Posted in Leaves on the Poet Tree (Poems)

Another Winter Without Snow

The scrape of a leaf outside my door

is a lonely sound I have heard before

from a latent memory of long ago

and another winter without snow.

Posted in Leaves on the Poet Tree (Poems)

Sometimes It Seems All Of The Days Are Gray

sometimes it seems
all of the days are gray
and the doors closed
without a glimpse of the one
who steps across the threshold
you are the one who walks in the rain past the curious stares of dry children in their after school program coloring within
and further along past the empty storefronts waiting for new tenants
you smile at the woman smoking beneath the dripping eaves
the open sign flashing red behind her

inside at home it is warm
the lights cast off the chill
but you know that you can
never ever leave the gray behind

Posted in Leaves on the Poet Tree (Poems)

Success (n.)

to not seek to possess

to be a man of largesse

to be capable of caress

to help others in distress

to not seek to impress

to be willing to confess

to offer redress

when i have transgressed

to not suppress

the need to express

to take time to process

and to decompress

to find the courage to profess

that i am a work in progress

to be steady in faithfulness

to bless

to resist unkindness

this then is my definition of success

more or less

Posted in Leaves on the Poet Tree (Poems)

A Little Less Vanilla

When one bakes with diversity,

add 3 cups of humility,

and take a long taste of Chocolate City.

Listen to some go-go.

Watch a young man dance before the coffin of his grandma in a love show.

Hear the song of joy and grief.

Add 3 tablespoons of the river Anacostia.

The change in your pallette may very well cost ya

and there could be some heart burn

as you listen and re-learn

to really breathe

because trying to mute DC is a form of hypoxia.

What you been cooking up doesn’t make much sense.

It’s time to use some different ingredients.

Maybe a little less salt.

And a lot more pepper.

More chocolate.

Less vanilla.

Because this is more than grabbing a chili dog from Ben’s Chili Bowl.

What good is soul food if you’ve lost your soul?

Posted in Leaves on the Poet Tree (Poems)

Ode to M. Alcofribas

Though I am not as wise as Solomon,
when I think of a certain Friar John
whose abbey was made most Gargantuan,
I see a misreading of Immanuel Kant.

A church born from a babe in Bethlehem
is now most like the Abbey of Thélème
for it has cast off its royal diadem
to follow the mantra, “Do What You Want.”

(see this article for more info)

Posted in Leaves on the Poet Tree (Poems)

Yore Infatuation

the universe is expanding
not so your mind
you are an old wineskin
about to burst with new wine
you look up at the stars
gazing back in time
but you are not enlightened
by what you find

you pine for a time
that just wasn’t true
because the good ol days
were only good for a few
and the past is past
it will never renew
so why does yesterday
have such a hold on you?

history is a great teacher
with few who enroll
in her classes to learn
if the truth be told
when what you believe
is another black hole
the price to be paid
is the loss of your soul

Posted in Leaves on the Poet Tree (Poems)

Beyond Legerdemain

is it any wonder
that of the seven
ancient wonders
only one remains
and the pyramid of giza
is but a tomb and
no longer contains
the afterlife companions
or the mouldering remains
of the pharoah

time in subtle thunder
doth rip asunder
with wind and
weather and rain
pounds with
mocking disdain
until these monuments
of blood and stone
and workers pain
are brought low

i cannot help
but wonder if one
must go under
into the inner domain
of broken heart
and mending brain
to build a different
kind of wonder
beyond another
legerdemain
one forever sustained
by the care of soul
a new archipelago

Posted in Leaves on the Poet Tree (Poems)

The Lost Parts of I

i am the scattered one
fragments cast
across the cybersphere
a million pieces of me
invisible
mixing with you
over my head
in the air
like silent wraiths

i am everywhere
and nowhere
omnipresent
without divinity
immortal
in search of my soul
my essence
sucked from
me by vampire
screens

i am the silent one
removed to the cave
away from the
false gods
of fire and wind
and storm
drawing deeper within
to call
a quiet shout

like bats
the lost parts
of i
hear and begin
their returning
to me
like smoke
in the bright
red morning

Posted in Leaves on the Poet Tree (Poems)

The Timetraveler

like a lone hand
grasping for
drops of rain
are the memories
that grab me
suddenly
out of the gray
and i am
back there
with you
your words
falling down
around me
like brown
leaves