Sing To Me The Song Of Dogs

July 15, 2010 - Leave a Response

Sing to me the song of dogs,
The song of hunt, the song of tribe,
Of friendship deep, and fire and snow,
Of heavy breath and blood,
The joy of chase and the pride of kill.
The song of warm places and good things to eat,
Of sharp ears and instinct, of deep and peaceful sleep.
Sing the song of hunger and hurt,
The cold song, the old song,
The fear-song and love-song.
Sing to me the song of birth and death,
And of true bond that lives past death.

Hikesios

November 30, 2009 - Leave a Response

I gave a dollar to a panhandler today.
I see him every day beneath the thundering rail-bridge downtown:
His hair is peppered and his beard is stained
And he wears a weather-beaten army jacket.

I pulled a crumpled bill out of my felt jacket pocket and put it in his hand,
And smiling, said “Zeus bless you.”
The man smiled back, a three-toothed grin,
And his eyes lit up like dark stars and he chuckled.
His laugh was thin and dry.
He thought I was joking.

I wasn’t.

Zeus the Preserver, Zeus of Strangers, protect that man.
He is a stranger, a no-named nobody begging under the bridge,
While the shuffling, inhospitable crowd presses past him.
They ignore him, but you do not.
Merciful Zeus, keep him safe, and let me remember him.

My Feet Relentlessly Attack The Pavement

April 8, 2008 - Leave a Response

My feet relentlessly attack the pavement
And my aching knees stab in savage dissent.
The cerulean sky is languid, indulgent,
And the early spring air is soft and cool–
Much easier to breathe than the thin, winter cold.
A drum beat–a metronome–pours into my ears.

I struggle to keep up.

Suddenly, the acrid fanfare of the guitar cries
Like the peal of a naked, horny church bell,
And a passionate but unintelligible baritone
First barks and then slithers like a black snake
Insidiously into the spinning gears of the polyphonic clockwork.
The delicious, Dionysian danger of the music and the
Perfect pain of running are wrapped up
Into one overwhelming singularity:
It is the universe’s gift to me, and I throw myself into it.

Haiku 1 (Spring)

May 10, 2007 - 3 Responses

verdigris of spring’s
intoxicating perfume:
yellow miasma

General Burnside

May 10, 2007 - 4 Responses

General Burnside

General Burnside is my hero,
He’s greater than Caesar, Khan, or Nero,
For his cheeks were always far from bare-
He was the king of facial hair!
Razors would tremble and shriek with fear
Whenever Burnside’s face was near.
He led the North against the South
With mighty whiskers atop his mouth.
Courtly and suave, a dapper fellow,
You’d never catch him in red or yellow
But ever in Blue! The Union’s hue!
Whenever he’d eat his bowl of stew
He’d strain the broth through his moustache
And bellow “General Lee is trash!”

Stand aside Elvis, Away, Neil Young!
Your time is over! Your song is sung!
Your burns and mutton chops are weak,
But Burnside’s beard was never meek!
History simply cannot erase
The hair from General Burnside’s face.

You Curl Like A Kitten

May 10, 2007 - 3 Responses

You curl like a kitten
Lying in the sun;
You stretch and squeal
And breathe, and smile
At me,
And I’m too drunk to walk.

Your skin is soft,
And smooth to touch-
You look at me
And breathe, and smile
At me,
And I’m dizzy.

Your hair cascades
Down your perfect white back
You close your eyes
And breathe, and smile
At me,
And I forget
That there ever was a time
When I was not yours.

A Sonnet

May 10, 2007 - 5 Responses

And as the petals fall from flowery trees
The world beyond us dims and fades away;
The twilight wind blows silent symphonies-
No words, because there are no words to say.
In shadows cast beneath the moonlit skies
Stand giants, lions, gods, and kings-
With glimpses of tomorrow in their eyes
They watch us from a yesterday that sings
Her haunting, melancholy melody,
And nothing but the warmth and tremble of
Your touch can tame the whirling revelry.
The statues melt like snowflakes while above us,
Brilliant as it passes from our sight,
A thousand dying suns light up the night.

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