Dust clouds of sunburned otherness,
Stalk the irregular dignity of my soul,
Clamoring for a nameless encore,
An offering to the bedraggled sky,
Accompanied by watered down melodies,
Played in my overturned mind,
Major fifths and minor tonics,
Off key and out of tune,
You know the ones,
where the empties of awareness.
are often strewn.
Two Cute But Illiterate Dogs
It’s pretty hot today,
I’m feeling half cooked,
The tomatoes gone too ripe,
The dog forgot,
To read and write,
And mama says,
“Son, the outhouse is all aglow,”
I’m about three biscuits
shy of a load.
Dart among the invisible leaves,
As the sunset races,
Tangerine skies cursed between,
The dying grasps of sapphire and wine,
We think we see,
Harbingers of night,
Beckoning the blind forerunners of dawn,
Flickering hope among rustling leaves,
Who sing simple harmonies,
Now only at first light,
We may see again,
And bid farewell,
to death’s fading cloak,
the diminishing gray of night.
The solace I seek today,
is hidden along the path I walk,
silent stones of disquiet,
placed in a garden of clamor,
I am frightened by the deafening roar,
the common reserve of ancient stillness,
obscured portraits of yesterday’s wounds,
will not cease their angry accolades.
I become deaf to this moment,
will I hear tomorrow?
Irrational delusions of night,
Seized by the imposition of dawn,
The benevolent joy of my dreams,
Vanishes into sorrow as I awake,
Invading images bound time’s frontier,
Night’s unfinished work must wait.
The trees sprang from the ground,
leaves hung from the sky,
sand absolved the remaining sea,
I could not find a place to stand,
In a capsized dream,
Grasping for a sturdy rope,
Dangling on the roots of desperation,
Emerging from the darkness of the deep,
I released my hand and head,
To finally fall asleep.
The owl landed on my head,
near quarter to three,
I didn’t know Nigel was living,
on the third branch from the right,
in my live oak tree.
I looked up and he stared back,
I asked what and he said, “who me?”
Yes, you, the owl, on my head,
What’s this about?
Is it something I said?
“The place was free,”
It’s my head, I scowled,
not a perch for a silly Owl,
Go back up Owl,
Please fly back now,
while I go home and find a towel,
Nigel sighed and hooted twice,
before finding a melon,
which looked equally nice.