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Los Angeles

I spent a significant portion of my childhood in Los Angeles, and as a ward of the Los Angeles Juvenile Courts. Perhaps it’s a good place to be from, but it is no place to live.

Los Angeles

concrete blight on barren land…

sometimes i dream of you…

i see the earth
crack a colossal smile
grinning beneath your grids
swallowing with giant gulps
gnashing roads and towers with granite teeth
then in the end
chasing her putrid meal
she drains a cleansing drink from the sea
and seals her rocky lips once more
leaving only desert

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Lost

This was inspired by some personal reflection on the effects of modern development on the Australian Aboriginal songlines. I imagine that they’ve been disrupted to an extreme. Some things are simply not meant to be disturbed.

Lost

the sacred markers are gone
rusted rocks moved aside
magnificent beech and myrtle cut down
even once immovable markers defiled
that cliff face on the east of the valley
cut for quarry
that granite outcrop once there on the hilltop
bulldozed for a mall
the songlines are lost
scarred by countless hands
yellow machines billowing black smoke
there is no way back to the dreaming

rivers shifted off course
plains cleared and plowed
canyons gutted for ore
fences barb borderless boundaries
even the clouds are dirty

i once walked the songlines
heart that i was
i knew the markers and respected them
soul that i was
there in the dreaming before all this
but i have lost my way
i cannot find the markers
how shall i return to the dreaming

everything has been sacrificed
the way is lost
all is forgotten
lessons of the ancients
guidance of our ancestors
spurned and rejected
they weep for us even now
they walk among us watching
even they cannot find the markers
ripped from the earth
songlines erased for the next ten thousand years
even they are lost from the dreaming
wandering among us
crowding the rooms of our angular homes and towers
flowing in limpid flood throughout our lanes
moaning and wailing soundlessly like drizzle
sharing our torment

the way is lost
the dreaming lost

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Finale

The subject of death and birth has been on my mind for as long as I can remember. Here I play with the idea of transmigration, but from a nonlinear standpoint where the self is lost and only the karmic momentum carries forth. So, not reincarnation, but something else and something more subtle.

Finale

Dreams have faded into wondering
All hopes have ceased to hold meaning
The shadow of my diffusion draws near
There is no need to cry for I know
Time is without meaning
And that which I am cannot be lost

This point of presence though drifting long
Shall fill a meaningful empty space
Of an existence not yet fulfilled
And that which was diffused in mist
Will condensate from the void and rain
Into the womb of a new beginning

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return

This reflects on my first time looking down into the Ukiah valley. Though I had never been there before, I knew the place somehow as surely as if I had been born and raised there. It was like coming home. And every time I return, it is like coming home again.

return

foliage rises up the mountains
clouds amass upon the eastern ridges
i am home, finally i am home

my feet grew sore in the desert
my back stiff on the plains
like gusts of wind, i could not rest

rivers wandered their courses
stars glittered from the abyss
starved and alone, i followed them

one day i crested a ridge
and cradled there in a valley
a hamlet lost from the world

this place i had never seen
yet what my eyes never knew
my heart somehow remembered

in the world i was tossed relentless
storms passed to leave me in ruin
but here i am an old oak firmly rooted

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Reunion

In 1999 or so I had a vivid dream where I met my father briefly in the City of Necropolis. A few years have passed since then, but I still remember the dream vividly. Seemed like it was time to reflect that memory into a poem.

Reunion

i met him once
in another plane
beneath pale blue sky
surrounded
by cold grey towers
older than time

i remember
walking by myself
down archéd hallways
stretching long
sullen and dim
devoid of life

life lived not here
though it did pass through
in its erring quest
to fathom
what it all means
this strange journey

i met him here
where corridors crossed
through ages brooding
we alone
held in our gaze
one another

his face showed pain
fathomless concern
i saw not in life
but here now
in this city
Necropolis

we did not speak
though thoughts in balance
poised long on his lips
unable
to form one word
from his pained heart

not one thing moved
in this agéd place
where motion and time
stood frozen
as in silence
our gazes locked

i saw his pain
his longing to know
how i was doing
in absence
of his own life
he took from me

Publication History:

Blackmail Press (web-based) — Spring 2006

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God, May I See You?

This is a backlogged post, made on November 1, 2012. At the time I wrote this, I was still borderline Christian. This was ten years ago, and a lot has changed for me since then. However, you don’t have to be Christian, Muslim, Jewish, or any other particular religion to seek an audience with “god”.

We each understand this word and what it points to in our own way—This can’t be helped, as we are symbolically oriented, interpretive beings. And, throughout life, we each in our own way seek an audience with what this word represents to us, even if we’re not necessarily conscious of the fact.

God, May I See You?

“God, may I see you?”
A silence fills the air
Into the dark I stare with hopeful gaze

… … …

“God, may I see you?”
The room is cold and dark
And blank I stare into a blurring haze

… … …

“God, may I see you?”
A cold wind passes by
As long in vain I peer into the night

… … …

“God, may I see you?”
The desert stretches wide
Alone I scan horizon’s dismal blight

… … …

“God, may I see you?”
Soft the snowflakes fall
I try to see into the flurry’s drift

… … …

“God, may I see you?”
Pine needles seal the sky
I look into the forest’s closing wall

… … …

“God, may I see you?”
The ocean stretches broad
I dimly watch the great waves crash and roar

… … …

“God, may I see you?”
The moonless stars are bright
One parts and splits the heavy night in two

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choose

This is an example of my early free verse. Most of my free verse found before this date will fit this category.

choose

make your choice
how will you live
with or without hope

will you shun your heart
will you deny you dream
will you extinguish
like a candle’s low lit flame
what hope you hold
will you allow it
your heart
to fall from you
cold to the ground
frozen from your chest
with all your dreams
to shatter before you
exploding in a fray
of frozen shards
into blood frost—

you will be dead
though you walk
interact
seeking blindly
to find a replacement
for your wasted heart
the heart you denied
and allowed to fall
from your being
a block of ice
the heart you left
in the vacuity
of indifference
anger
hate…
or dread—

you will be but a husk
a container
of emptiness

make your decision
live numb
and without hope
dreamless and lifeless
or accept the pain
that accompanies a living heart
full of hope
an occasional broken dream
but the joy
of dreams fulfilled
hopes realized

make your choice
live or die

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Mauve Desert Rose

The idea for this poem actually came to me when I was 14 or 15. I saw it clearly. As the years progressed I realized how much I related to this imaginary flower from the id, and finally at the age of 30 I’ve tried to make it work.

Mauve Desert Rose

This poem has been published in my book an inkling hope: select poems, available in Kindle and paperback formats. Out of consideration for those who have purchased a copy, I have removed it from this post and online viewing in general.
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Beautiful Tears

This was written for an online friend after she experienced a rather bitter loss.

Beautiful Tears

For Luschka Van Olsen

Try to imagine
Crystal drops
Gentle wonder
Welling forth
Love unfettered
From heart benign…
These are your tears
Your beautiful tears

Try to fathom
Melting snowflakes
Downwardly dancing
Expressing love
From depths of pain
Longing loss
Unyielding hope…
These are your tears
Your beautiful tears

Try to envision
Lone stars falling
From star-speckled depths
Streaking aloft
Dreaming trails
Of unbridled faith…
These are your tears
Your beautiful tears

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Amelioration

For some reason I’ve been thinking about this poem lately, written March 3rd, 2001. At least that’s the date on the file. Just now I decided to go ahead and have a look at it, maybe make sense of why it’s ‘calling’ to me all these years later.

As I read I couldn’t help my embarrassment—a reason why I rarely visit my older poems—and found myself editing as I went. To my surprise, I discovered I had already saved an earlier version a page down in the document. And, discovering this, I undid all my edits, copied the second draft and pasted it down on another page, then reapplied my edits. Might be interesting to look over revisions of older poems some day.

My edits were half-hearted. I just don’t really think this way these days. But it’s visual. Most of my older poems weren’t so. And the metaphor is strong. Perhaps I’ll write a new poem based on this idea, changing the voice and refocusing the approach entirely. But, for now, I thought it might be interesting to share this old poem.

Note that the original was center justified, and the second draft left justified. Here I’ve just about randomly indented the lines as I read, almost out of curiosity. The raggedness of the lines now actually feels more like the poem itself. I’ve kept the line-caps, which is how I used to write all my poems, both structured and free verse.

So interesting to see how my approach to poetry has changed. Sometime I should print up everything I’ve written to date and just read through it. I can put everything that elicits a strong desire to vomit in one pile, in another all the poems that don’t seem to evoke much reaction at all, and in the golden pile the poems that still somehow move me, either as the author or as a revisiting reader. Maybe I could do something with that golden pile, like bind it up and pop it off to a few publishers. See what happens.

Well, here.

   Amelioration

            I sift
Through broken dreams
         They cut
Like shattered glass
      Slicing clean
            Deep
   Until the inner essence
Of this that I am
         Wells forth like blood
            From injured depths…
   The tattered remains
Of my dismal heart

            Most would recoil
Leave it be
         The shattered glass
      But…
         I cannot
For I remember…
            Remember…
   Vaguely remember
There was a time
      There was
When these broken bits
      Formed inspiring spectacles
   Of drifting dreams

            And so…
I rake my life
         Through broken glass
   Endlessly seeking
What might be salvaged
            Salvaged…
      From the shattered remains
Of long since shattered dreams

      Though gored and bloodied
            Somehow I know
         Despite the pain
   Gaping wounds hardly offered
            A chance to heal…
      My heart Knows
Slowly discovers
            That which may be reclaimed
      Among the fragments
Countless razor shards
         Shattered bits
   Of what once inspired
…And painstakingly builds
            With fragments reclaimed
      New dreams
New hopes

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Solace

This describes an actual event. I was a runaway at the time, barely 16 years old, traveling the highways. The cross is still there in Clifton, Arizona overlooking the little town. I visited the town in 2002 and took a walk along the ridge. The pit had been sealed. I asked the local people about the pit and learned that they sealed it up because too many people had met their death by chancing upon it unawares.

I’ll never forget that night or its lessons. My path has taken me away from Christianity, and I won’t ever be returning to it, but I remain true to what I learned that night, and I have built my life around what I gained that night.

Solace

It stood on a hill
Overlooking the town
Plain to view
For all to see
I saw it not
For I walked
Wandered
Sightless and blind
In my self-interest
 

It was night
When I wandered through
This lonesome desert town
And late
The shops closed
Even the drunkards
Coiled within their dens

Behind a shop
Against a hill
Stretched a mason wall
Behind which
I set my bed
For the night
And made ready
For sleep

Yet…..
As I lay there
Behind the wall
Fain to fall
Into my fitful slumber
I could not rest
My blood stirred within
Tensions rippled
Throughout my tired form

From the warmth
Of my bag
I looked up the hill
Rising there next to me
And felt a pull
Tugging within my chest
As a desire grew within me
To climb that hill
Who’s ridge
Faded into the night
Lost from sight

This tension within
This tug on my heart
Grew stronger still
Until
I could no longer
Hold my peace
Such as it was

Exasperated
I opened my bag
And climbed the hill
Into the night

Its ridge
Was easily reached
And stretched wide
Before dropping
Back into the dark
To the right
The ridge expanded
Disappearing from sight
As well to the left

I wanted desperately
To return
Back to my bag
And close my tired eyes
Drifting off
To my place of freedom
In the ever shifting realms

But…..
From the right
Along the ridge
I felt the beckoning…
My heart raced within
I felt unsure
Of this strange lure
Yet I walked
Along the ridge
Barely lit by the light
Of a crescent moon
Smiling serene
From the pinpricked depths

Along the ground
Dark shadows
Hid slight depressions
In the earth
Wherein I tread
With little thought given
Trusting to plant
Firmly
With my full weight
Each step
On solid earth

…And so I walked
Striding through shadows
Pooled in the ground
Phantom pits
Until all at once
I felt a grip
Cold within my chest
A warning
Screaming in my mind
Raising the hairs
Rigid on my neck
Sending throughout
All my form
A frozen chill
A phantom pit
Into which
I nearly tread
…Do not walk there

Before I thought to try
This shaded ground
My eye was caught
By a sight
Most unexpected

Not far from me
The ridge ended
And overlooked
The sleeping town
Nestled within
A meeting of canyons
And there
Where the ridge ended
Stood tall
Reflecting softly
What light there was
From the waning moon
A great wooden cross
Painted white

Chills shivered through me
My heart
Suddenly content
In beholding
The call
That brought me forth
From the warmth of my bag
From my much needed rest

What words could explain
The feelings within me
What words could express
That which I experienced

In that moment
I understood
He wanted me
To know
With certainty
He leads my heart
And has for me
A plan
I to this day
Can hardly fathom

And here
I walked around
That pooled shadow
And approached
Tentatively
Uncertain
The great cross
Only to find myself
Clinging to it
Crying
Expressing to him
Who called me here
All the fears
Dreads
Doubts
Desires
And every prayer
Of my heart
So deeply shrouded
In hopelessness

For long
There in the night
I clutched like a life-raft
A giant cross
That stood against
A darkling sky
Wind blowing
Wild into the dark…

Eventually
I let go
And sat against it
Peering down
Into the sleeping town
Just comforted
Assured
That no matter my doubt
He still loved me
No matter my shame
He still cherished me
No matter what
He will be there
Always there
Even on the darkest nights…

After a while
I returned
From whence I came
Coming again
Upon that depression
Like any other
Hidden in shadow

But rather than tread
Boldly into it
I carefully ventured
One foot forth
Into the shadow
And it found no rest
…This shadow
So like the rest
Concealed a pit
A real pit

Now shaking
I fumbled on the ground
Finding a stone
Which I tossed
Into the shadow before me
And heard not the echo
Of its landing
For nigh
Forty-five seconds

In that moment
I understood
Both the cross
And the deception
Of the shadows
From which his love
Has saved me