It always surprises me how nice it is
to sleep outside
and wake with the earth

and last night was cold
to say it lightly

eight hours of dream filled sleep
and having the birds as an alarm clock
make coffee a needless thing

feet wet with dew
and eyes bright with the morning sun
I was even able to beat the kids out of bed
which is never an easy task of late

today was a wonderful day
a day filled with rain

today was a day filled with the wonder
of a small child exploring the endless opportunities
of an automatic umbrella
and the angles that water makes
when it is stomped on

today was a day in which i really was a toys r us kid
as if i never grew up
and peered in each puddle
searching for worms
and other marvels

sometimes you look out at the world
and you see a trade-off that can be made
a bargain that can be struck . . .

my apologies if this
- pregnant pause -
seems diabolical

that’s your own fault
(somewhat mine now)

but what else is it really . . .
to be living?

and understand that i’m not prepared to -
(uncertain if i’ll ever bother to - )
attempt a refutation of the influence
of fate
but your life is a series of choices

my grandfather was resurrected today,
in all manner of momentarily, a whole string of instants
he stood behind me as i stared at the tangible remnant
of my firmest memory of that old man

the night before i had been out late, making an ass out of myself in a circle of people composed primarily of those whom i know in too many ways to quickly explain, there was a bottle of mescal making slow rotations and i had a drum in my lap; i’m certain that i sang, perhaps even well enough to frighten away the less foolish people whom i did not know

walking across a slight patch of earth
that interrupted all this concrete,

watching a robin’s sudden
spread-winged swoop
into the heart of a nearby tree,

his boot heel freed a sliver of mirror
from the clutches of grass blades
and sent it skittering out onto sidewalk
where it rested against a stone

the angle caught the contents
of his left hand,
fingers loosely grasping
the brown paper sack

I have a large messianic ego
it took me quite some time to come to grips with
after many years of being beaten down by public education
and self doubt
i was finaly able to confine it

i keep my godlike ego in a box
and since i am not a cruel keeper
it is a plexiglas box

there are air holes
and a small slot in the door to
pass its sustinance

wrapped around some hidden curve in the road, behind an old tree stump and under the moss is where you will find it

the pixie bordello

a place where wood nymphs sell their pleasures
and a faerie with a cheshire grin
will sell you a small brick of opium
for a hand job or some gin

most common folk would fear to enter
the dark depths of this hidden place
most mortals can not match or near
the debauchery of this faerie race

it is there even now
peaking out from its winter shelter
still waiting in most cases
but primed for action
life does not care about
the calendars of men
the world doesn’t work that way
for all their striving

most no longer hear the sap bubbling up
or really see the buds swell
their concerns have moved on
to other ‘greater’ things
they have forgotten the melody of life
and call what they now hear noise

she had a pinched face
pretty
yet tight from too much recent worry
red hair
a nice body
poured into overly large sweat pants
and a puffy nylon coat
hair pulled back
no makeup
and this slightly dazed expression

the fact that the woman in front of her
was having problems with the computer
not liking her bridge card
was adding to the stress

this world she -
because i have to call it she
in order that my lust for
and occasional annoyance at,
can be properly expressed -
is a far stranger place
than we can imagine

even faced with the physical
manifestations of her oddities,
finding a face long unseen
on a walk in the snow,
finding a new possibility,
laid without asking
at your feet
even in the midst of her wonders

we cannot understand

i’ve heard wise men say
that your dreams can tell you things
that they speak of the stuff
your unconscious mind is coming to grips with

dreams are the manifestation
of your worries
and your fears
they also speak to your hopes and longings

when i was younger i found
that i could have lucid dreams quite easily
and tune the story
sometimes even fly like superman

humanity has stared at the stars for countless years
wandered around and explored what we would on the ground
bumped into each other, gotten into fights, learned how to hate

all these years striving, and reaching and pulling
and we’ve put ourselves places that would amaze almost every soul
who’s experienced this earth

we’ve seen the bottom of the ocean
been all manner of places
we’ve even sent men to the moon

today a man in a wheel-chair…
i suppose the term would be…
jay-rolled
across a busy street
met me halfway
cigarette clenched
between his teeth
small puffs of smoke
blooming from his cheeks,
from his wide and easy grin
as he exerted himself
to beat the traffic

there was a wildness in his eyes
and in that moment
when he was at
the proper distance
for me to see every line
on his worn face clearly
he looked completely free

Usually I don’t like to write poetry that needs an introduction to explain it, but in this case one might be needed. I was reading over an autopsy report at work and found it rather poignant. I have been contemplating all the ways a person is measured in life, and now here I come across how people are weighed (quite literally) in death.

One might wonder why I would be reading over a coroner’s report at work. I’m not going to tell you…

Avant-guard, quasi-political, art movement to join.

I am of course looking for one of the really good ones which cuddle in close to your current thinking and simply grant a new vocabulary with which to confront the ultimate mystery that has always been there, taunting you. I’ve done my research into the good ones of the past, read of their ideals and attempts at bringing them to fruition with a tender, and almost painful nostalgia.

even before i knew that it needed saving
i have wanted to save the world
or at least felt as though i could

these megalomaniac impulses just come sometimes
and i’m never sure which to follow
or which to trust

everything and nothing,
the great dichotomy
guess i’ll stick with that and listen to everything i can

the question that i have now
after years of thought
and after coming up with the answer

“ok, this just kind of flowed out of me this morning and I can’t quite decide what exactly to make of it, those of you who know the back-story on this will probably think it is even stranger than those of you who don’t, but why on earth I put the title in the middle of the poem I have no idea, at any rate… enjoy” -jester

Maybe if I say that I’m only joking, and that this is really an in-depth review of Monty Python’s The Meaning of Life; THE DVD! instead of more of the usual nonsense, you’ll stop in and read this. Maybe not, but I figured it was worth a shot, even if this is turning into something strange… ok… I’d like to call this intro- “homage! to the sort of state engendered after viewing Monty Python’s The Meaning of Life; THE DVD!” And now, more of the usual nonsense.

i was going to write about
the ultimate futility of something
then in the time it took to step to the keyboard
and get to the page
the thought slipped my mind

so i meant to put down something profound
bear with me
just play along for a while
and please forgive me my lapse
gimme this one
and you’ll have one coming

we all have those moments sometimes