belly of feathers
                                       the feel and the smell of Mom
                                       till we can solo

San Diego ComicCon 2019

Artists, movie & tv actors’ panels, hundreds of vendors, crowds jamming the convention center & adjacent participating hotels & nearby closed-off- streets-to-car-traffic, restaurants & local hotels enjoying their busiest week of the year, and a time when even adults can let loose with their diversity of costumes.
For my wife and I, it started with early a.m. before Preview Night.  We needed to set up our panels for the Art Show at the Hyatt near Seaport Village—which was really cool, because it was open to the general public. Also, because we had tickets for Preview Night, we lucky ones got a head start on beating the really big crowds and receiving extra freebees—which might include anything from special toys & paraphernalia, books & comics & posters, art prints, large tote bags, program booklets for the upcoming week’s events, and at least a general feel for the exhibit floor’s layout before the next crowd-filled days.
Fortunately, our staycation at our hotel provided attendees with a free shuttle in order to avoid the downtown herd of cars.  Only the shuttles and permit vehicles were allowed on that stretch of the convention center.
Now that my feet are at rest, I’d like to share with you some pics of our experience—a few of them described; the rest for your visual enjoyment.  Peace.

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signing spat

                                                my stupid comment
                                                silent but tasteless
                                                tick’d her off

                                                her palms and finger’s
                                                kung fu flyers
                                                flailing from her body
                                               hitting me
                                               hurting me
                                               without touching me

                                               my penitence
                                               my standing
                                               on a breath of bend’d knee
                                               flutter’d before her eyes

                                              till we both surrender’d
                                              and cultivat’d smiles
                                              on deaf hands


                                       time’s been good to me

                                       my hide
                                       though bronz’d
                                       by the seasons
                                       be crawlers and flyers
                                       and autographers
                                       still holds fast on firm feet

                                      of admirers
                                      of passing glances
                                      have I outliv’d

                                      and might someday
                                      my leaves never reawaken
                                      your memories
                                      your snapshots
                                     be bless’d
                                     for making me immortal

rest stop

                                    sharing big bird rock
                                    with a smaller bird whose wings
                                    must flap thrice as hard

spacewaves: Piccadilly Circus

                                        in the far tomorrow
                                       eyes within Magellanic Clouds
                                       might detect a signal

                                       vivid voices
                                       among the stars
                                       on golden record

                                      an old crossroads
                                      of me— Westminister

                                     and infer it as noise

                                     and tho’ my rock
                                     in Milky Way
                                     might be no more
                                     yet tarries my name


                                                  in courtship

                                                  no one
                                                  nowhere but here

                                                  now this is dancing

dreamverse 1

                                              the card deck
                                              of my footprints
                                              to the many myselves
                                              till I’m awaken as one
                                              to a fading memory
                                              of those last hands

                                             a struggle
                                             to a complete fold

rock star

on a cd houseboat
sometimes anchor’d
sometimes ploughing video streams—
hypnotizing eyes and ears
at the dinner table
where guests not only share
but also digest as a solitary one
with appetite fully satisfy’d
while never full enough


some might see
should want to see
a Yesterday
as She did today

a pebble lighting
upon a sleeping pond

a ripple wading
to the shores
of reason
of marvelment
of sav’d optimism

songs of fair skies
of fresh faces of love
for her own Tomorrow

Love’s Legacy

have always been our spirits
as fancies my heart?

were then We there
at first season’s weaning
when yawn’d and stretch’d a microstar?

night with day to grace
and serenade glacial clouds
whose joy wept over thalassic plains
and bless’d loftiest peaks with child
from Eden
to her tributaries
to now?

so shall We be
though Time be drown’d
in Her foreverness