She was not a fan of

varnished poetry.

So much slid past her.

That reverie.

She preferred life’s boils

Bursting in mid air

When anyone asked her

That question.

nyc

Un Deux Trois 8.2021

Photo: July 13, 2021 nyc

 

sounds deep or shallow

under skies gone dark

that dog our heels

on a tenebrous path

that cause us to wheel

in fright or wonder

may be devil or angel

may be owl or lark

the presence of spirits

both wicked and tender

have roles to play

help us remember

we map our own paths

in darkness and light

night is only

one half of life

1.30.13

nyc

PHOTO: Tim Tapling

Sundown : Dee Estuary : West Kirby : Wirral : 30:Dec:2024.

 

Who is in danger?

Me and U says the pointy-headed horse

Of Medieval cloth

For a second you were the pegging thing

For a life time I was the withdrawal thing

We are both in anger

Wrapped in inexplicable danger

Disguised as only

the last true stranger

When the mask is discarded

Revision lasts only

Until the gun is reloaded

For the second you thought

Though I knew better

I dribbled the court

Around a face book letter

Though we both understood

what makes things better

I am drunk now

And I will sink the basket

you will retrieve and unasked

roll down the court

eye on the prize

I am drunk now

To you a good night

To you who appears in my wandering gloom

To you I invite into my insular room

Unicorns, like ghosts

offer magic in anger

My pen pal friend may we write for longer

Than life or death

Hunger or strangers

Who arrive at our door

Who sidestep the angel

For we are humans

Glad to entangle like

Deep ocean squids

Knowing the angels

That keep us alive

That make sure we thrive

This poem sucks

It’s late

This poem sucks

Don’t care if I’m late

This old heart rusts

A unicorn opens the gate.

 

4.27.19 nyc

Phot UES 10.20.24

 

IN BETWEEN

 

in between the in-and-the-out

in between the stop-and-the-go

the whisper the shout

a shoulder-forced entry

while eyeing the exit 

reason seek solace

the migrant regrets it

in between the in-and-the-out

I’m dancing like somebody’s

drunken reminder

my past or their future

such flypaper traps

keeps me hovered above

I don’t know what matters

I do know what loves

in perfect blood-splattered

space and time and anger and mold

rats and betrayal and centerfolds

those who beg mercy

those who are old

are the same are the game

of the lessons foretold

we don’t ever learn 

it’s a useless road

we don’t beg mercy we don’t share the load

rats and betrayal and centerfolds

sniff the lost, look for the found

beyond the cheese smile and the 

deathly confound

when we know that the worst

is within our grasp

then we know that deliverance

is a panic a curse

in between can be planning

a way out of the cask

red wine should flow freely

like blood from a gasp

I will never beg mercy

I will always ask

how to find the in-between

that safe place before

it all goes mean

shoulders are rolled

head thrown back

finding my way out of yearning

finding my way to the ask

 

2.20.16 nyc

PHOTO: Fenceline : Noctorum Lane : Oxton : Birkenhead : Wirral : 16:Dec:2024.

WOUNDED

I’ll walk among

the wounded

not for the pain

but the crazy

what’s left on remainder

a membership

in altered states

where I slip behind

purity gates

I’ll walk among the wounded

in a private country

no need to undo me

left behind from birth

for what that is worth

again and again

I will favor imbalance

life is so messy

like a ruffled valance

in an empty room

what do I choose

I’m a fake happily

in a real situation

and then painfully

when confronted

with creation

how do I manage

a lie over and over

I find the ones who know

when to discover

that water flows

that water will save us

the small in the earth

the deep in the well

I won’t beg for salvation

in a roomful of friends

or strip the lead

from the lip

pull the cork from revenge

life is imbalance

what I wish for is instant

what i get is

fame naturally

it comes from a distance

like a comforting film

arrives like a blister

a gift from the sun

I’ll walk among wounded

mystery’s sister

make me laugh now

make me sinister

be my friend through all winters

bind our feet together

trample enemies forever

walk among the wounded

discern the trust

walk among us

light footed

and make no fuss

9.27.13 nyc

PHOTO: Tim Tapling Dancing Fire : Raby : Wirral : 12Dec:2024. Click on photo for full image.

 

BICYCLE

 

so justly proud

she having scaled

that penultimate hill

not nearly the behemoth

that lay at the top 

of the park still

to be ridden nonetheless

her bike a new thing

a new old thing

rewind and new wind

how proud he was

of her persistence

what made him

love her in the first place

she started 

slowly

building to the rush

walking when

riding was the intent

pushing her resistance

up a hill

or two or three

she counted them

by their curve

their steepness

the distance to the 

traffic light 

at the top of the hill

she swore allegiance

to the hills

each one, one at a time

and then she talked

to her bicycle

spoke in a whisper

at first

tried desperation and

that did not work

she planned then

after each revolution

how her ride

in the park would go

the monster at

the top of the park would be ridden

she became her own

cheerleader

hoarse after a ride

after awhile

it worked she understood

the road and dips and 

what hills

required

what will

and after awhile

when she felt she’d

managed the 

overture

a heatwave

undid her

brought her back to

struggle and contemplation

she faced the hill and

said you do not own me.

 

6.21.12 nyc

Photo: Central Park 12.11.24

 

CLOUDS

clouds are fatty

clouds are lean

clouds get mouthy

sometimes grin

rolling across answers

like mealy-mouthed transfers

clouds lie cunning

clouds lay low

clouds know secrets

often sins

when shit reveals sacred

when silence grows greater

clouds are honest

clouds are thieves

clouds live den-like

sometimes leave

miraculous letters

when whiskered is fail-safe

clouds are trusted

clouds stay banned

clouds are silent

underhand

in penance for nothing

for no ruined landscape

clouds are bone-free

clouds of the wand

clouds hallelujiah

undermined

what’s happening this time

when we refused the sign

5.25.21 nyc

PHOTO: Tim Tapling Reprise : It's not unusual : Meols : Wirral : December 2023.

 

THE NEW

 

How grateful I am

For what I have lost

Things

That every sad stranger

Who knew bitter beauty

In the time of their lives

And the life of their time

Refuse to console me

 

What comfort I get

From what I have lost

Gravity

Light weight of memory

Breadcrumbs now blown

Halts a bitter return

To the time of my life closer to empathy

 

A free-range emotion

An organic heart

Clarity

Lies just out of my reach

Far but not futile

The antidote to speed

Toward the time of my life

Defuse melancholy

 

These moments of pleasure

Rip through the pain

This triumph of measure

For all things gained

Are mine for the taking

Mine to be strained into

Clear water basins

And lead me to ransom again and again                       

nyc 6.25.15

Photo:

Homemade elderberries

Are the best kind

Trust the elders who challenge the worried

Who question the juice of manufactured berries

Squashed like bugs

And tagged unrelenting

We can hardly lose to the ignorant

Coughs are the rugged cries of the resistance

Temperatures rise inflated by insistence

This is not a time for blind obedience

This is a time for ripened romance

The lure of the anarchist

Not so frightening in a handshake

Among the resistance

This is the time for brave berry picking

Noting the ripe and the bruised from living

Gathering for the inevitable 

The common great listening

It will come slowly free of insistence

When the hearts and the minds 

Coalesce in an earthquake

The planet gives up its right to tsunami

When the people wake up

When they are armed with

The love of themselves who speak with disarming

Of peace and enclosure

Respect and the disposal of war

Plant an elderberry or ten

Become human again.

Stop coughing. Note the scars

Bring nothing but change.

Pick elderberries and be brave again.

Be ready for the strange.

Go forth and bleed. Again and again.

It’s a star we possess in the end.

3.13.20

Photo: nyc UES 12.2.24

 

 DRUNK

I don’t sleep until I’ve drunk

all the wine to sea level

until I’ve come down

from the mountain 

alighted on a limb

I don’t sleep easily when

I refuse to give in 

secret lives make me hunger

for rare is the time

a story is realized

without the wine

when it comes, this sleep

this battle I’ve waged

silence reacts like

a dream uncaged

sober, I wake to what

the muse demands

sober, I write while

the cats eye the day

we miss you, they whine

in the creeping night

your drunken unburdening

your nail-biting ride

to a story you’ve

unearthed at the bottom of a glass 

while we sleep in the daylight

and you are free at last

a paw needs licking

a head needs kissing

the rule book’s in place

and as she ages

they give her the floor

write a story, they say

until you can’t anymore

we’ll carry on leaping in

late night intent

while you carry on making

your way to repent

tomorrow is always a fickle thing

bravado or Zen is challenging

the secret of life

are cows not so far 

from the writer

we trust or we don’t anymore

it’s the path we’d rather

a sober collective or

a bloody bother

I don’t sleep until 

I contact the courier

I don’t sleep until 

I drink the blood of the warrior

 

1.31.18 nyc

PHOTO: Tim Tapling Walkin' the humans : Macdona Drive : West Kirby : Wirral : 20:Nov:2024.