I Talk About The Dead

I talk about the Dead
The Departed
The great and the small
The morbidly preserved
And the body turned to dust

I talk about theDead
Death’s PR
The Grim Reaper’s press agent
Building interest, excitement
For those who linger only in memory

I talk about the Dead
The Infamous
Dangling at the end of a rope
Heads lost at the flash of a blade
For their inhumanities to man

I talk about the Dead
The kind, the hopeful
Who struggled against oppression
Who sacrificed and sorrowed
In effort to improve the human condition

I talk about the Dead
Their dusty tombs
Their fossilized remains
Evidence hidden in earth or sea
Or great monuments erected in their memory

I talk about the Dead
In reverence
In horror of their misdeeds
In awe of their great achievements
That slowly, slowly erode away

I speak of the Dead
For Speechless,
They have become, unknown
And I speak of the lesson they teach
By their very act of existence

I speak of the Dead
Well knowing
That I, That you, that all
Regardless of wealth, race, or sex
Will join their ever growing ranks

So, to keep them alive
I speak of the Dead

we share the same air

We share the same air

It Moves

From your lungs to mine

We see the same sunrise

Even apart

We each see it shine


We feel the same breeze

It moves

And surrounds we two

We awake the same morning

And we walk

Through the same dew


The same ancient planet

Revolves

Under both of our feet

The same old sun above

Radiates

And we swim in its heat


We share the same space

Molecules

From the beginning of time

The very same Star Stuff

Timeless

Unexplained and sublime


Now we share thunder

And rain

whose drops fall in rhyme

Celestial night flashes

I’ll share

lightning with you anytime

Chnaged by my 1st visit to China

And I am changed again
Molded with each experience
Shaped
Formed
Smoothed

As I am changed again
Each acts as the potters hands
Places
Persons
Odors

As a liquid conforms to the vessel
As clay responds to the hand
Flowing
Shifting
Growing

And I am changed again
and again and again and again

Thoughts After a Funeral

The Flame

Today I viewed a Friend of MIne
Her spirit gone
Shell Left behind

I observed in state she lay
Concrete walls
Within she’ll stay

Sealed airtight, safe and alone
That fragile shell
Of Skin and None

When Pluto makes his call for me
I ask you please
Don’t bury me

Don’t cover me with clay and stone
Free my atoms
From this fleshy home

I ask for fire that consumes the flesh
I have no desire
For a natural rest

Prometheus will dine on me
And spread my ash
On air land and ea

My molecules and atoms swarm
On sooty plume
Of air so warm
Mariah acts now as my guide
Eagles soar
Now at my side

Freed then from the bonds of birth
My atoms will
Encircle earth

The air you breathe, the clouds you see
Shall all
Bear molecules of me

So give me fire to cleanse this shell
The flame of heaven
Not that of hell

And everything that you can see
Will be a bit
Of the soul of me

early to rise while you sleep

Cursed, I am, to rise well before the sun
Daily
Living another life before others rise

So, I piddle, I sweat, I think, I run
Daily
Before seeing another set of open eyes

In the cool, dark solitude of morning
Wistful,
I imagine you drifting in oceans of sleep

Softly breathing, tangled in covering
Wistful
Sighs and soft smiles as dreams slowly creep from the deep

Pretty feet and painted toes peek from sheets
Shadows
Bathe you as night begrudgingly yields to the day

And I sit, breathing deep, as my pulse beats
Shadows
Recede, Bands of light inch across where you lay

Reluctantly freed from a dream’s deep water
Slowly
My sweat has cooled, I rise to face Come-What-may

My thoughts turn to you, the mermaid’s daughter
Slowly’
Rising to join the chaos of another new day

the temple

Whose hand placed this stone?
How many hands
Now only memory and dust,
Laid hands upon this stone?

Whose sweat marked this stone?
With effort under the sun
Or with effort for the gods?
Whose belief wet this stone?

Whose blood stained this stone?
In a city of pain, sacrifice
A gift to feed ancient gods
As their blood stained the stones

my dancer

Her delicate profile
Etched in
Cameo porcelain
A blush rises at her cheek

She does not walk
She glides
Into the room
Like a cool summer breeze

Perfectly she moves
Pirouettes
Like a dancer
Her arms gracefully arch

She floats from one position
To another
Like a river
Flows effortlessly by

She cannot contain it
The dance
It moves her
In joyous release