Tag Archives: poetry

The Lonely Blossom


Heart filled with stillness

heavy air sinking slowly

to collect as dew


Quiet overtakes

with no need to speak my mind

hushed shadows drifting


Creamy white richness

stretching on towards the heavens

in a yogic pose


Perfect proportion

a direct testament to

nature’s harmony


The lonely blossom

reflects its peace on the pond

content to just be


Love’s bounty ripples

outwards with tranquility

a serene blessing

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Living Dead



Where do my emotions go when I bury them?

The absence of feeling in me is the most painful of all.

Yearning for the hot blast of alive.


The Machine does not allow for variance.

Slotted, herded, controlled, cajoled.

Led to willful slaughter like so many sheep.


Mind numbing diversions distract attention.

Controlled monotony of dreary lives.

Corporatocracy is supersized.


Teleport through dimension and time.

Find the place where the quiet mind

can truly hear the wind.


Shed your soul of the extra layers.

Travel lightly on your journey.

Every step filled with intention.

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These Are The Times


Shimmering radiance
of full moons glow.

Never more alive than
those moments when

I peel back the layers
of rote habit.

Prodding my inner core,
allowed to feel

my real emotions.
Not protected but

at least I am not dulled.
These are the times

that I feel connected,

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The Island


View of Alcatraz taken from the Bay Bridge


Heavy inversion layers

tamped down emotions

solitude of thought.


Days like these weigh on my soul

testing my psyche

in ways you can’t know.


Where does the self doubt come from?

Was it there since birth,

or learned behavior?


On an island in my mind,

watching the waves lap

and envelop me.


The sun tries hard to break free

 Focused beams puncture

through the mist and shine.


If only I can absorb

the sun’s loving rays

deeply in my heart


I can learn to love again.

The lessons of life

that guide me to peace.


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A Silence So Loud it Hurts


Grey mist replaces what once was bright.

A Silence So Loud It Hurts

A silence so loud it hurts.
Bottomless depths,
absence of light.

Drawing all feeling towards you.
Black hole gravity pull
will never relent.

What will be left when I am gone?
Echoes of us
shadows of love.

Colors drain from the picture.
Grey mists replace
what once was bright.

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In The Arms Of Mother


Held closely
in the arms of mother nature.
Her watchful gaze,
like a warm embrace that surrounds me.

Nothing bad
can happen here, you at my side.
Constant presence
guides me, providing gentle comfort.

Blowing breeze
swirling up through the canyon walls.
Calling to me
with the beautiful song of your love.

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Impressions of Her

Impressions of Her

Impressions of her

indelibly painted,

sweeping expanding images.


Savoring the time

never knowing.

Grace comes and goes.


Could a dream

be what I saw?

How can I know for certain?


With every shared whisper,

every exchanged glance,

her essence gains gravity.


Until she appears

before me.

As if by my side

for eternity.



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Hidden Treasures

hidden treasures

hidden treasures


Hidden Treasures

What you keep

hidden away from view

is the summation

of all that is beautiful

in you.


Your special smile

and what you do,

a beauty that lies below

that precious few knew.


Poise and warmth

a glance askew

make me feel cheerful

as seldom do.


On this day

you must not be blue.

Warm greetings and hugs,

happy birthday to you!


I promised my co-worker who is one of those “talk about my birthday for months before it comes” types that I would give her a special gift on her birthday. Well, this is the best I could do, hope you like it!

Happy Birthday Mercedes.

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Summer Remembrances Of The Yuba River

The Yuba river

The Yuba river


Shadows stretch languidly
fluid rivulets groove into granite.
Time passes with no words.

Echoes reverberate against box canyon walls.
Foam spray on mossy stones.
Driftwood collects in swirling eddies.

Dappled stars twinkle and dance on waters surface.
Scent of pine duff wafts.
Calm pools teem with life as
water skeeters flit and skip about.

Breathy breezes and puffy clouds.
Cans of cheap beer chill at rivers edge.
Eyes closed but calming ripples
fill my mind.
Falling deeply into summers trance.

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image courtesy of whowillyouserve.blogspot.com

Rudderless and adrift

victim to the whims of current and tide.


Imminently threatened

to be dashed against jagged cliffs.


You are my beacon, 

Guiding me homeward to calm waters.


Without your hand I am a lost soul.

No sextant to chart direction in a starless sky.


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Weekend Micropoetry

Here’s a sampling of some of my recent Micropoetry Tweets. Micropoetry by definition is limited to 140 characters or less when using Twitter so it can be a bit of a challenge to get your message across at times.

Many of these were submitted with the hashtag #Heartsoup where a daily phrase or word is chosen to be integrated into the poem. This keeps it interesting and fresh for the various poets, challenging them to find ways to include the phrase within their words. Give it a shot if you like to write poetry and have a Twitter account, it’s fun and the community is always supportive with stars for your efforts.

If you wish to follow my Twitter account, my handle is @MaxxPayme. I hope to see some of you there.


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Live Oak


Live Oak

Arms outstretched as if in prayer

tendrils intertwine in delightful chaos.

We have grown wise and old through the years

like the live oak by the river.

Remember how we used to picnic

‘neath her canopy in the summertime

and make love in the evening gloaming protected from view.

The quiet sentinel always willing to keep our secret.

Head resting in your lap as you absentmindedly

ran delicate fingers through my hair.

Feelings of freedom and security, wind rustled leaves

entranced us with hypnotic rhythms.

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“..there is always soma, delicious soma, half a gramme for a half-holiday, a gramme for a week-end, two grammes for a trip to the gorgeous East, three for a dark eternity on the moon…” Aldous Huxley – Brave New World

Passing days, passion fades

intensity peels off in layers like onion skin.

Blunted, muffled, tamped down.


Stuffing cotton gauze in gaping wounds.


Hazy dreamy reality

smug, warm and content.


Nothing can penetrate the veneer

safe in the cocoon of ignorance.


Challenges to status quo rebuffed.

Never question, each day filled

with hermetically sealed and

sterilized packages.


Curiosity killed the cat.

Stay in bounds.

Color between the lines.

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Scratches on the surface

grooves worn lightly

crisscrossing intricately and delicately.


Patterns evolve over time

an expression of the subconscious

let the waves flow

the magnetism will create on it’s own


Circadian rhythm

the natural order of things

everything is as it should be





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Morning Prayer

Morning Prayer

The sun rises,

a new perspective.

Rays of golden warmth

unlock your mystery,

thaw your permafrost.

Drink deeply from the stream,

loving sustenance.

Every chance to better yourself

is a chance to love yourself.

Seize the opportunity,

embrace the day.



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Devils Snare

Devils Snare

You use your feminine wiles.

Sticky honey to snare, 

knowing full well the power.


Why do you choose to torment, 

to torture me so?


Never a direct acknowledgement of my presence

yet always alluding.

What laws of nature prevent basic human kindness?

Preclude a gentle interaction?


A mere touch here and there is all I long for.

Just to know you think of me.

Why must I always make the first move?


Slavery to my emotion

dictates that no matter the consequence

I must trap myself time and again

in your devils snare.


Will you not take pity this time

and release me?

Free me to spread my wings

in soaring flight.


We can glide together 

on the warm upwellings.

Effortless, peaceful, graceful.

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A stranger in familiar environs

words only make things worse.

Causing hurt and misunderstanding,

leaving in their wake pain and destruction

as the tides recede.


Stench of death, rotting bodies.

Things will never be as they were.


A baby cries, looking for mother.

Nothing can bring her back.

Life is forever changed.


Irreparable, irreconcilable. 

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Down the Rabbit Hole

As introverts go I am pretty extroverted. But don’t get it twisted, I am an introvert at heart. I crave periods of solitude. Some of my favorite parts of the day are extended periods of time when I am totally in my own mind. Deep down in the primordial sludge.

It is not wholly constructive for me to stay in the rabbit hole for too long. I can get lost down in there. Trust me. The shit I am thinking about ranges from the mundane to the metaphysical. I can slip down the hole at the strangest moments. I don’t even need to be alone for it to happen. Many times I have “gone there” in the middle of a grocery checkout line or as I wait for a red light to turn green.

The feeling is of warmth and contemplative relaxation. Time slows to a standstill. The more I embrace the feeling the deeper I go down the hole. It is hard to reverse because it feels so good to me. My only wish is that these moments of reflection would result in more permanent positive feelings for my overall mental outlook.

Alas, that is not always so. In fact, sometimes these deep thought sessions sometimes trigger a bout of moodiness as the real world usually proves far harsher and less stimulating to my mind. That is why I need to be careful how much time I allow myself to play in the rabbit hole.

The mundane bothers me. I would so much rather think about any philosophical or spiritual or scientific thought than spend one ounce of mental energy on pablum. That is why I don’t watch television much or even read common media sources. It’s not that I am so sophisticated or smart or anything. It’s just that my tolerance for lowest common denominator, formulaic, propaganda or anything herd like is just very low.

This creates some interesting results. For one, I have a very low IQ for what is currently “hip”. I have no idea who current stars of the movies, music, television are. It horrifies my wife how little I know about popular culture. I am not cool, or with it. The funny thing though is that I am frequently told that I appear youthful or younger than my age not just in looks but in attitude. Possibly this has to do with the fact that I am always questioning conventional thinking to the point that many consider my attitude churlish or argumentative. This is not how I feel to myself, but it’s more that I always like to play devils advocate and look at things from the less conventional point of view.

Are there others out there who are of similar temperament? If so, I would love to hear from you. To learn how you deal with the temptation. The craving  to lose yourself in your own mind.


Depth Charge

The mines lurk just underneath the surface.

Ever present reminders of explosive danger.

To navigate these waters takes the utmost care, and cunning.

One slip and it all could implode.

Don’t let it happen on your watch.

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Here are a few thoughts I jotted in my notebook this morning. Reflections of my mood, my feelings at the moment. Normally, I would have spent the morning thumbing through my Twitter feed, so perhaps the positive take away is that the lack of Twitter is encouraging more creativity to blossom in my life.

It is a rainy day in Northern California and this has something to do with the tone of my words below. A bit of melancholia today, but that is to be expected. I don’t handle changes in my routine very well.

The funny thing is I am writing these words, but barely anybody is actually reading them. Does this bug me? Perhaps a bit, as my ego has gotten used to the attention of hundreds of followers reading my material. Hopefully this is a good thing for me, a pure expression, not predicated on impact or appeal but only coming from my soul. Anyhow, for those few out there reading…thank you and I hope that you continue to come back. Feel free to leave me messages and I will answer. Enjoy your weekend.


Quiet Echoes

Quiet Echoes

Puddles, rings of concentric circles.

Grey cotton

Dampness, dull thud.

Creaky bones and cranky mood.

Missing the familiar.

Wondering if I am missed in return.


Mere Speck

A mere speck of lint.

So easily flicked away.

The build up in my mind

is so much greater then the reality it appears.

Why does the ego create stories?

Spinning yarns that are nothing more

than Aesop’s fables.

It is human nature I suppose

to want to feel important, to matter.

In nature no one matters more than the other.

There is comfort in this truth.

I do matter, just not more than

that speck of lint.

If I can accept this and embrace

the truth in this, I can feel peace.

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