Limo

The phone never rang, but I took the call

Went and got a highway down from the wall

Climbed in my old Limo...full of empty spaces

Sat in the dark...tried on a thousand different faces

My chauffeur appeared, he's sometimes hard to see

Don't follow my orders but he looks a lot like me

Turned around slow, looked me in the eye

Said I'll take you somewhere where the rubber meets the sky

Driver, drive me away 

Pour me a drink from the Milky Way

Somewhere, somehow there's that place called Love 

Label my direction...in search of 

He fingered the wheel like he was holding a guitar

Said wherever you go son is not always where you are

Thought I heard laughter underneath the hood

He said it all runs on music 

when the world’s looking good

So throw away the seat belts... roll those windows down

Tonight we're going zen, strip the circus from the clown

He drove high above the city lights

Then he took a perfect smile, tossed it out into the night

Driver, drive me away…

We ride the invisible highways, out past the Amnesia webs and the lost cities. Out where stars Are born squandered and the Big Bands play big, and the nightlife goes on forever. And all around the Secrets whisper. 

Drive on… drive on…

We traveled in silence into deep space

Where spiritual detectives go looking for grace

And UFO boys and guys out on mission

Playing all night poker in a cosmic kitchen

Driver began to fade like a watercolor in the rain

The planets began to sing like prisoners free from chains

I took off my final mask, dropped it with a sigh

You see …  we’ve done a lot of crawling 

but we were born to fly

Driver, drive me away…

Discovery

You find yourself in rising tides

the trembling days

the alibis

gazing up at distant skies

to find a better way 

It calls to you, a lover’s quest
a watchful moon 

her soft behest 

to work with care and tenderness

to heal the open wound

Forgo the noise of circumstance 

the endless feud 

of maps and plans 

and break the bread with quiet hands

take strength in solitude

Build your dreams with Prophets’ words

where awkward pain

and beauty merge

set out with hope that love has stirred 

to find your home again 

Take the path that has no name

that leaves no trace

no praise or shame 

let fire grow beyond its flame

to live and learn in grace 

Wander through the serpent seas

though darkness drives you 

to your knees   

yet follow Trust where ere it leads 

through the mystic means of Time 

Let silence reach, teach you well 

the curve of light 

that runs through hell 

hold your truths like broken shells 

as you walk the shores of night 

Where we end, where we start

in shades of grey 

and fragile parts

hold this life against your heart

and you will find your way

American Voices

The days slide by…our lives pressed up 

against windows 

looking in …looking out. 

waiting for the light to change….

Beneath the small compromised steps of daily life

I watch the foundations of a nation splinter, 

orphaned parts renouncing the whole,

their voices scattering like sparks in the wind

catching fire in the neighborhoods of my heart,

leaving the singed imprint of their darkness

on every vivid nerve

Today, fractured America is speaking loudly 

from hardship…from pain…from love 

defending and asserting  

asking and reflecting 

who am I now?…and now?…and now?

A chorus of impressions respond…  

You are…

A vast carbon footprint on the zigzagging road of excess

a warm summer night embedded with rap music and lullabies 

the practice of justice that bends towards power 

the dream of rags to riches pierced by nightmares

You are…

A child sitting on the broad shoulders of a father’s faith

a con-man, selling misconceptions, turning wine into dirty water 

exhaustion and sorrow, seeking oblivion in the drug of denial

a beer-can floating in a Hollywood swimming pool 

You are…

a knee pressed against a neck, awaiting a breath that never comes 

a story told in aggressive fonts, rife with conquest and courage

a rushing river…thrashing against its banks, 

traveling deeper and deeper into the unknown …

And yet…

at the core of these seasons of discontent 

You are … 

the longing for the union of Heart & Soul & Earth

raising the rusty cup of hope to your lips, 

drinking deeply…and 

passing it quietly on 

to me

A Room in the Inn (On the day after 9/11)

A young woman

passing near Ground Zero,

eyes full of subtext, stricken with grief 

took a knee on a desolate street

and pleaded 

to the ghostly aftermath

Impregnate me!

Father me a child!

Make me a vessel for the

Suddenly homeless…

The dead are knocking...

and I have one

empty

room!

First Snow

Out beyond Earth’s frontiers... 

amidst the enchanted verses of the cosmos

stars conspire…

and the night sky becomes swollen

with rolling clouds, 

the air –– festive and alert

First snow begins!

Senses aroused.

I’m called to the window

to gaze up into 

a scattering of snowflakes 

quick and mischievous…

darting & weaving through dark heavens 

And all the world 

is hushed by wonder!

so light on its feet!  

so aimless & giddy in flight

gifting winter’s eloquent poetry

to the troubled realms below 

Gaining confidence…

a torrent of white confetti is now unleashed

hurtling down through

the amber glow of streetlights

to enrobe an unsuspecting landscape 

in timeless, virgin white

And somehow…in this pristine moment

the power of silence prevails…

the mechanisms of industry and progress 

grind to a halt, 

motors stop, engines shut down…

as magic assumes the world…

And here am I

transformed by this alchemy 

of frosted roads, icy rivers   

and bewildering sky 

watching snowfall…

falling the way light falls 

embroidering farms & cities & mountains

gathering on slanting roofs

and leaning tombstones,

collecting on scarf and cheek and hair

while the wind scuttles dispossessed leaves 

down empty streets 

A nameless joy passes through me

are we not blessed 

to feel the Earth at peace 

turning easily in its sleep 

beneath this windswept sky?

holding us in clarity and forgiveness

knitting a sense of wholeness 

to a fractured and restless time

Asking you to join me…

I catch a snowflake 

in the palm of my hand 

and we will listen to it glisten, 

feel its fragile beauty

and quiet longing 

for renewal

as it melts into 

the dreaming water,

then vanishes

into the night

Blue Sailor

Today I will be the deep

Blue Ocean man

I’ll crack this body open

like the tough hide of a chestnut

and a soft blue sailor will emerge 

He will play the temporal winds

along his surface

like a harp

He will nuzzle against

passing ships

like the fingertips

of the mighty sea

He will check in & out of

dusky hotels 

along the blistered beach 

of sun-downs,

absorbing driftwood 

infused with memories of 

deep and churning tides 

He will undo bandages of dirt

and neglect

until the soul is free to ooze

& pain is summoned 

from below the numb gestures

& there is hurt 

& joy again

On the Passing of a Loved One

She is

still,

not gone,

simply transformed

to reflect her

more elemental truths:

the river

undammed

now

allowed full expression

of its 

natural borders 

the story

relieved of form,

continues on 

beyond 

the mortal margins 

the word

unstitched from

language 

returns to

universal meaning

she has spoken,

she has been eloquent,

Love does not 

forget

Birthday

A watery entrance

full of babble,

You came that day…

a joint venture of wriggling substances

dimly organized with functions

untried

with light and lyrical content

unspent

upon the tyranny of futures

You!

a breathing tapestry of tissue and bone,

a continent of ambitions

emerging out of chaos

from that soft chamber

of mother,

her singular answer

to the questions

of the dark

But then what?

You were 

implausible & unviable,

unconvinced and all potential!

a stunning set of gurgles

still suckling on the milky way

The fact that You were! 

seemed more than enough

Now...

as you stand

before the mirror's constant judgments 

you argue with the aging skin

til thoughts prevail...

Potentials cannot wither…

This tarnished soul

is still the newborn child

though time is spent deceiving

what conceiving gave you first

you feel it still

within you

as it prowls the battered case

forever watery and babbling

still calling for 

the All

that ever 

IS

The Ark of Now

It is a time of fever pitch,

A time when the very stitch-work appears unraveling

And signs of the Catastrophic are etched 

Upon the face of the deep

I would build an Ark within my heart

Big enough to house the dream of Life

Strong enough to chart the seas of consciousness 

Until our moment can be won 

It would NOT be inspired by fear

Nor the wrath of God,

But by sorrow and by outrage 

For a race

Whose dual instincts shout 

Both love and murder 

Despite all gospels of restraint,

A race that

Finds itself knee-deep in furious undertows

Poised to slip back from Miracle 

To the restless chant of Chaos

Yet with limitless mind 

You and I could build an Ark 

Crafted from our humanity

Our most elevated moments

Of clarity

Of courage 

Of compassion

That reveal 

The vast, agonized beauty embedded 

Within our thwarted destiny

It would be fashioned from artifacts of kindness:

A soldier’s prayer for peace that still clings to a rusty nail,

A lullaby that drifts through open windows,

A choice of laughter against all odds,

A tear that dries quickly on the back of a hand,

A knee that bends before the grave of an enemy,

A greeting to a stranger through the mesh 

of a barbed wire fence… 

It would be forged from 

The cadences of heart and hand:

A shimmering note from Mozart,

A word from Shakespeare

A brushstroke of Van Gogh…

A million artists’ cries of astonished beauty

That rise stubbornly  

Above the refrain of poverty and hardship 

And all the incandescent visions 

Seeded in our souls

By Martin Luther King and Gandhi 

And embedded in the dense, considered silence of monks

Who gaze out upon the world from snow-shrouded caves

Their indelible footprints 

Left in History’s anonymous sands 

By those who gave their lives in service to others  

That neither wind nor time can erase  

As we each dream this Ark 

The synergy of thought will find momentum 

In kindred souls

Who have been battered by perception

And summoned to the sea as well

And as we work together, 

We will find ourselves connected

And as we create, 

We will discover the light within our nature

And someday out along the borders

Where Thought collaborates with Matter

The fever will break

And the rising waters recede

We will witness our Human Ark become resolute 

And of this Earth

Anchored in the dream of Creation

That moves through each of us 

Like a wind about the stars 

Pursuing the Unconditional

It is a scorched and sacred place

a place of mystery

where lions gather and eagles circle

I was once a man enshrined in denial 

now navigating this trembling light with you,

a longing in search of its own meaning

It was there in our talks when words fell short,

there in our features, when eyes pulled back 

knitted with concern,

watching our unbounded presence condense 

into the institutions of man and woman

caught in the rulership of roles and distance 

that seeks safe harbor in loneliness

We do not speak of it — but know it by its absence,

the raw, forbidden flower

of being known…

We have tried the unrehearsed practice of tenderness 

and were heckled by a chorus 

of inflamed nerves and false gods,

the rearing heads of serpents,

tongues flickering with doubt and mistrust  

that would keep the garden secret

We could have remained bonded   

to the doctrines of loss 

that would blind us apart forever…

instead we chose to close the injured space,

push past unwieldily boundaries and 

cliches of the earnest heart, 

making the choice, again and again

to pursue kinship with each other’s hardship

and go beyond the me and you

to live in service to the us

And now in the dark pitch of isolation…

we tunnel towards each other

battling our way through narrow passageways 

haunted with memories, 

past all shouts of warning from every unhealed scar …

to rediscover the towering openness of

unconditional Love

Finally Seen

Time will disclose

Unmask

My lover grows softer

Gentler

More realized in the eyes

The modulating verb

Of us

Clarified

By the process of abrasion and reconciliation

She regards me

A quiver full of smiles and advices

Tempered now, 

Wiser now,

All the latticework of quarrels

And disappointments

Overgrown with yielding green

& the clear insurgent 

Voice 

Of white roses

The work…

All the work paying off

In you & me 

Finally seen

Berries of the Morning

In the evening

when dusk and dust conspire 

and time seeks revision… 

a memory reaches out

like a distant sun 

rising from a distant sea... 

I am seduced by one last longing

Days tumble backwards

back through the turning leaves 

to stand in simple dirt again

in meadows of summer

bursting with the warm swarm of buzzing bees 

and the Low Moo of cows 

All the world entwined in 

the rapture of wild-flowers

Rippling young and open,

you and I would wander with deep buckets, 

gathering berries of the morning

drinking from swollen vineyards

and the cobalt music of sky

all around…the scents and sounds of growing

And when we’ve ripened in the turning suns

through these foreshadowed years,

I hope that Hope still quickens 

in the Autumn heart 

to walk those gladdened days again

wandering the Summer Hills 

forever calling out across the deathless valleys

These echoes of you and me 

The Visit

In a city

hemmed by terse sky

& brooding sea,

where star bits muse

in silvery bites

I am startled

then annoyed

The night has spit out a raccoon,

a gray shard of wilderness

come to scrape against my comfort,

come to die upon my porch

From dark smudge caves

the pit-black

spark eyes

poke out,

fierce, wary, bewildered

He has navigated the nocturnal minefields

armed with nature’s articulation,

white Saturn rings

thick matted coat

clever, clawed hands

expressive of digging in dark soil

& concealing young

in constructs of wet earth and leaves

He is a confluence of fur & branch,

the instincts of wind and moonlight

rippling off tall grass

now de-constructed

into skittish moments

beneath cars dripping oil 

& throbbing radios

Scavenging from dumpsters

behind fast-food restaurants,

gasping for scarce

unpeopled 

space

*  *  *

On this sullen night,

a billion stars 

&

a wounded creature

intersect

with a race whose quest for comfort

has gutted the eloquent balance

The moment convulses 

I shudder with the inconvenience

of him,

The carcass will smell,

I stamp! I yell!

He flattens against the wall

then hobbles away

down

the fire-escape

It is better that way

I return to my

news

sports

music

the art of edited attention

and modulated passions

too numb to fathom 

the epic language

That is no longer spoken here…

The Children’s Crusade

In Sandy Hook & Parkland…and so many others

The murdered child does not lie down,

Does not let bullet holes 

Be cauterized by denial 

Or the passage of time …

This time the wound stays open

Lit by turbulent light,  

The moment grips –- raw, unprocessed 

Held in place by children’s outrage…  

Forfeiting their youth to become 

Flash-points for change,

Demanding courage…demanding action,

Stepping into the hail of media gunfire 

To speak their truth

Now every child a messenger,

Their open heart

transforms and unites, 

Summons us to our own human voice… 

Calling out through the barbed wire mesh

Of politics & money & fear

To tell the stories

Of Sandy Hook & Parkland  

Again and again, 

Until the pain evolves

Into the imprint of love’s fierce grace…

…and we rise up 

as a people 

and break the spell of the gun…

Where Have I Hidden

Each morning I open the house…

stand in a room awash

with transitioning light

and dark’s confession 

The gradual retreat of night’s dominion 

pulling back, giving way…

Until the rush of sunlight

blazes along edges 

of closed shutters

and drawn curtains,

A newly minted day    

repurposed and ordained

starting over

surrendering to the gospel of change

In the crescendo of living light

story-lines resume 

their shapes and meanings… 

The small talk of ticking clock 

and musing books, the crease of time 

sequestered in chair and couch,

constellations of dust 

along lampshades  and mantelpiece,

a scattering of pens and paper 

waiting with their quiet 

unfinished business

There will be the raising of blinds,

the parting of drapes,

sunlight sweeping across sleeping rooms

blistering like new paint on an old world  

There will be coffee and 

its complicit spike of adrenalin

and a dose of daily news… 

organizing the quakes and shivers of a lost world

And finally

like all mornings

there will be my real work…

lingering on detail and overview

distraction and substance,

opening mind and heart to pose 

the underlying question… 

Where have I hidden god today?