Between the silences, within darkness,
between the sound of cars passing an open
summer window; the fleeting moment that lingers
between screaming children fleeing the park
and the rain’s first drop ruffling the smooth lake
surface. The moment between the screen door’s
slam and the expected
                                     warm welcome—that
silence that admits the lonely. Here now,
read the silences between the words,
it grows in the white edges and the flashes
of a twisting view. Hear it between the sigh
and smile, or just between farewell (we have
not, not yet, parted,) and the weeping.

We hugged, that moment between, and I still
see you walking away, always walking
away; though sorrow lingers in these wounds,
mixed with joy…

Why did I whisper good-bye into the knowing silence?

September, 2003


I was once sane and believed
in presidential integrity, God,
truth (there is no evidence), justice
for all, and springs imminent arrival.
                  The mad god giggles
It snowed again today, little
white lies that hide the glib
reminder: we shall not live
in fear. Poor blind public dazzled
by a rich media (wealth is truth);
another conspiracy to steal my security.
                  At the planet impaled
I wish I were sane again and could believe
in cool summer breezes, a babes
innocence, the truth of a smile, or
the first kiss of love.
                  On his spear of wrath.

April 5, 2003

The snow is rotten and sinks
Towards the black earth unseen
For so many long months, a life
Time of white rushes down streets
Towards gutters, rivers of snow melt;
And winters dead scent fades into spring,
The soft hope of green grass and lilacs.

Screams echo, and the sand smells of blood
And there is only a shadow of fear
Extending over this season. Why should
It matter? Those sands have tasted death
A million times before and will taste death
A million times after. But I cannot help but wonder
What flower will these spring showers bring to bloom.



I have no dream.
Passionate only for misery,
happy only when whining
why seek what I do not desire?
There is no point in change.
There is no change, though the lie
states change is in all, nothing truly
changes. Show not tell, I can only tell.
All rhyme is forced, no meter mimics
speech, meaningless metaphors, vapid
similes, poetry without touch. Poetry lies,
poets lie, and I know the truth. There is no
reality, no truth, chaos is bounded only by order
and the truly chaotic is absolute order.
Understanding fades with knowledge
wisdom declines with age
and I am selfish, all I do I do for me.
Your needs, your wants, your desires
have no value except filtered through mine.
Your happiness is contingent on mine,
how dare you find joy before me.
Wealth, love, innocence are mine and mine
alone. Have I told enough yet? Should I show
the sun rising on pristine mountain lakes,
the clarity of a loon’s cry echoing off the white
peaks? But you are not seeing my mountain,
hearing my loon for it is my need that speaks.
It is my lie to live.


It does not matter
I am guessing
Tomorrow it will all be forgotten
Just another heart scar,
Words that live in memory
Beneath the scab the unhealing

Once After a Time

The wizard sits alone sipping
Mornings cup of melancholia grown cold,
Looks to the garden, and knows once began here
Back when words held power, here, in power,
The spell went awry, as all good spells must,
        and now 
                    Knights on white have retired to coasts of ease,
	    Noble steeds wander pastures green, content;
	   Dragons serve maids fair with frequent complaint;
	  His queen has found a new king bold enough,
	And no rescue attempt ever dared touch.
Faded with frosts first blight old
Leaves hide their loss beneath
Snows gray mantle. The troll
Promotes his book on talk shows
Millions for a craggy smile beats garden sitting.
The window darkens with faded gray.
The wizard retreats, what once was is nearly. 

Peace by Cliche

Love is known only in grief
The Warrior depends on the civilian’s sacrifice
The con collapses without a mark
Freedom is forgetting tyranny
(censorship frees the speech)
Until the boots press flesh
Anxiety feeds on comfort
Dawn celebrates the darkest hour
Beneath the vanity of words lies-

Surround the unspeakable, tie it down
With language, mundane words seal
The pit and nothing clears the edge
(every generation craves a horror to own)
as we flee directly into annihilation.
does anything lie beyond words?

Snow spatters, falling in fits
Flakes cover the scorched earth
And more words pull what remains
Emotion, all I am exists as-

We feed on roach detritus
Billions leading the few into
Futility exposes the hope
And hope dreams of destitution.


the unspoken cleaves
answers unasked
miracle’s prayer
forever swallows today
truth in dismay

the dancing nymph wears my hat.


edge on brilliance
feeds the crumbling hunger
eroding gaiety breaks the brittle
facade. Driven
word. Captive
word. Isolate
word. Forgotten
word. Even

Love poem

Blackened petal of the rose fall as
forever becomes now and ends.
Touch joins the never
parted and even
the shroud forgives.

A favourite memory smiles hello
A handshake, how are you and do you remember
Danced carefree in the summer
Sun? No berry tastes as sweet, light
Was soft and smelled of hope and promises.

But the world claims us all;
Job and children, home and heart
Fill the years, -- they pass so swiftly;
Much older now, I feel the loss—
Though for all my struggles
Memory is the greater wealth.

March 30, 2003

From dark gray skies despair falls
each flake a denial of warmth,
empty, the heavens reflect earth’s barren
core. Empty, open arms wrap,
reach for softness denied, and denied
longs for one brief moment of satiation.

Death shakes Her head, negation Her only known fulfillment.
There is regret here for the undone, unspoken, untouched;
the withheld word echoes loudest, shaking worlds,
and hope wears a shy smile of welcome
only after the last breath fades into dark.
Courage flees from the face of loneliness.


First climbed, then swung—
Or was it the shade that won
Some small part of memory
Forgets even beginning ends.

Hot summers day enfolded in her womb
Four branches spread out in an incomplete
Hand reading my future in whispers
Not knowing a child’s serious dreams
The world waited

Waited for what I could not find
Search today for those dreams
Repressed echo’s rise in the smiled
Evasions and faint blush, so much
For one word to limit.


Freedom went cheap,
bought by tyranny
cloaked as a temporary
safety. Imagine a world:

Sheep, obedient and pliant
follow the misguided shepherd
calmly into the wolf’s holding
Pens, surrendering quietly all—

The unwritten goes unread
banned by the un-
protested policy;
subjugation by a common denial.

The time bomb of peace
with the ecstasy of a righteous

From the envelope of obscurity
a sigh of frustration rises,
even the forgotten have forgotten,
stretched between points the word
lies telling a truth; essential
valueless deathless ambiguity.
These walls talk in titters and giggles
of disbelief, swallow the pride
that holds a common faith.

satan wars on satan and only Satan wins.

Give me an hour to fill
and no o shall remain empty.
Nothing exists
for I have just blotted it out.

An Act of Exercise (Incomplete)

Contemplation of history, not ancient history
such as the Gulf War, Vietnam, or Rome,
nor even the recent history of horrors,
but personal history is best performed
with box of chocolates and coffee near
to hand and before the watchful electronic eye.

Yesterday began pleasantly enough, though
discomfort from a too tight waistband
(shrinkage in the washing machine, again)
and the desire to stop and rest before reaching
the washroom awoke a desire for change.
Clean, shaven and now dressed in sweats
(what a wonderful name for baggy non
descript clothes that hide the fact that sweating
is infrequently performed in a formal setting)
I set out in pursuit of physical stimuli, exercise.

Gym. An ancient Greek word meaning to exercise
naked has changed to a technical vision
of a sadomasochists dream world of ecstasy.
Standing before this unfamiliar instrument
staring up, confused, wary, and the obvious
center of attention (fat, unfit, surrounded
by those perfect physical specimens of humanity)
I meekly acceded to the challenge and mounted this
Weird device of self-torture, self-mockery, self-abnegation.

Immolation by Instant Messenger

The little annoyances pass unseen, each brief electronic transfer
an instant of perfection, messages
pass building fantasy out of phrases,
secret desires given life, long denied hopes
rise and blaze openly, pulling me blind
into your flame. Immolation so
sweet, so sweet (let me burn again),
so far from your light.

What did I say to silence you?
Did life come and take you back?
Are you alive, dying, dead, lying?
A moth’s scream, wings sizzle,
a small body falls silent
littering the path, invisible.
a vagrant breeze stirs my ashes
-miss you, love you-
and from the renewed silence
rises the bitterness of sorrow

The morning hoarfrost, temporary
fleeting beauty, ephemeral memory lost to sunlight