Poems 

Creativity is about exposing one's soul... but hey, life is about the risks you are willing to take.

2009-2014: Alas, nothing the least bit poetic came out of my keyboard.

2008: Some Haiku I did for an IT Leadership Program can be found HERE.

1975-2007: Work, among other things, conspired against creative writing.

1963-1974: A few early efforts follow...

(Untitled)

Paint a picture of morning--

Grey sky spotted by a few birds;

Drunken branches weaving,

--or perhaps just caught in the

firm grip of a gentle breeze.

Sounds. Sounds of man piercing

the backdrop of nature noises.

Birds mostly.

Sometimes wind;

Sometimes rain or thunder.

But not this morning.

This morning:

Trucks on the Ventura freeway

punctuated by the living room clock.

Cars starting up

people talking

hammers hammering

The new day has begun

It's too late for peaceful silence

It's been too late for years.

The new age has begun.

Get back, people. Get back

to where you once belonged.

To where you can hear the grass

laughing, caressed by the wind's

restless fingers.

To where your eyes aren't stopped by

man's assault on nature.

To where people care about others

as much as they care about themselves.

Look inside yourself.

(29 May 1974)

Sandcastle 

Sandcastle on some secret shoreline

waiting:

distant footprints, pray, come near.

Wind chiseled walls, sun faded,

still gazing:

upon the waves of lonely tears

Mind-mansion, behind drifts of solitude

hiding:

hopes of love so slow to appear

Flickering shadows in rooms still

glowing:

mirror of self from some other year.

Seabird, unbounded, castle spirit

soaring:

above, beyond --to some future, freer

Sandcastle on some secret shoreline

waiting:

distant footprints, pray, come near.

(23 March 1974)

Learning --

world reflections through child's eye

truer than textbook

child reflections through world's eye

undisciplined.

righteousness conquers diversity,

curiosity grows cautious;

child becomes old.

(March 22, 1974)

Tension --

time pushes on the lever of difference

compresses the spring

inch by inch

until it recoils

tearing oneness.

(Mar 21, 1974 in San Gabriel)

Transition --

Somone freed the pendulum from alone

Watched it fly toward together

Caught it at the other side

and kept it there awhile

Then let it go again.

I saw the pendulum at the place

that said "You are the one".

The footing was precarious,

I couldn't reach it from where I was.

I couldn't hold the pendulum there.

It started to fall back

and I waited for it to

come to rest next to me

But it kept falling; back to alone

Lugar Bonita --it was a pretty place I saw

(Mar 1974 at Mt. Baldy)

Transition II

the urge to express --

long hidden

behind staid practicality

responds to the beckoning

reaches

for joyous uncertainty

becomes imperative

Rapport --

Somewhere deep inside

ideas whisper

feelings murmur

remembering those rare and

exhilerating moments

when superficiality was breached

and the complexities of

two complex beings stood naked

before one another.

Ideas and feelings

not wanting to grow alone

yearning to be heard

listening for the companionship

of kindred ideas and feelings

watching for a smile

a glance

a touch

that says "I understand".

Everything Beautiful and Good

(August 1967  --My gift to P&M)

Satyr

Indeed, life. That seems to be our realm,

though the brightness is often mistaken

in the shadows.

But shadows don't last

except in the visions of thought

and in the apparitions of the conjurer.

Both are sorcerers now.

Both contend for their serfdom

both join hands with

Satyr and Babel

to slay young minds.

Deceived by circles, and triangles,

squares and rectangles --of how many colors?

Was it always so?

Once we let fly balloons --toys that grew

smaller and smaller,

as we grew larger and larger.

But now; the spheres we build

in those thoughtless visions

out of the fabric of society

resist belittlement;

grow with the ego to magnificent proportions,

till shadows, gay circles, colorful squares,

merge into Satyr's facade.

Nevermind. The quest has shattered question;

reality or illusion --I never know which--

have successfully hidden essence.

But what I want to know is:

How do you like your green-eyed boys

Mister Life?

(probably 1963)