Tag Archives: poetry

I AM the road

I AM the Road

Ancient and worn

With different colored masks they come

I AM the road of Davids star

The road built by Pharaoh

The road of the Armenians


They come to me weary and without a voice

Confused and abandoned by the world

The road of the kulaks

Or the Yezidis

Paved by the failures of man

Painted with marred souls of the forgotten


My lure is one of power

One of dominance

I AM the road

Inescapable by man

To fools i am most appealing

You’ve read about me in text

How I led to gulag

To the ovens, to the firing squads

Where i expire skulls pile like mountains


From the streets and the campuses

They approach me again

Desperation burning like fire in their eyes

Blinding them, changing them, numbing them

As history again becomes a stranger

Their first steps come with rage and protest

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Do you run?

Do you run through the night?

Not in groups with spandex but

Under the stain of the sour moonlight

Where the trees become monsters metaphorically

I run from the serpent

Despite my speed

he is always underfoot

His black skin dull under the streetlight


Are you a Lycan like me?

This dark world looks better through nocturnal eyes

Where the goblins and ghouls have no place to hide

Rather than the chirp and sing

Do you prefer the wooded song of thorax on wing?


In a frightening world

It helps to be a monster

Still, you must smile and hide your fangs

Trim your claws and speak softly

Wait calmly for the brazen moon to rise

Are you a monster like me?

You better be


UnknownScan aus: Wolfgang Schild – Die Geschichte der Gerichtsbarkeit. Vom Gottesurteil bis zum Beginn der modernen Rechtsprechung, Hamburg: Nikol Verlagsgesellschaft 1997 S. 67 ISBN 3-930656-74-4. Lizenz von: Verlag Georg D. W. Callwey 1980





A Man and His Hands


A man should feel comfortable with an axe in his hands
Whether it rest on his shoulder or slice through the air
With the earth in his hands a man should feel at home
A man should feel confident and produce with his hands
And if that man be so blessed
He should feel just the same with a child in his hands
That tiny life will soften his words and his heart
If a dark hearted man should threaten that life
A man must be prepared to hurt with his hands

He should clap with his hands, he should greet with his hands
A man should never beg for life with his hands
Cupping his mouth he should wail and sing with his hands
For celebration is a rare yet necessary part of his life

And never shall a man feel more like a man
Then the day he takes a woman in his hands
Whether kissing her close or sharing a dance
Or traversing life’s ever narrowing road
A man should be honored with “thy portion” in his hands

Though a man’s path be often crooked and lightless
Riddled with temptation and failure
He carries faith, family and country in his hands


“Hands sketches c1600” by Anonymous – Universitätsbibliothek Salzburg, Handzeichnung H 407 (2), via http://www.ubs.sbg.ac.at/sosa/graphiken/handzeichnungen.htm. Licensed under Public Domain via Wikimedia Commons – http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Hands_sketches_c1600.jpg#/media/File:Hands_sketches_c1600.jpg


It’s only when you have it all that you realize

Our love, our lives, our happiness, our wealth

Rest upon circumstance as thin as filament

Woven a bit but still so fine

It’s why we strive constantly

It’s why we share our magnetic charge with success

The cold night moon is all that lights our path

Beyond the trees what dangers lie?

We can only console loss

And live each day as though the filaments are ready to give


A Run Through Tired Woods

Cool air kills another humid Virginia summer

My running shoes find new life

Though I run occasionally

through the sweltering heat

There is nothing to compare to a forest



She calls me from the harsh asphalt my feet pound to reach her soft her paths

Paths littered with her fiery tears

She is burdened and her leaves fall

In preparation for sleep


‘Another lonely cold winter,’ she explains

‘Bikers lose their helmets and runners their shoes’


Everyday is another closer

Each bringing indiscernible change

A change of shade

Or a shade of change?


She is exhausted

providing so much since spring

I gave my apologies for

A generation so narcotized

I explained to her

‘They believe that in their intoxication

They are peeking into heaven’s windows

The truth is they are trapped in some purgatorial existence

Neither granted access to the most high

Nor lent ability to appreciate a single basal leaf

in the throes of autumn’


I went on


‘and don’t concern yourself with months or years

For there has been but one to age so beautifully as you

My dearest Michelle

The wife he carved out for me


As I bid her farewell

Another golden tear fell

But I left her with this assurance


‘Though your company may dwindle

In the months to come and

Your bare limbs will no longer

Hold their brilliance

It will be my feet

That pound these paths

Whether through your fiery distress

When we may share our burdens of the future

Or amongst the terrible winds of winter

When through puffs of breath I will watch you sleep


Technology is not the enemy

I believe it is instead the test

To leverage its capabilities before it lulls us to sleep

Its infancy is all we know, a waking giant

Our minds cry out for balance

We are creatures of the dirt not the diode

Those elements that sustain us

within the palm of a fiber optic hand

opportunity awaits

Look too deep and you could be snared by copper digits

with charged lithium nails

Grab ahold of the rocks and weeds

Even the stinging nettle will be a welcome sensation

Anything to tear you away from the monochromatic screen

Find your balance in the creeks and the streams

and those elements that sustain us




Is ape man and beast

Like God to Man?

Is it loyalty


We mistake for worship?

Is it gratitude

we mistake for idolatry

I have been blessed with great courage

Alongside my canine

Just the same

When my eyes fall their way

Those four legs are capable of miracles

When they are pups we feel like they couldn’t survive without us

But in actuality it’s us who needs them


The ape man’s soul is lost without the ability to show affection

Forever at war with instinct and carnality

Inside this rigid and foreign world

The paradox is that we built this prison ourselves

But the beast, the canine can pull us out


I challenge you

Blur the lines between the ape man and the beast

Demon Under the Street Light

In the distance it watches me

Bathing in the street light, yet incomprehensibly dark

Deceptively human in form it beckons me

I must have run all day, weak

It calls me through generations of sin

I move closer and it tugs at my every vice

I know its wrong but still I approach

Under its dark robe I recognize the cloven hoof

Still I move forward

The spell is broken by a white flash of innocence

My son beyond the Demon

He is running to Daddy but the beast is between us

The choice

Do I open robe and invite my son in

Into the pleasure, the excess, the satisfaction of sin, or

Do I strangle the Demon under the street light





I wrote this poem while I was waiting for Mike D to arrive at our campsite atop the Appalachians in Western Virginia. It was late, cool and all the stars were out. I scribed by campfire light while cheese tortellini with kale, garlic, red chili and sopressata cooked in a cast iron pan.

Get High!
calling back and forth
shooting the breeze from tree top to tree top
i am below but still so high

have you seen her? modelled from the stars
dressed in black with heavens in her eyes
i watch heat dance around the ash
as a whisper blows through the party

should we burn another or should we retire
one more breath of this sweet air
i feel it deep in my lungs
now this is nature, this is enlightenment

what i would give to have her here and now
though Mother will have to do
let the night cast its spell over me

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