just a few haikus that prove Kerouac was a fucking genius…

I occasionally dip into Kerouac’s Book of Haikus when I need inspiration.. just a few lines of poetry so perfect, so encapsulating, so carefree…. just look and see

from Dharma Pops:


“the sun keeps getting

dimmer – foghorns

began to blow in the bay”


“the sky is still empty,

the rose is still

on the typewriter keys”


“In the sun

the butterfly wings

like a church window”


“You’d be surprised

how little I knew

even up to yesterday…”


“praying all the time –


to myself”


“the bird came on the branch

-danced three times-

and burred away”



“Behold, I am the prophet of the lightning!”

Benjamin West – Franklin drawing electricity from the sky (1816)

“I love all those who are like heavy drops falling singly from the dark cloud that hangs over mankind: they prophesy the coming of the lightning and as prophets they perish. Behold, I am the prophet of the lightning and a heavy drop from the cloud!”

– Nietzsche, Thus Spoke Zarathustra


raptured conductor

beckons the glorious maelstrom

to o’erthrow the ages



marooned (impressionist-style poem based on Ben Gunn of Treasure Island)

stirring swirling lapping waves rushing flushing airways saline torrents congest coughs coughs face eclipsed buried harsh sands hands seething writhing bloody stumps bloody clumps sand silt streaming screaming veins gaping eels feels way sway swaying ashore sore eyes sand barbs bawls shallows shells shards coarse coursing veins visions fission distant muskets musk blood cough cough cacophony clamour clambering futile mutinies unfurling sails drawn dawn awning skies scarlet spatterings brushtrokes violets violence voices silence murmurs murders marooned doomed terror unfurling sails wails curling alone lost isle defiled landscape escape scraping crawling scrawling forwards towards luscious bush hush hush ushers utter dark stark silence islands sussurant hissing waves craves light slight light falls foliage verdant verandas phosphorescence essence enchanted pillars parasites pirouetting behemoth moths churning cirrus clouds cosmic dust must hide eyes watching bloody scent drawing clawing carving bark hark hunger slumber lumbers rasping clasping gasping grasping growth thunder undergrowth grumbling thundering stumbling flash lightning flash flare glare glancing glistening listening watching waiting hidden faces flash faces black white lattices markings dark things wings moth markings scars scoring flash moorings more eyes dread deadeyes striding nearer fear fiend foe find friend end near friend near fear ebbs foe flees please please panting wanting waiting .. waiting … waiting

Continue reading “marooned (impressionist-style poem based on Ben Gunn of Treasure Island)”

The Alpine Sublime – France/Switzerland trip May 2018

the long snowy ascent…
a small town hidden in a mountain valley


“from peak to peak, the rattling crags among,

leaps the live thunder – not from one lone cloud

but every mountain now hath found a tongue

and Jura answers through her misty shroud

back to the joyous Alps, who call to her aloud!”

(Lord Byron – Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage Canto III)

wandering through the heart of a glacier…
The Romanticism crew!


the stunning Mer de Glace on the Northern slopes of Mont Blanc

specks of people

tumble like rubble

over the mountain



moments after taking this we went sliding down them snowy hills! …
such magnitude… such silence…


the medieval Chillon castle in Switzerland – which inspired Byron’s Prisoner of Chillon
taken from the highest tower of Chillon
Chillon dungeon
misty mountains loom over lake Geneva


Wordsworth haikus/photos from a trip to Grasmere

Under rapturous gaze

Grasmere transformed,

lost in a lyrical haze


sublime visitations,

captured in clearest cadence,

he wandered, wondered…


with scrawling quill

words leapt over landscape

and soon began to soar…


top of Wordsworth’s back garden at Dove Cottage
“within the bounds of this huge concave; here should be my home, this valley be my world” – from Wordsworth’s poem ‘Home at Grasmere’
grasmere caves
the first page from Wordsworth’s first handwritten manuscript of the Prelude … awesome to see it up close