Bing’s still dreaming of
a white Christmas or so
sings my radio though he
is oblivious to this
He lit out forty-one
years ago to no one
knows where but they
kept his bones
at Holy Cross Cemetery
in Culver City Cali
where the chance of snow
is perpetually
a big fat

There Are Times

There are times when
no amount of crying
will suffice
though the great seas
rise and swell from
the depth and deluge of
our sorrow
the dead will not return
to life
love denied will remain
Wars will continue to absorb
the small broken bodies
of the innocent
but cry we must

and shall

for there are times
when tears are all that
are left to us

Chasing Tale

I catch myself truncating
my verse for birth on
making me a panderer
not a poet
A whore desperate for
clicking suitors knowing
they want it now
and will allow no time
for visiting a link
Do not ask
horny readers
to be patient
in the heat
of chasing
a tasty
word tale

Poor Poets Dream

Oh to write words immortal!
To write verse
so beautiful
so timeless
that it is revered
two-hundred years
from now
To live eternal via
thoughts scribbled
on a Solstice Friday
in 2018
How amazing would
that be?
If it happens, sadly,
I won’t be alive to
see it


I watched a cloud passing by
bearded with billows grey and white
floating above its body
so much higher than the others
On its way to India
I suspect
to confer a blessing
of shade upon the ghats
and obeisance to Shiva
I waved
I hope he remembers

Unsettled (The Dabbling Artist)

The need to call something
“my own”
To display an undeniable
through some means
leads to perpetual unease
A fire burning unabated
Even the gods are compelled to
but fate has made me a
unable to settle on one
method of expression
First here,
then there
Never finishing

The Weight

Music again inhabits
the room
Clair de Lune
set against a blistering
orange sunset seven days
removed from Yule
Surrounded by trees and
lights red and blue yet
something isn’t right
Such a weight I have
felt this today
Testing my resolve
as the earth tries
to swallow me

My Hillbilly Shows (Crowing)

I wrote a good ‘un
honest to god
you shoulda seen it
it was sumthin
and I hadn’t even
had my coffee yet
but folks are busy
you know what with
Christmas comin
and all so they
didn’t pay it
much mind
but it was sumthin
I’ll tell you that

Reality Check

Hariprasad Chaurasia’s
melodic bansuri
filled the room
Rag Lalita the tune
Names and terms
foreign to many but
I assure you the
sound was quite sweet
until the Medivac chopper
roared past
near to the house
yanking me back from
the precipice of peace
with its harsh reality