The need to return to origin
True as the need of home
Rush of red shoreline kelp
The coupling of crabs, flash
Of Garibaldi in tidal pools
But a reason for rock foam
Breaker gull sky– unknown.
Each salty breath brings me
To being in you, Uterus of
Life and Death, great Mother
You hold all my answers
Teach me just who I am:
Many, but one, isolated in
An interconnection of Love
Never greater than now
These unbearably clear days
Blood-burst of mystic ocean
The wonder of hearing in all
The endless hum of gestation
Spun in a womb of silence
The mantra of waves.
Photo, Cape Flattery, by Rayn Roberts
Painting by KATHY COLLINS from exhibit at Tsuga Fine Arts
For for Mary Leary
The cracked world strangely abstract
Flowers panic in the window box
Crows eat the petals of mourning
Unpeaceful Xanax morning,
I should meditate, but this is fine
Poetry calms the storms of afternoon until
A gathering of friends
SOMA Heads looking for a fix in my room
Invisible bandito on the balcony
Nicking my hash
He came to prop me up
Then took my stash, the bastard!
Later, a Las Vegas Cocktail Open Mic
Colorless as a dry heave
Jimmy Jazz is shouting in my head,
“Fuck you and you and you
if you call this is a poetry reading!
This is not a poetry reading!”
This bleeding stuck pig poetry
Banging on a toy-piano poetry
Just throw some glitter on
And slap it to your frig like a cute magnet.
Wait… from of the heat of hell, genius often rises
And hey, it’s all about self-expression, isn’t it, well, isn’t it?