About Publications News Software CV Poetry SciArt Shop • Visual • Music • Poetry The gift we receive • Honey don't you know • Oh me oh my • Wait for me • Circle of time • For once in my life • The cure The gift we receive In the spinning arms of a galaxy within an expanding universe We are born to the biosphere on Mother Earth The gift we receive is 3 billion heartbeats and 30,000 days Let’s step with care, caution, and content Walk with certainty, direction, and purpose Run with high cadence, bent knees, and enjoy the breeze Let’s speak clearly and concisely Sing melodies soft and sweet Respect the rhythm of silence and then repeat And for each step we take; for note we reverberate Let’s share the landscape; Let’s share the soundscape Let’s share cultivar with those that cultivate like us Malignant seeds have no place in our garden We don’t grow envy in the shadow of the rain We don’t grow violence in the dark of night We grow strength, discipline, and virtue bound by strings of steel We grow compassion, respect, and understanding united by love We don’t long for greener grasses - we grow them And so, I say, with the precision of an infinite decimal At the volume of an intimate decibel The same closing remarks as Max Ehrmann in Desiderata, “Be cheerful. Strive to be happy” Top of page Honey don't you know Honey don’t you know, it’s a wild world out there I’ll issue out a message, on a wing and a prayer Be careful of the steeple and the castle in the air Grow yourself a garden and grow out your hair Honey don’t you know, you’re like a blackberry vine Thorny on the outside, but fruit so fine With a shape so sacred, geometric crystalline Dissolve my little fears because you’re turpentine Honey don’t you know, these things take time But if we keep it honest, it’ll be sublime Honey don’t you know, I’m gonna trade in a dime To better understand you, Earth and maritime But if you ain’t got your ear to the horn And if you ain’t gonna hear my warn Fix it in your mind, you’re the one that I adore Top of page Oh me oh my It was early in the morning and my brain was yawning I was wondering how I got to you my dear Maybe it was the blissness of how you do dismiss this I think it's time we shed away our fear Oh me oh my It's what we do It's how we grow It's what we knew So meet me by the willow, I didn't know that you were indigo You are what I was hoping would appear But now I am tongue tied, side effects not as advertised Since when was this world so austere Oh me oh my It's what we do It's how we grow It's what we knew Top of page Wait for me A city of love, a city of throes A city of forks and knives and clothes This must be it so I'll follow my nose To where you are, that's where I'll go Thirty thousand days, so it goes Endless forms and fallen mangos The elements of your cargo The unbearable being that you forgo A trigger pops and it's end game Share our words, that was never a shame But your life is yours to claim Your glowing eyes never looked the same To be with you is a miracle You are the light, you are the pinnacle and so, I'll wait for you but will you wait for me Top of page Circle of time The blackbird may chase the hawk far from its breed But its still got to leave the nest in order to succeed Now I may be wondering about too many things But its got my mind stuck like unknown contingency We may be connected by at most six degrees But with all perfect honesty, it don't mean much to me It may be five minutes or it may be five hours This will be the time I'll have to learn to devour The stars may align in the sky ever so bright But with so many hues it's no longer black and white And like a dog goes wandering in the grass hill and all I may go wandering in a glass bottle tall I don't know how many times you've grown But it's far more than I have ever shown Everyday is just another milestone of undone déjà vu We may be headed in the right circle of time But these rings, they may alter We may be headed in the right circle of time We just got to make sure Top of page For once in my life Just for once in my life I want to see the villian fail So I took off his mask to display him unveiled I looked into his hollow eyes you can guess what I had seen I am he and he is I if ya know what I mean Now I read about the marriage so hungry and dirty The malignant little lies that butcher everything I got a hoard of dishes in the sink left to clean But I turn to the bourbon from my unkempt canteen Where do you go when your home is falling apart? Where do you go when it's charred by the fire you start? I don't know how much longer I can stand this nihilist feat It's a job oh, it's a chore, it attacks me in my dreams Six pairs of black socks and underwear I need Percholating ideas about floating downstream I walked right through the labyrinth, right through the house of leaves I was bleedin', screamin' disbelievin' what I had percieved It killed me soft, it killed me hard, left me bare to the bones But still I wanted to go back to the unknown Where do you go when your home is falling apart? Where do you go when it's charred by the fire you start? Top of page The cure The drooping eyes of His serenity dissipate into an empty abyss carrying nothing but a beaten carton of cigarettes. The broken bi-focal glasses, unopened books, bikes unpedaled, and primetime splattered with idiotic formulaic episodes, draining the function and fulfilling purpose of our presence, of us. Us, the ones, driven to madness, unknown to previous decades culminating, in the fate of young brilliancy’s potential to explode in a violent banging and popping, the unbranded cataclysmic kaboom. Consequently the unfamiliar melting, gooping, and dripping of our own brains out of our own ears and into the wastebasket of conformity’s mastermind leaves our bodies to be the drones and do-nothings of puppet-masters dressed in coats and ties. It is Facebook, ‘what not to wear,’ Reebok pumps, Doritos and MTV attacking the glory of boredom leaving three-fourths of us in the dirty dumpsters and the remaining gasping for air, some contemplating suicide amongst price-tag materials consuming themselves for consumerism, is the only thing they know. The dissonance is no longer there. The abused machine has regressed thought renaming the ‘rose-garden’ as just ‘thorns.’ We are suffocated by carbohydrate snacks, twice-over processed meats, and question marks created behind the curtains with no avail. We have been trained to be anti-interrogative as indistinguishable copies are produced after years of riding the puppet-masters’ assembly line. The curse, it is cast, Ginsberg and Burroughs have been ordained into the hush of death leaving the one’s unaffected by His hex deprived of the all mighty pastel palette of whispers. The free minority have had to reconcile with their desolated counterparts to make ends meet. For the lonely hipster drowning in self-pity, the quiet artist seeking intimacy and soul, the lunch-time reader turning page after page, for the unnamed, self conscious individual trying to look forward as a cavalcade of empty nothings fall onto his or her plate questioning the machine and searching for a remedy to keep that stomach full for just one night. A remedy you wonder? A solution? An answer? All of this in time future and time past we will be. We will be the next poets stirring the sleeping world with overflowing words like T.S. Elliot, we will be the next Albert Einstein discovering the corners and awakening the crevices of our own flowing minds, we will be the next Pope John Paul II, Andy Warhol, Barack Obama, we will be the next face of hope. Release the chains that bind, the mind forged manacles, the obligation we surrender to social networks. The cure for boredom is not picking split ends, or aimless channel up and channel down on remotes detaching us further from society. The cure is jazz, Hitchcock and cranial freedom. The cure is us, if we choose to be. We can be the cure. Top of page
The gift we receive In the spinning arms of a galaxy within an expanding universe We are born to the biosphere on Mother Earth The gift we receive is 3 billion heartbeats and 30,000 days Let’s step with care, caution, and content Walk with certainty, direction, and purpose Run with high cadence, bent knees, and enjoy the breeze Let’s speak clearly and concisely Sing melodies soft and sweet Respect the rhythm of silence and then repeat And for each step we take; for note we reverberate Let’s share the landscape; Let’s share the soundscape Let’s share cultivar with those that cultivate like us Malignant seeds have no place in our garden We don’t grow envy in the shadow of the rain We don’t grow violence in the dark of night We grow strength, discipline, and virtue bound by strings of steel We grow compassion, respect, and understanding united by love We don’t long for greener grasses - we grow them And so, I say, with the precision of an infinite decimal At the volume of an intimate decibel The same closing remarks as Max Ehrmann in Desiderata, “Be cheerful. Strive to be happy” Top of page
Honey don't you know Honey don’t you know, it’s a wild world out there I’ll issue out a message, on a wing and a prayer Be careful of the steeple and the castle in the air Grow yourself a garden and grow out your hair Honey don’t you know, you’re like a blackberry vine Thorny on the outside, but fruit so fine With a shape so sacred, geometric crystalline Dissolve my little fears because you’re turpentine Honey don’t you know, these things take time But if we keep it honest, it’ll be sublime Honey don’t you know, I’m gonna trade in a dime To better understand you, Earth and maritime But if you ain’t got your ear to the horn And if you ain’t gonna hear my warn Fix it in your mind, you’re the one that I adore Top of page
Oh me oh my It was early in the morning and my brain was yawning I was wondering how I got to you my dear Maybe it was the blissness of how you do dismiss this I think it's time we shed away our fear Oh me oh my It's what we do It's how we grow It's what we knew So meet me by the willow, I didn't know that you were indigo You are what I was hoping would appear But now I am tongue tied, side effects not as advertised Since when was this world so austere Oh me oh my It's what we do It's how we grow It's what we knew Top of page
Wait for me A city of love, a city of throes A city of forks and knives and clothes This must be it so I'll follow my nose To where you are, that's where I'll go Thirty thousand days, so it goes Endless forms and fallen mangos The elements of your cargo The unbearable being that you forgo A trigger pops and it's end game Share our words, that was never a shame But your life is yours to claim Your glowing eyes never looked the same To be with you is a miracle You are the light, you are the pinnacle and so, I'll wait for you but will you wait for me Top of page
Circle of time The blackbird may chase the hawk far from its breed But its still got to leave the nest in order to succeed Now I may be wondering about too many things But its got my mind stuck like unknown contingency We may be connected by at most six degrees But with all perfect honesty, it don't mean much to me It may be five minutes or it may be five hours This will be the time I'll have to learn to devour The stars may align in the sky ever so bright But with so many hues it's no longer black and white And like a dog goes wandering in the grass hill and all I may go wandering in a glass bottle tall I don't know how many times you've grown But it's far more than I have ever shown Everyday is just another milestone of undone déjà vu We may be headed in the right circle of time But these rings, they may alter We may be headed in the right circle of time We just got to make sure Top of page
For once in my life Just for once in my life I want to see the villian fail So I took off his mask to display him unveiled I looked into his hollow eyes you can guess what I had seen I am he and he is I if ya know what I mean Now I read about the marriage so hungry and dirty The malignant little lies that butcher everything I got a hoard of dishes in the sink left to clean But I turn to the bourbon from my unkempt canteen Where do you go when your home is falling apart? Where do you go when it's charred by the fire you start? I don't know how much longer I can stand this nihilist feat It's a job oh, it's a chore, it attacks me in my dreams Six pairs of black socks and underwear I need Percholating ideas about floating downstream I walked right through the labyrinth, right through the house of leaves I was bleedin', screamin' disbelievin' what I had percieved It killed me soft, it killed me hard, left me bare to the bones But still I wanted to go back to the unknown Where do you go when your home is falling apart? Where do you go when it's charred by the fire you start? Top of page
The cure The drooping eyes of His serenity dissipate into an empty abyss carrying nothing but a beaten carton of cigarettes. The broken bi-focal glasses, unopened books, bikes unpedaled, and primetime splattered with idiotic formulaic episodes, draining the function and fulfilling purpose of our presence, of us. Us, the ones, driven to madness, unknown to previous decades culminating, in the fate of young brilliancy’s potential to explode in a violent banging and popping, the unbranded cataclysmic kaboom. Consequently the unfamiliar melting, gooping, and dripping of our own brains out of our own ears and into the wastebasket of conformity’s mastermind leaves our bodies to be the drones and do-nothings of puppet-masters dressed in coats and ties. It is Facebook, ‘what not to wear,’ Reebok pumps, Doritos and MTV attacking the glory of boredom leaving three-fourths of us in the dirty dumpsters and the remaining gasping for air, some contemplating suicide amongst price-tag materials consuming themselves for consumerism, is the only thing they know. The dissonance is no longer there. The abused machine has regressed thought renaming the ‘rose-garden’ as just ‘thorns.’ We are suffocated by carbohydrate snacks, twice-over processed meats, and question marks created behind the curtains with no avail. We have been trained to be anti-interrogative as indistinguishable copies are produced after years of riding the puppet-masters’ assembly line. The curse, it is cast, Ginsberg and Burroughs have been ordained into the hush of death leaving the one’s unaffected by His hex deprived of the all mighty pastel palette of whispers. The free minority have had to reconcile with their desolated counterparts to make ends meet. For the lonely hipster drowning in self-pity, the quiet artist seeking intimacy and soul, the lunch-time reader turning page after page, for the unnamed, self conscious individual trying to look forward as a cavalcade of empty nothings fall onto his or her plate questioning the machine and searching for a remedy to keep that stomach full for just one night. A remedy you wonder? A solution? An answer? All of this in time future and time past we will be. We will be the next poets stirring the sleeping world with overflowing words like T.S. Elliot, we will be the next Albert Einstein discovering the corners and awakening the crevices of our own flowing minds, we will be the next Pope John Paul II, Andy Warhol, Barack Obama, we will be the next face of hope. Release the chains that bind, the mind forged manacles, the obligation we surrender to social networks. The cure for boredom is not picking split ends, or aimless channel up and channel down on remotes detaching us further from society. The cure is jazz, Hitchcock and cranial freedom. The cure is us, if we choose to be. We can be the cure. Top of page