In celebration of Spring & its promise of renewal, this budding poetic offering is sure to BLOOM in you a sense of spiritual re-acquaintance in turbulent times leaving you feeling sprung back to life...

Coming Home

[Originally published in Oddball Magazine]

Well, because a fall leaf fell before my feet today I see
In serendipity I yearn to live daily,
Consider this my soliloquy.
To awake to its bounty of unlawful acts of intrepid beauty
I yearn to taste the morning dew on my tongue at sunrise,
That is to feel again; to unfurl my wings like silver springs
And fly again; to sound out sounds yet to be heard;
Supposedly it’s all been sounded,
Supposedly it’s all been said,
But not by me so here I am, like a black-tailed deer prancing on wobbly legs,
Trying not to remember that I was once hunted so that I can
Imagine a world without hunters; but I do remember and that’s how I got stronger.
I yearn to bay at the moon at night but not like a black wolf,
But a white swan flouncing on the foamy lake.
I want a world of butterflies and rainbows…
Yes, I want to have my cliché and eat it too.
Poets! Allow me to harangue you:
Coveting prizes and publication can consume you!
Defy and denounce racism!
Confront and contain classism.
Confer and celebrate humanism.
Pursue the ultimate orgasm!
Happiness is accepting the life you see,
Be happy and enjoy your journey.
My heart has been doused in the dawn of new age reality:
Not unlike the reality TV that gave me a place to hide in uncertainty;
No one is talking.
Everyone is texting.
Social media: the new pathway to a social life.
We are in a crisis of technological isolation!
So technically we are less and less connected
And more and more isolated.
Caught in the cross fires of neocolonial consumerism,
I want to live a life free of materialism, free of egoism;
I want to be like Buddha.
I want to meditate all day and sleep all night.
Keep your dreams alive!
I once publicly hid from love;
I yearn to love again like the moon tickling the midnight sea;
“You are a true Poet, don’t EVER let them take that away from you.” They told me.
Now here I am, battered and bruised, my silver wings have dulled
By the wear and tear of my new reality: not quite young, not quite old, not quite done;
Yet I’ve resolved to flail my silver wings again against the moon lit skies,
This time without worry,
And come home to my original love
Of prose and poetry.