Baker Beach Poems

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The Toughest Day

Listening to this mind associate without trimmings,
pruning, judgings, denying, the black birds whistle
on the power lines, sweeter twitters spread out

across these cold winds, ducks splashing in a wet
paradise, a ferment of elixirs of freedoms that cannot
be described, twittering wings that flutter, cars zooming

by, in this bleated hurry, they don’t want to give lifts to anyone,
even to the U.S. Marines, who cautiously advance between
strange houses close to the Euphrates river, Toby’s red barn,

a brick hotel, these patriots of peace, driving on California's
Highway One, Point Reyes, an ostrich in a cage, ducks flapping
in the marshes of Nasariya, a paradise of God.

A Sufi Saint

I see a woman as she takes her sunglasses off and reveals
these penetrating blue eyes, filled with disturbing pock-marks,
then a horse’s grin, white skin and small breasts, and she’s
just here, she eats cookies, and drinks tea, and looks inside
silently, her dreams tell here forever that she has reached the
holy spot.


The sea crashes the beaches gently, as the dissipating fogs
lose their struggle with this disturbed sun, a distant seagull
can barely be seen as it flaps its wings silently, gentle goes
this breeze, even as the vibration of the earth increases, its
magnetism, these reflections of crystalline resonance, every
place is like a tuning fork for feelings of an extreme bliss,
these multiple intersections with extended energy lines across
the turbulent planet, a high tech provided by the mind for any
kind of advanced psychic trance, the spinal columns of our
breathing swiftly inside the oceans and the perceiving earth’s core.

A vast life

I saw her face, this vast life filled with self-created
rose gardens, her Isis thighs, filled they were with
bliss waves of serpent power, her cosmic breasts filled
with sweet holocausts of divine abundances, mean
and heavy with the laughing elixirs of mercury, her

spinning bare feet touching the wet sands, as the vast
oceans roared the dangerous groans of her big jeweled
out-spread hands, touching my earth-bound memories
the wish-fulfilling gems that burned in her magic face.

Fire in My Heart

The fire is deeply veiled in her kind heart,
the disturbing legs cross mid-air, as they lift
the healer's hardest jobs, a great responsibility

inhaling thus consciously,

the challenging enterprise of her lovely bodies, the
spiritual oceans abate with highly pitched fevers,

increasing spine straightens

lenghtening through the healing crowns of the head,

the the divine yoga of her conscious breasts, the

infinite path that her receptive heart now


those remarkable points of her dimly desired object,
breathing in the oceans and then breathing them out

Waiting for the Sea

I can feel her soft breath now, she is so close,
trapped in the sand, in the waves, that crash
with foam like yoga, stretched on the floor, both
legs raised and extended, lightly touching the vast
plains strewn with the craters, the pelvis, elbows,
lifting up, inhaling the rigid and wrinkled seas, whose
lips kiss me with a tongue--not lacking in spiritual
truth, which curls forward to support me, grasping
both knees and clasping the sea.

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