No Time to Cry

In Transition


Vox, like a frightened sound, moved me…

sounding like the demons leaving.

Tore at the fears of my soul.

I can’t fear those things, I know.

(But) phoenix moved me most when she’s in flight.

Ignited pyre, consumed in flames of light.


That’s the way I am.

It’s just the way we are.

In transition for the moment… here and now.


Repeat the cycle out of ashes.

It’s the moment of transition.

Passing from life to death to birth -

the death of love, the birth of life.

The keenest sense of mourning loss of time.

Letting go of hours is a crime.


Feeling the change, seeing the score,

we’ll come lately, never more.

Don’t explain or justify.

Define and mourn but just don’t cry.

Fashion is two people that keep living.

Justice never sees to it they’re giving.


That’s the way I am.

It’s just the way we are.

In transition for the moment… here and now.



Living in a Gaff


Climbing air, my hands are weak, pulling on a gaff.

I can’t bear to pull it out.

The pain could make me laugh.


Religious leaders in a gaffe -

selling words, while plates they pass.

Old man blowing tubes of glass.

He’s a gaffer, old and crass.


Headlines read “The gaffe is back!”

like a faux pas when they attack.

It’s a blunder, it’s a hoax.

For all the ordinary folks

read it in the news tabloids

where they call the black “negroids.”

Read it where you buy it cheap.

See how the religious creep?


Living in a gaff

Living on a butcher’s hook

Living in a hoax, a fraud

Living as a fake… applaud


Too much pain to bear

Gaff it up to cheat your love


Living in a cheap theatre

behind the curtain call.

When your time’s up, there’s no mercy;

in the music hall you fall.

Dance the Charleston on your knees.

Abuse her, strike her, if you please.


Living in a cheap theatre

behind the curtain call.

When your time’s up, there’s no mercy;

in the music hall you fall.


There are secrets I keep hidden -

even from myself.

I cannot trust.



Breathe Life


Listen for the silence of within.

Listen to the breath of life flow in.

Feel the rhythm of your heart.

Let the water take you out.


Breathe in— Breathe out—

(You’re a) drop of water in the ocean that is God.

Breathe out, breathe in.

Now breathe life.


Dream in quiet sleep as you are.

Drifting in deep, floating star.

Feel the pulse of your filling lungs.

Let the spirit move you, speak in tongues.


Breathe in— Breathe out—

Now you’re the ocean in the vastness of God.



Spectres (of the Gin Mill)


Felicity I’ll never know; cannot feel, I cannot grow.

Masterwork by crippled hands… holding on an angel’s strands.

Spirit killed (by) society. I can’t take sobriety.

Sleepless eyes at unseen dawn; restless nights will never calm.


So why does it hurt like such a loss?

Why can’t I meet such a cost?

(I’m) dying in a gin mill, running on the treadmill.


Throaty is my narrow range; rehab, to me’s, foreign… strange.

I have known no sweet relief; I’m not sure of one belief.


Supporters aren’t my looking glass -

I observe when meetings pass.

Mine is not their rise and fall;

no similarity at all.


So take my flowers, take my song.

Bloody money all is gone.

Don’t want my fears to overcome,

but I can’t breathe, my nerves are strung.


Never knew a strong will.

Cannot take the big thrill!



No Time to Cry


My home is the universe, my family all mankind.

My mission is the search for truth;

the light has filled my mind.

Wealth cannot be measured, now, by things

the eyes can only see.


We must believe a new reality.

Wounds will heal, there’s no time to cry.

Though troubles do arise, you’ll see

they’re blessings in disguise.


No time to cry (We can’t live without light)

No time to cry (We can’t see without sight)


Body, mind and spirit balance in the end.

We’re living in such darkness,

but truth can heal and mend.

Rage and hate descend and die

so love can heal the hurting heart.


Once there was a time we thought we’d nothing left to give.

But now we are aware there’s no time to cry,

no time to die,

no time but to live.



Holding Hands Forever


Sitting in a circle on the floor,

the last one to enter shuts the door.

They’ve come to hear a bit about themselves -

clues to get them through another day.

“What do you see for me, St. Catherine?”

“Do you have a clue, St. Catherine?”

“What is your message, St. Catherine?”

They want to know.


Holding hands forever.

Holding hands forever.


Nervous pulse, candles calm

forever linked as chains by palm

Impressions flow from astral lips

- clues to get them through another day.


“A pure white cloud – a nun in habit -

transfigures softly over her face.”



My New York Mood


I’ll flood my heart to overflow

with Broadway lights and wine.

I’ll walk to the wild weather.

I’ll stammer to the beat.

I’ll catch with the flow,

dangle on the skyline.


My New York mood sets me off.

It moves me.

But could this be the day I go there?

To feel the touch of a thousand feelings:

street man, grass-chamber-minstrels, outdoor pomp.


The mood will stir me -

the city, the tears, the drama, the fears

(the applause of a hundred thousand critics).


I’ll go there sometime

to feel common mime

to look for a rhyme

to step out of time.

My New York sublime

that’s known for the crime

and the peddler’s dime

and the businessman’s climb.


I’ll look at you and laugh.

You’re not a photograph!



Listen for the Snow


Listen. Listen. Can you hear the snow?

Listen for it now. I can hear it now.

Listen. Listen. Listen.

Listen for the snow.


Listen to the snow, it’s gently falling to the ground.

I can hear it fall, I can hear it coming down

around the corner of my soul.

And now the rock cannot roll.


Near the hour, through a doorway, I slipped,

hands held firmly descending.

Now in open air’s a bitter freeze

bites my face and the chill is fierce.


People slip by mummified (and) wrapped themselves in warmth.

Casting off the chill and ascending.

Guards by the doorway of their homes of love.

Inside my home’s kept warm.


My admiration prevails.

I lunge into the thickened grandeur,

lured by the stranger strutting on street lamps

and whi–sh-sh-ing on rooftops.


Listen. Listen.

I can feel it penetrate my mind

with its overtones…

whistling at me and whistling through my bones.



Outside the no-good winterkill’s revengeful.

It draws children as playmates.

The no-good winterkill is wild and thoughtless,

yet I stand as a spectator.


Listen. Listen for the snow.

I can hear it now.

I can hear it coming around… me.


It’s in me.

It’s through me.

It’s all around.

White, crisp, cool, clear.

I love the snow more than children.



The Searching Penguin


Such monotonous landscapes of

glacieresque pre-nature thought,

my penguin friend longing to explore Japan

where the sun is set, light, night of the dark moon

luminating his way so…

what could he say, “Screech, speech, lafff…”


Sponging his way through ice water,

ice after way… other way

to reach Japan where his own language could move

the oriental men… their eastern thought.

Song after screech,

his penguin speech

and the following of frozen creach

who pier at each.

Passing bay in awe.

Bay of awe holds shapes of light,

of ground and sound which grow arctic colours;

swerves and spurts of clouded, eluded,

time-captive cool fluorescent streams on jagged,

japped glacier-sides.


The penguin keeps to himself

for in each mind-adventure and escapade,

Japan can only be a dream.





Let not the faucets of our minds

drip slow the dreams flowing velvety

through the plains of our consciousness.

Free the meditations from within.


Free the strain and flow out of secrets, deep

and seldom seen on the other side

from without the seed of thoughtlessness.

Free the meditations from within.


Open, let the petals bend and

scents of sweet pour laughingly

upon the meadow tops which wave in the breeze,

releasing perpetual peace.


Motion to creatures colours, comfort…

the indigo of midnight blue.

When all is peace and only one star shines.

Free the meditations from within.


Breathe in the air that is fresh, alive.

(It) lifts high the creatures – you and I.

Breath is the life-giving wonder.

Free the meditations from within.


All is peace and know that “I” am God.

All is peace and know that “I” am God.

Free the meditations from within.


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