The Last Sliver of Light

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        As the last sliver of light disappears somewhere beneath the sea, I sit and ponder while the world fades to black.  The silver moon has yet to rise and bring its dull illumination to the dark night sky.  It’s too dark to type now, so I turn off my laptop.

        I’ll type more in the morning, or perhaps when the moon rises, I think.  Or, I suppose, I could wait a bit longer.  It’s all just semantics now anyway, I continue with my thoughts. When the time comes, and inspiration arises again, I’ll be ready.

        Now, though, the day has ended and my mind is clear.  Another time will surely come, I think.  The sea slithers out as I stand up.  Tucking my laptop under my arm, I begin walking along the sandy beach.  Yes, another time will surely come, I think.  I can feel it in my bones. Then again, maybe it’s just the cool ocean air….


Everything Revealed

Like a cadaver,
I lie cold and still
as my layers
slowly strip away.

With each written word,
my cocoon is cut away
leaving me naked
and vulnerable.

First, my skin
is peeled back
revealing a cache
of hidden words.

My muscular system
is then dissected
making my stanzas


rules and punctuation

are then lost

as my skeletal system

is dislodged

finally my nervous system

lies absent all its layers

revealing the hidden

inner truth of my being

but i am not dead

and i am not alone

instead i write on

with everything revealed


Last Day

the past was good
even if it wasn’t

it’s hard to let go
of what you had

tomorrow will be good
even if it won’t

it’s hard to let go
of what you want

yesterday’s gone
tomorrow never comes

one a memory
one a dream

both dangle
false reality

lost in time
lost in my mind

this is my last day
trapped in time

as I release everything
and live only for today



Another Dimension

the key
the door
the realm
the words
the truth
the past
the present
the future
the myth
the light
the mind

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The Plain

swooping down
the heart of darkness

flying high
golden rays of warmth

life’s maze
valleys and erupting volcanoes

unopened present
waiting for the day

eternal moment
the plain stretches forth

yesterday’s journey
buried beneath our feet

pushing forward
we forget and forgive

walking straight
into a new beginning

bidding farewell
doubt and fear fade

the tree
finally within our grasp


Eternal Day

I am here
I am alive

In this day
Always this day

Yesterday a memory
Ever changing particles

The slow fade
To complete dissolution

Tomorrow a dream
Blazing hot fusion

The dense crunch
Of universal want

Today a reality
Shaped by gravity

The tangible realm
Of solid matter

I am here
I am alive

In this day
I am eternal



I Love Much

Neither spoken
Nor written

The beautiful
Luminous truth

Existing beyond
Closed minds

Examined by
Open eyes

Absent of
All judgment

The beautiful
Luminous truth

In nature
And nurture


i am only me*

thinking of lost innocence
known only to time

on a cold autumn night
i stare at the stars above

the wind whispers
upon the last leaves

and i know
i am only me


*revised edition


Making Resolutions


        I resolve to never write again.  Instead, I think I’ll just chill and listen to Jimi Hendrix music.  Okay, that’s not my New Year’s resolution.  I just wanted to see if you were paying attention.  This year my resolution does involve scaling back my writing, though.  The past three years my resolutions have focused heavily on writing.  That’s all well and good, but I’ve neglected one important aspect of writing: publishing.  Sure I picked up a copy of the Poet’s Market, and planned to go through it to find the right publications for my work.  The problem as it turns out, is that there are just too many publications.  Don’t get me wrong, that is a good thing.  On the other hand, it also makes coming up with a good short list of publishers difficult.  Inevitably, I always lose interest and go back to what is comfortable: writing.

        This year, however, I resolve to put the work in and focus on publishing.  Currently, I have more than 20 unpublished poems from my Lost in Time collection, the fourth and final collection of The Past, Present, and Future.  Of course, I still have some other works that have not seen the light of day yet.  I suppose the time has come to test the waters of the publishing world with some of my unpublished work.

        While I’m trying to convince the distributors of information that my work is worth presenting to the consuming public, I suppose I should keep myself busy.  That’s why I have decided to publish 10 poems from Lost in Time on this site.  As always, I’ll publish on the third day of the month.  Pacific Standard Time, of course.  Most likely a few minutes after the day begins, as I typically like to do.  Then in December, I’ll post an update on my publishing adventures.  I do hope that you like my Lost in Time poems as much as I enjoyed writing them.

        Now, where did I put that copy of the Poet’s Market?  Oh, I suppose I should pick up a copy of the 2015 Guide to Literary Agents while I’m at it.  For good measure, I imagine I should throw in a bottle of The Macallan.  You never know when you’ll have to sip away your sorrows, or toast your successes.  As always, I hope for the latter, expect the prior, and will be content if I find myself somewhere in-between.

Those Little Touches


        My pulse quickens and my extremities tingle, as my fingers dance upon ebony keys.  I have just finished one of those little touches, and I know my work is almost complete.  What is a little touch?  A little touch is more than just the words upon a page.  It’s the middle layer, the ivory between black, the alternate possibility that opens the door into a hidden realm.  A realm where all is not what it seems.  A realm immersed in bright, white light.

        Creating those little touches is why I write.  It’s also why I get behind on deadlines, and forget to submit my work.  The problem you see is that I always want just a little bit more.  One meaning is good, two is better, and three is quite divine.  Even then, though, it is hard to quit.  Four, five, six, why not?  By some estimates, English has more than a million words—almost all of which have multiple meanings.  This, of course, means there is inevitably another word that may convey your message more effectively and there is almost always more meaning to be squeezed out of each word.

        Still, though, one must be careful.  There is a big difference between a Kubrick who bides time to create masterpieces and a Lucas who continually destroys his original genius by indefinitely reimagining and recreating it.  No, you definitely don’t want to be the latter.  Just ask poor Greedo about that.  On the other hand, who doesn’t want to be like Kubrick?  I suppose that explains why so many good film makers have copied him over the years.  Trouble is, not everyone can be.  Sometimes you just have to know when enough is enough.

        As for me, the time has come to put the finishing touches on something that I have been working on for quite some time now.  If this year is kind, it will see the last little touch come before the stroke of midnight on this year’s last day.  If it is divine, it may come just a tad bit earlier.  Thirty-some-odd minutes would do.

        For now, I sit and ponder.  How shall it all end?  There are a few good contenders, but like Frost I know it will all come down to fire and ice.  Both are tantalizing, but only one covers everything in a layer of white.  I suppose it will just have to suffice.