Under the Shade Trees

A poem from the new collection On Driftwood and Oblivion

I once lived there, under the shade of those trees
Peaceful and happy, never hurting anyone or anything
Why do you say these vile and evil things about me?
You know not what you speak, or whom you speak it for

We do not have the means to wage war that you have
And so, we move like the wind, but neither here nor there
I hope you enjoyed the shade of the trees you took
No, I truly do. At least before you cut them all down

Read more in On Driftwood and Oblivion…

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Into The Flame

In a steel guitar bearded dream
You came to me in the darkest night
In a vision within a vision supreme
Knighted are you before the fight

Ghost dancers turned back time
Of pale horsed riders with frosty faces
On warm blooded thoughts so sublime
Inhaled whispers left few traces

Underground railroads on the trail
Of a whipsawed chorus of children’s cries
On sterile neon moon rock hail
In the darting probes of quicksand eyes

East west feet trampled dustless roads
The great father peddling golden fraud
On horn rimmed dragon’s heavy loads
And endless gibberish of travels abroad

The buffalo’s now wistful moan
Trails the jet’s smoke trail blame
Books of wisdom now flesh and bone
A forced march ends into the flame

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Sand Creek

Whispers thunder still, Sand Creek winds whip true.
The horses gallop, as a sad refrain.
Maheo’s tears cried out a blood-soaked rain.
In peace, the U.S. flag and white flag flew.
This meant nothing to the devils in blue.
For Black Kettle, peace brought a heavy pain.
Whispers thunder still,

Children heard crying, in the morning dew.
Oh, senseless massacre of such disdain.
How does humanity escape the brain?
Though the wailing and bloodshed are long through,
Whispers thunder still.

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So It Goes, Ode to Vonnegut

Inside life’s zoo, is the catch-22, of a horse now glue,
Losing sight of what’s true, in the great deep blue,
And the turn of the screw, can you give me a clue?
And, so it goes

Tomorrow, today, both in the way,
When the brain turns to clay, someone must pay,
For the mental lay, if you’re not Ray, or you’re not allowed to say
And, so it goes

You lose sight, of what’s true at first light,
But something’s not right, in the heat of the night,
With the mind’s kite, maybe wound too tight, in the afternoon’s delight
And, so it goes

Listen for the boom, if you see the mushroom,
Quick leave the room, erase the chalkboard of gloom,
Experience a joyful doom, come out of the tomb, and enter the womb
And, so it goes

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