Happy Equinox

Happy Equinox! Here is a note I shared four years ago. While the Hobbit 100 day reference might not be relevant today, I though I would share this again anyway. I hope you have a great day!

Knock, knock.
Who’s there?
Equus who?
Equus Knox.
Very funny.
Well, I am a zebra.
White with black stripes, or black with white stripes?
You’ve seen Jack and Meg?
You’re digressing.
The sun is.
It’s the earth really.
Only from a northern perspective.
Well, Happy Equinox, then.
Happy qiū fēn, 秋分.
Happy First Point of Aries.
Happy Trumpet Day.
Happy Hobbit Day.
Are they really happy?
Only 100 days left.
Less than that, actually.
Of the year, I mean.
You’re not mean.
Sure are, totally average.
Night and day. Right.
Happy qiū fēn, 秋分.
Happy Equinox.
Are you regressing?
That’s a matter of opinion.
Are you a northerner or southerner?
Ah, hemispheric.
Knock, knock.

Posted in Uncategorized | Leave a comment

dance of kismet

tender clouds
soft to the touch
grace the predawn
moonlit sky

orion peeks out
from a veil of white
dancing with the moon
in radiant light

the hunter waits
for the perfect sight
hunting hearts
this moonlit night

the dancers glide
through love-locked transit
hearts stolen by
celestial bandit

transient water wisps
these aeons-lovers hide
timeless and fleeting met
in beauteous dance of kismet

Posted in poetry | Tagged , , , | Leave a comment

boldly go

you hung upon my ceiling
sailed between the stars
explored strange new worlds
to teach us more of ours

eagerly i was stealing
glimpses of a hopeful future
this bold new enterprise
and tribbles that would purr

our hopes you were annealing
through missions of this premier crew
the original starshippers
people we felt we knew

i couldn’t shake the feeling
inspired by your treks
that soon we all would work
in worlds both near and far

looking up at our zenith
red blue and gold all greyscale
you’d beam into our lives
aboard our tiny speck

transported to other worlds
into tales both old and new
you made us feel at home
as though we had joined the crew

and after these fifty years
through all the crews and seasons
a good ten mission’s time
may your future continue anew

boldly blazing new trails
guiding us with new tales
to places we have
never gone before

Posted in poetry | Tagged , | Leave a comment


skeleton mingo
stalks across the yard
leading spooky flock
deathly entourage

foregone faux feathers pink
with plumage black as ink
watchers haunting to the brink
render all unable to think

curved beaks
like scimitars
emit their hellish
cutting calls

their committee
is adjourned
as to their pluckish
work they turn

they strut upon
their hookish daggers
flaunting with such
arrogant swaggers

they stride into the scattered fray
survivors captured in their thrall
everyone shall become their prey
no one leaves the blackmingo ball

enshrouded by their inky plumage
none left to assess the damage
every bone, heart, and brain they take
this flock leave nothing in their wake

Posted in poetry | Tagged , , , , | Leave a comment

spice of lightning

flash of light
moonlit night
silent might
out of sight

echoes of déjà vu
lueur de déjà vous
mem’ries of déjà you
treacle of déjà yew

lightning flash
creative cache
secret stash
batted lash

horizon shimmer
beguiling glimmer
sky grows dimmer
stove cools to simmer

sunset sighting
moonlight delighting
summer seasoning
spice of lightning

Posted in poetry | Tagged , , , | Leave a comment

All Down At Once

In the play and film Amadeus by Peter Shaffer, the character Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart says:

“Look at us! Four gaping mouths. What a perfect quartet! I’d love to write it – just this second of time, this now, as you are! Herr Chamberlain thinking ‘Impertinent Mozart: I must speak to the Emperor at once!’ Herr Prefect thinking ‘Ignorant Mozart: debasing opera with his vulgarity!’ Herr Court Composer thinking ‘German Mozart: what can he finally know about music?’ And Herr Mozart himself, in the middle, thinking ‘I’m just a good fellow. Why do they all disapprove of me?’ That’s why opera is important, Baron. Because it’s realer than any play! A dramatic poet would have to put all those thoughts down one after another just to represent this second of time. The composer can put them all down at once – and still make us hear each one of them. Astonishing device: a Vocal Quartet! ….I tell you I want to write a finale lasting half and hour! A quartet becoming a quintet becoming a sextet. On and on, wider and wider – all sounds multiplying and rising together – and the together creating a sound entierly new!

…. I bet you that’s how God hears the world: millions of sounds ascending at once and mixing in His ear to become an unending music, unimaginable to us! That’s our job! That’s our job, we composers: to combine the inner minds of him and him and him and her and her – the thoughts of chambermaids and Court Composers – and turn the audience into God.”

When someone recited this to me today, I was struck by the notion that “a dramatic poet would have to put all those thoughts down one after another,” whereas “the composer can put them all down at once.” It speaks to the power of polyphony in storytelling, poetry, and song. Can you think of instances when a story speaks with many voices at once?

Reference: http://stageagent.com/monologues/675/amadeus/wolfgang-amadeus-mozart
Posted in note | Tagged , , , | Leave a comment


i carry a net with me
wherever i go
so i am ready
whenever ideas
decide to show

ideas are like butterflies
flitting here and there
always looking for
fresh pollen, the feed
their fleeting store

slippery butterflideas
elusive like wind
such a joy to watch
fly flutterflideas!
dance like wild wind

how could i capture ideas?
you can’t own the wind
who are you or i
to make claim or toll
upon the sky

a flock of flutterideas
called out to the queen
the queen of the clouds
she sang to the flies
hid them in shrouds

some days i cannot find them
for they are hidden
i look to the sky
i wait for the rain
when ideas pour

i don’t use an umbrella
so i can feel the rain
feel ideas on my skin
cast aside my net
each idea is wafer thin

dance in the ideastorm
clacking castanets
though the chance is slim
i try to fill my bucket
to its briny brim

after ideastorm subsides
their fluid form evaporates
possibility solidifies
i find my silly bucket
full of butterflies

i feed them fragrant pollen
from my cache of other ideas
invite them to my garden
where ideas sprout and grow
the butterflideas blossom

there are those, the collectors
who catch butterflideas
they kill the darling flutterers
pin them up on posts
ideas impaled on stakes

the collectors are so proud
fly ideas like flags
frozen midflight
never free again
never wild in the night

i cast aside my net
and my castanets
i peer into my bucket
as if it were a well
springing with ideas

i throw open the windows
step outside the machine
i paint the sky with song
call out to wind and wing
welcome back the butterflies

Posted in poetry | Tagged , , , | Leave a comment