the mad ones gather ’round…

featured in the poetry forum July 4, 2009  :: 0 comments

to say their words,
to play their songs,
to dance their jig,
to snap their fingers,
to clap their hands,
to hoot their howls,
to boldly go
where mad ones




to the swirling frontiers of
creativity, sensuality, comedy,
insanity, divinity, sexuality
& maybe, just maybe,
even debauchery.

the mad ones gather ’round…

because they feel the seed
of mad expression needs attention
thru the unconventional means
of evolutional revolution.

they speak to their fellow mad ones
who understand the words they recite,
who hear the notes they ignite,
who want a place to share their light,
who want to be a part of this swirling madness
because it feels so right
to be tapped in
and connected to
the collective source
of synchronicity.

this madness is our madness.
this swirl is our swirl.
this moment is our moment.

the whole mad swirl
of everything to come begins




every second,
every minute,
every hour,
every day,
every week,
every month,
every every every there is!

the mad ones gather ’round…

and i’ll be shuffling after as i’ve always done,
after the ones i love the most,
the mad ones.

Blue Notes

featured in the poetry forum May 28, 2009  :: 0 comments

words unspoken
meanings unheard
feelings unfelt

short-termed promises turned to lies
long-termed amnesia’s broken the ties

the buzz of rolling dallas
quiets the night
in abrupt silences
while the weak-day’s erased,
& placed back-burner

plans & promises
sputtered blindly & loosely



if floated words
still carry weight
when sunrise
licks its’ withered edges

ready-made phrases & places
remembered & forgotten faces
lost conversations
hidden by midnight’s blue hue

this night’s now might mean
everything or nothing
depending upon
tomorrow’s misery

but aren’t we so strong
before weakness sets in
profundities, vulnerabilities
insights, spotlights, dead nights

then insecurities become false comfort,
a blanket with holes
that knows something
that knows nothing
& is always out of reach

can we feel this way again?
what keeps the feelings alive?
is it beyond this moment?
will it die & will we die with it?

resurrection’s holding ends with timelines
it’s this bliss with strings
which will bring nothing to the table
when it’s time to eat

this dying feast
this fading peace

satisfaction is fleeting
in all night meetings
of lost-in-time rhymes
& notes blown blue

time ticks by carelessly
as plans & promises
sit in waiting
baiting tomorrow’s destiny

keep dreaming
it’s a necessity

start over
it’s really ok
this night was
as good, as profound,
as open, as honest,

as what it was
as what it is

start over
really, it’s ok
this blue night
was what it was
& is what it is
& will be
what it will be
as long as we…

keep dreaming
it’s a necessity


featured in the poetry forum February 22, 2009  :: 0 comments

click here to listen to the spoken word mix by 10k Poets (spoken word track courtesy of PAO Productions)

Some folks say there’s no voice today that is willing to reach the hearts and minds of the average Joe. You know him. He’s the:

The 50+ hours a week with no OT Joe

The let’s build our lives on shaky credit with a 21% APR Joe

The one pay check away from living in the car Joe

The American dream that’s drifting away Joe

The let’s kill the pain with spirits, herbs and chemicals Joe

The fear for our tomorrow’s in a world chock full of sorrow’s Joe

The class I was born into is going extinct and there’s no moving up but only going down Joe

The masses that passes the classes and still works the mailroom Joe

The man on the street with nothing to eat Joe

The barely legal boys with their lethal toys who play GI Joe Joe

The dying too young my song never sung Joe

The teenager dad who wasn’t so bad but got dealt the bad hand Joe

The drug addicted fool who sits outside the schoolyard retracing his steps to find his way back home Joe

The lonely poet who has lost his voice by no choice of his own Joe

The can’t find it behind them and can’t find it in front of them ‘cos tomorrow may not there Joe

The living in fear of the 6 o’clock news afraid to hear another 3,000 are struck dead in the name of God Joe

The seeker who seeks and finds nothing worthwhile Joe

The fool who struck gold only to let it go up in smoke Joe

The I’m too tired to deal with this head, sometimes I think I’d rather be dead Joe

The coping and hoping for someone to hear their plea Joe

I hear you Joe. And this one’s for us Joe.

Too Do

featured in the poetry forum February 9, 2009  :: 0 comments

There’s way too many thoughts
that come swirling in my head

too fast, too high to do

A string of events still not yet met
lead to the next few, expanding imaginings
breathing and walking and talking all on their own
I become consumed by this swirling madness
trying like hell to keep up with the snaking timelines

too many, too fast to do

I am flooded with
previsional visions of
these triple-visioned missions
white-capping rising tides
with no time to decide
which waves to ride and
which ones to hide behind
unsure of which ones are right
the ridden or the hidden or the…
oh god which wave do I choose!

too high, too many to do

I’m begging for some peace of mind
a quite place that I could find
to stop the spinning hands of time
to just say stop and stay behind to:

write a story, paint a picture, compose a poem, sing a song, dance a jig, act a play, weave a web, give a care, pray a prayer, bare my soul, ride a wave, think my thoughts, express my soul, fill the whole, speak the truth, live the dream, reach the we, love the me, believe I’m free to

but no…

There’s way too many thoughts
that come swirling inside my head

too fast, too high to do

On the Brink

featured in the poetry forum December 20, 2008  :: 0 comments

Are you ready? Get ready. Get set.


is ablaze in your brain
as you feel its flame
spreading across synapses’ bridges
on the brink of creations
wonders and amazements.


is alive in this room
you can feel its pulse driving;
blood flowing through spirit
on the brink of spontaneous combustion
evolution revolution now.

Are you ready? Get ready. Get set.


moves in mysterious ways, delirious ways…

in a book, in a song…

in a stroke of a brush…

in a piece of poetry that cracks you open
and puts you back together again…

in a perfectly timed twitch of the index finger
capturing the beauty of the moment…

in the sweeping arch of a dancer’s back…

in the final scene
of a barely seen
screen adaptation
of the book written
by the author you love
as the song you crave
plays with words in verses
that you painted
just the other day…

in a gentle kiss that lands directly on your soul’s cheek…

in a closed-eye embrace from your Daddy’s little girl,
in a soul-knowing look from your other half of the sky…

in this moment right here.

Are you ready? Get ready. Get set.


can come
on a cold winter’s breath,
chilling you…

filling you…

almost killing you,
leaving you frozen,
broken and alone.


can come
in drip-by-drop erosions,
in imperceptible ways
when seen from day-to-day
but slowly and surely
weaves its way
into your life
in a canyon
of grand proportions.

Are you ready? Get ready. Get set.

Your change is a’comin’.

Your change is now.

Who ever told you you weren’t enough…

they lied.

Who ever told you you weren’t worthy…

they were wrong.

Who ever told you it wasn’t your destiny to change the world…

they were sadly mistaken.

Are you ready?

You are worthy.

Get ready.

You are enough.

Get set.

This IS your destiny.


is anew in this world
as we feel its birth emerging
growth pushing through reality
on the brink of a new earth.
we are the ones.

Are you ready?

Get ready.

Are you set?

Get set

Are you ready?

– johnny olson & lisa olson

R.I.P. Doctor

December 19, 2008  :: 0 comments

I read the master
baiting the system
with insane rants and raves.
Mad swirls of words
on paper canvas pages

Mad with insanity saying:
“See that there,
that vast white space,
that there is me.”

Scratching our heads
in wonder
just what the hell was said?

But now he’s dead.

The doctor
couldn’t handle
the white canvas,
sitting still
as the world

“How ’bout munching on my .45?”

Careful though, Doc,
it’ll put a hole
in the back
of your mad head.

The Doctor is dead.

RIP Hunter S. Thompson (1937-2005)


December 19, 2008  :: 0 comments

I am Love and Hate,
Heaven and Hell,
Creator and Destroyer.
A beautifully wicked dichotomy
inside of me.

I am invigorated and rejuvinated
by the streaming dreams I see.
Electricity flows thru me,
goes thru me,
shows thru me,
grows thru me

And just like that, the fantasy begins.

Imagination Ejaculation

December 19, 2008  :: 0 comments

imagination ejaculation
messing up my mind.
puddles pool, growing skin…
must clean this mess up,
cover this sin…
before i get caught red-handed
with my mind in a spin.

it starts out with a stimulating thought
and once it starts there is no fighting it,
riding the surges of urges.
i am prisoner to my mind’s desires.

i tag along,
tongue wagging
ready for the romp.
ready to begin
this long
of the imagination.

images begin to take form
in the shadowed flashes
behind eyelashes,
a strobe light-like show of sparks
so bright,
so right,
so out of fucking sight
that everything else is obliterated
in a blink of an eye.

i am alive in the voids of my mind.
empty canvases come to life
thru mere whims of wishes and visions.
i am invigorated and rejuvinated
by the streaming dreams i see.

i’m filled up
and the build up
spills over the edges
as my imagination ejaculation
makes a mess again.


December 19, 2008  :: 0 comments

The tides a-risin’
and I’m realizing
the timin’s right,
stay up all night
and ride this fuckin’ wave
before it breaks
into the light.

Insane thoughts
are makin’ sense
and nothings past
this present tense.
All that seems to matter
is tonight
and that I stand here
in the light

This generation
with a letter,
an experimentation
of despair,
specimens of some different sort
just waiting for Pops to die
so we can finally get to drive
Impatient for our turn at the wheel.
These boomers never knew.
These trippin hippies had no clue.

They quit on us.
They fucking quit on us.
You know what I say?
I say give it up!
I say you fucked up!
You know what I scream?
I’m not just a slacker Xer,
some wayward drifter,
a born to lose loser.
I just want my turn at the wheel.
I just want my voice to be heard.

The tide’s a’rising
and I’m realizing
the timin’s right,
to steal the night
and ride this breaking wave
into the light.


December 19, 2008  :: 0 comments

How many smokes have I burned
since I wrote my first rhyming words
and attempted to call them poetry?

They seem to burn down so quickly
when you get to getting on a roll.

Sitting abandoned…

…on my lips
…between my fingers
…smoldering in forgotten ashtrays
…and burning holes in my clothes

I’d venture to say
hundreds times thousands…
Eleven-thousand-seven-hundred & seventy

I tell ya’
there’s just nothing like it,
sitting back,
flickin’ my generic bic…

scratching my head
and taking a drag while
scratching a word
and taking a drag that’s
scratching the surface
and taking a drag it’s
scratching that itch
and taking a drag

Then I realize
as I squint thru smoky filmed eyes
that I am done writing
right on time with my smoke

and alas
another crappy poem is born
as the crumpled butt dies

in an overflowing
stolen hotel ashtray