November 5, 2016




Some seem to see the floor of the sea

as a sketchy, yet effective sanctuary.

They’re thinking, I think, that it’s tucked away

good. &  Could be quite quiet.

Sure would be  you’d dream good there.

Sure, it goes that you must breathe much slower.

Sure,  bluegreen cracks for surface lightening.

But, You’ll see  that jeweled fishes,

Stilled  with  witness,

Flee at the softest flourish.

And bets are..sandbeds are busy with movement.

How can my dreams take when I’m floating awake?





There’s often been unfocused fire

Before the rhododendron,

Like off a roadway, on a hot day,

Sure, unfocused  fire

Blurring this entire English garden.

Bumble birds and humming bees,

Warm words tumbling, tumbling on great grass.

Late last night it wouldn’t cease;

The dream is in the English sun.

I took cream in my steaming , strong tea.

Virginia, Leonard Woolf  I could see

With her lot

Iris Murdoch & John I could see

With her lot

Barrie and Carroll

Knelt on all fours

For hours

Playful, cerebral  somehow.

I’m thinking,  As I burrow my brow

Rough for this pillow

I’ll settle, Right now, Near the shade of that willow

& succumb  to cats on a lawn

& three  secret facts of tea roses.





(from 2009)




September 18, 2015

I swear  it’s Clara

I see clearly on the ceiling

Before I embark onto

Darkening  streams

To  a dream where Clara is nearer


I splash up, plop a step up,

&  Stand up on her shore

&  Stretch erect  on her far shore.

I confess a noiseless story,

Staged to exude some forest some/

Where all my dark ritual,

Staged to include dreamhours

In my little life,  is rounded with a sleep./

I dream  ’till morning takes my eyes

On Sleep

December 1, 2011


Cleansing slumber/

Is something he reached for/

For the body facet of things/

He beseeched it some



His instincts scolded him:/

His dreams  were more a muddle/

Than the day come.




on back home

September 22, 2011

A late,  the too latest,  drive

Car thick  with ambient music

On  back  home

On back roads  I can come upon,

In deep,  way back,

The darkest pond,  & plumb

The darkest pond

Cool off  and  char

Edgy angular contours

In deep


dream torture

March 16, 2011

Except  when you slept enough

Your gut is sour with coffee

Every hour but the first

& you can’t count back

To when you slept enough


For times as a kid, say, war was AOK

War crimes,  they added  an odd way

To torture us  to madness,  They

Woke  us,  denied us  our dreams


If  they want us to go  to  all  the  info,

&  they like  harm,

There’s luke warm  joe

To get yr gut to go

A Lulling

December 22, 2010

A  lighthouse keeper wasn’t on watch, there/

&  really didn’t look out,/ & amidst

A  minty  daymare;/

(Cool & mistakenly pleasant),/

What once was a beacon/

Became a loft,/ from comes a funnel,/

From some source,/ A lulling, soft fog/

Was forced/ non-menacingly/

Out  like thick grey blankets/ handed

Out  like warm brown blankets, deep./

The keeper’s crucial role of providing/

A  piercing  guiding  light/

Was softened  to offer/

A  lulling  lost  sleep.


June 3, 2010

I sweat my bed.

I do all  but dread

The undraped  dreamscapes.

I’d replay and replay

Heaven’s elevator tunes on tape.

Is it true  I did

Fluid-loss & exhaustion,

All that turning and tossing?

I sweat my bed.

First thing is shower head to head,

It takes cold water to weigh

This old man awake to stay down,

Away from high ground.


I’d  walked  hard

To find my feet,

To find a way

In that far town.


August 10, 2009

Cicadas  & silver whistling

On Wind I guess, And when there is

Someone waiting

Out there.


Put lamp off.

For full day’s offramp



And wait on

exotic ocean birds,

or rather,  on


surreptitious, tired, ocean birds.