my flutes

my flutes are quiet now
filled with dream
with songs
sung
to moonlight children
in deep ancestral
america

they

live
only in the
ceder air
of
their song

they wait

these
messengers
of soul

to sing once more

my flutes ring in
images
from the deep
rooted
earth
and
from the magnetic
impossibilty of OM

my flutes sing
prayer
into their silence

waiting

patient

eternal


my flutes

sentinals of soul

breath as i breath
with
melody deep
filled
with longing
with loss
and
the
knowing that
this shall pass
this struggle will
lose its way
melt into
eternities grace

the song of my
flutes

sing
always
of
soon to come
soon to go
soon to be known

life holds their melodies
like clear water
on the stale parched
lips of sorrow
in the solitary tear
of lonliness
in the dry musts of
faiths dissapointment

sacred song
is
woven into
the joy of birth
the wagging tail of friends
the purring
ease of
comfort
the tigers eye of passion
into the solitary birth
of prayer

my flutes
hold secret

congerings

spells

ancient magic

harboring vast soul
deep chant

posessing nothing
holding
all

my flutes stand in a bamboo
chalice

on the floor
in my room

embracing my waiting
meditation

enough is enough

my desk is a mess
and my art's in recess
my hair has grown out white as snow
my money all gone
my bands on the run
and my life seems too sideways to grow
oh the fun of the pause
i write sentance and clause
as the bills on my doorstep pile up
i laugh till i cry
as the eagles all fly
an my insides cry out"that's enough"
a promise is made
as i stand in the shade
and i wait for the telephone ring
to tell me at home
as i pick my last bone
to pick my guitar and just sing
a year has gone past
since i thought it would last
all the praises were sung high and low
i watch friends dissappear
as they grow in their fear
that their hero's have delt their last blow
fair weather friends
with me to the end
of prosperities walk then they run
troubles they have
with the good and the bad
until once more i'm out in the sun
then praises they have
as doubt's looks that they had
creep away in a land that is safer
cause' once more at the top
the cream of the crop
makes it feel like their not second placers
i'm not bitter at all
as i make this life call
its the plague of all livers of life
to be out in the sun
with those who have won
is better than wearing my strife
so all is fogivin
as i work at my livin'
and knock on the doors till i bleed
because to give up
is to lose lifes great cup
and to let my whole world go to seed

broke not broken

it's an old familiar feeling
the ache
the panic
of my very own
down to the last dime loneliness
been here
done it
more sickening times than
i'll admit

this feeling of abandonment
this self esteem battering battle
this sense of doom
laced with
an unknown guilt
and
a feeling of not
fitting

i'm
like a bad top on a lost bottle
as the walls close in

it's frightening
it is
i do not deny it
and
i do not deny my knowing
that i'll pull through
i always do
and
ohhh
i am sick of
just pulling through
as the phone lines groan to near
bursting
with the greedy calls of debtors
whos
minions
hate their lives
who are
the crossing guards of enterprise

my back aches
my mind a tempast
filled with
old feelings
of an un worthy life

it
drives me to busywork

i pray old prayers
eat too much
want means to escape
and
there is no portal
in sight
except the imaginings
of hope
that light of hope
manufactured from
loss
from the memory
of ease gone by
from
the dream of heaven
from
the posturing of
moonlight on
a typists hand
who
like sysiphis
rolling the stone of hope onto the page
finally gets to the end of his labor
only to
toss it
crumpled into
an overflowing
burning
basket

i sit
crosslegged
across from the tatooed man
who
rests with his hooka
dangling
like
an anchor
from his sleeping lips

all i can do is wait
all i can do is sing my song
here in this familiar darkness
into the soft cotton air
dank and echoless
knowing that
my personal
horton

will hear

things inside

there are those
things
inside
flailing around
like ink from a squid
or
tin foil
fooling missles

these things
thoughts and rememberances
who's sole intent
is to screen
all of my reasons
for
failure
for mistakes made
for injuries done
accidental
and
on purpose
are
somehow
dreamed

it seems

perhaps
these blank spaces
mask
a lost advantage
or
lost opportunties to become
fully
me

or
perhaps
the need of something larger
that invisible sense
of
an
other

a life force
that needs me
as i am
for now

these reasonings
these rationalizations
are nothing more
than
masks

how do I draw a map
toward my
ending

is there one
really

am i simply
a dream
of
me
placed
on
some
easle
a puzzle
working itself out
an

i
am

simply
a catalyst
a part of a dreams
dream
being dreamed
by

by
what

oh it's all so dramatic
this posing
this seeming mortal immortality

i live
i love
and
there are better men
lesser men
and
all those in between

yet
i feel it

here

this thing
inside
like a pleasant promise
a knowing lingering melody
a warm bright
memory
of
next

i cater to my childhood god
i make promises
i dance
i weep
i raise my eyes
to the ever outward
gaze of the universe
and
like job
or
rumi
or
the singing drunk
or
the cellular monk
or
the lost vaudvillian
i
fall to the knees
of wonder
and
try
to simply
trust
that my life
is a candle
in someones
dark night
that my being
is necessary
that i am complete
even when
i do not know

even
when
i do not
know

the reader

you
are here
with your interested eye
a blessing for a poet
who reacalls his life
with thoughts of god and circumstance

it is good to know that
there are those
who's lives are far away
co mingle with those who's search
are on a path
like mine

and yet
the paths we tread
are ours alone
with arms spread
taking in the day
this life
this vision
this dream

and still
and still
as we glance
from side to side
there are those who walk
just inside
this vision
who
like many
many others
stride toward the light
like birds
migrating into the sun
or ships
who's destiny's unknown
travel toward
an end
appearing
always
far too soon

it is the path that is the finality
the end is simply
another beginning
a door
to the next ever widening
inclusive
way

and
you
the reader
you know
you travel with me
through your eyes
your vision
your spirit
as you
treck toward your
uncertian
destiny

welcome

the test

it does not matter 'bout my growing age
weather young or old or new or bearded sage
fate has a funny way to turn the page
tragic hopeful, or filled with roiling rage
life goes on no matter how i feel
what i do just simply turns the wheel
heart of gold or soul of tempered steel
while i balance on the edge of real
the search is futile when in my heart i know
that all thats inside on the outside shows
through the summer rain or winter snow
taking this lifes pleasures and it's blows
all i know is deep within my heart
it sits there waiting for a time to start
whether stupid or extremely smart
i have it in me wholly, not in part
so the test is whether i can see
how my truest heart can simply be
from desert storms to tropic gentle sea
the fullest all that makes what i call me

amen

such stuff as dreams are made

we skip along as if this precious time
was nothing more than something permanant
making little movies in our minds
that worry 'bout the future and the rent

little do we hold it seems to me
that where we are is frailty at best
that dreams are dreams no matter what we see
until our dream is at last put to rest

so why not dream the dream of worlds of good
to make our dreams the best that we can dream
filled with yes with no regrets or shoulds
without the pall of doubts or shades of seems

we are the stuff it's true that dreams are made
so let us dream loves greatness 'fore we fade