Field Notes from the River Wye
Soulcruzer
Solo camping near Hay-on-Wye Day One (1) The Arrival The tent stakes bite into the soft earth beside the Wye, and I realise how long it’s been since I’ve heard…
poetry
a fistful of poetry
Alice, the Mad Hatter, and the March Hare were in a bar…(click the hotspot to find out what happens.)
Wallace Stevens: Of the Surface of Things
I love Bernie Gourley’s reading of this Wallace Stevens‘ poem: Of the Surface of Things Go listen to Bernie read and then come back for a closer look at the…
a layered meditation on creativity, improvisation, and interconnection
this ongoing remix practice (of mine)is the heartbeat of evolution itself,a rhythmic, recursive dance of becoming (what am i becoming?). it feels like an innate biological imperativewoven deep into my…
started reading some of Charles Olson’s work
started reading some of Charles Olson’s work.
in cold hell
There’s something about Charles Olson’s In Cold Hell, in Thicket that feels uncomfortably familiar, like stepping into a dense forest where every direction looks the same but somehow promises something…
Leap of faith
She was all legs and breasts when I saw her yesterday. It was hot. Not just the kind of hot that has people wiping their foreheads with the back of…
expresso vision
there’s a pulse, a beata rhythm that’s jagged and rawdancing to the cadence of the streetlights. it’s here in the hollows of the night where words tumble out like dice…
words of encouragement
The other day, a good friend of mine messaged me: And I replied with: And:
existence
Existence is suffering.Existence is painExistence is timeExistence is purposeExistence is immediateExistence is perfectExistence is reasonExistence is problematicExistence is exoticExistence is mysteriousExistence is meExistence is godExistence is beautifulExistence is mindExistence is…
Promise
every now and then i fallapart at the seams, it seems only held together bythe promise of a new day and the words i want to sayto you tucked underneaththe…
no glory
so i lay thereplaying with splintersin the late afternoon the angels of paradise,hidden in the mysteryof my days leaningon worn-out wings, sang to me sticks lie broken,dead leaves gather dust,i…
Some words of encouragement
The other day, a good friend of mine messaged me: And I replied with: And:
Bliss
Yesterday, I was wondering what it would be like to return to a state of innocence like before I was aware of the wicked ways of the world. Remember Supertramp’s…
I could have wandered on
I’ve been threatening to publish another poetry chapbook for at least a year now. I have a completed manuscript, just haven’t gotten around to editing it. I think what has…
some beach scratchings
This past weekend, we packed up the Outlander and headed northeast to King’s Lynn for a little camping excursion. The first one of the season. I know it’s late, but…
ignorance
can be yourself don’t bottle up the body, keep it open. when all self-identifications remain get rid of god. no self-definition, i am energy and bring nothing reality here, can…
god be sitting on a fence
god be sitting on a fence up the road i saw him peering at the traffic passing by then he wandered over to the tobacco shop said something to the…
no glory
so i lay there playing with splinters in the late red afternoon the angels of paradise hidden in the mystery of my days leaning on warm wings sang to me…
night’s leaves
on a pristine october afternoon i applied for a job begging at the ports all for the sake of feeling my way against the ghost of your truth my lies…