The Good Poet

The Good Poet

The Good Poet

The Good Poet

The Good Poet

The Good Poet

The Good Poet

The Good Poet

The Good Poet

The Good Poet

The Good Poet

The Good Poet

The Good Poet

The Good Poet

The Good Poet

The Good Poet

The Good Poet

the Good Poet

The Good Poet

The Good Poet

The Good Poet

The Good Poet

Occupy Surf

Aloha poets--occupy walls of surf. Enjoy!

The Wild Jungle Tigress

        Something resembling hope enters into his awareness in the darkness of theJungle. So, he thinks, time doesn't exist here, or it would like him to think so. Cool moonlight falls with a quiet, as if delivering silence were a nightly chore. This is exactly how this forest kills, with darkness and quiet, as it sleeps--cycles set in motion by an ancient past, not waiting for, or expecting, anything new to be learned. Trees set back from the sheer cliff offer a meadow.  High ferns shelter the opening where death will occur because someone or something forgot a duty and now she, this rainforest, the ancient one, will not forget and serve the sentence. Why is water so unstoppable, dripping off the sheer rocks?  These primeval waterfalls fall by their own hand.  Intimate dances of the ancient past have made it through eons. Why is it so difficult to teach theHumans; to have their feelings come back to life and stir inside them?  Something is home here. Something knows how to climb the rocks, how to breath air into its lungs, how to put off the moments until logic would perfectly place itself, something like a motherly unseen force, breaths, as if heard  before.  Why don't we just keep our softness, allow the moon to bring a familiar glow. It's theTigress in a strange force field today and I fear the outline of her body against the rocks will fill you with uncertainty you won't recognize, will haunted you inside, freeze you.  

     You will give theTigress a focus more than awake, with slow leanings across her body in the moonlight.  Her eyes will open wide as her sleek body stares and her back stiffens.  Her stare will love wildness. Her vision in the dark would be perfect. The dim blue glow of the moon, or of something, dances on theJungle's resonant floor through the canopy, it offers more than mere moonlight.

The Good Poet

The Good Poet

The Good Poet

The Good Poet

The Good Poet

The Good Poet

The Good Poet

The Good Poet