March Pebbles Glistening

 

autumn's fall

crimson leftovers
fall, angle down
crinkling sidewalks/footpaths and lawns/grass
in
thundered color

--

when we pull up to Rhyolite
that derelict Nevada ghost city

where it lays stranded in blazing
withering intense heat

deserted, forsaken, desolate
though 100 years ago, from this Cibola

half a million ton of gold
got extracted here in 1905,

became an instant city
in barren desert by 1907--

got water mains, sidewalks,
electric lights, telephones, newspapers, 

hospital, school, opera house, swimming pool,
imported Italian marble and stained glass,

stock exchange, 3 banks, 2 places of worship,
lots of brothels, 35 gambling dens, 50 saloons—

El Dorado? No; 

The gold city was only a brief flash in the pan--
boomed, busted, and abandoned in less than

10 years, a faded park brochure states;
miner Tom Kelly built a bottle house from

50,000 discarded beer and liquor bottles;
and 70 years later, on the ridge behind

were created 12 chalky-white statues looking down,
“The Last Super” by Albert Szukalski,

a Belgian sculptor; through those paster-burlap
ghosts and crumbling structures, strong desert

wind blows, toward Death Valley, howling.

 

Meditations on reality, life, history and the cosmos

 

In the stream of life, poetic lines of empathy and mercy counter the sorrow and harshness that claim our yesterdays and tomorrows—help us redeem this troubled present day, this thankful present moment. 

a lightwaveseeker

Of Princes and Frogs

*People are born princes and princesses until their parents make them into frogs.
--Dr. Eric Berne, famous psychologist and founder of Transactional Analysis

IF all of us humans are born princes and princesses at birth,
Conceived as innocent wondrous human beings,

How is it that every generation of caring parents change their
New born precious infants into  glucky messy "frogs"?

And of course, what of our blameful parents—mean bewitchers—
Who were once wondrous innocents, too, little babes and toddlers

In their own parents’ arms! And back, back, to
Many grand-grand noble parents, ancestry-past

Turned endlessly back hopping into tadpoles, then slimy frogs
(warty toads) once upon a time as ill-well

Down to the 1st human primates at least 100,000 years ago;
Not so grand beginning of all croakliness.

What unlovely history words for the froggy in us all.
So where did this repulsive ‘tail’ of our soon-to-frog ancestor start,

The tadpoled-former prince of humanness begin?
Back before the primordial pond changed into corrupt skyscraping

High tech zoos, where worse slime and grime still remain?

Go back and back, generation upon generation to the human start—
That doesn’t solve why frogginess croaks and hops through the millenniums,

Why millions of humans birth oh so good, but devolve into ne’er-do-bads,
Why way too many of the little ones grow, cycling down

To dysfunction, neurosis, selfishness, even suicide and war;
Why some humans throw money around themselves like green confetti,

Gorge to overweight, and spend spend for dieting in deluxe gyms
While others, skin and bones, pick small finger-fulls of corn kernels

Out of horse manure on the muddy road or become child-soldiers with guns,
Why the most religious slaughter millions for god or ideologies

And the civilized century of the 20th became most murderous.
What unlovely delusion words of the poison froggy in us all.

Yes, we’re dealing with the cussdedness of our human kingness
Says Mark Twain (of The Prince and the Pauper)

Of course, Dr. Eric Berne, the astute psychologist knows our inner self
Of the 3 sides of consciousness—our inner felt, tradition taught, 

And rational-thought; what Berne termed “Child, Parent, Adult"
the latter which seeks objectivity, evidence, rational, who tries to sort

Some sense from the human  historic quagmire of feeling, insight,
Prejudice, superstition, fantasy, delusion, and moral conscience;

That deep within resides, too, is the Id a little fascist,”
Destructive desire that ever seeks chaos and destruction

But where did this little reptile desire come from?
Creeedalists in heated discussion will point to Adam’s Original Sin

When the wily snake cast doubt and tempted us to dragonhood.
The Calvinists shout our reptilian fallenness came

By the predestined will of the Almighty Sovereign who ordained our evil
Before the Creation of the Cosmos, we little infants born sinful

Pre-damned to Hell’s fire forever solely for God’s eternal pleasure and glory.
What horrific despairing words for the froggy in us all.

Secular folk reason we are born into through evolutionary biology
where good blossoms and evil cancers

(The duo of opposites) so babes are both noble and nefarious,
Will become both princes and frogs together split,

(Though snake or dragon aptly fits more than a few);
What we human primates need to do is  strive for rational evidence,

Not the sludge-paupered pond, diseased with plague,
Though multi-millions fail to reach such a sought goal.

Tragically, in so many cases lost children struggle in dysfunction
Almost from birth because they were born unfortunately

To very froggy parents living brazenly wrong, in our malfunctional
Societies, ever tempted by the glutted media praising our worst inclinations.
What despairing words for the froggy in us all.

Then by 7 or 8, waken to moral consciousness; but
Perceiving finiteness, we turn to gimmie gain and then guilt,

Not getting beyond our selfish tempted pond
Even group egotism, false illusionary religiosity

Masks the slither and wily guile gone to bad, to even evil,
Lke Muslim jihadists, Nazi supremacists, Stalinist oppressors,

And endless other historic destructors.
What unlovely theoried words for the froggy in us all. 

Egocentric, selfish, we cycle down from the constant testing
To our own demise or if we seek the Good, meticulous Truth, 

Caring Just, embrace, responding to Ever’s mercy, rise in
Thankful compassion, bow and kneel in meekness to true transcendent  life,

Renewing our innocent conception and blessed births,
Becoming noble refusing our lower froggy destructive

Passions, in our full-hearted reasoned, thoughtful morally real actions.
What wonderful truth for the prince and princess in us all.

 Revised 2/22/26

Daniel Wilcox

POETIC LINES, glimpses of the beauty and tragedy of LIFE

 

Shimmering Pebbles in the Light Stream

and
...a meteor shower of words in this early evening

 

after brief sprinkles

trembled jittering—
caught on our wet van windshield--
wisp-feather dust splat

1st pub. in Stylus Poetry Journal

 

 

seashore

under sea gulls kiting,
molten froth waves rolling in—
we hot-foot beach sand

 

1st pub. in a handful of stones

 

 

 

 

horse trailer rattles
past curved eucalyptus leaves--
they skit in gutter

 

1^st pub. in Lyrical Passion Poetry,
then Stylus Poetry Journal,
and Poetry Pacific

 

  

 

a trail of dashes
translucent on dull red brick
night’s telltale caller

 

1^st pub. in 4 and 20 Poetry

 

 

 

 

Moon River 

She knocked the hat off my heart
Not just because I paint 
In pastel and oil,

But because of her Basho splash--
Wet-sounded for life from head to foot.

1^st pub. in Ascent Aspirations,
also, Poetry Pacific

 

 

 

rain drip-drizzles down
against our foggy window--
blowing my wet nose

  

1st pub. in vox poetica

 

 

 

 

harvest field

ogre marshmallows
under the blue oz of sky--
plastic-wrapped hay bales

 

1st pub. in Full of Crow

 

 

rain water on oil
red and blue swirls on blacktop--
a peacock's feather

 

1st pub. in The Stylus Poetry Journal 

 

Crossing Shimmering Streams
into Dusk and
Stars

 

 

fall back to autumn

treetops blazing gold
with the last light of this day--
we lift our eyes

 

 

 

maui’s markers

on narrow sunny beach,
flashy cars crowd up against
withered gravestones

 

 

black manta ray
into the murk—steel descent
stinging death to weeds

 

1st pub. Lyrical Passion Poetry

 

 

 

 

walking the night

saplings blacken along
my waking path in the misted night,

a refracted light sky over
wrought iron candelabras 
on stands
lamping damp
in the coastal evening/on the coast

 

1st pub. in Writer’s Ink

 

 

 

 

surreal morning

bulky morro rock f l o a t s
heavy above the narrow gray
ocean fog strata of sedimentary air

while below the ocean's soapy crashing
churns combustible froth
and advances up our shore sand

high overhead, orange the sun;

and the heavy
floating ghost ship

 

1st pub. in Erbacce Print Journal , U.K.

 

 

 

 

 

 

california dazing--

summer

ground mists, chilly gloom
living on west’s ground-fogged coast--
wearing my snow coat

fall

palm branches flutter
while other trees’ leaves wind-fall
down on dry/dying grass

winter

rain-jade bluffs
6 leaves unfallen on our elm?
no! wrens flit from branch

spring

weeping tree saps down
drips red glop on our van’s roof--
then birds poop splats

 

 

Playing blues on my keyboard--
picking out despair
on pixel
strings

 

 

 

 

 

Up Early

In the gray-hazed dawn
Pale light blossoms
Softly explode from a violet tree
Rising by a jade-green hedge

Birdsong morning

 

1^st pub. n Mississippi Crow
Print Magazine

 

 

 

seashore

warped fence boards in sand
lean askew toward green windbreak--
old gnarled cypress

 

1^st pub. in Idlewheel Literary Friction

 

 

 

divergent learning

After our oldest son comes down serious
On the hard-won aisle and receives his diploma,
His flat mortarboard capped on his head
Its long green tassel hanging down to his nose,

Our struggling 7-year-old comes up grinning
Into the crowded study of our home with a manual,
His large iguana sitting perched on his head
Its green-threaded tail hanging down to his chin—

Look, Dad, I’m a graduate.

1^st pub. in Abandoned Towers
and in outwardlink.net

 

 

 

 

beach town

 swaying date palms

on the white-housed street
swaying date palms feather-dusk
sky’s fading crimson

 

1st pub. in Stylus Poetry Journal

 

 

 

winter honeymoon

ice melts
clear splashes on the teak matt--
our heat,
‘tinder’ 
intense caresses,
slushious kisses

 

 

 

 

gull wings
lightly spraying over gray clod fields
6-year drought--

so ‘irrigating’!

 

 

 

 

Night Watch Psalm

Walled granite
Moonlight
One mile
Down

Below the rocked rim
In the rusted Canyon
Rushing Colorado
River russet copper;

Nearby in the evened dusk,
I lay ‘stilled,’ a silent psalm
In the shine
Of that lighted granite

Eyes wide in the dawn
Of that Night

 

1^st pub. In The Cherry Blossom
Review

 

 

 

 

 

Perspective

Moments flash
Like falling meteors--
Precious glories,
I miss
Because I pine for that remote quasar
Whose light taunts--

Starred fixation, yet it burned out
Many millenniums ago--past
Light years
Gone

 

 

Misplaced?

Lost?
Seek the moral compass
Round this world ringed
Compassioned--
Don't pass by on the other side;
Be passionate
And encompass
Love's Sphere
Found.

 

1^st pub. by Diminuendo Press,
Dark Energy Poems book

 

 

 

 

 

Outside the Limit

Working Thursday's graveyard shift
At 7-11, I  stock cold shelves, of 'cours'
Then write a college essay on Dreiser"s
Claim, "Life is thin surface, all negation;"

But alert in that alone night, I reflect
While beyond the store glass, the parking lot
Lies vacant, lit by neon signs and street lights--
Then unexpectedly my mind transports.

My inner self somehow rises up above
My body sitting down there between rows
Of stacked cans and jars; see/observe my ego,
Skin, and skull; envision far beyondness

Am flood-immersed in wondered awe,
Vividly aware, blissful beyond words,
Luminous endless care, blessed all-encompassing 
Exalting surpassing transcendent becoming.

 

1st pub. In Flutter Poetry Journal, then
The Mindful Word, and poetry book
Psalms, Yawps, and Howls

 

 

 

 

 

 

Cape May Light

 
Back then
Her young wedding eyes glistened
More than the prismed Fresnel lens
That centered our lives
On the Jersey shore;

She's a Keeper.

 

1st pub. in hotmetalpress.net

 

 

 

 

 

 

starlight
when one doesn't
see the dark

 

 

 

awake

at dawn
upending my camping mug
for a drink,
but no water slurp;
empty--

wait!--a gray web’s net
laces
rim to rim;

and below,
hides its dark spider
silently dwelling

 

humming attack

wearing my fiery red shirt
for Christmas, I open our
sliding glass door;

sudden jolt in front
of my startled face--
a flash of feathers hum-buzzes,
darts within inches of my eyes

but then away, it flits left
back to that flowering bush
along our fence--

me a reject

 

 

 

 

 

yellow-beaked birds perch
on the wind-shifted branches
clamorous squawking

 

 

 

 

Our Catnap

Underbelly slurps juice from
Our empty crab can, lickety-split
Leisurely indulges in a foot n’ chops rinse

Then his forward paw,
Stretches to its feline limit--
Floodlighted by morning shine-- 

Contorts to nap my left socked foot;
Lazing man-napper.
And me, his waiter and footman

 

 

 

 

 

The Space Clown

When caught in
The romantic comet
Of the moment,
I touched her pixied face

And said,
I wish I could make love to
You on 3 million different planets
All at once;

She pixeled a look so scientific
And said,
Oh, don't clone around
with me

 

1^st pub. In Right Hand Pointing
and Abandoned Towers Magazine

 

 

 Rock Life

White-capped wind roars around
Huge volcanic buttes swimming north
Off Oregon's coast

Like asymmetrical gray whale giants
Leaving splashing trails of white water
Behind in the slate green ocean

Yes, waves churning around 
Those behemoths, frothing

1st pub. in The Houston
Literary Review

flighting surprise

in my morning bowl
adhering to wet blue berries--
a wispy white feather

 

 

 

 

cambria fire

green vines wind up fences
bursting with succulent grapes--
but dusted in ashes

 

 

 

 

 

starbacked

starbacked night, coffee-drunk sky:
rows of cars metal
at the red orb,
anonymous

a lone skateboarder foot-struts,
waits for the flash of sage green
his board-wheeler a bill of adding
getting a toehold
from the faceless

hidden in their dark glass
street cars
fathomless

when all dreams night
into marred
perception

 

1^st pub. In The Clockwise Cat

 

 

 

a time for…

In the fall a time for springing
childhood,

festivals of Monet-splashed leaves
that my sister and I raked and piled high
in the deep ditch in front
and jumped down
softly crashing into,

and our large garden behind the parsonage
with pumpkins, melons, and withered corn rows...

and lightning bugs on the wane,
flashing on and off

full of fall...

 

Ah, Bird Poop Van

Ah, bird poop van,
there in the far corner of the fast food lot
where wind-blown paper congregates,

and you squat against the curb,
a rusted Ford Econoline home,

spattered with a thousand puked starbursts
of smell on your dull finish,
a metal fadedness of has been.

Your owner in his tourist-trash hat
and long dirty hair hanging to his collar,
squats on the splattered grass,

Grizzled before his future demise,
a throwback to Ashbury
where he used to panhandle.

He sits with his wilted wildflower
in her faded jeans splotched with patches,
sipping their mocha coffee on the matted grass;

They're wary for the squad car to cruise by again,
and roust them out of their corner nest
under the gilded arches.

But, oh, old Van, you rest and rust so easy–
at least there are no more fowl in sight.

 

1st pub. in The Bicycle Review,
also, in amphibi.us, Dead Snakes,
and the poetry collection book, selah river

 

 

 

 

A Psalm of Late Life

Pessimist of my oldering years
Preyed upon by lamentable loss
I find no balmy psalms to lyre,
But after discovered liars
Only this harp
Of yawps and howls;

I pray for transcendence,
​This my modern yelled holler
My psalm of life end's exit,
Dance in this sorrowing
Starred night

 

 

 

 

bidingTimeabiding

bite my teeth on famous lines
a hole lot of fragmented shells;
hunger hollows within--
deepening abyss
of lost longing
lone-ranging, reigning the distance
of a round heartless night

of a round heart-last light
lane-ranging, raining the day-stance
of last longing
steepening a-bless
wonder hallows within--
a whole lot of fragranced ‘shalls’;
bide my heart on famous lines

1st pub. in Dead Snakes Poetry

 

 

 

late afternoon

our van tires roll home
over dark elm trees stretched long,
but where are the bumps?

1st pub. in Haiku Journal

 

 

Northeast Night

Under the cold stars
Of that Whittier night,
Snowbound-less
Schmoozing

Cuddly warming
Honeymooners
Lasted, ever

Clung so close 
Like maple syrup,
Snuggling within

His large parka,
Smooching deep,
Below that maple tree

 

 

dying leaves fluttering
scarlet
oaks, and aspen into glory

 

 

 

 

Sierra Hiker

Golden trails, loving strands
I follow with my eyes;

Radiant smile, glowing face
Lighting away my shadows;

Diligent hands, plying fingers
Latticing strew moments into art

Fruitful tree, slender body
Open to me, enclosed to us;

Caring heart, giving spirit
Surprising gifts daily to me.

1^st pub. by Diminuendo Press,
Dark Energy Poetry Book

 

 

 

 

Lips touch –harmony
life giving moments
of peace-communion

 

 

 

 

black crow atop pine
bobbing up and down his head
caw-cawing the cold

 

 

 utah sojourn

eye-widening stone
brilliant sheened
pastels bold in faded sunlight
this wondered rock garden
Of deep-time

 

 

 

 

lines, no white shirts but
birds black in a row clothes-pinned
to the telephone wires.

 

1^st pub. in Idlewheel Literary Friction

 

 

 

 

red hair of his wife
flickering in the hot wind,
glowing bed of fire

 

1^st pub. Ink Sweat and Tears

 

 

crinkly gray strands
in his black brush of bristles--
approaching heir time

 

1^st pub in Ink, Sweat, and Tears

 

 

 

sun in east

fog rising in west
horizon-faded jean sky
watercolor washed

 

 

 

old mail route

abandoned despite
postal service's past claim--
"neither rain nor sleet-snow:"

no longer their trusted carrier
but empty, idle, deserted
vacant slow-snailed mail box
has-been
ex-friend

 

 

 by Daniel E. Wilcox

 

Introduction to a website of writer Daniel E. Wilcox, a reflective blogger, pebble-poet, fiction creator...

and kickabout mutant traveler of the mind, human history, the world, and, speculatively (stretching into deep time), the cosmos.

My wandering, wondering lines have appeared in many magazines including Contemporary American Voices, vox poetica, Dead Snakes, Word Riot, Centrifugal Eye, Camel Saloon, 

Tipton Poetry Journal, The Medula Review, Full of Crow, Front Porch Review, The New Verse News, Willows Wept Review, Eunoia Review, Quill and Parchment, Halfway Down the Stairs, The Clockwise Cat, Frame Lines, The Externalist, The Driftwood Review, Western Friend Magazine, Flutter Poetry Journal, Poetry Pacific, Frostwriting, Words-Myth, Ink Sweat & Tears, Erbacce, Static Movement, Counterexample Poetics, and Unlikely Stories IV.