American poet

Soaked In Its Grief

Posted on Updated on

It made its way down
A redwood leaf
Plummeted soft
On the deep, awakened greens
lithe bounce
      photomatic reel
It hung off the most
Dangerous peaks
A diamond axel
With a Nibbana plink
bright stealth
      clear coalescing,
      barefoot assassin
It broke against still life
Curled the curves of
An iris heirloom
Lost its shape in the florets
Of a sunflower’s face
Slipped through wisteria’s
Forbearing arms
dram drop
      cloud blooming burst
      wingless, seraph, sphere
A fertile whisper shook
In disbelief
A toad disturbed jumped
Onto another lily
A chrysalis kindly, soaked
In its grief
As Nature cried out the
First tear of spring


A Mad Intercision

Posted on Updated on

“Surrealism to me is reality.”  John Lennon

“A Mad Intercision”

Pulled back by the wind, fog lights jumped over

Knocking pressure below the air plane,

She went off the road ‘cause her mind

Let-out-line for a memory, a mad 

Intercision, and I remember I

Was the one next to her as the

Hospital bed ran the motorcyclist

From screaming children into

A river where we swam all summer

Ate at the park pepperoni pizza, green chili fruit pies

We flew, thrown high from it, our kites in spring  

Sucked hard warm gasses along the jetstream

Conical shells, road piggy back

On joyous ants, split soul per diem

The sky was like glass

And I tugged you mom wake up, the er nurse

Needs you to get her ice Why? She’s flying

We laughed ‘cause we made one moment right

Before we forgot we were in route

To moralities where everyone stared us right out of class

You took one long, yellow leg with us to snow summit

We chewed into lobster rubber,

I wiped the tomato paste off the molcajete and the

Motorists hung white linen sheets in the wind

As that silly snowman with the middle finger,

Cigarette, and beer can smiled

I thought he needs a winter coat, so he doesn’t lose his beer

Or a friend to remember how he was, a

Nice chunk of ice, an intercision 

A memory mad for your undivided vision,

Flying glass kites on chain smoke marinara

I walked right off, out of the hospital window

With sangria fireflies

Attached to my arms


Thank you for reading,


Feb. 2017

000 Generalities

Posted on Updated on

Poverty is a symbol
It’s as lost as two faces
Conjoining eyes in a mirror
It’s as nameless as two tracks
Topping off at a crossroad
As cold as massive numbers
Turning odds into zeros
So big it becomes
An unmelodious aviary
A zoo inches deep in dust
A house dry of pulsation
Of migrant thought
What’s left between, in-between
When the ringing has stopped
Poverty is noting more
Than what is general
A stack needing to be reshelved
Into the Dewey decimal system
Cooperative as long as it stays in its place
It’s an ancient, archived tete-a-tete
We ride on past without any empathy
Widely biased if not, unplugged
Despair a greater sin for them
As their cries become shut in a book
And this symbol again
Is unheard

clburdett, 2017

Closed Until Fall

Posted on Updated on

Come with me this evening
And I will take two links from your watch
Come to the front door
Drop  off sugar, peanut butter in a green coffee cup
And I will give you spoons of my tomato soup
I’ll stub my pinky on your chest
You’ll sneak the car to the firehouse
Show me ghosts in the suite, at the
Furnace creek inn
We’ll come to watch the denim fade
Debate the end of horror, black and white
Ram rocks to view flood
Blocked monuments
Talk of falls church, holsteins, and .45
Night sky dark park night sky
You’ll key the radio as we’re kidnapping toads
Pour oil down the funnel next
To the date groves
Rolling on top of our own giants
Slashing the night with our laughs
Swim millions of years in spring water
Hitting the bats with our heads
It all ends at one
As unleashed dogs howl excitedly
Down the slumbersome  sealed Shoshone rez
As castle halls blink, at the
Furnace creek inn

Clburdett, 2016

Rocky Mountain Flower Guide and Unread Books

Posted on Updated on

Angel is mine you gave her to me, didn’t you?
Only recently have I become to comprehend the truth
Of what he once said to me
He mixed water with his wine
Isn’t that how the little ditty goes
Truly alpine mountain flora
The truth is, as he got older, he increasingly longed
For a quiet life
Solitary, riverbanks, and clearings, mainly below the timberline
Suffering with them if need be,
And joining with them in steps toward a better life
Why did she call him, because it seemed like
A good idea at the time
Pressing her hands on her knees, but they still wouldn’t stop trembling
A few lines to say God bless you and good-bye
There might still be one uncertain refuge
Silvery grey rare species
Hunting for an enemy, hitting him, and then moving on to
other missions
Covered in mud, rain splashing in my face, and just smile
Along creek beds or screes subject to snowslides
A fog of stone and dust filled the air and for a few moments
No one could see
Hidden blessings. Earthly mission.
How innocent then compared to the furious demons eating him now
Such an eventuality was unthinkable and would have to be prevented
Ice-cold streams, rusty-coloured underside
Hurry for God’s sake hurry, carried clearly above the sounds of fighting
Eighty years ahead of them in which to accomplish miracles
Defense has made the world unlivable
You don’t measure a war in terms of minutes or hours
Pray to the Virgin that it will never be repeated
A roiling mass of slamming humanity
Be with us when it counts
She wore a hat many days that summer
Common on open, dry hillsides
She wondered whether to wake him
Put it all together and you have a statement about
The human  condition
Always made her long for a life that was simpler
Then, one by one, they would succumb to nature’s timetable
And retire
Creeping over fallen logs or rocks
Illicit union. Squandered energy.
Noise of their feet throbbed on top of the road
He didn’t give me his name
He had faked his forecast
The internal sentences are like the addictive voice
There’s no harm done except that you puzzled me terribly
It was a bit quick, can we do it again in the morning?
Along the avalanche paths or clearings
In open woods
In rocky mountain flower guides
Or unread books?

clburdett, 2016


Posted on

Maybe it didn’t make sense on the battlefield
Maybe it didn’t make sense leaving Utah for gold
It may not have been the purpose-driven-life of a religion
But a ridden-hard-life that surrendered its soul
Too run down to make sense, aimless
It was a threat back then
It was a force called youth
Calling high and loud “willful,” “determined,” and sometimes vindicated
Made many joyous and many jealous of that youthful stole
A journey with so many directions we can only go down once
But a purpose driven life doesn’t speak of failure
Fuels a marionette dancing out of control
Maybe it was left somewhere you don’t remember
Maybe it was a lesson but gawd lessons are so wrong
Maybe it’s still a spiritual journey that hasn’t yet ended
Moving on makes sense, aimless
I can believe it may still happen, but so can death
I can see where it may be a problem
Insanity hates the bench
It never did seem right then…
You think of the winds foiling towards nothing
All fearless, reckless
A hound on the scent confused, beset
A little more sugar for all those gawd awful lemons
It was a threat cause it was all potential then
Maybe they’re still out there holding a place for you
Maybe a place of redemption a Bermuda Triangle twist
It may be that getting on with one’s life
Really has no point to it
And if you get there it’s not desire nor intent
It just is, aimless

clburdett, 2016

Unlike Each Other

Posted on Updated on

Each day

You may not realize this

The bird’s song will be different

As daylight touches to warm the back

Of the mountain’s side

Or as a wheel turns tread

Against the roads arms

It will never be the same


A child calling out to his mother in need

Leaves so brazen falling down like fledglings

Tear drops so strong washing mud from the stream

Memories come back and we retrieve

Again and again it happens

But it always happens


There are times of the day

Where light turns the waters green

Bright days are bright

Bright days are clear

Bright days glare

Dark nights are the same as the brightest day

Cold nights burn like the sun

Dark nights can’t conceal like other dark days

But it will never be the same

Each day

We may remember it as is

Or remember that what was

Or remember what we knew

Every time we hear birds sing

Every time the sun reaches out

Every time the clouds roll by

Something is there inexplicably different

From the last time

And time

Like unlike twin mountain peaks

Like unlike winds hollowing out canyons

And screams harrowing out our hearts

Are not repeated but come around once

No repetitious boring rain drops

Common currents tugging boats along

Unbearable breezes making it impossible to stay on course

Once you see it and know it

It’s gone

Each day different

Each day a memorial

A reminder

That life if full


Is ours


Clburdett, 2016