These are a few excerpts from my books of poems Disablé, Hard Polish, Torghatten, and Born on Friday the 13th. All these books are available in ebook format and in hardcopy in the 'Buy' section of this website or on Amazon.com. If you don't like these excerpts or skip some, don't worry, I won't know.
Snowflake
I am a snowflake.
I reign from above and
Cascade in the moonlight
To my destination.
I gain speed when
I roll down a hill and
Mercilessly transform the terrain,
But I look so delicate,
So pristine—I ornament
The land. When I melt,
I create the one, true life source:
The one that triggers
Destructive landslides, the one
That results in overpowering floods.
That can be constructed
Into a fortress protected by
Aerial artillery.
I am different
From every other snowflake, and
Every other snowflake is different
From me—we will all evaporate, though.
​
Some of us are brave enough to say that.
​​
​​
“So much has changed, though.”
Sunday
After church
Four couples drive to
The Capital Mall.
The husbands drink beer
At the indoor golfing range.
The wives go shopping.
Deborah brags to the wives
How she coaxed her husband
Into letting her have a ‘Diva Den’
(Since he had a ‘Man Cave’).
She said:
“T he rooms are
Separate but equal.”
Trey sits down and
Takes a swig of beer after
Putting his diver back in his bag.
He tells his new friends
That he is getting used to
Home in Northern California.
He says the police pulled him over
Ten times the first two weeks.
Lucy tries to
Convince the women
Not to vaccinate their kids.
She complains about the
Rising seas eroding
The beach
By her
Sea-side home.
Rajiv can’t go home
To Yemen to help
His sister’s starving family.
He says America won’t help
Because of Saudi Arabia.
His wife Deandra’s
Niece was deported
Earlier that week.
All four couples
Go home, and that night
Sit on their couches
To watch a celebrity award show—
Everyone wears black.
​
​
​
Blink-Slack
There is a consciousness we gimps must endure, must alter.
You reading this may or may not understand that.
That consciousness is the reason that Danroy Henry’s body
Lay in a New York City suburb.
It is the reason Jacob disregards candidates
Because their résumés have a female name on them.
Assumptions: insidious seeds, the reason
Passed-down declarations are reflexive as a blink.
You might think this far-fetched, think that we gimps have no quarrel,
That our struggle verges on paranoia because public opinion is on our side,
But when a new business owner is forced to make a
Building handicapped accessible—. We know why the dogs bark at us.
I am not asking that you cut us slack. I am requesting
You loosen the lasso squeezing your mind—let it expand,
Blink different.
​
We Are Not What We Were
​
World, don’t wait for us
To stop fighting civil wars.
World, don’t wait for us
To create an industry.
World, don’t wait for us
To purify your tears.
World, don’t wait for us
To close the hole in the sky.
World, don’t wait for us
To cultivate galaxies.
World, don’t wait for us
To cure you. We can’t cure ourselves.
This Road I Roll
They told me
‘Your texts should say nothing’.
Texts don’t speak,
And mine mean something.
Or else why are we here?
What is our value?
If you erase my words
You erase me, too.
I’m blazing a trail
For all to share.
I’m just one man
In my wheelchair.
Wheels turn forth
And I’ll just be.
I’m going to type these words
And set me free.
The Heralds of Spring
Let young, beating hearts be known
Not just for cell phones or Facebook pages,
Or the ‘me’ mentality and iPod phases,
But as those who healed the Eagle’s broken wing.
Let papers penned by fifty-four men
Be rewritten as their ideals rise in smoke
And saunter into pores where they roam and soak.
We have a chance to disappear holes, let trees sway,
To show black liquid does not gush through our veins.
This land’s fuel: visions seen when eyelids close.
Let this wall between us dissolve so that
Swindling words and conniving voices will have
An acidic puddle to burn in
Where our thoughts can slice through their vapors.
Let desire be realized, though achieved differently.
For we are all cooled by the same weak wind
On this blue-green ball that gracefully spins.
We have a chance
To be the candle swirling with milky red and blue wax
With a white flame on top that guides.
Let sickly skin suffer no more as
The Aryan order is brought to its knees,
And let those crippled by gray-cloudy blessings
No longer be forgotten. Now is an opportunity
To demonstrate that Daisy-Cutters and AKs
Are not the tools needed to grow a garden.
Outstretch your arms, show the moon your palms,
And raise the silk light towers from their dusty graves
So that they can shine on our native land once again.
For after 237 winters, we must herald spring.
​
Cripple Blues?
Chris Columbus sits in the lobby
Among rubble inside.
Dusty ghosts haunt still, frantic streets,
Fireballs fill the sky.
Chris’s crew numbers near three thousand.
They saw land but were confused:
The devil was speeding at them—
Each beginning has an end too.
Don’t you wish you could be me, friend?
It’s not my fault you’re stuck in Mobile
Singing cripple blues again.
Jackie gracefully falls out of planes
With a parachute on her back.
She plays tennis, moves fluidly—
Her lipstick and mints are in her pack.
Jess slowly wakes up at eleven:
She drank firewater last night.
She met a guy, took her in his room
And they did what you do ‘til five.
Don’t you wish you could be her, friend?
I’m sorry you’re wallowing in Mobile
With cripple blues and no courage.
Erik, Mike, and Brendan play B-ball.
Tonight, they’re at a youth farm
With some sweet swimsuit calendar girls
Who cannot resist their charm.
Scotty needs no part of that life.
He’s happy and has a girl.
He wants to keep playing rugby
While he strolls through the world.
They’ll steal your girlfriend’s attention
Because they’re not citizens of Mobile,
Can offer new experiences.
Steve, he’s a borderline genius.
I’m not sure where he went to school.
Teaching us about the dark of night
Makes him anything but a fool.
Travis is an individual
Who is a talented painter.
He paints red and white dogs on ice—
He used to be one earlier.
Aren’t you sick of normal, friend?
You’re feet move in Mobile,
But your head’s a cripple blues lament.
For what it’s worth, Frank was best.
He helped those poor Tennessee boys
And everyone else who was in need
By keeping them all employed.
Superman once was a hero,
He stayed on TV, though.
They dressed Superman in a wardrobe
For a whole different type of show.
It’s not all front row seats, friend.
Careful, they’ll exploit you in Mobile
If you sing your cripple blues to them.
John Smith and profits are on the mind
Of senators on the hill.
They do whatever they want
And take away your living will.
Lady Liberty sits in the back:
Looks like she’s staring at a wall.
She was colored green like money,
But has corroded into fall.
Are you sure you could be me, friend?
You can barely survive in Mobile—
Watch me keep rolling.
​
Apocalyptic Lullaby
Lava will ooze,
Melt cities;
Armageddon visions,
Prophecies
Will come to fruition.
Curl on me.
Close your eyes
As molten creeps towards us
Like the melon sunrise
And wait with me.
Winds will whip,
Swirl, and tilt
Gravity on its side,
Then throw
A knife like it's a paper bag.
Frost will crackle,
Seep to bones
That fracture and explode.
Awaiting fate, snowflakes cascade
And I will watch with you.
Seas will rise,
Flood the land,
Swallow every tree, man,
And building—
Water will roam through streets.
Let us lock
Lips and share
The last soft breath we have.
Let me clutch your warm hips
And drown with you.
Yes,
The day will come:
Glass will rain.
Bright, jagged bolts will strike,
Spark flames
That plume into fire-clouds.
Hold my hand
Or
Shall I hold yours?
Look into my eyes
And sit with me.