Radio Flyer - POEM of the MONTH!

Radio Flyer

I had my Radio Flyer
Filled with every need:
Television and speaker,
Access for the freed

I had my sandals
For the long flight,
And electric candles
To displace the night

I left behind the stagnant,
Imagination in my pack
Any direction but remnants
Of what lies at my back

But the whirlwind
Off in the distance
Stared and grinned
At my lack of guidance

Caught in a swirl of fear
My impetus was lost –
I wrestled with the jeers
And grappled with the cost

In a land without signposts
I forgot the map of the past,
… creating new ghosts –
A thought not in my forecast 

With a tear to the heavens
I empty the Radio Flyer
As it alters my direction
And pulls me from the briar

Now, I no longer pull
But am led by this wagon
As my Radio Flyer is full
And light is my burden

Published in the May 2013 issue of Synchronized Chaos Magazine

Grace Under Pressure - POEM of the MONTH!

Grace Under Pressure

I roll on a paved, smooth highway
On cruise-control, six lanes wide
Neon lights flood persistence of vision
Linger along the peripheral roadside

The exits are under construction
And the lanes begin to divide
The pressures detain –
Same to insane
Until grace comes inside

I am not along for any ride
Or servant to a steel cage
I am not certain
Of conflicting maps, a faulty gauge
I am not in the backseat
But I should not drive
To a place I cannot arrive
Knowing I am still alive …

The path is one lane and dirt
Along trees and up a hillside
Something foreign is on my face
A grin where I once sighed

Flat tires and road blocks
Off-road when I died –
Since the map I claim
Nothing is the same
When grace comes inside

I see – the point of reference
To walk a path of difference
I believe – therefore I endure
Though sometimes onto a detour
I act – for the matters of forever
With grace under pressure …

The Clouds Are Upside-Down - POEM of the MONTH!

The Clouds Are Upside-Down

In a universe designed so grand
A particle-puzzle for the under-manned
Among the world-view of random
We stand on the south end of town

And miss the dewdrop of wisdom
While the clouds are upside-down

Bound to the tracks of mass radio
Or caught in a stained-glass window
The spirit is obscured by ritual –
The bride is lost, along with her gown

And we miss the showers of the faithful
While the clouds are upside-down

In a world without second nature
On the metric scale of the future
Through a fiber-optic sense of vision
We breed an artificial crown

And are caught in a storm of reason
While the clouds are upside-down

Among the cast without a heart
Can we draw closer to the start?
In the flooded mind of obsession
We may reach bottom before we drown

And miss the lightening of redemption
While the clouds are upside-down


[Also published in slightly different form in Synchronized Chaos Magazine, May 2012]

New Format Beginning 2012 - "Poem of the Month"

New for 2012, Carpe Velo is changing to a new format - "Poem of the Month" - in order for the author to focus on a new full-time career path. Thank you to all who follow this blog, and to those who happen upon it and read. Have a HAPPY NEW YEAR!

(Since the inception of this blog, up until now, a "Poem of the Week" was posted. Years after this post, a variety of edits and deletions have occured. These actions were a result of creative growth. Therefore, when viewing the Blog Archive, you will see many gaps from one week to another.)

Nothing to Write - POEM of the WEEK!

Nothing to Write

I see starving towns and big money
I see blood and false-testimony …
And if you were President
In a world when no one repents
To the God they say does not exist
On the forgotten list
Will you have nothing to write?

In moments when I can only scream
For a dieing child, escaping in a dream
To the village called the earth
Her flesh is traded without worth
While my eyes remain chained to the flat panel
Another channel
With nothing to write.

And through the iron spyglass
Shared with a view exceedingly fast
I saw an image, but in reverse
Dictating my pending verse
On a page blank and crumpled and torn
Forlorn
With nothing to write.

Yet, a faultless messenger
Humbled himself before anger
And revealed a vision from the past
One which was meant to last
But he was met with fight and flight
When he had nothing left to write.

And I hear of wars and rumors of more

I hear of battle lines drawn at the front door …
But if you are President
As if you are the one sent
And if, you indeed, repair ev’ry shattered heart and broken window
With a peace below
Will you have nothing left to write?

The Other Side of Doubt - POEM of the WEEK!

A selection from my book
"Retro," which uses a
cinquain - a 5-line poem.



The Other Side Of Doubt


I slept on the other side of doubt
Last night and the night before;
Oh, how I relish a sleep devout,
Discovering what dreams turn out –
From surreal paintings to heroic lore.

But not all nights are such an oasis –
Cajoling scoundrels of the day,
Anxiety monsters invading my palace,
And razor tongues haunt me sleepless
As childhood stomping grounds disobey.

The clock ticks by in counter rhythm
And echoes against the window
With pervasive thoughts so phantom;
I struggle to discover the right serum
As this battle rages on my pillow.

Yet, I will not be deprived tonight –
I locate green pastures throughout,
Ask for calming waters of respite,
Filling my soul even into daylight
To sleep on the other side of doubt.


Psalm 23: 1-3;
Philippians 4: 6


Artist: Dave Douglas

Imaginarium - POEM of the WEEK! 05/28

Imaginarium


My school had a lengthy class
But they were all as such.
One teacher took us places;
She did not need to say much.
Along the white line to nowhere
I stood quietly as was trained,
But black ink shot out of my pen
And my classmates complained.

In the quiet of my bedroom
I covered pages with imagination
Until I was warm with thoughts
And traveled every nation –

To mountains new to my eyes,
To ocean depths I had never been,
To temples and public houses
And faces I had never seen.

“I felt the senseless rage drain
From every pour in my body
Until the plunder of my soul
Could no longer rescue me!” …

My adrenaline soared off a cliff,
I murdered for a woman’s hand,
My ears rang from the applause,
And none of it actually happened.

“The thoughts of rest slowed,
Slowed long enough for the wind
To move from the golden hills
Until the walls of my heart thinned.” …

And, I had boxes and boxes of stories
Stacked for any willing editor.
But the flow of the process stopped,
Like a dam destroying a river.

Springs and summers passed,
Until every season felt like winter.
While I had balanced out each day,
The library was my single adventure.
Until one day, a sunrise surprised me!
I peeked over the mailbox with delight,
An acceptance shined on a story of old –
Imaginarium! And, I continue to write.


“According to [Jack] London’s biographer Alex Kershaw,
the library was the boy’s ‘preferred classroom,’…” – Aleta George

[Also publish in Synchronized Chaos
Magazine, September, 2015.]

(If using a phone to read this poem, turn your phone sideways for the best view of this post.)