a delicate flower blooming in a spiral

elta blues men singing with soul and getting paid beyond the expectations of a third world national gross product,and then conversing in a manchester accent ?are they a role model reality>>…saud afriche style mavens dictating california taste to the world ? are they kidding while those they emulate the Idiot savante inspired surf=puppies starve dieing under a bridge in tehachapi because the condo built by the guy from Love canal replaced the pier under which the kid was destined to pass onto grace? in consistancies assault the sensitive mind yet walking back from the beach the night blooming tree still has some remnant fragrant blossoms blooming in a spiral…ambrose…goin surfin

A Prairie Bouquet

  day remembers night

  prairie glimpses at the sky

  constellations bloom

I’ll tell you what I can of these

before the pot begins to boil:

A stellar group of brilliant stains

I’ve seen on arid southern plains.

With colors of the afternoon

reds and yellows burn beside

a spectral galaxy that’s set

on coreopsis carpets.

Flowers of the sun combine

with threads of green that weave

a backdrop of bright astral plumes

on towering pillars of the room.

Sent down from Dolphin’s heaven

in five pointed royal desert stars,

how gracefully her poison’s hid

beneath the winking larkspur’s lid.

Within her silent symphony

Artemis arrows strike the page,

lavender announcements sent

from nature’s corollas coronet.

This heavenly southwestern harvest,

can only stand for just a week

on sweet water in a red clay vase.

Before they wilt, Tea? Here’s your place.

Back to the kitchen – then off to the fin shop, Rich

Styles, fads and fancies all destined to fade cause sure as shit they mean nothing to the mammalian mind matter at the core level that worships the heartbeat survival muscle twitch reflex. On our personal quests to become the most clever of the carbon-based life-forms, we forget to look at the real signs posted by the holy creator, but alas there they stand in an eternal gesture sometimes unheeded and always misunderstood by the mass that move/moves. That old homeless man that setup his survival camp under the Eucalyptus tree that I collected hawk feathers under and climbed and hugged and became one with at age eight was of the earth same as the tree. I crept up and studied him as he lay snoring in his alcohol induced stupor - the skin on his arm was folded like some mountain range pushed up by the pressures of the perpetually spinning earth and the pores on his face were like those caves that contain petroglyphs telling that age old survival story - man against nature. The bulldozers tore that tree down in time that wouldn’t even make a scratch on that earth timeframe scale that is painted on the wall at the downtown Natural History Museum. The old hawk circled overhead as the condos were laid out with pointed sticks with bright orange flags piercing the smoothly graded dirt in row after row of laser-level perfection - a new heartbeat in my chest fire-like shameful feelings fig leaf cover of a much grander more pure design.

finish the bathroom remodel - afternoon surf check…



to give up one is to give up both

to let one back in is to let both back in

how fortunate we are

to be opened

time to go fishin’


the waves

of despair and hope

thanks for intruding on my daily complacency



and my all-time favorite:


There’s no time for any stinkin’ complacency…

do a little dance, make a little love, da dah dee dah, de dah dee dum…

luvit daddio right on the missing mark of lookin’ thru the warped lens of bad day yesterday kids tellin’ me how they hurt thru and thru job stress tears and fears tomorrow new day off no toil full immersion surfin’ liquid life back to heaven again breathe in catch breathe out release it’s all good

Intuition and empathy are way powerful…

Usually your posts are some of my all-time favorites!

Keep it flowin…gladyou’reback!

“If hope for the better there be, it exacts a full look at the worst.” Thomas Hardy

reveal to heal

mahalo from the core

Where have the beautiful souls gone? …christ hung on a tree greenough the recluse waters behind the wall…ah what it is to freedive off the new zodiac staring down weight heavy and serious playing breathe timing with my own physical existence but the knowledge of the existence of people such as those on this thread pronounce a calm smile and the willingness to return to the surface continue on and have another look around the next bend/whats beyond that hill

love is sacrifice.

Oh, man.

If everybody starts writing Ambrose-prose,

I’m going to get a headache* (or a bloody nose),

from concentrating

on translating

and inserting implicit impunctuation.

Nautilistically of course.

(footnote: * my brain hurts!! (Shut UP Mr. Gumby!!)

stuck inside-out today,this made me think of a Nude Descending A Staircase #2


   and, later... 

feeling VERY delicate now !!