Open Graves

I saw them there among the caskets,
Buried deeply ‘neath the hard packed earth
And the sleepers in their tombs bedded down
Their slumbers, forgotten as they turn to bone
And yet the many open holes were dug and left
A site no one other than me seemed to see
The people gathering, one by one – dropping deep
Into the slow death of life – and no one heard them
As they screamed from their open graves.

Making Mischief

I once ate flakes of fish food.
Isn’t that the silly things kids do?
I rode dirt bikes, and climbed trees,
Eating candy until I could puke.
Swimming all day and dreaming all night.
Laughing and being mischievous.
Oh how mischievous I was!
I made mashed potato balls, oven fresh,
And threw them at passing cars, and
Sometimes eggs – they hit home occasionally.
Once the passerby had his window open.
What a mistake for him on that hot day!
I watched from behind the curtain as he crossed
Back and forth down the street,
Long streaks of yellow on his lapel!
I wonder if he thinks back on this now
With the laughter of the child still inside?
He wasn’t laughing then.
I collected money for girl scouts. I wasn’t one.
That cash took me to the movies. What a day!
I was twelve when I steered my dad’s fishing boat
Down the Delta – I rescued a family from the banks
Leaving their stalled craft on the shore. It was too
Many people in my small vessel – it sank
With the waves that crested the bow!
It was a good day for a swim – I’m sure
There was never a rescue finer than that!
I hope they think fondly on that memory.
I do. I ran off down the levy leaving them behind,
Meeting up with them again on the way back, father
In tow. Sorry! They were not amused.
I don’t know why. I still Am.
I’m older now. More serious. My shenanigandry
Almost dried up with the weightiness of life.
I could have let it die – most do.
But then last year I went on a cruise.
I noticed the drink labels were magnets.
Imagine how surprised the guests were to get
Lemonade instead of tea, and vice versa!
I just sat and watched and laughed.
They didn’t seem to know what to do about it,
And that is the best part. Watching which will emerge
In that moment – the child or the adult – it’s a mixed
Bag. People are funny – even when they
Don’t know it – especially then – In that split
Second when they reach deep and you don’t know
Who will show up. I am always hoping for the child.
Full of wonderment and delight. I want to
Bring people back to that – that freshness
That vitality – the joy of Living – Playing.
I slid behind a panel in the front of the ship.
It was all glass and me – KING OF THE WORLD –
I thought – Surely someone other than me has done this?
As the panel below me suddenly rumbled and shook
I flew out in great fear! There was a group of guests
And a guide all staring at me – and me them.
I had been leaning against the view box
For the captain’s station below – who knew?
There they were, on a tour, and me, suddenly
Appearing from NoWhere – NowHere!
I was an apparition! Oh The Joy!
I am always amused at people’s reactions.
No one said a word! So I just joined their tour.
What a treat – I didn’t even have to pay!
I have no fear of shame. I Am Bold like that.
47 now – my how it’s flown – and me flying.
But I still play like a child – I always will.
I hope you too Live your Life like that.
Rushing boldly towards death with no remorse
All the way till the end – Making Mischief!



She spoke no English – I, no Russian.
But we sat in silent smiles,
drinking tea – the years making us friends.
One day, dropping the kids at school,
“it’s froggy out,” she said. I pause, then nod,
“Yes my friend, it is froggy out.”

“Gift certifercate,” she said.
What? I asked. “I need a gift
certifercate.” Standing beside me
in his unknowingness, he corrected her.
Me quickly jabbing him in the side, interjecting,
“Right my friend, gift certifercate.”

Memories of friends long moved on –
The blending of lives and loves, of cultures –
Words melding with new meaning –
Little gems that glow and glint my mind –
Endearing the past to my present with joy –
By way of froggy days and gift certifercates.

So come! Come with me my love, and sit
awhile more – let us remember those
small treasures, those flawless imperfections
that entangle us so completely in our humanism.
Let us muse a little longer of days past
As we linger here in your favorite anacondriack chair!

~ Golden Skin

Rest is a wonderful respite
When the battle has been
Hard fought and long
Those demons were never mine
Beliefs long held and pressed
Upon me like death that
Choked away my spirit
Making me in its likeness
How I hated myself
I have since discarded those
Rags worn like robes by others
Resting now only attired
In what was always beneath
– My Golden Skin

golden rays


There are boxes and boxes filled
To the brim with people – in droves
They go to their own demise
Thinking how clever they are to have
Outsmarted god with their goodness
Not knowing that No One ever achieved
Wholeness by denying half of themselves

The Ravening

wolf and lamb 2

I had hidden away that beast
Link by link bound in the dark
The “evil” of which I became afraid
How I once rejoiced in this rapacious
Side of myself, as though
I be a saint in disguise
I could rip and tear away illusion
Like mere reflections on glass
No lie ever withstood my claws
Until I retracted them – or so I thought
The wolf will not be settled or stilled
No more than the lamb will fiercely protect
To deny the one, is to find the other
Slaughtered in the field
Only together will they Be
Whole and Untouched
My untamed beast would have its ravening
Be it me, or the world it freed
Even in darkness its purpose would be wrought
Again and again I felt its pummel
Upon myself – ripping away every false façade
With its thirsty blood drenched jaws
Until Lo – We stood as One unchained


I have seen a thousand million men
Standing face to face for miles upon miles
Erect like dominoes (unaware of the eminent fall)
All projecting into the other – their thoughts
Passing down in procession from one to the next
Each made accountable as they grow and distort in stature
A thousand million men – all created by the thoughts of others
And none remembering themselves – Save One
He stands off to the side, facing outward and away
Looking upon the deep nothingness of his clear mind
He does not notice the stones that come hurling – often
With heavy intent and burdensome nonsensical “truths”
They vanish into his void becoming as he Is – Empty
And it is only from within this space that he can truly Create
Something Beautiful….. Himself!

The God Within

You wanted to know what I thought,
and it was everything – the Power was there,
set and ready to Create.
My words would be no mere consequence
if they be sugary and coated with lies.
I needed to feel the Truth of what I said,
so that the inside matched the outside in every detail.
Or else those false creations be as a fine mist,
so easily dissipated in that hot hell We made.
No, what I thought was everything,
and every possibility lay before Me like builders stones.
If I felt You to be fallible and untrue,
yet spoke to You of Truth – then liars We both Be!
But I can see You, be it heaven or be it hell,
for both are houses of God,
and together We choose Our dwelling place.
I have equally dwelt in both,
and having done so, now I hold two keys!
And here You are – asking Me what I think,
not understanding Your own power of creation,
or that Your world is molded by Your mind!
How haphazardly You have created thus far.
I can create heaven for you – it’s true.
But how much better would it be
if instead I showed You how?
Empty Yourself of everything You know,
ask your question and then listen.
For far too long You have waited to be heard –
For far too long the God within has been waiting to answer.


Rain – how is it we have come to see it
As not an anomaly – these drops
That form and fall from the heavens
In our own mundane state and unaware
Each one taking it for ordinary
I ply the droplet on my skin and
Marvel at its decisiveness
It splits and rolls and disappears
Into the earth becoming me
This air I breathe and what
The great water-former casting
Down the living with gentle motions
And oftentimes valiantly pummeling
Life into existence in a great tumult
Yes, I have been the rain – the water
Is in me – It becomes me
I too have lived my life in
Gentle strokes and terrible tumults
That sway and tear and rip
My very Being right into this
Illusion of my life that I hold