Poetry
My personal poems and works by favorite authors.
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26 April 1986
I don’t know what I am doing but that’s just how it goes from this control room I can see a march of lights bright red and gold like May Day in Moscow missles rolling away on diesel trucks the crowds in awe at apparatchiks in uniform vibrations underfoot like the stamping feet of endless…
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Alpha Centauri
I will be in my sixties when the first signals from probes to Alpha Centauri cross the emptiness and those once hidden there become known family. Three stars three sisters of Sol would be near enough to our machines to be distinct added to the photo album of one time visitations. Before they…
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New Book, ‘Flightless Birds’ Out Now
My new collection is available now from Amazon.com Its a poetry cycle devoted to my memories of 9/11 as an 18 year old in Southern California. Flightless Birds
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“What is Truth?”
His hands dipped into the cold water one washing the other – how fine these fingers used to be – the slightly yellowed edges of his woolen wrap dampened, the purple stripe vivid even under the sunshade “where does that purple come from,” he thinks someone told him once about a snail in the ocean…
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Sci-Fi Society
We were young crowded around those tables knocking elbows cockeyed looking at the ladies trying to be suave trying to be Cary Grant and Jimmy Stewart with Cagney faces but we played fire with words hitting keys hard typewriters splintering that wide future seductive, erotic in the way virgin boys dreamed about it while the…
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Sedimentary Layers
His name was Orville born in 1932 when his father’s hero still flew But this Orville saw the ground as pleasant enough. The layers of sediment caught his boyhood interest, finding ancient Indian arrowheads in the loaming earth. He ached for the feel of a spade as it entered the soft and easily forgiving soil…
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Imperial Hotel
Slow drizzle of rain the streets saturated Meiji era ending the new emperor ascending. Porcelain waiting under paper umbrellas, rustling. Tokyo midway from medieval flashfire wooden, newborn modern. Encapsulated, brick and tile with angles borrowed from here not imprisoned palaces brought by Europeans to mar the landscape. Here Ōya stones become glyphs, this seasoned lava…
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Grasping for Significance
My new book is finally available – “Grasping for Significance” is a collection of poetry about all of my interests: history, art, science and science fiction, war, peace, and everything else. Its from Inlustrem Press and costs a measly $10.00 Order the book here
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El Nino
Its Southern California and there is a raging river by my home – rain a miracle in the worst of times so much of it that the bleached-white teeth of the weathermen shimmer when the “Stormwatch ‘97” graphics flash on the TV screen. No one could’ve anticipated the deluge, running rapid down the channels of…
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Generation Now
How are your check bones under the layers of flesh on your face? Does it hurt when you smile? My generation last vestige of the Cold War, bomb drill and the Red Menace, right watching live via satellite the utter collapse of what on paper was Soviet might. I was promised a world without war…
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Detestable
In the gallery, under spotlights ages wood and plaster painted with the colors of royalty, of the bourgeoisie and the wannabes. It was the expensive sample platter. I could see the deepening of time in the creases of the folds of wooden drapery and smell the quaint fastness of France under King Louis who soon…
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Da Vinci’s Folly
She hides, huddled behind packing crates wrapped in muslin, jarred from riding over the one-two thrusts of cobblestone road. She’s on a hide out from Hitler. How many journeys has she been on? Several – some shorter than others. Slipshod movement from one room to another, minor fingerprints leaving trace oils on her desperately dry…
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What is in a Place? (Audio)
The writer was old. He existed on the planet of his birth for over ninety sweeping orbits of its sun. Transitory was his life, specular, reflective, but also burning with his own light like that sun. Doing the impossible on a Monday, or a Tuesday, erecting stiletto monuments of flashing silver thundering out from his…
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The Beautiful Rituals
Arms flash tiny bits of skin under coats or long suit jacket sleeves – skin white, skin dark rhythmic in the regularity of forward swinging momentum. Humans walk into a building, arched entrance regimented angularity from Art Deco applique the lobby smells like arthritis cream and Irish Spring. Chatter echoes around the communal space mother…
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A Poetry Reading 3
Here is a recording of me reading “Funeral Train.” Time travel expenses are all paid for.
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A Poetry Reading 2
This is a recording of me reading my poem, “Australopithecus: an Evolutionary Link.” This is one of my favorite works.
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Pity the Stones
Pity the stones that stand to see here, where once was the cradle of civilizations, the toddlers that have walked away for a few thousand years and have grown to be adults of renown. Multiple times men have come out of the desert to claim a god has spoken to them. Saying that they had…
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music=magic
Magicians play fools, using prestidigitation and axiomatic misdirection to create two legs out of a box, twitching as their body’s head goes on smiling, complacently unaware that they’re missing something down there. (possibly even something on top) its not worth worrying over. But real magic comes from musicians who play chords, scale up scales to…
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The Future Past Due
My new book, The Future Past Due, is now available on Amazon.com and other distribution outlets! As the back description states, “The future is long past due. Inside this book is an equal mix of mystery, history, imagination, poetry, and science fiction. From worlds long turned to ash, to ashes reborn into worlds; find within…
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Arthur Charles Clarke
How many fathers can one child have? You have your biological father, sure. But, if you were like me and that man was not present in your formative years, who would take his place? I was raised by my grandparents, and while they provided a roof over my head and an education, they did not…
The Numinous Cosmos 