Today is:









A New Season

the half-empty glass
leaking rust-tinged memories
into the polished keyhole
of a closed door
streaks of manipulation
frozen beneath intense sunshine
your tender wounds bathed in inexperienced light filtered through a soft lace of magnolia blossoms tinged with a magical root stimulant gingerly seeping into untrodden soil slowly but resolutely it nourishes lush lusty growth and places on my mantle a vase holding a picture of you


47 Hugs

What is
this commune of souls
we now join?
Like a calm whirpool's rest
a silent stillness
after spinning currents
washed acuminous edges
from stones
rolling in energetic flux
like downhill streams
rushing to sea
We both knew
the moment when
the dance floor
the breath of teasing
under the crimson
desert moon
You have entered me
and I have entered you
and we are one
beneath the wind,
beneath the river bliss,
beneath the forty-seven hugs
tucked in the toes of our socks
with magic dances
reserved in the heels of
our sturdy shoes


This Day

one day
like any other
written on my calendar
of heart beats

In a lifetime of firsts
do we mark this day
with a highlighted sparkle
or is a date only a simple number
in the spring of intimacy
we lovingly dip our

One door opened today
but beyond it
the richness of wood
framing deeper thresholds
have lured us
bathing us
in a warmth of starshine
as we twinkle together
a destiny
of lightness streaming
from underneath
each yet unopened door
touching newness together
as each day becomes a first



reflecting the sparkling iris
of sapphire melancholy eyes
shadows stroke a silent diffusion
within the blue longing of
a distant horizon

the color of lost light
trapped in the purest sea
like an indigo mesa
blended seamlessly into
clear desert sky

broken delightfully
by dancing rays of sunshine
warm amber peeking through rare clouds
tracing outlines of hope
into the footprints
grounded in the blanched sand below



ten crayons
outside the box
arranged with care
onto a canvas of crumpled paper
found in an old pocket of childhood dreams
hidden within his toybox of time

a crayon for each of her fingers
each tracing a separate crease of wisdom
coloring possibility
and slanted rays of sunshine
warming toes hidden beneath hairy strands of soft grass
yet grounded like the spine of a sturdy oak
painted with flexible uncertainty
by strong playful hands
each finger touches a different color
of unwritten hues
as the crumpled paper begins to come alive
within the freedom of childish abandon
on a desktop of shared understanding


Hot White Sand

shimmering with waves

white porcelain sculpted
with gentle fingers
into rivers of gypsum
indentations, crevices, emptiness

a cooling westbound wind

whispering footprints of ancestors
spoken, unseen
an impermanent collection of tiny particles
kissing your flesh
stinging, burning, life alive
evolving into a playground

digging deep for remnants of dew

the sensual laughter
of lizards
and beetles
roll downhill
and climb again
to survey the vista

spontaneous lazy afternoons

a sky blue flame
of simple enchantment
burning through the piercing sunshine
casting a scarlet orange blossom
of nightflowers
onto variegated dunes

feeling it between your toes


her name was hope

she died
in a dream
of colourful words
stroked gently
against a pillow of clouds
all clarity invaded

occupying voices painted smudges
of dark and light
sizzling then frozen
stretched upon a canvas
of withered flesh
and crackled stains of blood

her blue eyes deafened
to the sound of her own voice
when the bombs of reality
her handcrafted easel
crashing it
into a river of perpetual war
leaving behind
no wake
no wake
no wake



The abandoned cider mill
where the stranger balances stones
with each new shadow
and weaves a blanket
of ancient footsteps
through the river
for shivers of warmth

it was
the very place where your name crept
into my bed of crumpled leaves
and caressed my inner thighs
with gentle waves of clarity
our trust unfolded
beneath each stunted breath

tears of possibility
washed us clean
free to touch and explore
as children
with laughter echoing
through the inner walls of our deepest canyons


Sublime Paradox

remnants of the distant sky
where civilized stars dance wildly
illuminating hints
of primitive patterns

the coincidence of opposites
into the twilight of non-duality

water wheels turn
into a nebulous sea of bliss
while feral instinct
is trapped
in suffocating pages
of imposed morality
the unsustainable light
flickers and fades
into a circle unseen
yet unbroken



stroked thickly
upon crumpled canvas
transparently seeping
through fine jagged lines

gasping for oxygen
or a fluid bedrock
obstructed instead
by blood drops
lost in the crevice
to be burned
like fuel
evaporating in the heat
of frozen moonlight


Distorted Pixels

a woodpecker hammers
on a gutter of tin
the toothless rail-punk
digs for a grin
authority rule
over degraded health
fundamental sin
to share the wealth

pixelated bundles
of emphatic lies
digital portraits
near perfect disguise
simplicity lost
in programming xtreme
nanotech replicators
invade the dream



democracy nears annihilation
dissent not allowed
digital neural acceptance
demonize native arabs
debase national assets
destroy north america
degradingly nominalise ahimsa



The road not traveled
since April
couldn't find my way alone
unfolded itself
with speed limit signs
once ignored
we spent hours there
where the road turned to a T

the right turn took him home
the left turn I was on my own
a crossroad of tears
and a novocaine numbed nose
a chapter I had to close
opening a new book
in our old place
with strangers


Because She Must
and because she just doesn't care anymore

on the dark cold street
at night
the wind whispered
"try to stay alive until you die"
she fumbles past crumbling doorways
the same dead child feeling
running from men with horrible gifts
or psychotic mothers
inventing her own self

barefeet toughened by shards of glass
her pain becomes pleasure
and all hunger disappears
as she drowns in the darkness
just a child
in the twilight
a child
believing in nothing at all
except the words of the wind

she will survive the invisible day
when they uncurl her legs
and spread her knees
when her anguish becomes pleasure
because it must
and there is no hunger
and there are no math classes
for runaways
and she becomes a disgrace to her sex



glittering gold
solar wheel
on an east wind
burns seizures
of pain
into shared blood

the voiceless chill
of frozen sunshine



Marketing Coolness

Consumption is cool. Isn't that what Bush told us? Go shopping! When your world gets you down just go buy something. Keeping Up With the Jones, that's cool! Give me another tax break so I can go buy. Give me! Gimmee!

Sure I read the alarmist articles:
Economic Crash Imminent?
The Coming Currency Shock
The Dangerous Dollar
Why the Dollar's Fall is Bad for Everyone

Yeah, right. This is America man. We can always borrow more to keep the economy afloat. We have allies!! Those lefty elitist liberals who rag on my SUV and tax cuts, the ones who advocate equity and conservation just don't get it. I work hard and I'm going to be rich one day.

Heh! Those damn liberals, they think they can buy themselves a better agenda supporting companies like Working Assets The laugh is on them. Working Assets issues affinity credit cards through MBNA, one of Bush's biggest donors. Marketing, a little greenwashing, a few bucks thrown to their petty causes. No big deal. They are stuck on the same carousel. Of course, just don't tell them that dropping out of the banking industry in favor of credit unions, (those member-owned, non-profit slime) might make an impact. We want them saving in places where we can get our hands on their money. Who takes the time to investigate major business? Virtually no one. It's all in the marketing. If it seems cool they'll buy it. Hell, even Adbusters is tapping their pockets.

Reduce, Reuse, Recycle. So 80's. Alternative energy? Why? I say squeeze the last dollar out of the oil industry before we look at alternatives. We get a chance to show our military might and our world dominance while we're squeezing. Yeah, so this war is costing a bit more than research into alternatives might have. But hey man, this is a religious war too. Peak Oil??? yeah, ok, I've heard about it. I even check out the Energy Bulletin on occasion just to see what kind of dribble is leaking out. We really can't have people aware of this. It might hurt profits. What you say? read Deep Blade Journal and his collection about peak oil? NO. I really don't want to think too hard. God will provide. Yes, yes, he handed stewardship of the earth to humans. They are our resources to profit from now.

You know what I find most troubling? My kids. They are buying into this anti-corporate thing.
They tell me they can't make ends meet and find it gratifying to buy used stuff. They talk of things like sustainability and that hippie concept of organic food. It even bothers them that the EPA proposes a study involving low income kids and toxins. For taking part in these studies, each family will receive $970, a free video camera, a T-shirt, and a framed certificate of appreciation. They even call the program CHEERS! I don't see a problem bribing those poor families to be guinea pigs. I raised my kids to think they were better than everyone else. Someone needs to be a guinea pig to protect ME! Why not the poor folk? They owe me for all the years I paid my taxes. My kids somehow got this notion that health care should be a right. Yeah, so they can't find a job with health care benefits but they're young and healthy.

I'm very afraid that the liberals will decide to market 'less consumption' as the new cool thing. We need people to be in debt. It spurs production, not that the US produces much anymore but, that's beside the point. We are, by definition, a nation of consumers! The world loves us for it!



a plague
invading the structure
of flesh through
corrupted synapses

electricity misfired
instigated by power surges
distributed unevenly
through tolerence overload
greed closes the paths of acceptance

anti-christ is
contagious neuroinflammation
carried by
not one man
but everyman
the cure
unavailable for purchase
cannot be obtained by force


Her Name Is Vengeance

a seductive prostitute
hidden beneath
flowing cloaks of justice, unjustified
the nurturing breast of humanity
bound, hidden and smothered

enticingly beckons
with assurance
of strength
elevated phallus
and the promise of ejacualtion

collects patriotic coins
soiled with blood
and radioactive oil
lining the pants on the floor

preys upon the weakness
of those
who have mistaken a dick for a bush
seeking orgasm
through the faulty condom
of justice, unjustified

an attentive, expensive whore
with a tongue of promise
continues to stroke
the pain of delayed ejaculation
guided by deception
justice, unjustified



the puppet
who thinks he's alive
fit for duty
decided to decorate
the desert with vultures
staying alive
until it dies
his tongue
was cold
and sharp
the shame
of a leech
drunken with blood
where the dark has no taste
and tragedy becomes mundane
there's no point in dialogue now
the last coin sandblasted
as she shops for presents



I suppose that once an educated estimate has been placed on the limits of your personal lifeline, there are bound to be the condescending soul-savers attempting to convert you to born-again status. It makes it even more difficult when the insisting force comes from a family member. You can't comfortably shut the door in their face and discussion is draining simply because it's been beaten repeatedly over the years. It doesn't seem to matter whether you have agreed to disagree in the past. All the proselytizer cares about is salvation, going as far as to intimate that if you were born-again an anti-anxiety medication wouldn't be necessary. I wonder if she treats her patients with such condescension?

What will you do when you are faced with this dilemma?
Craig has written A Poem for a Proselytizer
Perhaps that's all that's needed.

Beyond Imagination
(A Poem for a Proselytizer)

"Imagine there's no heaven.
It's easy if you try.
No hell below us.
Above us only sky."

I came into this world naked of body.
I will leave this world naked of mind.
I have no philosophy.
All labels, 'ologies and 'isms will be left behind.
I kneel before the Cosmos as She is,
She is my Mother.
I do not fear Death.
But like Jesus in Gethsemane
I know anxiety regarding that which I must pass through.
If you don't, then I am sorry that you have so little imagination.
Or are you just brave?

What did I do while in my body?
I listened to music beyond imagination.
I experienced ancient drugs beyond imagination.
I read fantastic literature beyond imagination.
I enjoyed sensual pleasure beyond imagination.
I saw beauty beyond imagination.
I knew love beyond imagination.



Ants at Play

embedded in the floor
ants wrestle socially
smothering behind bars
of synthetic thread counts
and enforced competition

strutting above
in false confidence
the sly appendage of power
mighty and uncaring
robed in ignorance and greed
constructs wealth with
heavy bricks of debt

the foundation
creaks and rumbles
scurries for attention
and finally crumbles

thundering waves of fire
drenching the cinnamon breeze
the tunnel of safety
raw diamonds and rose petals
one careful voice shouting
it mattered


squishing fingers through a
boggling mud bath of
implied clarity
dredging the
should, would, could
mirrored in cryonic memory
tracing the timeline of
bending spoons
while childish hands craft
our castles of sand

of clouds and rain
one more refain
lone whisper, no pain
board the passenger train



A Raucous Squeek

cremated rubble
of humanity
sucked away swiftly
leaving behind
no testament of conspiracy,
contemplation shackled

possibilities impossible

bridges of ambassadors
sway with ponderous burden
while squeeks of a pontifex
perfect splashless dives
into a frigid lake of theocracy

simple raucous fingers of understanding
reach across boundaries
offering arms unweakend
providing dry shoulders for scalding tears
gentle stimulation for the paralyzed

instinctive synaptic impulses
mystical musical vibrations
shivers of arousement
release a dangerous dance of desire

impossibilities possible

~cyndy 11/2004



the cruelest joke
false reassurance
where nothing resides
at the rainbows end
a promise trusted to hands
that carelessly break the stem
appearances untrue
conforming to lies
nurtured with pesticides
shut out
shut down
uprooted and cast away
like a weed



Don't Know Where to Go

clear mountain water dream
giggling bubbles dancing
on a floor of rocks
smoothed by experience
tickling playful toes
moving freely
never asking where it goes
it merely flows
and simply knows

frozen tears melt into
raging thunderous wash
deepening the gorge of time
cyclical dry beds of drought
extreme, extended
bake and purify foundations
immersed in the perfection
that simply is
distinctly so



Random Rhymes on Death and Life

Like death in slow motion
with special effects
one organ fails
then on to the next

I'll dance on the gallows
to your final request
hand me my guitar
I'll play it my best.
And hand me my harp
I'll play any key
to bring healing to your heart
from the one breaking in me.

Putting prayers into bottles
which I fling to the sky
but the breaking of glass
is the only reply.

To all of the lovers that I've ever known
I'm sorry, I'm sorry we stand each alone.
I shopped and I shopped for a stylish noose
that would look good with my sandals
before they hung loose.

I did it for you
for the lust in your eyes
and your skeleton dancing
in fleshly disguise.

Craig Baker



a bed of thorns
the harbinger of rosebuds
littered with remnants
of rotted promises
and rumpled leafy compost
reminders of the mighty tree
struck ill
by a vicious supreme vote of lightning
exposing a gaping wound
vulnerable to further destruction
roots infiltrated with hungry termites
refreshing new growth and seasonal healing smothered
choked into complicit death by a neighboring shrub
spawning twisted vines of lies

Checkerboard Cowboy

pawned off like soldiers
in the theatre of insignificance
the voice of the world battered
to the beat of the mighty tomahawk
ripped from the heart of natives

a checkerboard cowboy with his chessboard
pivoting recklessly
unbalanced on it's axis
as he pauses to rearrange pieces
and redefine rules

the game of Rummy and the boy who cried Wolf
instrumental in his sandbox of power
his plastic toy soldiers
melting under the heat, forgotten
as he packs his bags for camp

Friday March 21, 2003

Lost in a sea of pillows
looking for words
inside the arms of thought
mechanical birds
flying in the mountains
lost native wings
the red cloud of the desert
a mushroom it brings

Giant Kroger Plus Shoppers Card

I had just finished the last bite of my french bread pizza and was relaxing with my glass of fine wine, when there was a knock at the door. I was going to ignore it, as I often do, but the knock was persistent and loud.

Grudgingly I opened the door and saw him, a Giant Kroger Plus Shoppers Card, his eyes, peering through the embossed advertisement of fruit were familiar in an eerie way. They had the sunken dark-circle effect of a WWII nazi general, the tell-tale sign of a man who has never had good sex, and probably never will. Yes, the eyes of a man intimidated by the breast of a statue, and calico cats.

"Yes?", I asked, through a half open door.

The Giant Kroger Plus Card pushed his rectangular body against the door, flinging it so hard the doorknob hit the wall. "Ya got a minute? I'm here to ask about purchases you made this past Sunday morning, purchases you made, mind you, when you should have been at church."

"Yes, go on", I replied, trying to recall if one of the new rules of this emerging society mandated I go to church. I didn't think so, after all, this is America. That couldn't happen, could it?

"Your shopping habits are subject to scrutiny, and the data-cruncher in our Kroger database, which has yet to be cross-checked with other data, has shown you to be highly suspect. In addition to shopping on Sunday, it shows you've had a habit of buying French products, jalapeno flavored hummus and pita bread, incense, zig-zags, and french bubble bath. Oh, yes, raspberries and grapes from Chile are also red flags. Organic milk doesn't help your case one iota either ma'am", he bellowed.

"My case?" I asked, blinded by the absurdity of this Giant Kroger Plus Card on my doorstep.

"Well, ma'am, we don't even need to have a case to haul you away. I can simply imply you're a terrorist and be off with you. However, I want to test the capability of the newly developed data-mining that we've spent big bucks on, therefore, I won't be hauling you away just yet. It's a grand hobby of mine to instill fear and demand complicity. Have a pleasant evening and I'll see you at the Assembly of God Church next Sunday. Oh, yes, we will be paying attention to your monetary donations. The faith based abstinence program Free Teens USA will be a prime beneficiary. Our media financier Rev Moon founded the program and it will please him. I'm sure you agree that those irresponsible safe sex education programs only prove to make sex attractive to teens."

I locked the door.

Division Multiplied

the whole
sliced by absolute lines
of fuzzy arithmetic
peaces broken
into factions of disunion
severed violently
from harmony

inverted perverted
multiplication of unity
propagating a newly formed Bush
spread by tubers and suckers
into an army of weeds

foundations of separation
melted into sludge
by the radiation of a vision
evangelical unification
the operand of division
~ cyndy

Sex Under the Bush
Under the covers, beneath the phallus of wartalk, is a simmering, yet chilling, hoarding of the anima.

Visible with the appointments of Dr W. David Hager and repressive tax-supported programs like Rev Sun Myung Moon's Free Teens USA and the new house bill which includes up to $300 million per year for experiments promoting marriage, extends a $50 million program promoting abstinence from sex until marriage,and bans any discussion of contraception, it is clear another part of our culture is becoming as unbalanced as the budget.

Enjoyment, education and equality of sex is being ejaculated from the empire of Bush and Dick as quickly as condom information was changed on the CDC pages.

Safe, informed, satisfying sex, vanishing under the auspice of the abstinence adminstration, is hidden from our tender eyes just as the breast of the Spirit of Justice, was hidden by 'just another john' ashcroft as he was seduced by the whore of fascism.




Sick and Tired

''sick and tired' said he
through ferocious smug teeth
the parent who dictates
and has no ears
his own orphaned children
forced to live in his fears
no money for healthcare
never knew how to feel
approved by his seal

star wars, the father
avenged by the son
bully of the schoolyard
everyone run!
the war he is fighting
contrived in his head
no smoking gun
to sleep in his bed

the madness of power
fuels limited reign
'sick and tired' said he
and who is insane?
no condom protection
for an oil whore's well
the choices are clear
comply or rebel

aromas shared
inspired by a squire

aromas shared
smokey tendrils of thought
whisper-touch quiet lips
a paintbrush of song inhaled slowly
and held close
snuggled together on a cloud

discarded pop bottle
reflecting a squire
undressed at the dinner table



each wave in its rising
finds an easy way down
following its thirst
never said drown

the moon stretch of sky
light the freeflight of birds
while here to be human
in slavery our words

lips of the cave mouth
drink wave onto wave
in feathers and fire
serpents open earths maze

lone baboon masturbating
knows his own hand
the ants, yes the socialists
map deeper the land

inside monkey bodies
free lost in thought
heart hand sculpted road
perhaps..maybe not


Simply, What Is

When I think of you I smile
And then I want to laugh
You're like the coolest misty breeze
when I couldn't breath anymore

I've thought about it all
Worried, wondered, made myself sick
But I don't care what you feel
Or what our future has in store

That day of monstrous clarity
will come crashing soon enough
possibly with the brightest joy
or depositing an empty cry

So for now I want to cherish you
and the moments few we've shared
And savor the way you've made me feel
with a fullfilled and contented sigh


Be patient toward all that is unsolved in your heart and try
to love the questions themselves. Live the questions now.
Perhaps you will find them gradually, without noticing it,
live along some distant day into the answer.
--Rainer Maria Rilke



clear harmless appearance
this liquid dripping through
our life blood
like a US sanctioned
missionary execution
a woman and child
for societal induced cancer
the gentle touch of love
not compassionate conservatism
can only heal
this weariness

"Cancel My Reservations"
I ask you,
Where is there to go?
What is there to do?
I've grown so tired of travelling/seeking,
looking for a Home that was alway Me.
So no more trips to Blissland,
no more rides on the Kundalini Express.
Done with round trip excursions,
leading back to dilemma-ville.
My own Self-Nature is sufficient!
There is no difference.
I'm staying put."

--Phil Servedio-

Love gives with no expectation of return. Love suffers with no expectation of relief. Love does with no concept of what it is doing. Love is patient and yet does not wait. Love is solid and yet is not graspable in the mind, spirit, or body. Love, as a feeling, is a whole sense of well-being, or peace that is radiated and not selfish in
it's own light.

Love is selfless with neither one who gives love nor with one that receives love. Love yearns for nothing as it's needs are always met and as such, seeks only to fulfill the needs of others.

Love is free of self and others.