airen

so little very little almost nothing do I truly care about But of which I do care for     love of you, love of family, love of myself its my entire world nothing more finding without your love I feel as if I were nothing           is this suffering as Buddhists talk about           is this agony of hell           ¿ is this sane ?           is it real           is this... what is it, to be in love           wanting to vomit out entire souls                  when at times criss crossing                  lover's anger flays indiscriminately about           doesn't make sense... At all           love           it

speaking out the tree was talking      in the voice of a hundred starlings the tree was chanting      in hush de·ter·mine-rince of the wind so much discussed in overtones beyond this tongue      speaking with nature as nature arises in itself            as scents laced to pollen      roots pulling earth to sky      breaking winter to spring      in awakening converse      as such      words will never record      sunlight green overtones of a conversation      of my silence and talkative, chittering, rustling leaves        

Living in a cloud of butterflies: means driving the car blindly into the curb ..... so get out of the car ..... Walking along Union Station seeing ghosts former workers on the street.           His name was Michael, formerly a nuclear sub tech.           Her name was Peaches, once a mother.           His name, her name, His name, Her Name           Names countless, soundless...                        amongst rainning footsteps                   Society is a summation of footsteps                   Even the ghosts' Paths, seeing life as a path                   Again summing down to footfalls                   Walking ev

Four directions: North, South, East, West Each stands for something Whether for Corn, Cold, Red, Sun, Hope Piles upon scores, hundreds of cross cultural references Directions lead on to destination, conceptions, our history, the future The way feels lost Four directions of song As one bird crows to the sun Another sings gentle of the evening An Indian tribe tells of the Seven Teachings Each Teaching has a different animal Raven steals the sun As man burns the world The world feels barren Standing now alone What direction should feet walk, When birds are not left to touch the sun? ---------------------------------------- -----

My words are shallow. As smiles pretending     smiles showing,     what I am not, white lies, all to make: a world pass by... It's easy to tell      Yet people return lies, self unconsciously back.      Habits, illusory OK smiles: bouncing, reflecting      pushing each other, back away...                                                    so far away. My words are shallow.      Orality: Morality without the 'm',      Speaking out human nature.      It's too easy, to become a preacher.      This in any style:            Poetry, street savior, sermons      Becomes a hollow sound:  The classic noise of one hand    

Winter in Washington DC Walking pass snipers on top of the White House Barriers, fear, bullets, silent police My breath visible showing coldness Coldness coming from passing people like ice. This town, reflected within iciness, as a slippery, hard place. Blocks of Jersey barriers, building ever more walls Protecting always protecting: The White House snipe hunt But really these walls are ever so small not really protecting... Rather its more about projecting Image matters, especially in snipe hunts Going to work, hearing the talk discovering ever more projections overlaying my job White house aides, revisionists, lawyers All c

Words, phrases, scraps of drawings all gathering much like dust, within a journal Sometimes these are chocolate rum cherries except steeped in near tears:                 "Daddy do you remember us well when you leave?" These motes are photographs, memories, thoughts of humanity of moments...   Such as joyful holiday songs mixing with grief of death                 At times you have to hold onto sorrow                                  as if it was the only thing                 At times you have to release song                                  as it becomes all you are Each phrase snatches, runs, moves briefly, blinks and the

Finding in Tears Caresses on a cheek Passing           Remembrances of Mother, Grandmother, Partner Glances           Around the room Reveal all she touched           In Heart           Within grandchildren's laughter She is Fertile rain           Ever-dropping Joy                    Within Life                           Ablaze in Gazes             Her Spirit   Moving, Sparking, Dancing           Onward in Us -------------------------------------- Christmas Italy 2004