Monday, September 26, 2011


Your poems
Made me think
Cracked me wide open
Boys lost
In the prisons of men
Turning pain into pens
Anger into ink
Solitude into paper
Despair into contemplation
I hope your books
Grow you back into mighty trees

Check this out...

While I am on hiatus from writing poetry this week, you don't have to be on leave from reading it. Here are some poems by youths charged as adults in the US penal system. There are some good poems that'll crack you wide open hidden in there. Also, leave a comment for the boys lost in the prisons of men:

Friday, September 23, 2011


Under the gun of a deadline, so no poetry until next month. See you then!

Wednesday, September 21, 2011

Ghosts in the Machine

As your computer screen flickers
Read their ghostly whispers
You like this actress?
Want to see her undressed?
How about this one?
All her secrets undone
You have won a million dollars!
Click this link and it is all yours
Just give us your credit card and DOB
The internet has made it so easy
For digital spectres hunting a host
Hungrier than any Chinese ghost
Modern horrors of the digital sphere
That find you logged on anywhere
Here’s a thought to goose your nape
From machine ghosts there is no escape

Sanjo Bridge

Where young people spill beer
Their samurai ancestors spilt blood
Where drunken lords floated poetry down the river
Their drunken descendants now float chip bags
All gather around
The timeless draw of Sanjo bridge
Its stone shadow over the duck river
Has seen it all here in Kyoto

Sunday, September 18, 2011

Last Beach Day

Let’s go to the water
Spark on the waves
Cold grit between out toes
No one here but you and I
And the far off breath of winter
Tumbling discarded fans and tissues past us
Shuttered stands
Still reeking of oil and sugar
The dryer sands
Still imprinted with bottoms and feet
Gum wrappers and drink bottles winking sunlight
Cool enough to put my arms around you
Like I wanted to but couldn’t
All summer long

Saturday, September 17, 2011

The New Terrorism

By his pin-striped suit
You can tell a robber
Carrying his loot
And the Wall Street Journal

Grease bombers have a cell
In every city of this nation
Poisoning the well
Where children come to drink

Fantasy merchants hold in thrall
Slaves both young and old
Taking their riches all
And siphoning their souls

Thursday, September 15, 2011

Gichu Temple, Otsu

Basho Haiku 1

Basho’s tombstone spot
Shadow temple of city
We escape the heat

Basho Haiku 2

Turtle nursery
Green oasis silent stone
Gives kind smiles and words

Monday, September 12, 2011

Future Existence

This government ration
Of one sardine and a sweet potato
For the entire nation
Decided by population ratio

I remember excess
Life so bright and gaudy
Material wealth measured success
Now it’s keeping spirit with body

My smooth professor’s hands
Become dirty and creased
Reclaiming poisoned lands
From the horrors we unleashed

I feel something’s right
In this simple existence
By civilization’s fading light
We are taught subsistence

Saturday, September 10, 2011


Lotus blossoms Everywhere Pink-purple in the morning sun Closed by daylight Like the eyes Of the lotus-eaters Closed to war And suffering and hate And love and a life’s work So long as they eat The fruit of the lotus blossoms

Wednesday, September 7, 2011

I Need To Try Harder

Just learned that my blog is rated G. Guess that means I ain't trying hard enough. Can I get to R in a week? We'll see...

Tuesday, September 6, 2011

Digital Age Koans

In the sea of Internet, you cannot click the same porn twice.

Soonest befriended, soonest de-Friended.

Search engines reduce your efficiency by 400%. Google surfing reduces it by 800%.

Hitler appears in any internet conversation long enough.

Nothing you download will be compatible with anything you’ve already downloaded.

What is the sound of one hand typing?

Monday, September 5, 2011

Drop Zones

I have not lost my words
Just mislaid them
‘Incentive’ dropped into the couch
‘Paradigm’ is found behind the fridge
‘Conundrum’ put in a guest’s bag by accident
Sometimes I am afraid
There is a thief in my house
Time come stealing my words
So I check my drop zones
To give me peace of mind


 Half-empty halls
Kyoto Subway
Licks and scratches outside
As Union Station
Toronto high noon
On a workday

Thursday, September 1, 2011

The Mercy of Forgetfulness

Old man dressed for work
He hasn’t gone to in years
Sitting on the sidewalk
Mirrored in the corner store window
Talking to children
Gone years ago

We spend our life
Trying to acquire things
Fighting not to lose them
When we need to know
How to let go
When they leave us