Poetry Tour, update #2


I started out this trip with one of my haikus:

The sand turning pink 

like the desert sun 

setting into the mountains

tattooed on the back of my hand as a sigil in the form of an arrow pointing forward, though the artist’s intention was for it to point inward. Over the week it has served its purpose guiding me forward on the road with the necessary flow to get me there, and then it gradually faded leaving me to turn to my own personal magic and power to stay afloat. I typewrite poetry on the street for interested tourists and fellow travelers and read it at night to small gatherings in bars and living rooms, exchanging my dream labors for donated currency and couches to sleep upon. Without my feet tethered down to any one location I find myself adrift through a sea of various characters and personalities all revealing themselves to me through conversations on dreams and a sharing of self revelations. We examine the human mystery and aspire to the occult. Running in the same circles, it was only a matter of time before we stumbled into each other’s present moment. And here I am, I have gotten to the point in the trip where new faces appear familiar, reminding me sometimes of those I know from home, and we exchange dialogue as if we have known each other for a long time finding comfort in each other’s company. There is no end to this joy of meeting strangers I know. All this and I continue with the same resolve, a journey forward with the spring rain clouds pummeling the increasingly green southeastern terrain under my feet, thunder clapping at my back, a knapsack strung over my shoulders, and that beauty of the muse frequenting my conscious mind and perhaps awakening inside my heart the further out I go. Actually, I’ve caught glimpses of her now getting ever closer, hanging around the outer edge of each audience, smiling and nodding her head as I speak her dedication, snapping her fingers to my haikus, and laughing as the whole room fills with wild wolves howling out her icaros mantra, “Hoooowwww? Ow! Ow! Owww! Hoooowww!!!” 

I figure if I keep it going, it won’t be too long before she meets me on this country’s other side. And when I find her there, I will lie down a humble mountain perfectly glad to have the fortune to be here now and breathing alive.

Poetry Tour, update #2

Birthday Musings

Last year, I was in a foreign country for my birthday and all my lovers past, ex, future, and present found a way to call me up or reach me through email to wish me well. I thought the best of it that through it all, all of these beautiful people still loved me and they were still cheering me on as I moved forward. There was none of the old possessiveness in their greetings and surely none of the bad vibes where we had left off. But also in the back of my mind was this simple question of why now? what was so special about reaching out to me now? and why all of them seemingly in unison? were they all somehow talking to each other about me and devising a plan for me for when I returned back home? I think it’s also important to note, I was in this foreign country to retap my connection with the muse which I had found there several years before and one of the lessons she taught me on this trip was that, though she is extremely present for me in Europe and travel in general, there are all kinds of muses and she can become present in all sorts of close formed connections with others, especially in the case of love, both physical and emotional, but mostly in the bonds that are shared with two collaborators who spend time creating a world together.

My response to this theme of exes for my 27th was at first, of course happiness and even some ego-centric joy. All of these beautiful women had chosen to think of me collectively on the same day. But as more and more of them sent me texts and emails and Instagram comments and Facebook messages and telegrams and pidgeon-expresses and bike messengers and tv ads and dream manipulations, some I hadn’t spoken to in years and others who I didn’t even really know yet and hadn’t shared more than two words with, and as I became more aware of how far away I was from home and how foreign this land really was to me, my thoughts quickly turned to paranoia. Were all of these loves of my life now standing together at the edge of my funeral wishing me their happiest wishes, standing over my grave and tossing flowers into it? Were they all drawn to me unconsciously because I was about to die?

27 is a very vulnerable year for conspiracy theorists and people that notice patterns. If you are following a creative career, it is the year that you are meant to reach the top of your genius and then die a dramatic death. Usually a heroin overdose if you’re a pop star. Or something like sinking into the Mediterranean Sea on a small sailboat, if your pursuits are more poetic. I wasn’t looking forward to either options and as a result I had redirected my energy to slow down my success rate and make it more safe-feeling, not taking any leaps of faith or associating too much with the “bad” crowd, which had already made me feel as if I were slowly floating deeper down into the dregs as my own poetic voice got clearer. 

But did all these women know something, I didn’t? Add to that, that my birthday lands on the spring equinox and you got all sorts of beautiful poetry in the air during that time. Every year it’s chock full of a whole lot of death and rebirth energy as winter takes it’s leave and the birds begin again to chirp in the morning sun. It’s like a second new year for me, and if we had stuck to our pagan roots it’d be the new year for us all. Only my birthday would be the first day of that new cycle. People have actually told me I am an infant before, and I agree with them. But I was delivered through C-section, I think because my mind wasn’t ready to come out on the other end of the spectrum, that old soul just about at the end of it’s life stuck in an infinite loop of ending. I wanted to be that baby. I wanted to see the world through new juvenile eyes. And sometimes be naïve. And see magic and poetry where sometimes it’s just a coincidence.

So what about all these lost loves? Coincidence or not, what drew them all towards me at the same time? Well, currently I have made it through 27 and survived. Their intimate greetings were not a death sentence. Instead they worked as a further lesson that love can continue after all the shit, and the stormy weather, or the connection breaking and just not working anymore. It changes form many times and sometimes you just got to relax and let time heal its wounds. Sometimes it’s best to sit back and admire how beautiful a year can be.

Anyway, I have entered 28. The time-mapping for the year has fallen into place. Much more love awaits. Journeys and other opportunities. And I see myself climbing many more mountains awaiting the perfect sunset or even better, an immaculate sunrise. Oh and sure there will be loneliness, heart break, and sadness too. Many challenges for me to overcome. But my spring optimism has always served me well in the past. Good things and many wanderings. I have a sense of self that continues to grow more stable.

But again, what about all those women? This year, the phone calls and private messages and other good tidings were made up of mostly my friends and family from around the country (and some from around the world). Travel partners new and old. And my heart has certainly been in a different place, focused more on that inner muse, as well as working towards serving all and not just one, while still maintaining a healthy relationship with my own body as it quickly grows out. I have maybe lost my mind for the last time a long while ago. And my heart opens further as I listen to it with a better ear. Needless to say, I was happy that most of those women forgot me this year. Or if they remembered me, I wasn’t as alarmed by their greetings. It didn’t seem as pertinent. I still feel closer to them perhaps more so than when we spent our time together. I’ve seen them again and caught up or watched their lives grow from a comfortable distance or maybe I haven’t again heard from them at all, but this time it’s not out of fear but out of being mostly relaxed. It has been my turn for a long time to wish them well and encourage their journeys forward. And my desire for over a year now has been to become a muse to the muse, and make that energy cycle finally complete, all rebirth and all creative labors, no more destruction if it can be helped. And I do so now, as well as in all of my writing. To the muse, all of you, thank you. Friends and festivities now commence.

Birthday Musings

Happy International Women’s Day!

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ah…that glorious divine feminine.

“She is the
. . . . . MOON,
the SUN,
. . . and the EARTH
on which I call home.

My grounding below pushing me forward
and the glorious
guide above
leading me
. . . . . . . . DAY and NIGHT.”

. . .
. .

FIre. Sun. Salutation. is available for sale at The Random Tea Room & Curiosity Shop​ located at 713 N. 4th Street, Philadelphia PA. Grab a copy today! Not in Philly? You can order a copy from Amazon: tinyurl.com/FireSunSalutation

Happy International Women’s Day!



Hey everyone,

My new book Fire. Sun. Salutation. is available now! It is a collection of 9 short stories I wrote between 2011 and 2013. Continuing in the erotic tradition I set in my previous book, these stories seek to honor the Muse through some truly surreal moments of passionate transcendence. You’ll find yourself lost in these exotic fantasies, begging for more, maybe even questioning what is reality. This is great winter reading with the heat turned up to the hundredth degree, hopefully hot enough to awaken that beautiful fiery goddess inside us all. It’s been 4 years in the making so I’m extremely happy to finally release it into the wild.


The collection also features a photo series of sunsets and sunrises from across the country and an introduction by Augustus Depenbrock. The mythical cover art was illustrated by Julia Crachiolo. And everything is printed using Createspace.

You can grab a copy over at Amazon or Createspace. Available for Kindle as well! Buy a copy now and enjoy!

Createspace: https://www.createspace.com/5201199
Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Fire-Sun-Salutation-collection-transformations/dp/0692362762


Book description: Fire. Sun. Salutation. is a collection of 9 short stories, both surreal and erotic in experience. It is the story of a writer trying to arouse his muse. A lecher learning to dance. Three psychonauts camping in a slowly fading fairy tale. A rêvelutionary road trip across the great American plains. A man discovering the sensual power he holds in his fingertips, while another finds he is ruined by it. And all throughout this journey, fire haunts the narrative in the form of an all-loving goddess.

These stories are a sun salutation to the beauty of that noble temptress, filled with the heat of her embers. Through stories of foreplay and of ritualized transformation, the text unwinds like a hot night spent in bed with a lover like no other. Written in the context of a dream world, readers of Henry Miller, Anais Nin, and/or Arthur Rimbaud, as well as anyone looking for a new love, will find their every fantasy satisfied between these pages. Enter this dream where the roads are saturated with the juices of a thousand years of lovemaking, and learn to breath.

Stories written by Marshall James Kavanaugh
with an introduction by Augustus Depenbrock
Cover illustrated by Julia Crachiolo

This is A Freedom Book. Part of the punk rêve canon. Preview to Pharaoh Quintessential.


Moon Flow

The moon comes out from behind the fog
Radiant and alluring
She has so much to say
And yet she remains
Perhaps musing where the ocean tide will take her next
High cheekbones
Charm in a smile that makes the coyote howl
I have dreams of her
And they always end badly
But the reality is much more satisfying
For in my waking state
I know it is better to stand back
And admire her glow.


Moon Flow

Muse Poetry


an excerpt from a forthcoming book of love poems devoted to the inner muse

The muse floats in on a breeze set from far south.
A springtime celebration of all that is.
Satiate the writer with your arid flow.
On the opposite end of the dream is a new reality.
Crossing oceans. Crossing continents.
Bliss is a fail safe for the undramatic.
A king’s ecstasy in love for the one who created him years ago.
Passion. Satisfaction. Exactly what was meant to unfold.

Muse Poetry

Lost travels to España


For the next several weeks I will be an expat wandering through the country that got my juices going the last time around, Spain. Particularly the city of Barcelona. Oh Barcelona, the muse is strong in you. I can’t wait to show you what I’ve written since the last time we met.

Be sure to expect some poetry along the way. Stay tuned. It’s going to get real good in only a few days.

Travels will take place from March 21 through April 10. If you’re in the country, look me up. I’ll be writing and reading dream poems all over this precious landscape.

Lost travels to España