I’m sinking in this sea,


trying so hard to get free.

Every vector point

Spins the web of consciousness

Leaning back, into technology

I could be trapped.

Covered by the sea foam


I’ve nowhere to call home.

Homeless / Seagulls

At the freeway on ramp

The seagulls stand fifty yards

In front of the homeless,

Both beg for scraps,

The homeless man stands

Without a sign, palms up,

Missing shoe, maybe a smile,

Stands under a sign

That says Thank you _________?

For trashing Seattle.

I cannot look either, the homeless man, or the bird, in the eye.

Summer Squash

Languishing in the afternoon heat,

she waters the summer squash and tomatoes.

The cries of the crows slows life’s tempo.

Here the garden hose,

Now trickles

and the green onions drown, like my heart, sinking in mud.


My daughter and I watered the vegetable garden yesterday, there were so many little moments that I wanted to try to convey, though I found myself really laboring for this one and in the end I decided to just try to convey that one moment of overwhelming joy and love. If you want to read more poems about being a parent you can find them on the Parenting Page


Body as Garden


Swollen heart and sunken chest,

Beleaguered palpatations

Prop up this mess.

Caustic conditioning causes

Apertures of bile

Erodes intestines and

Aerates the soil,

Composting Coffee grounds and

Soy paste meatpatties.

There are no Monarchs

In this garden.


Well I've been
Spending so
Much time
These little

I don't want to be down,
Want to be down,
Want to be down,
Like that anymore.

And I been
Stickin' around,
Stickin' around,
Stickin' around,
Trying to win.

No, I don't want
To be
Down, down, down,
Down, down
For the rest of my life.

I spent too much time
Feeling like I
Feeling like I
Like I'm the only one.

Now I keep

Kickin' around
Kickin' around
Kickin' around

Thinking you've
Been messin' around
And now I
Spend too much time
All of my life
Mm-mmm all of my life
All of my life.

Now I keep

Runnin' around
Runnin' around
Runnin' around

Creating these
Little battlefields
For myself.
Drawin' those lines
Looking for signs
That I'm not the only one.

I spend too much time
Too much time
Too much time
Down, down, down,
Down, down,
Down, next to you.

*Edit: changed formatting and added link.

Seeds of Self

I am the gardener of this field

There are seeds I sow

And those that have been sown

I am the expression of myself

And all those I have met before

I am the gardner and my job

Is to cultivate these seeds

Regardless of how good or bad

So that they can come into the light

Of the midday sun.

So that I can continue to nourish and cultivate those that benefit myself, my family, and my friends.

For too long I have covered them up

With the soil from which

they try to emerge.

I have tried to hide those that I don’t want,

or have been too distracted to understand their true manifestation.

We are the gardners,

and this is our field.

**This poem came about from a meditation session after beginning to read Understanding our Mind by Thich Nhat Hanh. The book is a personal translation, or rather a personal interpretation (?) of fifty verses based on Vasubandhu’s Twenty and Thirty Verses. Vasubandhu’s is based on the Abhidharma, which is a scholastic approach -written by many different Buddhist scholars over time- to the Buddhas sutras. (I’m sure some of this could be corrected, however the point is that this poem comes from a translation of an interpretation, of an interpretation, a continuation of many in between.)

So this poem and the continual personal reinterpretations of these insights enumerates what is said in the fifth verse:

Whether transmitted by family, friends, society, or education, all our seeds are, by nature, both individual and collective.

I can’t say that I really feel that this is my poem in the sense that I am the sole author, the creator of the piece. I feel a great humility in being a part of the immensity of these insights. Understanding that the poem may not make as big of an impact to others, I still wanted to share it as I’ve noticed recently that when I look back on poems I’ve written all the things that I tried to say, but was unable to convey in words comes flushing back, which may just be one of the greatest things about poetry (of all the great things). I hope only that in some way it conveys something similar for you.



How are we supposed to feel secure, when we continue to make sure that we’re separate from the whole.

I did not jump up with my fist in the air and yell, Yeah! Like any good American would. Actually I snapped the picture, I thought it’d look cool for the blog, and during the rattling of tracks I felt this complete disconnect. The tracks, the train, the overpass, the buildings behind me and asphalt under my feet, I felt like the only natural thing around. Of course I wasn’t but so suddenly it occurred to me that i am the product of past generations fight against nature.

On the rails of commerce

Oil travels like detainees

On my knees, beggin

please, please, please.

What’s it all for

We’re always on the hunt for more

border wars;

trade wars;


Magnolia Park

Found myself near Magnolia park today around lunch. A strange name for a park with no magnolia trees. Actually it’s in the magnolia neighborhood in Seattle and according to wikipedia both were misnamed by a Navy geographer. Dumbass.

Actually the park is full of Madrona trees, which according to local lore are considered good luck and if you buy a house with one in the yard, well you’ve got a keeper.

Madrona trees in the fore and some kind of ship, with the cascade mountain range in the distance.

I went to the park hoping to find something special. It turned out it was nothing special. I hoped to find some kind of inspiration, though it was nothing special. I sat and listened to the sprinklers, waiting for something to come, but I could only repeat the line, there is nothing special. When nothing is special, everything becomes special.

Cascading mountains,

Red hawk nesting, laughing at

All my efforting.

No Trace

I used to want to be somebody,

like a timeless, red bricked storefront with flashing lights and neat displays.

Now I just hope to be nobody,

like the flowering weed, covering ground, indistinguishable, leaving no trace.

I used to want

Now I just

Step in time with the rhythms of the earth and mind, waiting to be left behind.

Emulsified into the liquid sun, Eviscerated into the mountains

Leaving no trace.