Annihilating Kiss (29 nov 18)

quiescent days

waning light

grave moments

weighing feathers

and stones

of judgment

doubt not

nor gently go

to that dark chamber

wherein lies

granite awareness

annihilating kiss


all matters equally

silence mayhem

quick and still

mind cannot grasp

cannot command

a hammer helps

chipping happily

as lichen feast

paint dries

Venus bright at



light dissolved in light

above the human mire

and life

how little we really



much less

much more

The only way out is through

Artfarm is the work

the field is myself 


to tell whereof the world has led me

        among streams and trees

    mountains and oceans

multiplicity of forms voices and colors harmonic

        spending breath getting rich 

in metaphysics 

        fields of grass 

urge to know       be one 

with all i see

feel      exult        and rejoice

    be glad & shit

keeping it real

the backpack of time’s wicked chariot

whirling spokes and mayhem

resplendent and awful 

            visual Mozart raga

cyclopaean monolith

where fingers walk and conjure


all this and more

but turn this stone to bread

sets you free  

        presto bingo

despite the rhymes of Milton

driven   shiftless     forge ahead

    find the way

that bell of recognition

nothing to forgive

forget     where

now brightens   stately     flashing

drop regret      sad leaves falling

colors fading    melancholic sloughs


Now begin anew

savour light       sweeping Auster 

    blooms teeming earth

stirs leaves of grass

among snowdrops and brambles

fresh pains and crochets

soothed by peepers and fireflies

        more ahead

good prolificity and plenty

these are not objects

shieldstools of power

exercised in useless pursuits

nevertheless necessary as angels

faerie feeds me

tree that i am       no program

root in earth     turn to light

persevere and 

        do not doubt

no atom despised

all matters equally

            nothing really matters

demands imagination


voice enacted

    oblique and true

only way out is through


Get what you want

Get what you want

a mess of addictions

           plain desire

this is philosophy

            a question --

The end to be gained


      here         now

& lose everything else

bred in the bone

nolo contendere

yet I do with inertia

two steps three steps

           at a time

gravity wins in the end

           sparks fly

stars sweeten the infinite

above and below

brilliant perceptioins

temper the mind walls

                   open doors

coffin thoughts flee


              the peignoir

                         the fruit

& daily news with coffee

the poem beyond me

           beckons bestows

random gifts

nutriments glad

            and sober

I cannot make art

        no one can

Art is not a thing 


                   or thought

that force by which the 

           thing made

                        or thought

finds expression

I know less and less

and less suffices 

more is surfeit

Instead of all the things 

I used to do I do

the things alone

              that move me

bred in the bone




Game plan

No game plan but

to be in the game

     by my own rules

I discover by 

seeing what I do

    knowing later

A sculptor’s credo


My speech is sculpture

Reflecting struggles with myself ... it is complex

Who can say such complexity is good

When the simple

            is beloved by all?

Attaining simplicity is complex

            So I struggle

It is my life I so live

Fussing with my pipe

            This January afternoon


I live my ideal as I can

So doing I must ask

Is it good to aspire

To be grass

            Red oak

Flaming maple

Or Douglas fir

A shining moment in the air?


The stream sings its

            Rushing passage fast

Then slow at last in

            Ocean’s heaving seas.

Believing less in answers

I handle many tools

In fields deep with choice


Winnowed through time

            Through repetition

Many paths through the bush

Meet ,converge, and move towards one


            The same directions

Edited by experience

It is too much to ask

            Of words that they

Assemble themselves into meaning.


We make our meaning

            In every act and stroke

In what we hold close

            And keep away

Too much for me to know

            Like moss or mountain asphodel

The forest trillium

Persevering trusting hoping

Singing speaking shaping