Slogan while drunk

Stillness,
At the breath of first morning
White as swans on the river blown
Time adrift among the roses
Europe’s balconies spilled
Over into new moments
The tide of experience
Flooding, flowing, caressing
Consciousness and wiped clean
Stretching out into
The obscene and vague concept
Of tomorrow,
Nothing moves larger than dream
When hours are large and oval
It’s promiscuous to plan too much
And somewhat foolhardy
In the whirlwind of days
Nothing is sure
Not work, love, or existence.

Language of Owls

Fair and listening Owl
Against the black sky
How you soar high
How you spy well

What pretty thirst for silence
On what tree of rest
On which horse ranch
Do you like to spy on best?

Far and listening Owl
Who out on a limb
Does watch the moon rise
And claws tight full of wisdom

An old hoot for a nest from the sun
Who can tell what
Hoot is thinking?
An owl named “Who”

Who loudly repeats the woot
Speaking a language of owls
With eyes to mourn and songs
To sing, ringing in the forests

Extinct and noble Owl
In some dry recess now
Of the museum’s memory
In what fantasy books
Did I see an owl-reading?

On the pursuit of Beauty

Beauty is not
In what words you use
But in that which you say
Without having to use words
My rhetoric never felt

The true impact of silence
My naked veils never
Completely came undone
So I remained an imitator
An imposter of art

Armed with repetition and homage
But in art, there is non one
Behind and no one ahead
We are alone on our own path
And beauty is neither here or there

That is why we must continue to write
That is why we became writers
Became we felt alone
And in finding our way
We felt the beauty

Of the passing years
In a whole new way….
Beauty is not
In what fine craft you make
But in the effort to love your craft more.