You betta recognize!
I bet I could find you, Laura,
in the highest branches of a happy tree,
dangling your feet from the lofty limbs
as if they were dipped in a silver stream.
I bet I could find you, Laura,
in the whipped cream meringue of a ticklish tide,
splashing about with a silly grin,
the sea reflecting the stars in your eyes.
I thought in my chrysalis cocoon
that this caterpillar
was going to change to a
betterpillar,
but with the soggy skin I left behind
were a lot of the things I had fought to find,
though now it looks like a cartoon.
certain people trap me behind their eyes
where I have to stand and stare at my own disguise:
fishing line
and plaster
and paper-mache.
who am I anyway?
I fought hard with myself
to earn some confidence in the cellar.
I invented assistance to help me dwell there.
never hurting anyone (rarely)
never believing myself (barely)
contemplating a change of scenery
and not just by macking local greenery.
I strung myself up in a silk hammock,
got stuck, read a book, talked
to myself more than normal for me
and wound up falling out of the tree,
a butterfly that for got how to…
shadows have much to speak of;
a depth of water holds many mysteries.
trees hold secrets that men have never dreamt of;
a stone whispers to pass the time.
the universe is more fragile than you think.
let your billiard ball physics take note of it.
Things just outside paper thin partitions;
madness overwhelms the left-side brain
when the Right is given free reign.
don’t try to explain away the phenomenon —
your senses will rarely betray you:
listen, smell, touch, believe.
patterns are infinite, on and on,
beyond those boundaries we teach;
deafness we teach blindness we
handicap those who are gifted.
beware that which is just sleeping
the sleep of the age-old which may
be mistaken for death, the calling
of nothing. even awake
we sleep, dormant and helpless.
in dreams we pass away for a time
to roam the realms of memory;
dark forests of fears and toadstools,
a thousand and one nights I have
lain awake counting spiders’ webs,
drinking water that glazes frozen pools.
the pulse that lies beneath
the rough-edged bark of a weathered tree
to the precarious balance of an acorn wreath.
never are you quite alone enough
to say that no-one’s watching.
Alright Mike, write some poetry
You’ve been trying to get a little sun
Consequently not getting anything done
Ah, but it’s nice to be free.
To laze and dawdle and procrastinate
Up in Idyllwild where you can hear the breeze
Rustling languidly through the trees
And you’re allowed to hibernate.
To get up whenever you feel
Waking up to mountain fresh air
With nothing to do you’re without a care
Sometimes I wonder if it’s real.
Don’t do anything – that’s the key
Pause in life to admire a flower
Because all I have done in the past hour
Is this dreamy little bit of poetry.
What is it like to be
A shingle on a roof
A plant nestled on a rock ledge
Or a horseshoe on a mare’s hoof.
A rock embedded in a stream’s flow
Or a gigantically towering pine tree;
But if you look from another viewpoint
What is it like to be me?
From out of the depths
The gargantuan comes
Stomping skyscrapers
As big as his thumbs.
He’s going for Tokyo
Acting sublime
For Godzilla alone
It’s his 58th time.
He chews on a pine tree,
Picking his teeth.
Godzilla ate all the army
He says “where’s the beef”?
But wait! It’s Bruce Li!
Hey, what a guy!
No problem for Godzilla;
He swats him like a fly.
Lining up and aiming
He grins and yells “fore”!
Using tail as a nine iron
A hole in one is his score.
Godzilla is just nuclear
This is not a test.
Look out all you surfers
San Diego might be next!
The mystical smoke entwined itself
Around the gnarled boles
Forming the legs of the vast giants
Which towered above the leafy floor
Of the timeless forest.
Eminating from three gold braziers
Intricately and craftily carved,
The mist and odor of incense
Wafted through the boughs
Of the ageless forest.
A leaf free triangle
Marked at each point by a bowl,
Set in the midst
Of a seemingly vast
And endless forest
A plaque is centered
Within this magical glyph
Untouched by nature or time,
Or mankind’s speculative laws,
Within the ancient forest.
Upon the plaque
Is written one simple word
Understandable by all
Bounded by nothing
Within the antique forest.
Peace.
Nature’s Path
Of conflicting forces;
From first to last,
Eternal voices.
A group of trees,
The wind is coming.
A gentle breeze,
Inaudible longing.
The clouds are rising
Upon the wind,
Scarcely realizing
The danger within.
Within the glade
The wind is stirring.
The grassy blade,
Secrets burying.
Pressure building;
Night grows near.
Lightning flashes
Its threatening leer.
A fiery streak
From the sky;
A burning tree
Is the reply.
The storm is passing;
The damage is seen.
Burnt trunk lasting,
Disrupting the scene.
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