Dawn, a bed comes ashore,
dripping and fog laden.
Tuna sandwiches float
on foaming waves of nausea,
aqueous globs of salty oils,
surface. Punctured sea-dreams
float; flabby and flatulent.
The day paddles around aimlessly,
tides, rather than wait,
slosh about spongy ankles.
A rubber flipper mislaid
off the Normandy coast,
slipstreams through time,
one lost sand-encrusted flip-flop
bobs on by.
May have to snorkel longer
if there is any hope of seeing
the sun sink.
Eventually aquatic ghosts
depart for a younger past.
Back on the swaying deck
of a queasy reality
a fresh wind dries sheets.
Footprints in the sand
are spied through a fisheye lens.
A shipwrecked yesterday
is waving,
glad to be finally rescued.
Categories:
slipstreams, poetry,
Form: Free verse
As one perceives the trees leaves,
An elegant green gleams.
Screaming yellow sunbeams,
Downloading data streams,
As we drift into daydreams.
Our spirit slipstreams,
Into the Supreme.
Encasing us in peace,
As we release,
Thoughts to increase,
The hold on our realities.
Infinite possibilities,
Running simultaneously,
Through waves of energy.
Creating unique personalities,
Through individuality.
Constant lessons in duality,
Teaching sensuality,
The thirst for more,
Our urge to explore,
The brain storms,
Our core transforms,
True treasure in form.
Break away from the swarm,
Take pleasure in your warm,
Enveloping glow, and know,
We all grow,
In its loving grace,
Your first birthplace,
Among the stars,
Swirling galaxies in space,
Waiting for us to retrace,
Come face to face,
To your Truth,
As we evolve as a race,
Through a parallel interface.
Categories:
slipstreams, 7th grade, 8th grade,
Form: Rhyme
Side-walk treks along concrete ribbons.
Listening to the passing cars,
to the slipstreams of travelling minds,
their encapsulated lives
humming electrically just as mine.
I don't know this part of the city,
people in my neighborhood
tell of dark days and violent nights
in this borough.
Maybe I should whistle,
stuff hands in pockets,
as if I had a gun,
or a bible?
Occasional smiles
as folks swing-on by,
even the kids are happy,
to be just where they are.
This walk is leading me onward,
and if I get more lost
than I am now,
I shall have found my way
into, a better roadmap
of myself.
Categories:
slipstreams, poetry,
Form: Free verse
rabbit on the run
a chase
a blurred streak
a sneak-attack
rips through
a stretched skin of electric fear
slipstreams of instinct
give it a path to flee upon
earth springs-up
leaps ahead
air bouncing limbs
part waves
in a green sea.
rabbit never looks back
until
the scent of a killer
wafts upon dispersing clouds
it nibbles scenery
forgets wild flights
or wall-eyed race tracks
through long grass
yet even now
ears scan for blips
on a fine-haired radar
Categories:
slipstreams, poetry,
Form: Free verse
All night unto dawn
a gentle sweetness – a soft rain
a comforting...
slow dreaming droplets
in a watery falling.
I overhear soccer moms backing-out of driveways,
the last moment rumpus of heel-dragging kids.
The mail van trundles-by
Trains merge with geese
in long slipstreams of sound.
then a solicitous quiet
as the land listens to itself
breathing.
The sky is wet but not drowning,
it floats on flowing wind-waves
that wash against my mind
as a tender caress.
All is well,
the world is a child again.
Categories:
slipstreams, poetry,
Form: Free verse
All night unto dawn, a gentle sadness,
a comforting...
a dreaming rain falling,
as the world recalls its ancient roots.
I listen to soccer moms backing-out of driveways,
the last moment rumpus of heel-dragging kids.
The mail van trundles-by,
sparrows bathe in warm puddles.
Trains merge with geese
in long slipstreams of sound.
All is well, all newly
washed
the world a child again.
Categories:
slipstreams, poetry,
Form: Free verse
All night unto dawn
a gentle sadness
a comforting...
there is a dreaming rain falling
it is younger than morning mist
it is the first and last teardrop
as the world recalls its ancient roots.
I rest in the backwash of my own ebbing waves.
My breath cleansed in the light-stepping rain.
Distantly I hear soccer moms backing-out of driveways,
the last moment rumpus of heel-dragging kids.
I listen as a mail van trundles-by,
hear it pushing messages into gawping spaces.
Trains merge with geese
in long slipstreams of sound.
Plants fold fronds and leaflets
while dripping blooms bathe.
All is well, all unspoiled.
The world is a child again.
It rains gently now within.
Categories:
slipstreams, poetry,
Form: Free verse
A Better Production
Broad way’s wayward journey fares well this coming year
The program a blank sheet but for turning tides to and fro
a logo free to script amend and cherish from the straight
and narrow swishing crested waves yet full of hope and love
Protagonists cascades and whirl pools anticipation riptides
An epic voyage or child play in the eye of any maker taker
shaker with a pinch of ocean salt’s undercurrent backdraught
Overcoming slipstreams avoiding snarling sharks and razor
sharpened corals if the sailor’s leaking boat licked wounds
An adaptation of the drama might well play high up as a
mountaineering feasting feat because prescribed performances
dislodge from poet’s fingers getting out of seaman’s hands
‘Slip freely’ says the dolphin ‘the flow and surge are broad for sure
Take these oars and rudder the mountain goat explores no less’
Categories:
slipstreams, celebration,
Form: Free verse
Call me wind song
Hear my mantra chanting
Over the chimes
Ringing you to sleep
Softly covering you
In blanketing breeze
Carrying pollen dreams
Call me wind dancer
Across the water ways
Strumming forth choruses
Of melodic waves rolling
Endless and rhythmic
Splashes of sound silenced
Stridently inside leafy applause
Call me windstorm
Witness growing anger
Blowing heated gusts pound
Echoing hammer falls sparking
Arcs across the dark walls
Forming obsidian peaks
High into slipstreams
Call me wind song
Intoning tacit emotion warm
Pungent scents of spring rising
Heights above mountainous tone
Heard in billowing rapture
Smoothed and settling notes
Singing heavy in your ears…
Come dance with me.
Categories:
slipstreams, devotion, introspection, life, me,
Form: Free verse
“When the seasons become one,
you will know the end is near.”
--old Biblical proverb
Ginseng moon pollens night.
How long has it been? Your death
still an enigma, ciphered away,
riddled in remembrances
as years flit faces like gnats.
The sky is sateen,
a pale wash of embalmer’s rouge.
We revel in deceptions, careen
within fresh frescoes of lives.
The chrysalis of your body
incubates beneath milkweed
as we believe and disbelieve—
knowing it is not true
as we chant your name
numb on lips.
We slowly decompose
in our composings—
sheeping lives of scant substance
and indefinite meanings.
It all ends with gutted cliches,
so much russet berm spaded
layer on loamy layer
of shadowy fontanels—
a high lonesome song
weakly mimicked
in mimosa wind.
Categories:
slipstreams, angst, death, introspection, loss,
Form: Free verse