Posted in best of GJK, New Poems, no-mad poets, poems, poems 2002, poems 2014 with tags , , , , , , on September 16, 2014 by GJK


O! what drear, bleak, wretched savagery

of image or solidity


in the Womb of Night,

in the Grave of Day.

what life living unto living’s own

deathly way; scourge of man and woman

to shuffle, dim, alight, and strive to raise up

monuments of Divinity

rather than let the Divine live in

and through them,

but Time does crash and swell,

crush, surge, and purge intention

’til life does become bound and blinded

and action flails impotently

without desire or design.

the Masters of humankind,

the governors, the generals, the clergy,

do enshrine themselves in statues of stone

and brass and they shape their plaster walls

and wooden coffins to point precicely

to Martyrdom;

they rise up vulture-like to erect monoliths

of excrement that they would have us deify.

but O!  the masses scramble in rat-hole streets

burning to live one moment as humans,

but they are bent, brittle, spent,

beasts of burden for ideological-economic-fallacious machinery

while their infants weep

on soiled sheets

in shoddy cribs of splintered sticks

eating porridge from lead-poisoned spoons

as mothers make salt-soup with their own tears.

the tragic skylines of the world!

steel and glass pierce the clouds

edifices fling light wildly

obscuring the story-myths that are written there

every night and every season in the inky void.

these buildings assume majesty

but humanity chokes on the smoke

that billows all around these ant-hill-cities

that destroy truth and beauty of the

simplest and purest forms.

the horror!  great bridges spanning

churning polluted waters

and how many dead are there?  workers

forever entombed in concrete,

bodies without names, graves whose headstones

are the hood ornaments of a million brash, shiny cars

hurtling forward thoughtlessly,

cars with drivers that irreverently roar

and stomp upon the forsaken dead bones below them;

there are ghosts in the pavement beneath their wheels

and they have not a thought

for their repeated desecrations.


O nameless demon that doth curse

our infinite strivings,

taint our pure and innocent yearnings,

what blackened wings will next overshadow

our small intentions,

our elemental living,

our inventions of mental contortion

that allow slivers of prayerful hope

as we languish in the chains of Time?

what bird of terror will again tear at our livers,

spilling our shimmering viscera on burning sand?

war-machines and politics, border skirmishes,

imperial hubris and outright hatred,

disputed thought-systems that control the money-flow

disguised as arguments over Gods

and morals of archaic religions.

all of this is ultimately absurd.

a plague of ignorant violence

leads humanity toward an atomic death,

mushroom clouds and desolation will remain;

dominion over the earth passes then

to the beetles, until they too

develop the malicious intelligence

to annihilate themselves.



31AUG02, 1SEP02, 16SEP14




Posted in best of GJK, love, New Poems, poems 2014 with tags , , , , , on September 12, 2014 by GJK

you sit wrapped in flannel

enraptured by the flames

the night serenades us

we surrender softly

to it and each other.

you exist in heaven

with me as your witness

the flames are our haven

without time or distance

between ourselves and bliss.

your suppleness meets mine

our embrace is a spark

eternity is ours.



for Sunflower

every thing

Posted in best of GJK, New Poems, poems, poems 2004, taoist, zen with tags , , , , , , , , , on August 29, 2014 by GJK

every thing is a song

but not all songs are of beauty

and every thing named beautiful

is at best fleeting.

joy is everywhere

but we must cease

to be ourselves

to let it in

and this is no tragedy

because if we can be free of self

then we can become joy.

sorrow is coupled with joy

existing equally everywhere

and when it overtakes us

then also we cease to be

our selves

and this is only proper

because when full of joy and sorrow,

when severed from self,

we become pure.






the meaning of life

Posted in humor, New Poems, poems, poems 2012 with tags , , , , , on August 26, 2014 by GJK

a little boy runs down the sidewalk

pocket jangling and curly hair bouncing.

he runs after the ice cream man

whose cart bells clang and clamor.

the boy’s life is singular and purposeful -

he is chasing happiness

which is easily apprehended

by a child.

he trades a few paltry coins for any icy treat

which he promptly shoves into his mouth.





Posted in New Poems, poems, poems 2012, taoist with tags , , , , , , on August 26, 2014 by GJK

my death is in this cigarette

in this pouch of coins that clatter

on my way to the source

to score another forty grams

of satisfaction that chokes away

my breath as it stokes

the fire within, the conflagration

that holds the jackals at bay.

my death is in the sun

in my reddened skin

in this darkening mole

in this furrowed brow that squints

through the incessant glare

as temples thunder and quiver

and pupils shrink from moons

to flagpoles.

that stained glass there is my ruin

is forever sleep

and this cup here is false awareness

is fake awakeness

but i have made my choices.

i light up in my lot

and reach the bottom of the hill

at the edge of downtown

before the last drag hits my lungs;

each footfall is a day i have lost

to recklessness and joy

timidity and sorrow

lust and debauchery

and ascetic deprivation.

each footfall is

an hour

a minute

a street

a tree

a river

a stone

a person

my death is in these shoes.

my death is in this cigarette

this coffee

this plastic water cup

these exhaust fumes

this asphalt

this carpet

this pillowcase

this television

this phone

this computer.

my death permeates every bone

of my brittle frame.

my death is my only certainty

so i’ll have another smoke

another coffee dose.

the wine i have left behind

because i want to be awake

when i die.

my death is in everything that i touch

so where then is my life?

i would say that now it is with you,

but hell, i have presented you with nothing but

facets of my demise.



all the words are wrong

Posted in New Poems, poems, poems 2012 with tags , , , , , , , , , , , on August 26, 2014 by GJK

sullen isn’t the word.

embittered, perhaps,

or chagrined

might be closer.

beaten down but determined

to press on -

faltering but not fallen -

no, sullen is not

what i am.

nor am i morose.

but i am close to that morass.

just one day without

calamity, that is all

i ask.






no end

Posted in New Poems, no-mad poets, poems, poems 2012, taoist, zen with tags , , , , , , , , , , on August 26, 2014 by GJK


dragged out, wasted,


it’s seven in the morning

with twenty-four hours left

before her first day on the job,

a new job in a new town.

and me,

the manic-depressive-drunken-zen-lunatic,

must be her driver through the crumbling streets

of mill-town and tosa and the god-forsaken burbs -

i must be at my best

shiny and fresh

when next the sun rises,

must be responsible,

must be




so today i am screwed.

cannot shake the vampire life

the graveyard shift.

been awake since yesterday,

eighteen hours or so,

and have not the luxury of slumber

for at least another twelve.

thirty hours.

thirty hours awake

to prevent the ruin

of two lives.

heavy eyelids

weary brain

tattered spirit flags

i waste time with the nullity of television

i pop pills to kill the backache

i suffer tinnitus


cigarette withdrawals

no end to troubles

no end in sight

no end at all

i am nothing, nobody.

perhaps i am doing something right.




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