Posted on May 15th, 2008 by george.
Categories: numbers, poetry, society.

ten thousand headlines
every day
the same sad song
sung seventy ways
lose your head
for looking up
plastic coffee
from a paper cup
racing the rats
buying the hype
untold power
out an idling pipe
quarter projections
short selling stock
biting the hands
of the ticking clock
a trillion white rabbits
in every direction
a worrisome bulge
at your own midsection
feeding on hearsay
drinking down lies
a rumble of thunder
from menacing skies

see through the smoke
tear down the veil
walk through the fire
break out of jail

challenge the system
jump out of line
swim up the river
dare to be kind

you may own seven cars
but you can only
drive one
at a time



Posted on February 28th, 2008 by george.
Categories: epiphany, friends, future, history, life, poetry, prayer.

a gift from within the stone fortress
sent on feathered wings
graced with golden dust

a release
in the form
of an embrace

an ambassador
with a gossamer key
to the shackles of my own design

a prayer for peace
sent back with the dove
to the point round which all angels




Posted on February 16th, 2008 by george.
Categories: dreams, enlightenment, epiphany, future, life, numbers, poetry, serendipity, synthesis.

the dust of far-off deserts
after noon
while breezes waft
the redolence
of five-star blooms
shafts of leaning light
dance through
camphor trees
her shadowed arches
find me
down on bended knee
her marble pillars
toward heaven’s sky
from paradise four rivers
with burbled sighs
relax your fretted ceilings
in the sun
and wind
let the sweet call of the nightingale
calm your soul
my truss your raven tresses
combed with honey
your words inside my spirit
in filigree
now stretch my copper heartstrings
cross your
silver face
and fill with song this darksome
and once empty
thirteen vermillion towers
look upon your
and whisper to the lions
tales of
man and wife
existence stretched before me
like a growing
crimson ark with
Holy Mariner
at the helm
each quanta forking out
an ungrown
tender shoot
a life of unknown branches
with you
at the root
and though the tree is younger
than it will be
your liquid silver quickens
every limb
of me
now from the court of maidens
comes a lilted
an audience of angels
softly drawing
without a word
she bends
into her graceful dance
and lights aflame the veils
her advance
in arc and pattern
flowered tapestries
she draws upon the
from the roots so deep
with gathering momentum
she spins wild
and free
and melds his art and science
from the Garden of the Architect
a breath
and scatters far the ashes
of the last lost
the lover sees his children
in the maiden‘s
now overflows his heart
arabesque pensées
even unto his autumn
he sees red
and gold
and alloyed with his copper
not yet told
for soon they may set sail
upon a sea
of song
and manifest what only
knew all along
the lily brims with waters
from the wise man’s
and let loose are the lovers
that their seas may
now overflow his tears
onto life’s golden
to set in motion waves
above the
coral floor
the emerald sea now surges
casting forth
her pearl
the twain restored to one
and through all the worlds


Las nubes

Posted on February 12th, 2008 by george.
Categories: coincidence, enlightenment, epiphany, future, life, love, numbers, photography, poetry, prayer, serendipity, space, synthesis, travel.

low clouds drift over
her plunging arcs
helices adorn
her pure crystalline slopes
under the watchful eye
of the sliver of a crescent moon
Twin contrails
twin contrails cut across the sky
as they carve their way
through the forest
deeper into the heart
of the valley below
Through the forest
the great granite monolith
reigns regal over the valley
as the traveler departs the shores
of the great salt lake
both their heads in the clouds
Great salt lake
the hawk prays on detachment
in solitude above the clouds
that at the peak of the mountain
he should find his other wing
attached to an angel
Signs point to yes
he cannot cast his eyes
upon anything but signs
he is enveloped in assurance
his threading path is lit
by luminous rays
do you love me from the smallest ant
to the littlest loud?
su corazón pregunta
you mean cloud, he says
si, nube, she replies
James and Caytlin
do you like strawberries?
asks the little girl
after the traveler is diverted
from his prayers
I love strawberries, he responds
two women engaged in conversation
not a word of English between them
halt their cascade of Spanish to repeat
a single word foretold:
eleven arrives
to carry the weary traveler home
his head in the radio
as he reaches
mile marker 43
out of the corner of his eye
flow tears of certitude
leaving tracks on his cheeks
and crystals on the dry lakebed
of his heart
soft whimpers escape his lips
and with them his doubt
as the tortoise shell of his heart melts
and the delicate blossom of love
everything in the universe
every slice of time and space
every cause and effect
has led to this moment
numbers themselves were created
to add up to this love
exit 52 leads him home
he walks out to check the mail
but on the way to the box
stoops to pick up
an empty cup
standing up his eyes rise
and fix their gaze on a star
the brightest setareh in the sky
shining in brilliant splendor
as the clouds march by
he looks to his hand
as his disbelief evaporates
and in its stead he finds
16 ounces of truth
straight from the mountain top
Mountain top


Warbled melodies

Posted on January 28th, 2008 by george.
Categories: friends, life, love, poetry, travel.

From colonial villages comes forth the call
Cross goldenrod meadows in breezes of fall

The stage has been cleared and the hour is set
We’ll toast to the thrasher, we’ll feast and we’ll fete

From his oceanside home the cardinal flies
By ribbons of scarlet he knows he’s arrived

And jolly the happenings there to be had
Hats off to the thresher, a fine young lad

When mention is made of her, contrast is stark
He’d long since lost touch with the faraway lark

But right here she is where she’s been all along
In the robin’s red breast and in homage, his song

The cardinal smiles at such earnest young love
And calls upon blessings to rain from above

He wings his way home through the blackest of skies
The moon his companion to witness his sighs

The raven’s call rings out on every side
Bids softly the angels close tight their black eyes

His mind tumbles back on her soft swirling dance
The heat and the flame of ill-fated romance

The song of the shepherd sufficient to hook
His black sheep’s heart in its cradling crook

His thoughts fly away to the lands never seen
Their history ancient and playas serene

For the quetzal’s resplendence his heart doth yearn
But she sings in a language he’s not yet learned


Paper wings

Posted on January 4th, 2008 by george.
Categories: dreams, poetry.

most days
the mist of dreams lifts
with the morning sun
and the rules snap
back into place
gravity holds
fire is hot
ice cold
one dream
lingers until
sunset brings on
a night of low clouds
and as vivid as the moment
I awoke

the dream replays again

with a simple paper napkin
like the kind you see in diners
in shiny silver boxes

last night I could fly

I would simply unfold the paper
on the short edge
and grip either end in my hands
like two wings connected
in the center

I held it flat
six inches in front of my belly button
and thought, “fly”

if I tipped the leading edge up
I would ascend
likewise downward
for descent

my body floated vertically
face into the wind
head up
feet below
and though I know it was impossible
in this world

in that world of islands
connected by bridges
I soared

beholden to the wind
and a new version of inertia
there were rules of flight
be they different than the ones
on Earth

I flew between islands
alongside the bridges
filled to their edges
with people
who looked on in awe

if the napkin were to tear
as it did once
I would fall out of the sky
but over water it was fine
and after splashdown
I’d just find another
stolen from the galley
of some passing ship
and retake wing

I learned to hold the paper
and vary its pitch
with the wandering wind

quite quickly I was adept
at flight
and put on a show
for the people marveling

at the man who could fly
on paper wings



Posted on January 2nd, 2008 by george.
Categories: love, poetry, space.

when days are short
when the sun departs
just as you greet him

when the long forgotten cold
steals back
and drives warmth underground
away from the cracked surface

when forty million kilometers
is two light minutes
what does it mean that your galaxy
is three million light years distant?

the very fiber of language and thought
breaks down
a thousand miles is far
but across the reaches of space?
long falls short

I cannot conceive of our separation

if fondness is a function of distance
try to fathom my love for you

1 comment.


Posted on December 31st, 2007 by george.
Categories: future, history, life, poetry.

three quarters of an hour away
but further than the edge of space
farewell to someone else’s future
to a time they never saw

I don’t see your horizon
your line in the sand

a tickmark on a never-ending reel
an arbitrary screed on a player piano
rolled up by some long-dead pope

behold the empire of my resolve
stronger than a seven-nation army

I see seven hills
I see seven days
each one a new year

oh seven
oh seven
oh oh seven


Poem for a friend

Posted on December 6th, 2007 by george.
Categories: epiphany, friends, history, life, poetry.

twenty miles away
the glowing orb
our lifestar
squashed into an overripe orange
and dipped behind a string of clouds
a mile away
a solitary bird took flight
and winged its way between the rays
that flew so straight and true
from the blazing inferno of its Source
to the overflowing cup of my eye
then crossed the path again
with I the only one to see it
in a flash
I saw the sun of the Egyptians
and the Greeks
I saw with the eyes of every warrior
and philosopher that has been or will be
and the dawn of realization
left me with a seed of contentment
this is it
and this is worth it
in the balance of all the good and evil humanity has wrought
I am content
for it has brought us to this moment
were civilization to find its end
in this dark night
it would be enough
now as the light fades
and night crawls up with its dark blanket
even as the image is burned into my mind
I breathe deeply
and give thanks
for humanity


Le serpent blessé

Posted on November 6th, 2007 by george.
Categories: love, poetry.

running fingers through these cracks
tips now dipped in red
edges sharp with stark relief
deeds nigh things we said


would that life were black and white
as our hearts and skin
and grey the shades of sidelong eyes
the devil dances in