Monday, April 27, 2015

Thou ShallNot Kill Baltimore.

The first commandment was born from a premise.
No equivocation for torture this.
It states it with directive force. Don’t kill.
Leave Life to its purpose deliverance

Give Life to the Living again Don’t Kill.
It’s Easy to MEmorize once You Feel
That it’s Meaning was lost on Vaults of Meal
Of human equivocation Simple

To Die twice once at Birth then Twice at Death
is More than a homicide standard Pledge
False Sets of Evidence or plagiarized.
Life is not a Copy Image or Wreath

Life is a Tree of Modicum Measure.
It won’t last Forever so don’t Help Scourge.
THou Shalt Not Thou SHalt not Kill Baltimore

Thursday, April 9, 2015


The Coyote in Me came to Cry Free.
You know this is why, Tonio, and you See

The Tears that I Shed as you Undress Me
Not physically metaphysically.

So, what did you see, Cowboy from the Eggs
That you Fed me when blistering cold Wind

Kissed my Lips Drier than Most like the Clerk
Said would happen when the wind blew Colder.

The mountain was humming was gurgling.
She kept me awake throughout my dreaming.

Then turning on the light as the Bids paused,
I took one last look at that Massive Oak.

For each time I looked, I averted Eyes
Eyes that had seen through me Completely Inside.

Tuesday, April 7, 2015


"Harvest Moon" by Margaret Garcia
Flowers Flowers Everywhere from her Brush
She strokes with her Expert Wrist with Pure Blue
The Veils of her Grace and her Smile
Wonder what makes a Painter love so Much?

Why Stain the Canvas? Why make it Sing Out?
I just shake my head and I ponder it.
If there is distance between life and art
or Beauty arranged its own terms somehow

While Life makes away with the Questioning
Living awaits Anxiousnessly Easy
The Image as it Sits in the Portrait:
Was it the Art or the Artist Designed?

Feathers as to Wind what Color to Paint
The beginning to begin Again When.

A Poem for Margaret for Her Wedding GIft
For her Happiness
Next to my Blue and Yellow Feather

Monday, April 6, 2015



South of Vulture Mine Road Lies Apache
A Culture Never Known to Submission

I wake up already awakened, breathe,
take another look at that Massive Oak

By then the coffee which has been ready
prepared before birds get singing at all

Two cowboy magicians making small talk
Suddenly laugh in my direction, “eat, eat!”

Sounds like a good idea, hot kettle,
powder milk, eggs and tortillas, the sun.

Good morning and good morning all around.
Waiting and watching the ground the pebbles

Petal-tipped flowers of light start to bloom.

The day is woven from air by a loom

Saturday, April 4, 2015


-from a prayer

Bless your Blessings Bless each one of Them, Bless
They are your Blessings they have no one Else
To Bless is to Be Less of Something Else
While to Be is to Be Blessed Endlessly.

Endlessly Blessed as each of us Is,
to Live is to Bless Being with Blessings.
While everything is Blessed to Be more Blessed
Blessings are everywhere and Everything.

Such as this World known as Earth is so Blessed
Its Beauty without an Adequate Name.
Profound by Example yet without Fame.
The Earth is so humble and So Tender

She Blesses without Blessings Forever
Immemorial Blessings Eternal.

Flowers of Karnes #endkarnes

spring of the peaceful spent inside cages

while money accrues down in the basement

while survival is a requirement

and living one day to the next again

what are we but flowers shedding our leaves?

the promise of something our parents waged

a chance to believe in something as faith

it never tires it never wavers

but hope by its side, faith will be stronger

it forgets being born to tedium

and called-upon-last by its medium

faith is rewarded -- wild spring flowers--

those that grow in out-of-the-way places
where least expected to proliferate

Friday, April 3, 2015


C’est la belle de la Terre C’est la mem chose
Vous savez bien  - Vous - ne le regrettez
Je me conteste. Je suis Impotente.
La mer je regarde sans je ne sais quo.

Sur le plan je existe avec la existence.
Quell que il chose por il pensament
No parle pas de frances il pa de accent
Porquoi je escrit quan til cest plus de profane

Je me repite: la mer ans sais quo
je le regarde avec la precaucion
le sacre de printemps le sacre de la lune
la adoracion de la terre voila

Le sacriface de l’ocean sur le sable
Le ceremonie de les anciennes