The Serpent Road


A road wends like a snake in the grass

Without the meataphor usually associated

To reptiles given a bad reputation

This road did not lurk or menace

It lay sunning itself, contentedly

On a hillside painted in lavender hues

Of late blooming clover


My feet found it warm, worn smooth

Brown leaves crackle as layers of old scale

Peeling from the serpent’s hide

And they whispered as the winds came ’round

To fondly muss my hair and make the trees sing


Years went by in the hum of crickets

Autumn molded my breath

Callouses grew, peeled and grew again

I left pieces of them behind me, shedding my skin


Old ones say the Snake Road

Girdles the belly of the world

And I believe that could be true

For I have seen it shimmering in the gloaming

Stretching it’s sinuous curve beyond the horizon

I have tasted the spirit molecule and seen the fractal universe

In the petals of a wildflower


Just Over The Hill, Not Far Away

Hush, my dear one

Come nearer to my stony heart

This mountain of flesh and bone

Here the grass grows greener

Tickles your toes when they are naked

The stream of consciousness is clean, pure of hatred

Please, drink till your thirst for Truth has been sated

Fill your mouth with fruits of knowledge

No apples are forbidden here

The dawn chorus still sings to your blood

In this cathedral of trees and azure sky

The earth is black and pregnant with decay

In Her womb rest the seeds of our future gardens

Where our beans will climb the corn stalks

And our children will climb the chestnuts



Sea Of lies


In all this turbulent



Pulling violently hither and yon

Is the pool of thought still enough

For me to SEE myself?



As these waters so agitated

Assault my jagged edges

Am I worn smooth

Or merely

Worn down?


Prowling in the deep

I have seen sharks

Silver flashing like a blade


And I wonder

For who are those knives intended?




This post is in reaction to the political shit show currently hitting the fan. I refuse to elaborate enough has been said already.

I apologize for being absent on my blog lately it has been hard for me to find that space.

Communing With Cliffs

Fledgling grey are the cloud covered cliffs

Infantile in a wan light of dawn

Sharp jagged teeth obscured, softened

By downy feathers of mist


Presently, I am witness

When sunshine at last burns away this youthful visage

That dark plumage rises like the wings of an albatross

And takes flight over the undulating Pacific

Revealing rippling muscles of volcanic stone

The red, lined face of a wizened elder

A memory of volcanos in the hollow roar of wind


With many faces, the cliff gazes upon my seat in the sand

I see her molten and raging

I see her crumbling back into the embrace of sea

I see her holding bones like a babe to her breast


Arising reluctantly from my wind-swept bluff

I return to my bi-pedal state of mind

Tenderly leaving my woven sweet grass

To wander in the breeze


Visions Of The Blind

Your words were broken glass

Shattered  slices of light reflected, refracted

Into shades of grey and deepening black

Festooning the walls of our false celebration


Rainbows painted on retreating syllables

As the last rays of day

Embrace the sea

With painted longing


How beautiful

How fleeting

Is the sunset


In all those sharp contrasts of relative perception

A pervasive metaphor in a private hue

Glimpsed fleetingly and solitary

Whilst amid the pomp and ego


Shallow Are Your Blue Eyes

In the dark of night I remember you

How a metaphor of ink can shift in hue

All relative to where the facet lies

How observant are your lidded eyes?


Moonlight soothes your jagged edges

The path your wayward tread was led in

Brought you here to an empty page

Have you wisdom to give, you deviant sage?


Ears are open to words of your Truth

Shallow swimming in the ponds of youth

But still the seeds of epiphany swim

And I’ll surely get wet, if you let me in



The Road Home

I told myself, with the bite of 3 AM

That “cold” is a relative word

As ice clinked like martini glasses at the end of my hair

Toes curling deeply into the bedrock of snow boots

Just as a plant seeks purchase on a rocky ledge

My stubbly pink roots went burrowing for warmth

And found none in the barren soil of worn out woolen socks

“If I were in Alaska,” I reminded myself quietly “This would be a Spring thaw.”

As I crunched through frozen banks of snow

Aglow with the borrowed light of moon

I distracted my shudders with thoughts of Summer

Who had rarely warmed my bed or laughter

Despite sunlight seeping through the memory of trees

It was always on a road’s cold shoulder I cried upon

Whispers in the darkness of another’s brief passage

Four footed and fleeting for the scent of my humanity

Reminding me that I am never alone

Even when I walk in the seeming wasteland

Of a snow bound, desolate path


I am slogging toward the sunrise

A rosy promise higher than I can reach

My white, bloodless fingers reach for it like the trees do

With their bare bony limbs naked of greenery

There is a moment of synchronicity

As the forest and I stand swaying together

Awaiting a solar reprieve

From the sharp-toothed maw of January


I discover my house is darker than the sky

Who is now glowing softly with a promise

I do not find echoed in my hollow heart

A muffled curse as I kick the solid oak door

Frozen to the jam, refusing to budge

My anger and sadness adding fuel to my assault

There are three dark boot prints painted on it’s leering face

Before I am successful in passing my own threshold

I look around at the wordless emptiness

That ricochets off the notebooks and those walls still without plaster

Why did I struggle so desperately to arrive here?

This sanctuary of gas station wine bottles and thrice-smoked cigarette buts?

Why have I climbed a mountain so high, that nobody can reach me?

How is it that I can hug the trees, my wallowing, the pride of a tiger

But not embrace another human being?

Perhaps every hermit who ever glimpsed eternity

Had these same thoughts of shouting it from the highest hill

Only to fall silent in the time it took them

To leave their cave to find a pencil


Quietly I sink into my solitude

Burrowing into piles of blankets and prose

I am testing myself, I decide sleepily

Preparing for the time I will need to walk

Where no path is willing to lead me

Tempering my spirit with fire and ice

‘Till my pen is as sharp as the blade of this patriarchy

Buried in my back