A lot of my work has been through the Ygdrasil Journal of Poetic Arts. This is without a doubt the Internet's best poetry magazine. It is free of form and style and only adheres to each writer's own inner notions of how to use the wording. And the magazine is now also archived in the National Library of Canada, something that America's version couldn't ever care for their very own talented and creative folks. Made me feel like an ugly duckling so many times!

Since my open eye surgery I have not published as much and for a long time was not able to concentrate properly on that inner work. The effort in front of a computer often results in headaches later that are difficult and not conducive to writing and catching up with that inner movie and what it had to say for itself, which more often than not was too difficult to ever maintain, let alone express.

Poetry for me is a very quick inner vision and has to be done at that moment or it is gone. And it may get triggered by anything and everything. The only common sight is that ... all of a sudden the movie is there, and ... you have to turn the camera on, or the motion and moment is gone. Because of that, a lot of time, many things are written that could almost be considered downright weird, and there are times when that is scary ... you hear an inner voice say something that is strong, and has a different tone and you write it ... and while I do not judge or edit as it is coming down, sometimes things ... are different.

The listing below will start with the issues of the Ygdrasil Journal of Poetic Arts. Please visit that site so you can see some of the best, and free-est, works that you can ever find on the Internet, without some shameless advertising. Here it was all about the poetry, not anything else.

The Tensegrity Issue May 1997 Vol 5,  of The Ygdrasil Journal of Poetic Arts

Individual poems some of which may be found in the Ygdrasil issues.

(I am not comfortable naming my poems ... the titles usually are the first line. Thx)

Accountant 1989
Aeons 1987
You ... Vision 1989
All Day 1987
Alma Minha 1994
And I was once 1997
And lovers 1997
Anger 1994
Apocalyptic Bore (Amon Duul 2 song)
Angels have Heart 1987
Ashes to Ashes 1987
At Times 1996
Ayers Rock 1993
Baptism Poem 1990
Beauty 1991


After writing letters all day, I wrote a song for...
the vision, that for me, I really must long for...
(oh yes, how I miss you)
then I cry...
bare heart...
body and feet...

After a while, I was glad that it wasn't called for
any reason, beyond the rhyme you wanted, a metaphor
(oh Lisa, oh Lisa)
and I stopped the few tears
by wishing,
my lonely bare heart,
while thinking of yours...

All because of you, since I thought and wished for
that holy dream, appeared in my sights, wherefore;
hope has turned into vision
which I have wanted for so very long
they say,
I'm being taught patience
ok, ok, ok,
that love needs to be ever so strong
why, why,
and thru you and I, lenience.

And as I tired of words, or passions for
delirious desires, visions I have faith for
another day,
other thoughts,
will be born...
you'll be torn...
arising above the form
where vision is forlorn
your kiss shall be full of life
and you'll be forgiven
you have no sins
and I bless you being here,
in spirit,
as a sacramental act of your nature,
for which, I consider myself lucky
we have met.

.....I can't hope for you any more
it tears me apart to the last pore
o' my heart...
Still I sit here loving you
wishing the best light thru
to guide me in my vision,
round this heaven, the earth
where I wouldn't think of living
next to this strange, blessed,
god-forsaken dirt
without being able
to write, yet another song.

After writing letters all day, I wrote a song for...

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Alma Minha Gentil (Portuguese Poet Camoes)

Alma minha gentil, que te partiste
tao cedo desda vida descontente,
repousa la no Ceu eternamente,
e viva eu ca na terra sempre triste.

Se la no assento etereo, onde subiste,
memoria desta vida se consente
nao te esquecas daquele amor ardente
que ja nos olhos meus tao puro viste.

E se vires que pode merecer-te
algua cousa a dor que me ficou
da magoa, sem remedio, de perder-te,

roga a Deus, que teus anos encurtou,
que tao cedo de ca me leve a ver-te,
quao cedo de meus olhos te levou.

Luis de Camoes

Sweet friend of mine who has left
so soon from this unhappy life
rest peacefully in the sky eternal
leaving me here, living in grief.

If, in your eternal resting place,
a memory of this life is allowed
don't forget of our ardent loving
that you surely saw in my eyes.

And if you see that some retribution
is allowed for the grief left to me
the pain, without remedy, of losing you,
Implore god, who cut your life short
that he soon lift me to see you
as he did so soon take you from my eyes.

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> The fliers are "tilling" the soil of humanity,
> "cultivating" and consuming our awareness.
> They have "refined" our awareness to include
> nothing but the points of self-reflection,
> and have forced us to "worship" these points,
> as we "dwell" in our comfy little cage,
> your home and mine, the "cult-your".

And I was once a Christian
that believed in life eternal
that thought we deserved to live
above and over any other
race, creed, sex, color,
until I realized,
that this is not religion,
but thoughts in ugly mud
of the spirit and heart
that requires dedication
of heart, but not mind.

this secret has lived,
and killed many children
who still dream of the three
lost jewels in the paradise,
where I can marry you
and make a hope
come alive.

Yes, I shall have lunch,
yes, I'll have dinner,
despite this bullet ridden sky,
and religion,
AND religions.
that care less about
you and I,
than they do in what
they believe.

Oh, Father,
yes, my son,
speak to me,
of ourselves,
or forgetting you,
and having to create
new avenues
to find you,
just so we can believe
in you.
Oh, father,
yes, my son,
here I have lost you,
and hope to reclaim you,
be it in my head,
or in my tense mind.

Someday, my son,
someday, my son,
we shall live
you and I,
and all
and we shall know
what it all means
this flying,
this spirit,
this thing,
but not amidst
this bullet ridden sky
of hatred,
of carelessness,
.... someday, you, my son,
and your favorite love
shall have
what I have never seen,
it is not a cult,
it is not a religion,
it is not a belief,
my son...
it is LIFE.

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> Are and Are Not
> We are:
> Perceivers who are not perceiving,
> Dreamers who are not dreaming,
> Thinkers who are not thinking,
> Intenders who are not intending,
> Journeyers who are not journeying,
> Seers who are not seeing.

And lovers who hate,
and haters who think we love,
disguised as each other
unknowing who we are
un-centered and forgotten
we act like, like, ...
animals, it seems,
with little direction,
except food,
always for the body,
never for the soul,
never for the spirit,
never for the mind,
( unfinished )

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I have always felt
that by not sprouting
my hell fires would be a good thing,
a little respect for some
a bit of love for others,
but never, never,
have I found such a person
that believes that I care not
for anything, anyone,
that I would maliciously
create situations
just to molest their imagination.
Well, shit,.... fuck you I say,
and may this poem will
make you regurgitate
your own fucking
ideals, of time,
space, hell and shit.

Maybe it IS,
the middle class mind
and ideals,
that your crass imagination holds onto.
Things like, words have no meanings,
except when you want them to,
life is always a fuck
when you don't want one,
specially if you are woman,
and attacking a person
is what you do when you have no idea
whether you are right or totally wrong.

Believe me, I have no desire
to prove to you
that I am right, or wrong.
I just want to take
a shit, full or words,
that have been brewing inside
my system, and have
become cancer-ized, by thoughts,
that I despise,
meaningless ideals
that display your desire
for nothing more
than a materialistic
life, yeah, life.

But your words showed me a fallacy,
and reminded me of a hatred I once had,
something that I vowed I would never live,
and die fighting for.

I do not want to live pacified,
by cunt or prick,
in a meaningless stupor
called love, forgetting that
there is a world out there,
beyond your bed or mine,
that you don't give a shit about.

I do not want to live,
bored, by fucking movies
or plays, and street crimes,
that I have seen before,
that tell me nothing,
except that there are
just as many sick people
as there are saintly ones,
and you fit somewhere
in between.

And I certainly
do not wish to have a woman,
or a soul, or a spirit,
that I can call MY OWN.
Life is not meant for owners
of dollar signs and bills,
and neither is it
for losing your own power
your own love
in an ideal called such,
that you have lost
your own inner strength
and power, and now think
you are rejuvenated
just because you're getting laid,
at least once in a while.

This is not my idea of life
where actions are meaningless
and loving means ONLY having
a person around
to soothe my angers,
a pacifier to soothe
my fucking angers,
miserable living
disguised as happiness
just because of an orgasm
that had more to do
with my desire, or the lack of,
than it did the person I am with.

Oh yes, go ahead,
fall in love, please do,
and forget the rest of the world,
of life, and living,
that exists around you,
so easy to find, but your shades
prevent you from feeling it all.
Heck, you wouldn't want to find out
that your ideals have less to do
with the real life everywhere,
than they do with the failed loss
of your precious childhood,
when dreams lived, and life moved.

Today, you get up,
your child-ness is gone,
you go to work,
and say,
" see you later, honey "
not meaning anything,
and while driving
you dream of another car
just like Joe's over there,
a better house, like Lucy's,
how did she get so lucky?
and look at that woman,
such nice shape,
beautiful looks, nice walk,
ohh man, that guy is so hot,
what an ass
ohh fuck, the light is green,
quickly you step on it
while I am angry
and frustrated by all this shit.

Tonight I'll go home, after work,
some work,
eat a fucking dinner I hate,
but the bitch cooks.
And later, if she feels like it,
she spreads her legs, and I get in,
once again, not giving a damn,
it's been boring for years,
except to get my seed of anger
away from my body, into hers,
where she can deal with it,
so I don't have to.

Go ahead, say it,
It is a fucking miserable
living, life,
whatever you call it,
that gets better once in a while
by another movie, that helps me forget
it all, and lose myself
enough, just enough,
that I have to convince me
that it is all meaningful,
even if I don't give a shit.

Yeah, right, you fucking asshole,
with the middle class
ideals, the only ones
you would ever want and choose,
because you are so empty,
so fucking empty,
that you have to call
your fucking, LOVE
and your hatred, OPINION
only when it matters
to you, not all the time,
when it should.

And while you fuck the night away,
you couldn't even send a prayer,
from your heart
to anyone suffering, that is abused,
that is homeless, that needs a little
of the uplifting care, that they were
not blessed with.

You don't give a shit,
because your empty ideals
only mean something
as long as you got some
dough to catch another movie,
or go chase another date,
and perhaps find
the fuck of your life,
and hope to hang on to it.

And when you make enough,
you will buy another TV,
another car, another stereo,
nuh, you'll have a child
because you are bored,
not because it means
anything to you whatsoever.
Maybe the child
will rekindle some love
between you two, maybe.
Or maybe, you two
will pass into the forties
convinced that you have done
the right thing,
a little submission here,
some restraint there,
love in that closet,
fuck on Thursdays,
no sucking for 6 and a half days
of every week,
and if you timed it right,
we can't get it on then, either.

And then you wonder why your dreams
do not come alive,
and your life feels cursed.
where is the spark,
oh honey, let's catch a movie tonight,
and then we can go get some ice cream
and watch TV for a little bit,
and then fall asleep
oh yes, sleep,
where your dreams come alive,
but you are afraid to EVER live them.

I have not succeeded at
many things in life, except one.
I am not bored with my life.
I write my feelings
and live them all.
At times, it is hard,
when I am accused
of insidious desires,
as if I wanted to get laid,
and throw you out
to the wolves of the pantheon
to devour, with all my disgust,
as I, Nero, sit, and play
my Lire, and sing
sweet nothings.... ohhhhh,
I may be alone,
but I am not lonely.

I may be horny,
but not for a
lifeless ideal.

I may like some sex,
but not to fuck you.

I may want some love
but not to despise you,
or in spite of you.

I may be a jerk,
but not at your expense.

I may seem distant,
oh yes, even to myself,
but it isn't because I do not like you,
it is because I am a many varied person,
and I like to check in sometimes
and write about these feelings,
or share them with people.
It is honest,
even if you do not think
that shit stinks,
or your piss is sour,
or your sweat smells
of fucking strawberries,
or some swell perfume
you just bought.

And this distance, is not
because I hate people.
It is because I do not
know myself as well
as I would like.
But I do not punish
those I love with that.
I happen to think the world of them,
they really are my dream coming true,
and it isn't an ideal.

You got ideas,
they are in your head.

Some of us have ideas,
and they are in words,
in beautiful poems,
that cry,
that love,
that teach.
Something about us all,
Shared with many who may read
or ignore, but at least
we had the courage that you didn't,
we stood up, and fought for a freedom
that you couldn't dream of.
Go ahead, jump in your bed,
and love your mate,
what does it mean.?
do you really care,
or is it easier this way.?

Fucking middle class hypocrite
and you know it,
and it is to you that I write this.
Ideals that you think
can be replaced by a bigger dick,
or a nicer looking blonde,
or a nicer car...

HAHA HAHA... good luck.
Stanley said that
some forty years ago,
where have you been.?
Maybe it will all last,
and you'll smile,
and feel happy, and,
satisfied, oh yes,
got to be satisfied,
you might end up
just like the many pictures
I see everyday,
of helpless people that don't even know
that there is a life that might be worth
living for, somewhere on this planet,
and they set about destroying it
with guns, sticks, or in accidents
tragic, or drunk, what's the difference.?
and you want to live it and be a part
of something bigger that you can't imagine,
but are afraid to join.
And it has nothing to do
with helping your fellow human,
or your loved one.
It has to do with your desire,
with your empty selfish-ness,
even your mate will be let go,
and your opinions will change.

you will know the difference,
and maybe you will, still,
have time to enjoy it all,
to help heal it all,
and help absolve yourself,
of its damned curse, ...
the ignorance,
and the lack of desire
to learn and know.
To love and be loved,
beyond the measure of words
and feelings. Someday.
And in some way.

And then again, maybe you'll get lucky
and you might join our bird tribes,
and show yourself worthy,
for you have lived,
you have loved, you have done,
what it was meant
and written for you to do
because you WILL'd it to,
and you just said " it was meant to be ".

Now, you say, you have pushed
the WHEEL forward.
And you feel you have tipped the scales
against the feathers of the universe.

And you feel the HOLY FATHER
standing in his white robes
blessing you, as you kneel,
in your favorite church,
thinking that later today
you'll go home, and you've
been forgiven of your sin,
just enough
just barely enough
so you can start on the next one.
Or worst yet, you will
definitely marry in white
to try and prove some
fucking lie that you have lived
for so damn long.

That's not an opinion.
That's a choice.
Don't tell me about ideals.
Just live them.
Maybe you will grow long enough,
big enough,
to show your true colors
when it all matters.

We would all love to meet you, then.

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A favorite song... Amon Duul II's Apocalyptic Bore, from Vive La Trance.

One day, when suddenly
the future was here,
you saw the Eucharist fly
they brought us the silken paradise
that was spoken from the sky
deserts became a blooming garden
like a dainty recreation field,
everybody's keenest dreams came true
even gigantic maniacs were thrilled,
frogman lifted treasures
and everybody got their parts.

It was a world wide pleasure
we all landed in the charts
no horse didn't win a race
they found their destination,
as if it were a shot through space
it was a big sensation.

My neighbor lived in the middle ages
his castle, was cheaply rented
cause time continued
and the robot was invented
and then, the sky rockets signalized
and that robot signalized
their majesties
the extra terrestrials
that came down in a sparkling haze
and we called them
the space pedestrians
there seemed happiness for an eternity
mankind scored more and more
until one day
the un-grown up generation
called this age an
apocalyptic bore
there was nothing to fight for,
no love, no hate,
only a ... derriere
kids had taken all their sky bites
and were leaving for the big bear
dark shadows turned through the universe
mother earth was really shocked,
and hopes or greed's disappeared
all ways of minds were locked
and now it's ok
( two guitars and violin duel follows to the end. The band Scorpions kinda copied
this song and called it Fly to the Rainbow. )

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Angels Have Heart

( For Vina )

All angels have a heart for us all to see
let it show, then, all its glory, shine, be,
and our hearts carry the wings, a blanket
for you and I to sleep in, with some warm air
or a coolish breeze from the earth's thicket
and we live on, with many tasks to bear.
take me away,
the feathers so soft,
sound so pretty
appear, disappear,
and fly so gently
until the time we have them not
and feel empty
and that loneliness appears
and our heart cries
the missing beat nears
we look to the sky
away from here
hoping to find
and caress,
with me.


The flight is so high
the dive is quite pure
your heart will clean much
pain, fear, hurts, anger
you'll find a cure
and many shall feel free
once again
to dance in that hall
where his legs and feet stand
and await you
to shine,
and never to fall
( or fail ).
fly away,...
and here we stand
and watch
such beauty
such care,
such love,
that few know
or will ever understand,
or desire.

We have been together
and have shared
it all
from the loveliest wing
to the greatest heart
of them all.

and yes, I do
miss that heart
yes, I do.

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Ashes to ashes, or is it, dust to dust?
the feeling wonders, then turns to rust.

The gracefully disfigured lines of reason
stood by, announciong the coming season,
and the wily old log made a hollow attempt
to ignite the fires into the sweet scent
of warmth,
The sparkles appear and snap, and shine
and away it lifts, your body and mind,
I reasoned the old saying was wrong
since ashes are ... really ... dust,
ready to be blown away by a gust
of wind, like a tiny, breezy song.

(The Yule log speaks--how dare you treat me so.?

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At times
things appear
not so easy.

And we let ourselves down
not knowing
what is right and
what is wrong.

And although you
can not see me
(all the time)
there are some things
that I want you
to know.

Up here, in this
(often), lonely place,
we can see you
admire you
love you
feel you, all over,
and know how you feel,
it doesn't matter,
and though it appears
that we do not do anything,
rest assured
that deep inside
within depths
you have never known
or met,
we try to help you.

How, you ask.

At times, we do not speak
the same language
(at all).
Other times, you hear,
and do not listen,
maybe too busy
with everyday life,
despite your feeling so,
we have never forgotten you,
and have given you
a chance,
and another chance,
and another chance.

To this day,
your smile lives,
and we love it so.

To this day,
your body sways,
and we it live.

To this day,
your spirit soars,
and though you know,
clearing it all up
is not so easy.
We give you flights
we give you love
we give you reason
we give you much
that can't be explained
in plain words.

There comes a day,
when you meet some
that can help you.
They are my messengers
and they care
so much,
that there is very
little that you can
repay them with.
but rest assured,
that you
like them,
know as much,
and that this gift,
is meant to be
passed on,
to another
who needs it,
to whom,
one day,
you will explain things,
so easily
so caringly
so lovingly,
as a mother would
hold her child,
for this is
what we are about,
be it you or I.

As you read this,
tears are not needed,
only a smile is asked,
for you have earned
the beauty
the care
and the LOVE
that is due you.

All that is left
is to enjoy it,
and share it,
with your free will,
with unconditional care,
totaly laid spirit bare,
where heart surely lives
so very long as it gives.

Be not afraid,
for you are doing right.

Be not fearful,
for you have assistance.

Be not tearful,
for this is the time.

Be ever so grateful,
that you have met
a few
that might help you
in this day and time
when it is so hard
to find help,
when you need it most.

Available we are
at your beck and call,
let us go so far
and avoid the pitfall,
where those who tried
but never cared, lied
have gone, but did quit
with inner fire unlit.

Your call
your inner fire,
and its work.
In due time
you will know
what this means,
in the meantime
all I have,
is a poem,
a few words,
of care,
and some hope
is NEVER lost.
and with much care,
some desire,
I leave you
to these thoughts
knowing that you will
take heart,

(to Jennifer -- for having the trust, when it was needed the most.)

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That we shall all connect
despite creed, love or sect
and join together in this flight
to meet true love in its height.

Near a rock are we today
as we sit, and lovingly pray
the words, the feelings of a care
which teaches, praises, we bear.
the life of true spirit being
like god, and capable of seeing
wishing its care to be taught
lest it be wasted in thought.

As we gather here in real life
let us set apart always the strife
and help end any, and all distrust
into the night of ugly disgust,
let us this day accomplish
all deeds of healing and bliss
and take it back to all our friends
to help a world, in its many amends.


(and enjoy the rock by all means!)

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The serious,
and soft face of dawn
and as it does
smooth flows,
into the spark
which makes us both
the light and a spirit
of many sources
which holds us
so dear in some love.

And in this,
and only this manner
do I
as representative
of the ascended masters
and of all the flames
related to all highest ideals,
I am here
to consecrate,
to initiate
into a new life
with this salty water
thou shall become clean.

with this salty water
thou shall forget the past.

with this salty water
thou spirit of heart
shall rise and unite
with all forms of good
and help direct
this spiritual one
upon its path
the one and only path,
to liberty
to freedom,
to learn
to live
to love
(A shell picks up some water and is poured from the crown)
(Allow water to run freely)
(wash and bless the crown)
(wash and bless the forehead)
(wash and bless the bridge)
(wash and bless each eye)
(wash and bless each cheek)
(wash and bless the lips)
(wash and bless the chin)
(wash and bless the neck)
(wash and bless the upper chest)
(wash and bless the middle chest)
(wash and bless the diaphragm)
(wash and bless each breast)
(wash and bless the belly button)
(wash and bless the pussy)
(wash and bless the legs)
(wash and bless the feet)
(wash and bless the toes, each)
(then kiss each, on the way back up in reverse order, once)
(apply another shell of salty water on top of crown and allow it
to run freely)

have been washed
to undertake your
spiritual message
which is much larger
than you can imagine.
From this point on
You are to know
that all shall be alright
and in proper accord
with the order of things
as prescribed by the holiest
of all books available.
This act empowers you.
This act has not placed you
under any obligation
that you do not see fit,
under the eyes of your maker.
You are
simply expected to carry on
with love
and humble thanks
for having allowed
this servant
to perform such a task
God speed be with you
(lower heads)
(small prayer each quietly)
(touch foreheads quietly)
(end of ceremony, except to enjoy the ocean water, in must fun...)

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were it in an eye
of a beholder
would never
be seen,
and understood,
cared for,
or even appreciated.

While some hide,
a few seek,
and many yet to come,
will, sometime, be
unafraid of their heart
secure in their love
clear in their own minds
always alive
were it in an eye,
or two,
of a beholder,
would never,
be found,
cared for,
and appreciated.

Beauty is not a thing
not an idea
not a thought
not a meaning
not a feeling
not even a feeling
which can be shared
were it
seen in many eyes
would never be noticed
for what makes us,
one, and one, and one.

like nature
is simply being,
yes, being,
and expressing
without any fear
no conditions,
what is meant
to be
just be
without excuses and rules
you and I
were it in the eyes of
any beholder,
would never be
by you and I.


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