Writer • Musician
Not long ago a few hours maybe/came the dreadful realization that I stood alone on streets of New Orleans, haunted by rumor the spell of a girl I’d come to know well in just an instant & she’s a part of me now, so I’m haunted spellbound & cursed. I had my guitar with me, …
Beyond notion You are unfolding epic thundering enveloping the cosmos, and yet here you are within me, my heart beating quiet, unassuming ever gently within me, yea you are a companion always
I wrote these poems in the last few pages of a brown, tattered old pocket journal that I kept with me as I started into the Sierra Nevada, heading out of California and toward the east coast; seeing for the first time everything from General Sherman Tree to Yosemite Valley and the Tuolumne Meadows. I wrote …
Organic You stand outside the glass wall, separated from a fog You know what to do You only must choose The voice speaks to you All you’ve got to do is listen When it speaks to you Just listen And follow the path set out for you According to your own wishes. Break the glass …
I am in love with this moment I am in love with you and America, I see you So let down you guard America I see you No matter the statues left standing, I see you Or whoever stands for the anthem I see you still How did you ever get boxed into this prism? …
My first thought on Allen Ginsburg's short poem 'Wild Orphan' is how striking the last verse is...That is all for now. "And the father grieves in the flophouse complexities of memory a thousand miles away, unknowing of the unexpected youthful stranger bumming toward his door" Allen Ginsburg NY, 1952
When I'm on the move, I write in verse Small poems to most accurately or honestly reflect the things going on around me, and how I feel about those things Often times, most of the time, these poems aren't any good But other times, they turn out alright. Simple. To the point. Just getting the …
The guitar case bears the sacred marks from where you've been Not too far but you've got the scars The stars at night still grin You look out yonder and see bright green Deep in the swamps of mud memory That one summers eve, outside New Orleans long before Yosemite and the mighty Sequoia trees …
your eyes begin to open, you look out long, pour over your mythology, over the scattered clouds across the desert, your precious afternoon the desert you know well, probably the same old New Mexico state road On the morning so cold, when you stood all alone with the night the night the night you were …
Ren Michael 