all the world is a…

all the world is a…

Photo by Monica Silvestre on

dear, my dear
born again?
must be september
but I can not seem to remember
musket balls to remote controls
I will not swear fealty to cross that moat
nor believe the stories you untold
over brook and crooked back
banish me then
from your impossible lands
where to tell time I had to face
the dire clock’s of dali laced

no, no mad hatter for me then
I’d rather fare the lion’s den
so I might now
exit stage right
(to all a bow
to all a good night)

notes… my notes, have this as “jumble” because… well, if you are privy to me I would say it is obvious… but I always am speaking on many levels… well, ok, often is a better description of assumption, this one has levels to it, I am referencing things in nearly every line, I do that often but not always, see how I can weave a maze of my own post? that’s fun for me, words, thoughts, a playground in which I bound about like a kangaroo hopped up on speed, g’day mate let me kick you in the face like a joey in rage… man I need to cut back the caffeine … or not…

Just short…

Just short…

silver and gold coins
Photo by Pixabay on

sometimes I won’t have something clever to say, it happens.

sometimes I just want to post some stuff, it happens (below)




driving around my hometown

in all the corners

shadows and streets


creep and speak

I no longer listen

I block them out

my own eminent domain


fishing hole

fishes home

fishing pole

I cast my line

time and time

a nibble perhaps a bite

to reel in my catch

a simple delight



rain drops

lives lost

lights turned out

endless clock


if there is wind

let it fill my sails

transport me to foreign shores

to unknown lands

where I might

begin again

music? OK, I can get back into that. King’s X “Thinking and Wondering (what I’m gonna do)” (live, acoustic), so yeah, King’s X is a band I love and will post about them until the world puts me 6 feet under.  King’s X is a gay black front man from Illinois, a slick guitar player from Mississippi (southern drawl), and a drummer from New Jersey (who is an interesting writer).. and they can all sing.. so yeah, they were diversity before diversity was cool… because it wasn’t a thing, they just “were”.. like we all should be.

Live poetry jam #2

Live poetry jam #2

I must be in a mood today… the only way I could have posted this faster is with my brain… I must admit this experiment is intriguing.

edit 6/21 12:51am… just cleaning this up for looks, that is my actual scribble there, I was in a supermarket working on a self checkout (I’m a NCR certified tech, you know, to pay the bills)… I think people must have found me weird scribbling away on paper and then furiously trying to learn the wordpress app in the maelstrom of a busy market.


horse and carriage

traveling about this map of roads

might I pick up a companion

how will I know?

might we ride awhile

and let the story tell

hearts and clubs

as they fell

from hands

the cards

horses always forward

carriage half full

(Live from Jackson Heights, Queens NY)

Drive by…

Drive by…

person holding fountain pen
Photo by John-Mark Smith on

Live poetry, i would say the ink is still drying but i use a modern pen not a cool antique… which reminds me i might quite like one of those… posting from my car and phone for the first time…

edit 6/21 1:02am… just cleaning this up for aesthetics, I also want to note that I think it is important to capture moments and try to convey them. Robins are ultra common here.. but not so in other places, I think we get familiar and forget things like that.  Robins are very much land dwellers and territorial little maniacs (with bright blue eggs).. anyway, their behavior is so distinct, look around, pay attention, tell me about your reality.


I was talking to a robin just now

walking to my car

robin hopping

I tried to explain

we are going the same way

the robin

did not listen

and finally

had to fly away



purple petaled flower on white surface
Photo by Jess Watters on

Sometimes less is more (or so I have heard).  I have a busy mind which runs and races.  There was a time I tried to subdue this engine and be “like everyone else”… but I am tired of that and willing to release the reins to see where it goes.  I used to have strict things in mind when it came to poetry… what exactly is it ? Is there a pure definition?  I imagine it is alive, like people, and diverse, like the community of minds here (and throughout the known world).  So even a simple form of simple words can hold the spark of imagination, the fire of inspiration, and capture the heart or light a thought… I wonder.





I thought I had found

a four leaf clover

but I had

no such luck


fierce in name

the fear subsides

once you realize


do not bite

dial” 4/26/18

why does it feel

like my sun is setting

when the clock-hands

only show noon

dandelions” 4/27/18

last night

maybe three, four at most

this morning

a yard-full

of brazen yellow heads

threatening revolt


I look at my driveway

the only car is my own

I walk back inside

there is no one at home


power lines

bring light to millions

enlightenment to few

ineffective” 5/22/18

a week

I weep

I pray

I fall

nothing changes

nothing at all


if time is a river

swim to the bank

dry off

does it stop

do you exist

regrets” 5/28/18

the stem was cut

before the flower can bloom

now it will never be

a flower


scheduled arrival” 6/2/18

I am sure

upon my death

I will arrive

right on time

pain” 6/1/18

if this poem is a promise

these words are poison

stitched into wounds

forever broken

musical accompaniment ? Eric Johnson – Fatherly Downs

In the same breath EJ inspires me.. and makes me want to throw my guitars out the window…

The Weekend is for…

The Weekend is for…

blogger text
Photo by Pixabay on

whimsy.  I have two whole days off (a rarity) so I will be out and about here in New Jersey digging for fossils… yes, you can do that here.  One of the best kept secrets of NJ (ahem, besides myself) is Big Brook Park.  You are allowed to just hop in and dig (so I do). But anyway here is a silly little thing I threw together the other day while looking at my stat page (as most of us surely do here on wordpress).  Surely this is an inside joke for wordpress folks only… so, find art wherever you may roam (or blog).

login” 6.8.18


my domain

free with a plan



view site stats plan


pages and posts

counting visitors

coveting followers

as close as I come to “commercial” music… R.I.P. Shannon, saw these guys at woodstock 94 (maybe I will tell you about that sometime, I wonder where Jodi is…hope you are well out there!), they were great…  “No Rain” – Blind Melon

Sexy time…

Sexy time…

beach boats coast coastal
Photo by Anthony on

Of course I am saying “sexy time” in my Borat voice…. makes more sense that way (and amuses me).  I don’t write about sex or sexual innuendo often, certainly not as often as I think about it (as if I have that much free time).  Nothing pornographic… which is odd because I could care less about suggestive or out right lewd language.  So here is 2 poems that just kind of happened .. the equivalent of a one night stand in terms of my poetry given what usually gets my pen to stand on end. (and I quite liked these poems as I wrote them or maybe it was dictated to me by the universe in one full sweaty stroke of my hand)

room for 2” 4/4/18

as I stand there

as I bathe in you

the woman of my dreams

every contour and every seam

tailored for my hands

small of back

I place my hands

a burst of sweat

as fingers rise to shoulders

I pull you in

closer, closer.

we meet” 6/1/18

our skin meets

I know your temperature

I know your scent

lips pressed

firm, wet

body lines

hands glide



you shudder

soft moan

drawn close

nibbled lobe

whispers exchanged

desires, explode

dmk note: I hope you caught all the double entendres in my intro… if not, shame on you.

musical selection, one of the goddamn sexiest song I have ever heard… “Minus the Bear: White Mystery”, no mystery, turn up the volume and be with the one you desire

Trying to be a good person…

Trying to be a good person…

selective focus photo of pink flowering tree
Photo by Isaac Pollock on

Not sure if there is such a thing.  I am trying though for what it is worth.  I think deep down (or not really at depth) we all know what we should do but we actually do moment to moment varies.  If everyone moved in a certain way the world would surely be better… but is that the way everyone thinks? or stops to think? or should think ?  Sometimes I look around and think everyone here is dead, more or less true.. so what does it matter?  I guess I am searching for the answers also.  Smarter and wiser people than I have pondered these questions and will… for ages.  Maybe words are my sanctuary or at least a temporary refuge.

unfamiliar” 4/1/18

I saw a creek I do not know

I have driven this stretch

of the parkway

a thousand fold

a body of water

a basin of life

flows into a forge

becomes a river

and the sea


off mile-marker 131b

dmk Note: Mile markers or more specifically exits on the garden state parkway (GSP) are a very new jersey thing. For us there is a common occurrence “hey, where are you from? what exit?”.  I do not claim to know if other states are like this.  The GSP runs like a spine and in a way is the spine of the state from tip to toe or point to cape (as it were).. it is a part of being from this state as much as being New York’s little brother.

easterly” 4/1/18

my neighbor’s easter chatter

in their backyard

a letter to another neighbor

washed up on my lawn

from these late spring storms


I return the lost parcel to the plastic mailbox

filled with mail already

how odd (for a sunday)


I’ve known this place

my whole life



a woman

walking her dog

whom I do not know


easter is letting out

as my neighbor’s family disperses

to travel to their homes

goodbye grandma” a little voice

followed by the heightened whine

of the minivan pulling up the block


the sun is almost set now

peeking behind fifteen lynnwood

I guess I had not noticed

the buds on the trees

ready to burst and transform this tract

once and again

from pale green slumber

to lush with leaves

soon we’ll have summer

there is always hope

I tell myself.

poison” 4/3/18

a toxic house is poisonous to all inhabitants

walls pulsing seething


throbbing beating

even in the calm still of night

labored – breathing

constant – pounding

never – sleeping

doors closed, air stifles

cripples motion

throats crack

strangles the air

choking choking


are you a wolf?


but yet you hunt

are you prey?


but yet you are stalked

As is my custom (and my burning desire to spread good tunes) here is some music to enjoy… “Steve Morse – Modoc” … known well in musical circles (one of my favorite guitar players) but outside those circles probably  not so much.



two clear high stemmed glasses
Photo by Oleg Magni on

A truly American spirit.  I wanted to lighten the mood a bit today (lovely day in the northeast USA). So here is some amusing musings on Bourbon.  Why?  I recently scoped out a cool documentary about the drink: “Neat: The Story of Bourbon“.  Like a good documentary should you wind up having a good time and learning a thing or two.  So with that in mind here are some booze inspired numbers for your consumption (and mental inebriation). Live life, love life people.


makes great friends
but a poor alarm clock

straight and neat
and the while later
crooked crossed feet

screams and kicks
and down the hatch
time plays
one eye opens
who is this person in my bed?

straight and slick
burns the tongue
for only quick
tap on the shoulder
from you know who
temptation bout reach for more
but one more knock
you’re on the floor

Musical choice? OK… I’m going to be obvious here… “George Thorogood – One Bourbon, One Scotch, One Beer (Live)

Your thoughts and comments are always appreciated (unless I am in a foul mood… then all bets are off)



man in black dress shirt with blue denim shirt sitting on black concrete bench near green plants
Photo by Min An on

The universe has a way of sending words into my mind and then to my pen (quite literally I scrawl in journals I have stashed every which where).  The inspiration today is not so inspiring (Anthony Bourdain, a fellow New Jersey traveler).  Sure, we all will buy the farm at some point but somehow the prospect (and specter) of suicide deadens even a beautiful spring day.  Spring should be the time of blossoms not burial.

the right to die
on your own time
but what about those
you leave behind

for blossoms not burials
but for you my friend
you decided
this is the end
so hope at least
the peace you seek
is yours to grasp
to ever last

demons in the rear view mirror
much closer
than they appear

Music… Boa “Rain”