The Broken Circle Welded



Well the blues helps, as does a little teapot

when I’m feeling caught in one of life’s plots

that loops upon itself offering no way out


A good story slips me into evening

quite nicely — the absence of whatever

it be that I’m surely missing out on

leaves me walking among tall trees

in a picture that I’d about forgotten


The faces in the rippled oak bark

are real — crude-stitched vines

scar those visages of old friends

none still alive in this life

— they smile, nonetheless




Three days after the autumnal equinox

and nearing six p.m., the sun begins

its descent blaring through the wind-hewn

trees and their dancing branches

still full and green, the evening light

the angled-shaft of our planet’s

turning on its axis


as the girls and boys head out to play





Tomorrow There’ll Be

No resting for the wary — stay alert

be vigilant! or there goes our free will


Left without a choice what else might

the judge require to assess our guilt,

some blind scale of right or wrong?


Let those who know the old songs

sing them as they wish…


Times’re getting tough, food gets scarce

The water must be portable

We won’t be able to stay put

Gasoline won’t get us anywhere

It’s on foot we go with what we carry


Those in need of health-care will be left

behind with the digital video players

looping the blue-ray disks of their pick


Two groups head out: the leaders

with their followers, the doers

with their choir of traders and buyers

— only the loners wait for morning


and what those deep red skies last night

may or may not predict or bring to light

Mellow Sonata

Well you never did get to shag Clare

Intellectually you know that you’ll die

Still the purple Echinacea double-dare

you to laugh under this blue, blue sky


And you do ‘cause that’s what you do


When there’s a knock at the door, you

answer it even if there were no knock

you’re the type to open it anyway

and see who is there or not…


Today’s beautiful morning nears

the end of this another day – another

week and July will end. Time to turn

a page on the refrigerator calendar


And you’ll do ‘cause that’s what you do

Short Commands

I remember when Salt and Pepper remained per-

sonal seasonings in our Collective’s Cooks Book

But you’ve probably forgotten most of that

Or were not really there at the time

I understand but I don’t recall why or what

So if you’re still listening to the radio drums

I just want to say I’m mostly done healing…

Oh for a few random hours each week

In a different country, and you at your best

All our travels on some one else’s card

Not that I think any of this can be arranged

By nightfall I’m going to be wanting sleep

So hurry on home to your daddy right now


Okay listen up I want to know what you’re

Planning to do to get our nation out of the

Toilet of global economics, back on its

Healthy way toward a happy life – Tell me

Don’t go on about what you’ve done or

What the other nominee has done or

Hasn’t done…let’s hear some clear

Argument about the issues – cease

the ad hominems…and  offer up

substantive evidence, dammit!


Taking the fun out of politics

Would be like taking the fun out of sex

But really, let’s stop playing around

Get back to air and water, sunshine

And dream time, flowers in the snow

Time, and time to enjoy the day passing


All right – enough with the whining

Get your leash – we’re going for a walk


Sic ‘em!

Almost Haiku

Wet, autumn sky

Walkway to the house

Oak leaf footprints

The Final Mystery

Floats off

A tired yawn

What if

Last thought

Sudden stillness

I keep your name

Out of my mind

Just the same

You meet a girl

And you like her

Keep getting weirder

Who knows how

Many days left

Living this life

I’m working on

Having nothing

Left to do

non compos mentis

The easy thing to do would be to make-believe

or concentrate on that one star in a sky of stars

as if at any given time the universe is but binary

Dust in the very air we inhale, lungs full of dust

The water polluted as well as this food we eat

It’s amazing that so many of us survive

Even the loss of one’s faith in humankind

grows lighter with a laugh or two – that irony

of air being mostly dust, of the poisonous-

ness of the water of life – Viva! aqua vita!

rings mostly on ears dulled by the unknown

Nonetheless, the transmitter powers up

Antennae begin to sweep the horizon

gone as grizzly as the reddest of rashes

Nightly Unwinding

When the time comes to let go

of the constructs our minds built

there may be a gap we need to leap

from what we are to what may or

may not become.  When that time comes

there’s no use for hope or faith or

any coughing out begging for mercy


What charity we might manage

at such a point, finding out

what death is – if there be any

thing like finding out at all –


the least bit might match

what the universes offer

what awaits, but only perhaps


the colorful pains & pangs

of that letting go of what

we’ve grown so used to


easy as drifting off to sleep

light years across – vast, afloat