church of the eponymous
i have no belief system. i think reality is a construct. that just leaves me in the present moment.
tying
my boat to the universe
i apply a slip knot
Most likely will never be ‘published’!
Home of "Haiku Mike"
church of the eponymous
i have no belief system. i think reality is a construct. that just leaves me in the present moment.
tying
my boat to the universe
i apply a slip knot
Most likely will never be ‘published’!
the art of philosophy or the philosophy of art
i dont want to appreciate art. I wont spend time on philosophy. put them together and you have the dark arts. harry potter was a character. i am too after a fact. a character in a novel i am writing about my life.
a writer
of short poems
too smart for the long ones
Most likely will never be ‘published’!
light a candle with a star
flame is something we all secretly worship. a fire warms the hands and the soul. living in a dark skies area i find the stars of the milky way hotter than the artificial variety. i think all the fires in the world in the past or the future would fit in a single flare of the sun. we need the sun. we fear the fire. it seems too silly to diagnose this contradiction. so i wont.
the warmth
of a quiet embrace
shooting stars
Most likely will never be ‘published’!
whisper me words
freshly plowed field. but the notes from the guitar go wandering.
a long note
from a blues tune and
the aroma of fresh bread
Most likely will never be ‘published’!
a whisper turns to a thought
the erasure of time has made my limbs blind. i stumble in the grass. how is it that i cant find the way home as easily as i used to. has old age begun to strangle me. dew on the grass has been my undoing. like a squirrel that reaches through the bottom of a nest and steals the eggs from the mother starling. nature stops me in my tracks. feeling and knowing the same now as i see clearly what i have come to. a smiling old man who loves his life for all it has become.
a rainbow
e x p l o d e s
through the fog
Most likely will never be ‘published’!
faceless killers
we never see them coming. they are the unseen merchants of the death of good ideas. those critics that live in your brain. you cant get rid of them. they are you. they dont think like you do and they detest your wild mind. you can with some work push them away. at least for a short time.
with no remorse
i make myself disappear
into a poem
Most likely will never be ‘published’!
a beacon written away
the old lighthouse is dark now. a ghost light appears on some holidays. most likely kids shining a flashlight beam at the top of the light for the tourists. the metallic ring of a bell in the harbor and the light disappears. a hundred and seventy five years ago the ghost was flesh and blood. the face of the old keeper looks lost now. a statue is all he is. the oil house is gone and there is nothing left to do.
longings
the way a ships lights
blink in a storm
Most likely will never be ‘published’!
a living statue of goodness
some people are hard to be friends with. they are so much more than that. inspiration has no value it is truly priceless.
a guitar solo
says it all
a wail into the one
Most likely will never be published!
drunk and reading the poems of others
poets can wrap their hands around your naked heart from thousands of miles away. across the atlantic i touch the pain of another.
it seems
like a week ago
that i cried this hard
a friends name in marble
i am sure even my family does not fully understand. some of my friends and i might have had a falling out. but they died instead. it does not seem fair that i never got to pick that last fight. they fell instead without me there.
frost
and the lack of crowds
your name alone catches my heart
Don’t want this one published anywhere but everywhere!