rainbow window
On seeing a flash of color in a window after working the midnight shift at the brewery.
stood the morning
stood the night
turned the daytime
out of sight
rode the nighthorse
all night long
rode him 'til
i sensed the dawn
saw the daylight
break the night
felt the moment
turning bright
1973
Fahrsticated Thorkbinder
Thorkbinder lives
in Goonaralia,
subsisting on
lizards and snakes
in the desert.
eating 'em raw,
into his craw.
he finds them
decidedly juicy,
shoving them in
with an avian grin
he gobbles
reptilian sushi.
2009
on meditation
going under is a phrase
to move into a different phase
just below the human tide
lies a current far and wide
it moves to left it moves to right
it moves by day it moves by night
you take yourself away by choice
your open mind is your Rolls-Royce
going under says it all
sliding down you do get small
a shining trip to Wonderland
where you can hear a magic band
1980
Finish line
Standing in the stirrups 2009
. . . . then what?
lately things have slowed
right down to a creep
my ways themselves have shown
my hills are so damn steep. . .
all my patience sorta flowed
far beyond my keep
and some farout harvest
i know i'll never reap. . .
blinked inside a heartbeat
from another page of time
i'm just another poet
who hasn't got a rhyme. . .
1981
Nude study
Nude in a yellow chair 2009
Chasms
beyond the past admonitions
shot forth from the zenith,
a portentous heralding
of overt dread,
riding high on an egregious flash
of the corroborations
of sages, seers, and wizards
of vast and ascetic thought;
there is a corollary
of palpable aphorisms that lean back
into the past where incipient legends began
and common folk would seek out
among themselves,
psychic minds
to elicit the deep, deep, meanings of the stars.
2008
The yawl
footing slowly in the channel
with only puffs of fetid air
to take her out
she rides the outward tide
past nonplussed pelicans
perched on salty pilings
finally emerging into the the south wind
she shakes out her canvas
then stands out to the bay
where the deep blue waters
call their siren song
she heels and with a bone in her teeth
she drives over the serrated waves
of snowy-white capped swells
and with stays and halyards taut
she begins a long reach to the Gulf. . . .
2009
Self-portrait
Yelladawg at seventy-three 2009
DILBERT
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DILBE
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DILBERT
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A MANAMONGMEN
