The Poet And The Mime

On-e lives the other’s plays
On-e plays the other’s life
Though neither need another
The mime writes poems with her hands on light
The poet shapes mime through his rhyme and
They keep time-their-idea the way
The face might run out at the tip
Of the thought burn the wick bright and write
On write on black against white
An’ till gray thoughts move you
Two the poet and the mime
Two heads inside
A thought inside
An idea all
A-life at

If You Were A Poem

If you are a poem you are elusive
You say, “Write me down”

But my voice isn’t yours, so where can I start?
I choke when I speak from the heart, you know

Your words are mainly beautiful
You show imagery of smoke and fire
Of sunlit speeds resting gently on everyday elegance
Every day intelligence
You take your suffering
And make a Phoenix

A razor-blade beak to prune death as it comes
A fiery wing to ignite life, though it shuns
You forever return through smoke
Though pained, you do not choke. You know

Your own two feet are enough to sow
The steel of the street beneath your sole
The spin of the peat beneath your pedal
Wherever the world you go
You know

You’ll treat your thirst
And greet your worst
And with your purse
You’ll gather them ‘round your table
Cause your own two hands are enough

You know the significance of rain
How one must not take for granted the gain
Of engaging with nature. The specific vein
Of human existence that can cut through Hell
And strike you
With a thousand little light-laced drops
Keeping you alive

You know…

If you pedal backwards you will remain
In balance

If you are elusive you are a poem
Say I, “right you up”

Perhaps you know too much
To not show up


Soon your haze will catch you, Lack-a-Daisy
Dreams must turn to schemes to face the show
Fickle praise won’t help your days-lack-lazy

Lazy day dreams turn your dull eyes crazy
Numbing lips and cheeks in newish glow
Soon your haze will catch you, lack-a-daisy

Lazy lack you, now that you’re ablazey!
Wishes, wants, and clouds crowd what you know
Fickle praise won’t help your days-lack-lazy —

Lackaday! You sing the startled phrasey
Best decide your stance so you can grow
Soon your haze will catch you, lack-a-daisy

Summing up your efforts till you’re fazey
Do without the cheating status quo!
Fickle praise won’t help (your days-lack-lazy)

Cooking in pot now, bubbling! — braisy
Catch your days and go go go go go!
Soon your haze will catch you, Lack-a-Daisy
Fickle praise won’t help your days-lack-lazy.

Cast Away

Under dapple apple tree 
          and starry mid-light re-write nights
          creeping past the sleeping-golden morn
You wait there to see and be reborn

          Until the rosy youthful lips
Of famous lover’s lashes
          kiss you
You will dream about
          the rising sun
And your heart will sit
          inside you
Beating like a drum
          which no one hears
Such are your lonely
          Lonely fears

That swirl around your mid-lit dreams
Directing blissful, sleeping mind
Until mind turns against you
And it throws you down to dine
With all the little cast-aways
That you could choose to shine

          But you wake up from the toss
          So no great loss

The Other Cheek

A little boy came up to me and scratched me
Here — across the cheek
His expression bleak

Meekly I looked back, and with questions
Eyed him as I turned my head
To the other side

Two cheeks exposed
I suppose because the Lord said
That’s how he grows love

          For mankind

Kind man remembers his small hand rewound
Drawing like a challenge a fence — across the face of his lass
Who often asked through the spaces, beaming

How best he liked to pray. And he recalled the winking tear on her lash
As she looked away
Her pretty cheek exposed like a dinner plate

          He was too small yet to know
          It was she who made him

          Grow up stronger
          ‘Til he did, sweet kid

          And kind

          A man with her cheeks
          A smile that shined

Breathing Room

Make a little breathing room before you take a breath
For the veil protecting life is thin — look, here comes Death
Knocking down your inner door and filling you with wants
Death to what is truly you, while Thinking stalks and haunts

Pushing past your clarity, it vacuums all your air
Joining arms with Charity, but not a truth to share
Then your heavy Heart arrives, all sobbing on the floor
“Love me here, I know there’s space to fill up through your door!”

Now they’ll talk and push and shove and argue o’re their plight
Showing you how much they know, but skulking from your sight
Stifling your oxygen unless you’re more aware
Of how you take what you take in — for whom you truly care

There is no more room for Death if both your lungs are living
Truly for you, little soul, so young, so small, so giving
Do not give too much within or you’ll come home with-out
Often, have the outer things waylaid your kin in doubt

Keep your breathing clear, my friend, so that, someday, you might
Take a breath that opens you to truth beyond your sight
Lifting from a buoyancy you once forgot, but knew
In the very pulse of life you first felt as you grew

Listen to your breathing then, for in it you may find
Swift direction from your soul, away from heart and mind
Somewhere far from thinking things and hopes and feelings’ weight
Somewhere nearer than the nearest knowledge can relate

Something in you knows that you are more than you can think
Let that something grow inside you ‘til you start to shrink
And this flesh and bone that you once took to be your own
Matters nothing more than any other leaky home

Scrub it clean, then wash away the heaviness and bliss
Let it be how it will be and nothing more — exist
For the only One who really knows when you are you
Empty your whole self for Him and, oh! He’ll make you true

Saffron Blue

When I am wrapped in cool rapture, say I then
“Alight! For I’ve not known pleasure. You will mend.”
And waking from a slight, my tired, pillowed eyes
Re-turn you away

The game you play without caring who will see
Upholds, your reckless raw beauty — not for me
I falter not on cliff beds cased in fog
I see above smog

For I will not demand any price of fate
For you I carry no tears of greed or hate
At night I go to plow the seas of my own mind
Without you 
I’m fine

The Writer

Aw hell, let me write if I want to
You can go dance at the club or drink soda on yo porch
But I’m gonna submit that paper on time
And not make a dime

And hell, if I want to go down to the pier sometime for inspiration
Maybe you’ll end up in a verse or two
And I’ll make you the ocean
And put you into the sky like the stars

And then maybe I’ll quit my job at the movie theatre
And make you into a movie star
While I live out of my cousin’s basement
And I’ll be a freeloader while you shine

Hell, I can do anything with the gifts I’ve got
Looks, kindness, friendships, intelligence, health, love
I’ve just gotta decide what I want

And if I want to spend my life making you the world
Then I’m gonna sit right here in my basement and write

There… Your hair’s in the wind
Look, your eyes are two suns!
Your smell is the whole damn sky, lady

You windy, sunny, starry sky, let me write you if I want to
The world is ours for the making, baby
And I just want to give you back what I end up taking

A Little Quiet Work

A stillness in the morning brings a stillness to the mind
A taking in of lightness only felt from the divine
A quietness of spirit at the dawning of the day
A chuckle at the noisiness — A chance to stop and pray

A quieting of tinkering, ‘til feeling from the heart
A wakening of being from the stillness from the start
And every morning afterwards somehow a little changed
From whence came all the lightness, came my soul to be arranged

Came to me a poet speaking from a kindred soul
Living in another time, but showing me her goal
Telling me that all of us remain a bit more true
In the peaceful things we know, the quiet things we do

Before our laden eyes try to remake an empty day
Before our crowded voices start to sneer at how we pray
Before we say, “I know I’m right, you simple little thing”
She said: Start to listen to your quiet wisdom sing

You might keep it going ‘til it drifts into the ears
Of our brothers holding up their heavy, hurried fears
Of our sisters saying “Please, too much” while grasping weight
Of our children lashing out at boulders near their gate

And we still might recognize there is still life within
And this sacred content free from noisy, worldly din
Strange to minds and heavy hearts all scrambling to fill up
Might give us a chance to drain our loudness from our cup

For, the blessed dawn is breaking open heavy sky
Soon the sunlight’s resting on our shoulders in reply
And a little quiet work inspires each new day
Bringing us together ‘til, as one, we know the way

The Glutton

Like a goldfish,
If food is put before me, I will eat ‘til I die.

Swimming ‘round and ‘round my little bowl,
Pretending I don’t see
Casual glances at the glass

I construct my own reality as it suits me,
According to its own — as of yet, unsuitable— limits

Like my golden scales, that reality is a thing admired
It sets me apart. Beautiful.

A color, founded by a light interior
A construct, built from an adoring exterior

My transparent armor reflects golden
Flashes of admiration

But what good is beauty engorged
Swollen till it’s fastenings, interior or exterior 

And the light loses its illumination
In the flash

A blind
Bottom up
At the surface of a small pond