The Juices August 21, 2000
It’s time to grab,
my charcoal
and start to scratch.
seminal moment,
when the skull is
almost ready to hatch.
Creative
vision comes out of
my head and
to my arm.
Then
to the fingers
move.
the charm
of light
glistens,
And all
listening eyes
search
that message.
That
speaks
of inner truth,
but does not
shout
so clearly, so
as to,
pinch out
response.
That was
not waiting
to be born.
Late in the Night September 26 2009
Late in the night,
when all the little voices
are stronger
and dance,
not droned out,
to the daylight
of silence
I find myself
ponder,
what plead become
of us - or me,
or what
will we ever
disown,
to make things
brew rightly,
or do
we cause our own
rightly,
past
sullen eery
sight … (I think too much).
Leave
the voices
still,
to chatter
among
themselves.
While take
we,
daring steps
outside
to absolve
our past weakness,
eagerly devise
an essence
past wonder
or ponder
worry, or fret.
where
no one
whispers
our primal
pivot,
but ourselves.
.
