birds gently speak
in the early morning minutes,

while children sleep,
and dream without limits.


The Inward Morning

A Poem by Henry David Thoreau

Packed in my mind lie all the clothes
Which outward nature wears,
And in its fashion’s hourly change
It all things else repairs.
In vain I look for change abroad,
And can no difference find,
Till some new ray of peace uncalled
Illumes my inmost mind.

What is it gilds the trees and clouds,
And paints the heavens so gay,
But yonder fast-abiding light
With its unchanging ray?

Lo, when the sun streams through the wood,
Upon a winter’s morn,
Where’er his silent beams intrude,
The murky night is gone.

How could the patient pine have known
The morning breeze would come,
Or humble flowers anticipate
The insect’s noonday hum–

Till the new light with morning cheer
From far streamed through the aisles,
And nimbly told the forest trees
For many stretching miles?

I’ve heard within my inmost soul
Such cheerful morning news,
In the horizon of my mind
Have seen such orient hues,

As in the twilight of the dawn,
When the first birds awake,
Are heard within some silent wood,
Where they the small twigs break,

Or in the eastern skies are seen,
Before the sun appears,
The harbingers of summer heats
Which from afar he bears.

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and in the darkness
i saw their shadows
creep upon the door
and move across the

and watching far
away as the
guardians work
through their

i swerve off the track
of time, and call a
final thought to
plunder mind and,
foray into exhaustion.

“Awake, only show
anger to your bride, for
with her thoughts she
will eventually turn to

while the asylum’s
neglect their refugees
and fret over circumstance,
the atmosphere will open
and break their emergencies
and insipid trance.

if you don’t stay with him
it could be wrong, and they
told him not to leave,
all along.

those who should be trusted
bashed it all away, in a quick
unjust, crash and sway.

leave me here so that
can say,  how long its
been since i have
at least a day, but it
could be two, its
just as easy, as it
is to pray. an
answer never comes
but if i stay, there will
be one more to add to
the fray.

Nodding Away at the Skyline

drama in violin
play through the night,
as minutes rush towards
the dawn. these eyes
anticipate no sleep.

in the spring
warmth fills the air
and leave no sight,
yet evening rolls
unconscious in its
newly found

the churches
in this season,
fast in hopes of

yet no season
with names from
my pocket, is
heaven sent.

thunder mumbles
in a distant land,
yet not too far,
but just enough,
for time to stand.

rain will not come,
so continues the
of the band

cymbals crash
and natures
clash, far beyond
a psychological
horizon, set afire
by our dying

let the blue snakes
commune with the
land, and the violet
rattlers consume
violence at hand.

the night is still

will night first

though it is
morning and the
moon has quit its
learning, dew
raises at the sign of
lights first


A Wake & In That Year…

These poems, A Wake and In That Year… are from Jim Morrison’s book of poetry by the name of The American Night, published by Vintage Books. I simply have chosen to share these because personally I find Jim Morrison to be a genius and one of my major inspirations. These are some of my favorites by him, among many others. Not only was Morrison a lyrical genius but he was a great poet, as is shown in many of his published books of poetry. While some consider him a shaman or the Lizard King or even the witty anagram Mr Mojo Risin is used to refer to him; he was best known as Jim Morrison of the Doors. Below is just a sample of his genius.


A Wake

A wake
Shake dreams from your hair
My pretty child, my sweet one
Choose the day, & the sign
of your day,
1st thing you see.

A burnt tree, like a giant
primeval bird, a leaf,
dry & bitter, crackling tales
in its warm waves.
Sidewalk gods will do for you.
The forest of the neighborhood,
The empty lost museum, &
The mesa, & the Mt’s pregnant
Monument above the newstand
where the children hide
When school ends.


In That Year…

In that year we had a great visitation of energy.

Back in those days everything
was simpler & more confused.
One summer night, going
To the pier, I ran into
2 Young girls. The
blonde was called Freedom,
the dark one, Enterprise.
We talked, & they told
me this story.


spring tries
hard, to fight
back and open
my door.

let all
assume an

a place,
i can’t recall,
i’d dreamed of

i hear the cars
asleep at night
in the street.

i’m trying
hard to be

i cant speak
of it now.

reserved a
place in
life for you.

to me
you are

Time #3

it lay still,
on a bed of
cool white linen,

a breeze
sweeps through the

it brushes the
skin of a pale white

she screams and cries
and beckons in stress.
we never heed her warnings,
yet she comes to our door,
with letters over a million mornings.

each word and paragraph in wind,
of our meek and beautiful end.