Leave the moonlight on for me

well look who's back

Omi and Opi

flew in from dreamland

settled in our tree

nested by the bird seed

grampa always hid 

he knew the good spots

so of course they did!

downy woodpeckers

you may call these things

they're my elder sparks

grand spirits with wings

Once upon a memory

I'd dream of we three

walking by our big lake

my granddad and me

to their eternal rest 

they were finally sent

but came back to visit

from wherever they went

All tears dried we hear

but if heaven's so swell

then tell me why them

leaving hurts like hell? 

Maybe they knew I 

couldn't cope alone

didn't want to leave me

again on my own

so they came each night

then they had to leave

these nocturnal visits 

always made me grieve

it must be hard when

earthlings hold you tight

but I was stuck too 

in a death grip plight

then one night they said

I must let them go

perhaps it hurt them

to see me hurt so 

so I did so they did

cease to visit me

must have been ready

for I didn't even see

they live in recall

verses woven in foam

yet it seems they found

a new place to call home

I hang a feeder

in the backyard tree

like they always did

where birds love to be

when the seed runs out

they scold and nag me

they keep on dining 

when I walk to the tree

we startle each other

it's quite an affray 

we laugh and beg pardon

he never flies away

perched supervising

feeder filling time 

I fully comprehend

his mute pantomime

and in the evening

when birds go to bed

I still see friendly 

shade shadows in my head

elder sparks hover

in twilight requiem

I daren't blink or move

lest I might miss them

these feathered fairies 

whatever they may be

neither fact nor fiction

still drop in on me 

now we've gone gentler 

in dark night of soul

in fairy fragments 

I find full-moon whole

a back dune meander

Elysian daydreams 

driftwood and fireflies

Tlingit moonbeams

now play hide and seek

for grandpa is silly 

when the moon is new 

no light we can see 

like he always did 

bidding me goodnight

began to shut the door

thereby dousing the light

it was just pretend 

just so I would howl

always left it open

my dear wise old owl

sacred was the ritual 

bed bugs and sleep tight

moonshine wish kisses

hugs with all our might

my elders sparks still 

twinkle for us to see

never shut the door and

leave the moonlight on for me

Panic Attack Ack-Ack

deep vein thrombosis

throbs through my whole

shell shock reverberates

shockwaves in my soul

musty sweet sickness 

I know this of old 

Tupperware bowl of

moldy oatmeal stone cold

gut lurching forward in

backward high-speed train 

elevator major lift  

minor fall migraine

crash land on reentry

rank, dank memory

rag rug pulled away

rage storm drowning me

panic attack ack-ack

mind's machine gun nest

can't find my gas mask

for air raid warden test

this ain't no test nor

car backfire sound

my heart knows the drill

of sucker punch pound 

world without an end

they are mad again

me in the crosshairs

cue the great amen

comes the fusilade

flak- ack-ack attack

scapegoat in the middle

no one has my back

angry fingers drum

a morse code of shame

in military tattoo

stenciled on my brain

blindside blindman's bluff

family ambush game

everyone playing

pass the buck and blame

in clown monkey band 

chimp on calliope

harpy harpsicord 

what a travesty

dying but never done

death by 1000 jeers

hurts in ageless pain

I've cried out of tears

that's my legacy 

left in the will 

pocketful of empty

such a sour pill 

it's some consolation

can't miss what I had not

and I just don't care

which oddly says a lot 

Yes we've no patience

for nonsense today

just stupid head games

I don't want to play

Then Ack-ack subsides

like lake into shore

all quiet on this front

I could open the door...

(we now present the volta)

what to my wondering 

eyes should appear 

a cloud of witnesses 

who holding held me dear

waiting in the wings

for their entrance bell

the new ones to love

past ones loved so well

Ave, elder sparks 

I see your dim-bright

shadow fairies hover

hidden in plain sight

Time to free my Tao 

and scrub clean the pain

in Babylon river

and Lake Michigan rain

Narnian Reverie: Or Moishe Requires his Tea

Mrs. Bombastic

A tisket, a tasket 

trailing mist ribbons

from her Easter basket

midsummer moonshine

mittens lost and found

then lost again by

kittens fiddling around

glowworm orb observes

green cheese moon man land

sing hey diddle diddle

to feline fiddler band

silently frolicking

Bastet hearth deities

Bombay amber eyes

Mord and Moishe kitties

Lunar Musicians

their mute jazz band wails

reflect harvest moon in

patent black coat and tails

larking in grayscale

hinterland twilight

no time for sleep in

mystic magic night 

to color in vision

the painter brings her brush

I brought my pen to

poem ebullient hush

in honeycomb'd verses

weaving fabled spells

of sand covered kingdoms

inside wishing wells

once upon a rhyming

celestial story time

Tlingit elder waltz in

wild mountain thyme

Puss tippling catnip

Me, my jug of wine

a loaf and he beside 

were paradise mine

till rain sneaks in on

Mist-blue kitty toes

Ohio's bank ore'flow

where pussywillow grows

wither shall we find

sweet sheltering repose?

pretty words blurred by 

Windy Wendigos 

my ballet shoes soiled

they will surely scold 

wine turned to water

Moishe's feet are cold 

Just we two must fend

Mord wisely went to bed

dreaming of cat treats

dancing in his head

but soft what light shines

In yon window faithfully

his front yard post light

calling Moishe and me?

nope, just me revolving

round memory carousel

kitchen table slideshow

where heaven hurts like hell

in recall I forget

wine spilled on the floor

crying, holding tighter 

just makes me lose more

Fact.  

the elders have moved

ever farther away

I only see and hear 

in grandkids at play. 

I don't even dream about them anymore. 

yet our beloved birds

hover o're me now 

tiny elder sparks

my presence they allow

This bears more pondering. 

I'll write on this more. 

I'll think on this more. 

I'll drink on this more. 

Meanwhile, cue Narnian Reverie. Because Moishe's toes are freezing and he requires his tea. 

 

A sardine toast feast

Tumnus laid for we

riding out the storm

the faun, the cat and me

sip from fairy tea cups

of dogwood petal pink

with fern frond saucers 

gin and printer's ink 

(there it is...)

Just a god and his girl

our silly ancient ways

strolling down Eden

and in and out of days

 

Rescue Swim Sonnet

fallow lie the fields

of grim Athenry 

yes, we have no milk 

the cow has run dry 

those perishing below

from her window sees

but does she even hear

their heart-twisting pleas?

Lady of Shalott 

wrings out tears like rain

cries for herself not 

children with no grain 

what use is crying 

with no song to say 

the doom is upon her

she's clean sailed away

lonely is our lady 

of towered misery

drowning in blossoms

in boat off the quay 

Such a golden waste 

bright sparkler divine

Makes me consider 

the spark that is mine

methinks as I dwell

in my quirky rhyme 

about brevity of 

the tango with time

to the death dicers 

who flirt with the grave

a word of caution 

before the final wave  

spare a thought for those

leaving leaves behind 

when contemplating 

a darker shade of mind

as for me, I'll wear

my 24-karat glow

done with silence now

time to tell and show 

no more colors hid

under basket confine

time to blow the top off 

this little light of mine

I quit dancing to

the puppet masters tune

flip the script face up

rewrite my own rune 

I've a debt to let 

my bright and dark shine

keening out me to 

my young still in line. 

cut loose choke holders

get my priorities straight

cut free loaders adrift

release their dead weight

this is both swan song

and coming-out ball

parting with death dance

as life to life calls

 

I'm harkening to

those truly in need 

by cutting out takers 

I give givers the lead

life ring thrown back

to drowning gone before

rescue swim sonnet 

pulling toward shore

my pay it forward

filling shoes they outgrew

what good they gave

the only kindness I knew

in parched earth vale

better to light a spark

than waste golden dreams

by cursing the dark

Pax Vobiscum. 

Lady of Shalott Blues in B-flat

Grade eff off key day

make the beast go away

can't shake mood today

only eerie meters play

got the doom on me

bagpiping the tune 

Lady of Shalott blues

in B-flat river gloom 

blue moon of Camelot

Keep on shining gloam

from Ohio's mud banks

Charon ferries me home

blue veined hands grasp

Sun's spotted yellow chill

permafrosted core

holds the ice queen still

empty orb hollowed 

dull daylights retract

bleakest black and blue 

prism fragments refract

needle nosed lances 

on tiny aimed shard

finds a clear target

hits tender heart hard

sun without no shine

burns like saccharine

jeering and jesting 

of a fake friend's grin

forced rumination

gnaws in stranglehold

peas porridge stewed in

the pot nine days old 

banjo nerves jangle

in arthritic knot

Discordant twangle

my C minor Camelot 

I finally spoke her name

did the unthinkable

on this day of days

parted company with

traditional ways

it's not what I did

it's what I didn't do

insignificant 

it may seem to you 

for once didn't go

I stayed home in bed

first time in decades I

heard my pain instead

her voice silenced since

forever long time

always playing my

"I'm fine" pantomime

and I power on

mutely holding all

load-bearing lady 

always takes the fall

this sounds selfish, or

maybe just I hear

old haranguing voices

clanging in my ear

stop showing off, you

just want sympathy

you're too sensitive 

in your pity party 

pain was inconvenient

needs were always blamed

tired was verboten

sick was ignored or shamed

And so I shut down

I sucked up my pain

like a vacuum or 

a spiraling drain 

of course it spiraled

screwed itself down tight 

frozen in my core 

clamped like jaw bite 

hand over a mouth

to silence a scream 

but she was too loud 

especially in dream 

"She" is a fairy 

pain she helps me see

she's much more friend than

they ever were to me

she starts and ends day 

and punctuates night

though I keep her at bay

still she shines her light

no matter how tight 

I put on her lid 

my bottled genie 

refuses to stay hid 

she interrupts my sleep 

sounds back alarm bell 

if I don't heed she makes

other parts hurt as well

I should thank her for

waking me in pain

so I stop heeding 

shaming in my brain

it's them I should ignore

voices in my my head

they get louder too

when I go to bed

not that I'm expected

to hurt silent be

by the folks I love

who also love me

 

they aren't the problem

the shame lives in me

in harm from people 

I once called  family 

so today I did

something differently 

gagged the voices to  

hear the wise fairy 

how did it feel to 

finally speak her name

I don't know yet 

some is still the same

it'll take time and work

to gag shame for good 

we'll do it together

in our safe fairy wood 

Where words cannot go

spaces, voids and places 

with no way to name

boundless sensation

no picture to frame

dwell in my deepness

marrow of my soul 

rooted in heartwood

parts in umbilical whole

Some radiate heaven

paradise past tell

some mutely suffer 

agony like hell

ache like astronaut 

clinging by eyelash thread

to a mother ship

where the crew is dead

joy like fairy lights

that in my yard glow

beaming out a hope

where no word can go

vacuum sealed sound

concentric circles fall

collapsing on themselves

mute conical wall

formless thoughts and faces

flit in nightmares dreamed

but when I catch them

they're not what they seemed

Yet they're there and real

deep in secret well 

intangible tangent

no seer can foretell

heard but unspoken

penned in invisible ink

beyond my line of sight

I miss them when I blink 

like wee red spiders

or tiny dust mites 

you only know he's been

by his painful bites

But for all the bad

that falls on deaf ears

much voiceless delight

my spirit still hears

with bone deep reverb

sound without volume

too low for sonar 

in full body hymn

down below bottom 

more felt than heard

past hell's 7 layer salad

this loudly silent word

a void that sat vacant

is filled to the brim

flooding with light 

corners that were dim

pulsing each heartbeat

the psyche's EKG

sung in living color

by astral choir in me

Amen. 

Oh Captain, my captain dear...

monarch in residence

presiding from a tree

marooned on the beach

my driftwood deity

pirate king's throne on

schist striated sands

black to tan ombre

in mica and quartz bands

crowned with flowers

woven by his queen

in woodland frolics

midsummer's daydream 

bandana flag waves

like ruby red sail

from back pocket of

blue jeaned admiral 

Adonis adorned 

master of the sea

exhales cigarette

Puff in Honalee

Ponders the great lake

horizons deep and wide

muses how far it is

to the other side

Captain, my captain

permission to board?

this one man vessel 

of the barefoot milord

I'll man the mainsail

you the rudder steer

there's cheese to share and

an icebox of beer

I think on such as these

as the years hit 44

riding each tomorrow

to reach the far shore

But it's not the start

nor the ending bells

but in-between times 

is where living dwells

we've many landings

memories yet to make 

before our final bow

and curtain call take

So rev this tramp steamer

and take 'er out to sea

I'll ride with you, luv

to infinity. 

(reflections upon a random snapshot taken by me of my boy, circa, 1983-ish)

When the Wind's in the Wendigo

the wind's in the wendigo

at my achy breaky lake

vision found and lost

in a sick headache 

upside wrong way up

right side upside down 

here we go again

round the Mary-go-round 

feel a spiral coming 

migraine black and blue

brain cacophony 

no idea what to do

Make the bad man stop

try to stem the tide

with a goldfish net

with holes way too wide

all my hard work ruined

painting washed away

shushed imagination

where antelope did play

Chilkoot befuddled

muddy rainbow puddled

Tlingit blanket frayed

Seed beads all muddled

The wind's in the wendigo

my lovely fine pine time 

Dissolved by acid rain 

One more nightmare, mine

The end of the beginning...

Milo's tree fort

my grandson Milo and I

found a tree fort made of pine

near a school playground 

we thought it mighty fine

carefully he inspected 

another's house design

in ice-cream drip shorts

explored evergreen shrine 

Tipi-d tripod branches 

leaning companionably 

like friends on each other

just like Milo and me

we admired the needles

arranged upon the trees

prepping for the winter

to weather wind and freeze

He found moss growing

softly wild in the wood

upholstered a log chair

as great-great grampa would

Then he kindly invited

Omi to take a seat 

all pillowed in moss green

so I could rest my feet

we imagined a bedroom

"quite small" judged he

perhaps it was a closet

where the broom would be

The smell of the woods

lives in a fir cone

from forest by the beach

which he is taking home

a gestalt wonder feast

painted thistle and lime

marram trails to wander 

in a dune old as time

I shall dream tonight

of our cozy timber home

I know he treasures too

our shared lakeland roam. 

with love from Omi to Milo. 7.21.2026

Wear the Bay City Roller trousers and the damn tam-o-shanter too!

As the moons spiral by

and wrinkles in time, add

elder Omi repents some

missed chances I had

mummified by fear

wrapped tight in gotta bes

hampered by conventions

and will they judge me's?

their demands included

lots of work from me

yet excluded from perks

nor any reciprocity 

two sets of double standard

hats I didn't choose to wear

expectations handed down 

Burdens I never agreed to bear

Shrink-wrapped universe 

bespoke sizes too small

foreshortened horizon 

artificial fences too tall 

Too many vested interests

in the style cramped scapegoat

in muddy wedding dress

and tattered overcoat

I recant land-locked dreams

staying safe on the floor

shoulda punched the box out

and kicked down the door

too scared to smash ceilings 

for fear of falling glass

can't never did nothing 

by sitting on her ass

so locked doors remain

woodland trails untraipsed

too many effs given

so many not tasted grapes

Here's my advice to you

unsolicited though it be

you don't have to cower

learn a lesson from me

eat plums from the icebox

seize the ring of brass

fly your freak flag loud

don't let the parade pass

wear Bay City Roller trousers 

in Stewart tartan Blue

if dad says you look a fool

wear the tam-o-shanter too! 

in this game called being

you only get one shot

so take aim and make it

give it all you've got

play your cards to win

even if ya got a shitty hand

make your entrance with flair

strike up the kitchen band

The tilt-a-whirl will end

it's not that long a ride

you do the choosing of 

the direction of your stride

when the band's played out

when it's time to bid adieu

I hope you went with neon

and danced to your own kazoo

when Charron arrives

in ferry of tie-dyed hue

I wish blessed journeys

and Elysian fields for you

May you be met by

eternal arms open wide

may we all gather on 

Loch Lomand's bonny side

May all your by and bys be sweet

those were the days, in

Russian Dorogoj dlinnoju

around Formica table

mem'ry muted gray- blue

a doll-sized dwelling 

cramped trailer home

tiny shtetel paradise

micro, but all our own 

blowing kisses at the wind

making love and holy vow

promises to the future

benediction on the now

enough was a bounty

no room to store much

got by well on basics

lots of laughter and such

sad times there were, plus

mad with some bad

but boisterous joy was

mostly what we had

like the Lady of Shallot

the doom came only

when gloom was allowed 

to squat there rent-free

in a time when excess

was something to strive for

we enjoyed much muchness

behind our torn screen door

our abundance was us

such riches to behold

what larks, Pip, had we

a king's ransom untold 

I won't end on cant

Nor judgey sermon preach

but I will say joy

is well within reach

it lives in little things

nestles with the smalls

it's about priceless moments 

not what hangs on walls

May you find as we

deep gestalt bliss 

May you revel in

pure and kindly reminisce

May by and by's be sweet

May you take as you find

may the road greet you 

blest be the ties that bind

 

Who is me? No, seriously

When you look on past times

what is it that you see?

when I go back to back then

all I see is empty

No seriously. there is no thing

I recall with continuity

in my foggy effogged up

Forgotten memory

littered busted driftwood

Like Lake Michigan shore 

sacrificed on campfire show

woodland gods seen no more

campfire other kids enjoy

Me ever seeing, never seen

never heard till she screams 

and is hoarse from crying

scolded for saying

Feeling, needing, being

daring to exist after

her memory was wiped

of good clean memories

leaving only bad left to me

memory of the child erased

Tossed with the Christmas tree

For a kid who's been round the block

I contain so much within

I've been in so many places 

and so many places live in me

no evidence I was there

I never seem to stick

no address to call mine

no DNA baked in brick

The OG AI spirit digital

No bricks and mortar me

footprint-less, hands-free life

Incognito window to see

hacked, identity theft victim

Drive wiped but for the virus

poison lives in just me

And in what I have done to us

no picture on the wall 

Once but now all gone 

Landfill fodder now 

It's all gone and done

cataloging others' selves

Reaching out longing arms

Reaching arms touch empty

And then you just give up

never making contact with 

those that reach out to me

The perpetual disconnect

Guess it's what I'm supposed to be 

beamed up then forgotten

soul failed reintegration

behind two-way mirror trapped

So much for the great generation

a cyborg, an entity not permitted

humanity where the dream 

world is more real than 

reality. 

Lady of Cellophone

there's hunger and hunger

one will be filled soon

the other gnaws forever 

in a broken blue moon

I thirst for a love

that never shall be

the love of parents was

always denied to me

Hid with no one seeking

Lost and forever unfound

to transparent self-image

I'm quintessentially bound

That's how I see me 

hidden in plain sight 

don't know why or how

kept blinded by dark light

Mrs. Cellophane by name

and I can see right thru 

clearly no point to me

Can you see thru me too? 

All my innards on view

faults and failings on display

Vulnerabilities exposed 

to the sun's burning ray 

Where are the parents 

with the hat and sunscreen

to protect the little child 

making sure she's safe and seen?

 

This one is free-falling...

Once it starts it's over

this addictive syntax

can't help myself still 

rhyming, achoo, plus tax

And  I go down to ships

and ride again to hounds

just a lot of gibberish 

but I like the way it sounds

Homeric and Om-eric

my epic Omi tragicomedy 

I sink and think as I drink 

such a big lot of memory

how to explain so little 

that exists of past-tense me

it only tangentially lives

in my fractal multiplicity

In past verses I saw 

with semblance of clarity

but this one's going to places

With no framework to see

got no Alaska recall 

guiding my journey

grope frantically for hand rails

that aren't available to me

This one is free-falling 

no Michigan fine pine rhyme

no clue where it's heading 

will I finally crash this time?

I can't see the bottom nor 

the edges of trajectory

I'm shooting blind from the hip

to mix drinks metaphorically 

There has always been a vision

an encompassing to my rhyme 

Even if it changed direction 

it eventually got there with time

What scares the hell out of me

that I can't forecall the tune

I'm my own ghost writer   

I hope it will finish soon

Or do I? Another fine Mar product

the sexy kazoo key change...

If I'm honest I don't mind

this spirit writing in the lead

this poem is writing itself 

it's my job to shut up and heed

I  wonder when I read in the morn

after the wine has worn off 

will I see what I see now

or will I just headache and scoff

this free-flowing wine verse

is easier to write than the rest

the others are clumsy and exhausting

this one just flies off my chest

But for all the Walden existence

for all my Thoreau clarity 

in my ever transcendentalism 

I still seek some unity

Thank God for the family

the ones that I call mine

help me brother to bring this

into a state of sublime. 

I am weary with the speaking

talking with out saying a word

sonneting my hurt in poems 

I just finally want to be heard

Bargain basement dynasty

Porcelana Princess 

reclines on rug remnant 

in dime store bauble barge 

so much for refinement 

boatman poles the tune

of byzantine dreams

up dirty old man river 

not so romantic, it seems

Vaping Waffle Crisp

he takes in the scene

in Vivienne Westwood suit 

offers hit to the queen

Times are pretty bad when

slaves dress better than She

Pharoah's budget cuts 

leave only an old jalopy 

former litter bearers

in loud check sports coats

wheel and deal barges at

"Honest Ahmed's Used Boats"

blank are the kohl eyes

of the Nile's favored one

wearing purple Converse

hair dyed Luxor Sun

In Froot-Loop necklace

Chippy newsprint gown 

her cat dons the ermine 

heavy the head within crown

panting in bargain barge

in blazing river heat

under lapis lazuli sky

flaps her sales receipt

where's the damn slave

to fan me on the Nile

she now runs a cab stand

of taxi crocodile 

perhaps, you, garcon

boatman, man the fan

couldn't possible says he

I might ruin me tan

what's a girl to do

well that sucks, ho hum

leans back on rug scrap

cracks her bubble gum 

how boring to be a god

and worse nouveaux riche

this cash strapped deity 

is one hot irritable bitch

I'd fan my own fan

if only I knew the way

they don't teach these things

to the Daughter of the Day

I'm useless it appears

with nothing else to do

and all day long to do it

can I trade places with you?

To our furry friend with love

The fog comes we are told 

in on little kitten toes

it stays for awhile then

we watch as it goes 

we are sad today for one who

went from life on white fog feet

Our hearts hurt and grieve our

kitty boy so precious and sweet

We're also told, wrongly, that cats

take much and give nothing at all 

our cat friend took so little and

gave so much for one so small

that was our Burnt Bagel boy

with coat a tiger shade of gray

so strokable soft and cozy 

in his lovable, cuddly way

He was there when we needed 

and he would never let us down

and sometimes he was naughty 

he was such a funny clown. 

We named him Burnt Bagel

because that's what he loved best

he lived a short but happy life

then too soon was laid to rest

Isn't sad how pets leave before

you realized they were gone

people do too, like Moses says

we remember and then move on. 

But where shall we go when 

we feel part of us also died?

although he was just an animal

our grief is so hard to hide. 

and so many tears we cried

perhaps we'll weep some more

it's okay because death's forever 

missing them, we may weep forever for.

some days we won't that's okay too

someday we're told all tears will dry

we'll meet them in the sweet by and by

but for now we're just going to cry 

Thank you Burnt Bagel for being

mouse police, bagel thief and friend 

furry warrior, property protector

We'll love you to the end. 

Love always, Silas, Moses, Lola,  Lucian, Ezra, Remus, Max, Cash, Mom, Dad, Opi and Omi

(AI couldn't seem to get you the right size Moses, so we made you one of your own.) 

Chilkat nattering

speaking then, of mountains

best to articulate

round Tlingit council fire

immemorial lore relate

up to the Klehini 

where ebullient waters run

to meet up with Chilkat 

for Ku.eex' in the sun

drove through Chilkoot pass

in my summer of '69

in International truck

I thought the world was mine

Matchbox pickup did a

skyscraper condiment hop

on mammoth dinner table 

at the world's tippy top

crane neck, open eyes wide

look past where earth ends

that's when you'll meet my 

Alaskan mountain friends

breath-catching deities

cloud swaddled tips of pine

titan elders at feast

on stratosphere recline

it's all different here 

we've stepped out of space

land so large it echoes 

with the Tao of the place

Omi Pause

The Tao (pronounced Dow) is an ancient concept meaning "The Way." It is the natural rhythm of the universe—the force that moves the salmon upriver and keeps the mountain peaks steady. To find the Tao is to both natter and listen. To hear but also be heard, perhaps for the first time.  And then to just be still and in that heard-ness, listen. It is the "Way" the mountains speak when we are finally small enough to hear them.

evergreen shrine sublime

whip-crack cold jaw ache

snow cone blue firmament 

admires reflection in the lake

Dust who-speck speaks freely

with Lords of the wood

too small to see or hear

yet her say is understood 

ponderous giants ponder

and bow with deep respect

lower their almighties 

to me the little speck

Tlingit reverence for 

all creatures great and small

as Horton heard each Who

from smallest to the tall

My friend Mrs. Moose sits 

in forest fire Holy See

knows reincarnation grows

from just one burnt-out tree

Omi Pause: Holy See and Seeing

Holy See in Rome is the Seat of Peter. Here it's a cathedral of nature presided over by Mrs. Moose, the sacred witness—the one who "sees" the holiness in the fire and the rebirth of the woods.

Baby pink shells collected

named on whimsical whim 

where tins-ical salmon 

with the hooligan swim

as if posed for post cards

naughty black bears play 

lonely abalone beach

Baby Whale in the bay

Last Post and Chorus sung

Eagle calls down the moon

rock cave dwelling bats wake

for it will be dark soon 

in the land of Klukwan

we're on Chilkoot time now

nattering with great spirits

transcending all, somehow

content in our oneness

no alpha nor Omega end

contemplate much muchness

let tranquility descend 

Omi as Dok-du-Yik speaks: I was adopted into the Tlingit nation at 6 and given the Chief's grandma's name "Dok-du-Yik" and I am probably spelling it wrong but forgive a spell by sound first-grade memory. Ku.éex’ in the Tlingit language (pronounced koo-eex) means "to invite." (Thanks AI for helping me get all that down, such help being unavailable in 1969 and the memory of it being 55 years old!) While often called a "potlatch" in English, this is the traditional name for the ceremonies that bind the community together through song, dance, and the distribution of gifts. I have attended two of these, one along the Klehini and the other in the blanket ceremony,   which gave me my name and adopted status. The Ku.eex' was held in Haines at the elder house belonging to Mr. and Mrs. Austin Hammond, sometime in late 1969, at a guess. I think their home was on Lutak Street. It was big and white like a bunkhouse and held unutterably precious memories for me. 

Down's just a button on a high-rise elevator

I pour out my outré

in rain-colored refrain

my goth Gaia goddess

rules this house of insane

what's sanity anyhow?

is it something I can drink

if not then shove off you

this gal really needs to sink

down black as printer's ink 

down where grim waters flow

down past my own hell

to Charon on the Ohio

 

and for that, I usually need a drink. 

words are my ferryman

to the bleak place I go

and find no strangers there

only dear friends down below

cuz really who decreed 

that up was so great 

and bad was down under

land of devil's hate? 

I know, we're told that

heaven resides up there

and his Demonic Nibs

holds sway below stair

Down's just a button

on high-rise elevator 

not north nor south compass

just place-name moniker

Down's a valley so low

Between mountain highs

Where rippling waters flow

Through my child's mind eyes

I'll meet with the elders

Where Chilkat winds blow

River of remembrance 

Down in the valley so low

like a dream I just had

So William Carlos Way

Plums in the icebox

And this is just to say. 

 

I'll take you with me, Jesus

neon bombazine

cetirizine dream

eau de Nil crimplene

Bailey's and Benzedrine

evening cocktail menu

I might recommend 

strolling my word cellar

and liked the sound of them

trying hard to keep out

postured sensibility 

just wanna paddle here

in land of Honnalee

Seussically senseless

what larks, Pip, have we!

dragon fruit first mate

to take 'er out to sea

with sails psychedelic

mine eyes kaleidoscope 

in Shambhala halls 

Sister places her all hope

place bets at roulette wheel

who cares what they think

ride candy floss carousel 

sip Pepto-Bismol drink

that's what they serve on 

this train bound for glory

So I said a ship before 

don't you contradict me

it's my fractal party

I'll cry if I want to

or go drowning laughing

it's up to me, not you.

bumps-a-daisy back up

may this ride never end

boat, train or cabriolet

no matter, I've time to spend

and all day long to ride 

this bracelet says it's free

buckle up and hold tight

gonna get loud and bumpy

but damn if this poem

didn't turn to sensible verse

 try as I might to not

it just keeps getting worse. 

back to the ship, comrades

hoist freak flag of crimplene

man pink Spandex billows

shake cocktails Ketamine 

Keeping rhyming weird

that's my mission and goal

if I liked the ganga 

I'd call for another bowl

But I don't so I don't

and don't need no LSD 

my crazy train keeps on

rolling down to Kankakee

in the land of the free

this land is yours and mine

I'll take you with me, Jesus

to the land of the pine

unseen clear as memory

can't stop this fine pine pain

touch of Michigan madness

tilt-a-whirling in my brain