covering and revealing
The Freedom
The expression

I am

The Message

Wounded dog in the gutter

November evening at 5 p.m.
Wolf caught in the steel trap

The sentinel stands alert – first warning
Shaolin priest at the ready
The orange cat sleeps on the sunlit corner of the bed
Ten minutes between classes – fight this crowd to get to the fourth floor
A brown bear idles down the grassy slope to the cool stream


The Wall sits. Intractable
Question but no answer
The wheel connected by chain to the gears
Evening fire burns low
Can I see the sky?

The Wall sits. Intractable
Piercing sunlight strikes the gray screen
The doughball is riveted to the bottom of the aluminum bowl
“The repairman says it’s the processor.”
The pot-bellied stove gave an orange glow
The sail went limp without the wind

Haiku Poetry:  As I understand: a) three lines; b) present tense; c) syllables [sounds] per line are 5,7,5; d) lines do not rhyme; and d) relates somehow to nature or the seasons.


The way we are now
The leaves with colors shining
So wonderful, bliss

Water Fall

Water now below
From rocks climbing to the sky
Flow and mist between

August Marathon

Feet pounding pavement
Stark, wet heat spending bodies
Even to finish . . .

January Morn at Panama City

Cold wind; Florida?
Dark still; white sea meets brown land
Maine would be amazed

Bear Cubs

Black nose on thorn, ouch
Rumbles, fumbles, tumbles – gad
Merriment supreme

VANDALIZED Haiku [poems for the whacky]

The rain in Spain falls
mainly in the plain; but Cove
City remains dry.

All work and no play
makes jack; a dull boy with a
big wad attracts gals.

He who hesitates
is lost, unless he is at
a yield sign in Vass.

I left my heart in
San Francisco, but I still
smell OK anyway.

I’ll be there in two
shakes of a lamb’s tail with time
on my hands.  Got soap?

I see mama kiss
Santa Clause; no mistletoe,
but they hump like minks.

People who live in
glass houses shouldn’t.  Throw stones
if you must – then duck.

MORE HAIKU . . . and other stuff
Clear Winter
                                    I see the sun shine
                                    The snow is warmed by light
                                    All is beautiful

                                                                                                Forest Fire
Terror in the night
Unreal orange glow – not welcome
Creatures flee for life

The Natural Separation
The old bull strays north
Eyes steady, ears moving, slow
North to the next land

                                    Spring in the South
                                    See and smell delight
                                    Flowers bright, wind – hear the trees
                                    Life renewed – hope

Doves and Hawks

The name “Mourning” doesn’t fit;
you can always hear them.
Faithful and confident to a fault,
taking  their time to stroll from your car’s path.
Walk as often as fly
The last second is good enough.

The morning was T-shirt cool.
Warm, gray glow from the east;
It came from that way, too.
My eye caught the silhouette or I wouldn’t have known.
No sound
Graceful climb to the west
This may be your last second.

Both within.
Both without.
Do you have a preference ?
Life has a need,
and so it calls.
Go forth and see.
Stay the same while you always change.
Old dog with a new trick ?
Bright face, alert eyes, focused attention –
go forth and see.

                                    Getting to Know You

                                    Living, breathing, sentient being –
                                    Your stories come of old to a new time,
                                          to a people removed from you and
                                          the nature that your life brings.
                                    Surely we have gained, and what have we lost?

                                          The quiet of the leaves – leaves of ripe green and leaves of golden age;
                                          The cold of the high, pure waters and the sway of the reeds;
                                          Forests of the rain and layers of the seed’s children;
                                          Swamps and deserts where only the brave men tread, but where
                                                the eon creatures bask in the safety of their well-equipped home.

                                    How are you doing?  How are you, today?
                                    I don’t  know the prognosis; Madam Curie’s clan does not agree.
                                    Your mammal children flood the far reaches and reap the glory of all your gifts.
                                    They seem to need a lot.

                                    Your blessings continue to flow! 
                                    Are you a sentient being?
                                    Do you feel the stress?
                                    Do you love your children, in spite of all the rest?
                                    What did the Buddha know?  Has he put you to the test?

                              Aqua-blue skies with a chaos of clouds
                              creatures flowing in their pattern with numbers too big to imagine
                              Emerald pools of grass with splashes of wild-flower color
                              Texas has eight different geographical regions, and think how small it is
                              The remote peaks, awesome from the Tetons to K2
                                    and the incredible higher depths beneath the seas…unfinished??