Muffled Bark

Stifle the mechanic,

Bark.

Hands grasp

Earnestly around

The snout of a clueless

Aggressor.

Afraid

And passionately curious

He becomes

Unsure of how to

React.

A whine.

A growl.

A muffled bark.

Air exits the sides of his cheeks.

A pressure touches

Your hands,

Warning you that there is more to come.

And endless cycle of excitement.

But he goes no where. Because you’re

Holding his voice

And not letting go.

Premeditated barking,

Instantly discontinued--

Like the obnoxious whine

Of your favorite

Childhood toy fading

From 5 year old batteries

Deciding they had a last few

Moments to breath.

Quieting under your hand

And the passing of an

Unidentified subject

Foot clomps softly

Fading into the distance.

And now you’re both

Free to stretch and

Resume

Whatever you where doing

Whatever that might be.

Never Your Future

Your fingertips spread methodically

Like the wave of a fan.

Joints stretch and bones lengthen

To close the distance

As you reach

Your long awaited goal.

Eyes closed,

Anticipation meeting your fingertips.

And there it is—

The star.

Your finger tips

And then your palm

Wrap tightly around

The brilliantly glowing star.

And you make a

Wish. But nothing happens.

You wait. Patiently.

But nothing happens.

Perplexed—you release

Your grasp.

And you watch--

As your life’s goal

Floats away.

You’ve been told

Every moment,

Of every day,

To reach,

Reach for those stars.

Because maybe

Just maybe,

You will come in contact

With one. And your dreams

Will come true.

But why would you

Reach so far,

So far outside of yourself

To try and become

Something you're not,

Something you’ll never truly be?

Your fierce disbelief sits

On the tip of your nose,

Astutely smiling at the answer

You already know.

You never truly needed to

Clutch the star.

You never truly needed to

Make a wish.

You never truly needed the

Star to permit your success.

All you truly needed was

You.

Background Noise

Born to breath

In the path of your

Closest friend.

Discovery made from

Circumstance.

A far cry from what you thought

Or imagined.

Did you honestly think

That you could avoid

Events personal to the result of your being?

Loud and unforgivable

Like the faucet smothering

The sound of conversation.

“She shhhhhhhhhhhhhhh,

I can’t whssssssssssssssss.”

But who do you feel sorry for?

Is it not yourself that

Stomped one

Proverbial foot in front of

Another

Eating and gnawing

On the words

That you so cleverly created?

Or did you create them?

Confused person.

Never looking

Beyond the tip of your nose.

I pass the puck

Into your able hands

Asking for only what

You are capable of:

Loud Silence.

Thought.

And the ability to

Overcome

What you’ve perceived to have

Lost.

Defeat clings to

Your outfit--Mispronouncing

The words you’ve

Chosen to respell.

But who determines the orthography?

You’re not wrong to

Speall the word

Differantley.

You are simply

And utterly

Creating

And recreating

The hand of change.

Reflection

I caught you

Staring

At your reflection.

You were looking

At me

Looking at you

Unaware

That I was looking

At you

Looking at yourself.

You ponder intently

Studying the

Circular frame

Of your face.

Your pace slows

And your feet

Turn toward the direction

Of the window.

Your body sways

Like an empty swing.

From the abrupt stop

And change in momentum.

As if you were the wind

Rapidly choosing a new path.

And just as quickly

As you stop.

You begin again,

Altering the direction

You deliberately chose

As if to silently say—

I caught you

Staring

At me

Staring at my reflection.

I was looking

At myself

Unaware

That you were

Looking at me.

And I don’t want

You to see

My soul—as if

You know something—

Something I don’t.

And because I saw

Her staring at herself

Unknowing that she

Was staring at me,

I had something

She didn’t know

Could be hers—

Surprise.

Voice of the Homeless Man

Dressed in tattered, long

dark layers,

Face and hands,

Stained with

The dirt and distain

Of the earth.

Glowing, blinking

The pedestrian light

Sends him into the crosswalk.

I watch him carefully.

My gaze

Following each step and movement.

A Safeway shopping cart

Filled with buckets

And bags

Weathered from exposure

Becomes a prop for his elbows.

Without a forethought,

He scoots and shuffles the

Filled cart across the intersection.

As if to ignore,

The path set

Underneath the rubber soles

Of his mangled shoes,

He glares at what rests

Between his hands.

A note pad

Welcomes him

Holding his attention.

Black ink stains the page

A pen is griped between

His thumb and fingers

Each word written becomes

More powerful and thought-provoking

With each step.

The props before him

Serve as a catalyst

For hope, for faith

Changing the complicated

Into strict simplicity.

He writes

To create a voice.

A voice that was heard

From behind the wheel of a car.

Listening to each word

As if he was speaking

Directly into my soul.

He writes

To create purpose

For nobody

But himself.

What do you Call Bread that isn't Quite Toast?

What do you call bread

that isn’t quite toast?

Peculiar the question

begs the answer you receive

like the tick of a timer

unsure of itself.

A Loud, Timely—Pop

submits to the call.

Revolution! the coils cry

inviting appendages

to grasp

without resubmission.

What do you call bread

that isn’t quite toast?

Do you perceive it with

Fear?  Misunderstanding?

Or do you love the difference

the most?

One more click of the handle

and the humid piece plunges

to be dried

and broken

Burnt.

Have You Ever Listened to a Cloud Pass By?

Have you ever listened

to a cloud pass by?

The noise unmistakably familiar

but distant in return.

Fingertips close in reach

speculating: texture, consistency

longing but never touching

Each cloud

Unique, different

like one’s soul passed by

Few have experienced

attainment and connection

Yet even fewer

can explain it’s splendor.

A memory never

Shaken or forgot

Only to surprise your

fingertips like the adhesive

quality of gorilla glue.

The cloud’s shape

changing with each gust,

reminding your senses,

challenging the contour of your silhouette.

To acknowledge

a shapeful yet shapeless existence

is like grasping

the reality before you.

Wrote in LAX

August 1, 2011

6:10pm

A Warming Void

My bottom is snuggly seated

On  the park bench. The

Wind teases my senses.

I shiver.

I Pulled my grey coat closer.

I shake. The wind forces clarity

To exit my spirit. And desperation

Eats at my soul.

Shocked by piercing confusion

My lungs search to fill an emptiness.

A moment of relief lays

My hair still around

My shoulders, and warmth reenters

My cheeks.  I gaze

Down my jacket zipper

And my eyes eventually

Reach the laces of my black and white

Converse.

My untied shoelaces scatter the pavement.

I race the wind,

And quickly grab my

Laces. But

The wind clutches them instead.

My muscles tighten

On my pursuit to have

Well-kept shoe laces. The

Wind continues to push on my back.

The trees wrestled. Branches

Passionately kissed

Causing excitement

And whispering among the leaves.

The wind scattered the ground

With a palate of

Oranges,

Reds,

And greens,

And browns,

And yellows.

The wind finally got what she desired:

My attention!

I looked around as if to scream,

“Okay! Okay! What do you want?”

The wind pressed gently

And—once again—more forcefully

Upon my back.

That’s when I saw it.

My eyes beheld the most

Beautiful leaf.

I had to have it.

My thoughts consumed with

This creature out of my reach.

I ached.

And knew

The eternal artwork must be mine.

I twisted my torso in anticipation.

Any wrong movement could

Place unwanted distance.

The moment approached

And I removed my frozen bottom

From the wooden surface.

The wind fought my desire

Not allowing me to forget

And I knew that’s what

She was trying to hide.

Her secret.

I reached.

And missed

I ran.

And missed

I jumped.

And missed

Finally, I cornered the

Sublime specimen.  I inched

Toward the leaf

Success!

I snatched the leaf with my right hand.

A tingle buzzed

between my fingers.

I quivered. There was an

Unmistakable presence

Of someone or something important.

I turned.

And there he sat. An ancient glow

Glimmered in his eye. His coat

Mirrored the radiating colors

Littering the floor. And there was

A sense of trust. Like I had

Met and learned from him once before.

“Your curiosity has

Tickled my brow. The desire for understanding

Has reached beyond

Your personal need for shelter

And warmth. You ignored the teasing of mother earth.

Your childish innocents

A timeless friend.”

The wind bit my cheeks.

Cutting into our conversation.

I stepped closer.

And stopped

I blinked.

And hesitated

The leaf remained firm in my grasp.

The wind separated from me playing

With the dirt that was once motionless

Around my feet.

He smiled.

“I must share with you a story—

A story that very few like you

Know. The legend

Will continue

If you trust:

The power of creation

The blessing

The curse

And the legend of immortality.”

I furrowed my brow

And took a seat

On the wooden bench.

A temporary shelter

For us both.

The spirit

Wrinkled with knowledge,

And age,

And years of toil

Leaned back

Comfortable.

Trusting.

“My name A

Void—

Chaos filled. My finger tips longed

Rippling with jagged energy.

There was a movement

Of my soul.

An intensity pursued my

Thoughts.

Threatening.

Pushing.

Like a child exploring something—

New and unknown.

I overflowed with curiosity

And I was challenged

By my desire

To create.

Thus mother Earth came into

Being. Her soul

Resting between the

Tips of your fingers.”

I open my hand

And stared at the

Brilliant piece of art resting

In my palm. Warmth

Radiating,

Dripping,

Flowing

Into my hands.

“Helplessly beautiful

Her heart remains.

Meaning emerges

Giving birth to a

Lineage never to be

Forgotten. With the

Seasons, her soul

Follows. Passing

Passion

And Love

And Creativity

Into your fingertips.”

The warmth that

Touched my hands

Moments before

Extended to

My shoulders

My toes

My ears

And even to the depths

Of my heart.

The warmth

Softened my soul,

And melted me into the bench.

Comfortable,

My lips stayed sealed

Tighter than before.

Questions answered

By the understand that

Rested

And stirred

Inside.

Chaos stretched out his

Arms as if to embrace

Me. Reaffirming--

The wind responded

By lifting

And Tossing

My soul through the air.

“The creativity

And understanding you posses

Shapes meaning for the

Future. Don’t take your

Creative spirit  for granted

And the great goddess will

Live eternally through you.

Step lightly,

With surprise,

And your void will

Fill like a hollow acorn

Shell. Movement of

The soul calms

And clears

And heightens the

Reflection of

What you believe.”

Silence fell.

The Ancient being

Stared

And watched. He

Gently placed his hand

On my shoulder as if

To say, “it’s okay.”

I lifted my hand to the sky

And I released

My enchanting possession.

I watched the

Brilliant creature travel

From my reach

With a furor and excitement.

My gazed continued

Until I couldn’t reach what I had

Possessed moments ago. I looked to my

Side. An empty

Seat filled my right. The warmth

resting inside

reminded

Me of a

Void,

Chaos

no longer there. 

Originally Written: July 19, 2010

Little Bug of Light

Flash-little bug.
Darkness befriends
Your tiny presence.
Eat the silence
Tumbling, tossing
Like a sweet blackberry
In the balloon of your
Rumbling stomach.
Glow violently
Twist your torso
Again and again
Impeach the darkness
No remorse, no regret
And lead the way
Little Bug--they're waiting