I am a door; I open and close.
I go hither, I depart to enter.
One world is an umbrella for another.
I slam, I click quietly, secretly,
if you see me on one side
you'll find me on some other far-side.
Here is another wooden reality.
There is always a handle to turn;
if I turn it right
I can avoid the left side of a brain.
Avoidance lurks in the locked lock.
Acceptance opens a gift
for the asking of it.
Beyond the entrance,
(for a heartbeat),
I am placeless, not here nor there,
not yet a toehold,
phantom-like, cold former feet linger
rooted in a fractured concrete.
The tale of the door is a mystery;
inner and outer burgle one another
only discover
who they were before this.
Categories:
placeless, poetry,
Form: Free verse
That driving force
that is ink for the well,
this compulsion to compel,
to tell a thing
until it rings in the brain.
Again and again
we sew a quilted cloth,
construe it thread by thread
until what is said
becomes a scaffold
to hang words upon.
A placeless place
where night seeing bats
seek out the heat of
hidden meanings.
There within an open ended parable
both poet and reader
decipher and construct anew
to make a sense, or a reasoned view
of the unintelligible.
Categories:
placeless, poetry,
Form: Free verse
The unborn are even now
part of our story.
Once a fictional baby
was held in the arms
of a tale,
a recreation recreated upon every instant
of an on-going biography -
one experienced through
Gods clear looking glass.
Soon that unborn child
thought itself to be a being,
it thought itself to be a person,
a character
separate from all other beings.
However its true nature
(being unlimited)
was hidden from it
by the very fictional unreality
it thought to be its own story.
One day or night;
a day or night set in a singular iota of time
it put, as you would a book,
its story down
then it was that all the biographies
that had ever been
became just windblown dust
before that face of a perfect looking glass.
There in a placeless place,
the Unborn Creator watches
forever unchanging
far and beyond any fanciful tales
told by a child to its parent.
Categories:
placeless, poetry,
Form: Free verse
I am Irish,
I do not patter a brogue, not lilt, or prate the Celtic.
I’m annexed English, cockney, a dead queens piglish,
chameleon tongued.
Something took me, shook me like a spade
until an un-rooted soil fell, a ground crumbled
grew tropical jungles of alien expression.
Years press, some bulldozed, some were the wrecking ball.
Found my clay feet stomping, squishing mud,
fostering images, a mire between a to zee
but never enough letters to fit a parlance;
my placeless patios, my me.
America, a melting polyglot,
I’m still slanging, hanging words out to dry, new words
told contrary-wise estranged in an outlandish manner
of palaver,
a poetry of sorts,
sounds unbound and breathing
but never replete, yet a bellyful
to live in the eyes and ears.
Speak slowly and I will hear you with my lips.
Categories:
placeless, poetry,
Form: Free verse
The Journey
what is The Journey..?
it is a perennial experience
in which we are observers
of that which moves
from time to time and
from place to place..
it is the discovery of
a new identity as
timeless and placeless..
new lenses present
times and places
as temporary colorings
as appearances
in The Journey of
freedom and creation..
former journeys of
sights and sounds are
dissolved in a
dawning recognition:
The Journey is always
Here and Now...
Categories:
placeless, art, freedom, happiness, travel,
Form: Blank verse
Please...do not look away…
I am more than what you see…
I have no claims or expectations.
I am more than innocence fleeing..
more than flesh and blood, but soul as well.
I am free of selfish wants, fear or greed …
I am like a fruit...on the fringe of fruition…
even though my skin is scared and dirty
beneath this frayed and tag-rag dress.
I am the essence of this land and place….
yet placeless…the mirrored gaze
of countless faces…reflecting the shine of my existence…
yet...I'm homeless in my home…without you today.
Can you say some words to me,
words born from your heart…
that your lips can proclaim?
Today, I left a message for you
inscribed within my eyes…the sweet of my smile.
and even though embosomed by despair…
these mere seconds of life... I celebrate…
no time to waste on bootless tears.
Oh how I long for the day when
we'll transcend these mortal constraints.
Until then... I'm but a traceless, faceless gem...
waiting for you to turn and see me.
Categories:
placeless, emotions, identity, introspection, lost,
Form: Free verse