but
her breasts keep getting in the way
i couldn't sleep worth a damn
and the music was too loud
even if it was Kashmir
each heavy note came tumbling bouncing off the entrance door
i saw the stenciled sign in hurried paint i hurried in
drizzled colors piled onto a dirty glass canvas announced
Harmony Bar & Restaurant but i wasn't buying it
none of it none at all
her white shirt remained unbuttoned
while i fumbled
i dropped the ball but had a ball played the game
went into extra innings
she felt cold hot luke warm hot again
her nipples got the beat
each one
inclined swayed winked and nodded as i smoked
waited on my park bench with a derby hat
read the newspaper headlines about the disturbance
waited until she touched me touched herself
i became erect stayed that way
i couldn't sleep worth a damn
had a stiff one had a drink had a dream
i remembered Joseph Alioto and the bomb
his prostate cancer a bitch a hole in the invincibility wall
the streets of San Francisco pulsing up and down
round and round the Transamerica pyramid no parade
his grave and everywhere his kids and more shadows
looking for the mafia but finding hills and offices
and the Pacific Ocean and suicides
the Golden Gate Bridge the perfect foil
where hippies smoked by the incoming tide
outgoing too and in tune with their war
camouflage faces and Indochinese histories
black cats and panthers on ice listening sweating the draft
their inner city jazz coming undercover underground
to Dizzy and Miles getting a fix on things some very good things
i couldn't sleep worth a damn
living in my crummy flat by the fire department
on Haight-Ashbury with a famous singer
i can't recall his name his face just doesn't appear to me anymore
he played the drums in a white band not well but
only for a short while before dropping his sticks
into the depths into the drug culture into the abyss
ringing my bell at all hours on each every almost any floor
at the window
by the stairs
on the road
tugging at my brains spilling out guts onto the detective's desk by his phone
questions and digging for mysteries that no man should ever want to know
most any time the elevator to the top floor waited for the finger
and i started to write in a cold sweat typing a combination of words
i felt i needed a job needed a push a muse a mother a mouth
but no flawed insight maybe a three piece suit would help
no the prevailing mood wasn't enough no crowd control no ten commandments
no zeitgeist no full monty to unwrap the final vision to explain it all
in one big yellow exploding fireworks explosion and well, shit!
so it goes for general motors general electric and the general population
what are these crazy politicians in the planetary house of representatives
doing to us at the same time they're doing it to each other?
i know where Jefferson once talked to his mistress, so maybe that's enough.
but
her breasts keep getting in the way
Jessica in Thailand, 2010
Thailand! My daughter on vacation
Thursday, February 16, 2012
Tuesday, February 14, 2012
Columbus & his new adventure
a new Columbus pulled an old anchor rope
from the deep blue waters
and felt the sharp salt splash of a strengthening breeze
when his sidewalk positively crossed 4th Street and
Lincoln Avenue under a fading street light
in a part of town where arias are seldom heard.
in the near distance,
a young Portuguese woman was walking up and down
the adjacent store front block wearing her red St. Johns outfit
which was tightly form-fitting, making it apparent
she was new to her job but had the support of a fancy wallet.
when she looked into the sky, which was seldom, she would see nothing,
heard only the noise of steady traffic, and felt a slight pain from
the broken heel of the shoe on her left foot.
passing people stopped to watch her
as she wobbled in and out of dreams.
she looked in all directions, then removed both shoes,
tossing them into a steamy dumpster,
where a black cat was seen eating the remains of a dead rodent.
it was made dead because it no longer had a head, and the cat continued
to chew without hurting the poor thing.
but now the cat and the woman's pimp were both busy,
their appetites like a song heard on the passing wind
when hungry ambitions come to play.
i saw her again by the waterfront in lower Manhattan
floating upon the wave of night
smoking near the dawn in ragged clothes
wearing a wig
uncertain how to laugh
with broken glass on the street like a directionless map.
i imagined she would set sail
on a precious voyage toward somewhere else
and was waiting, as do all living bodies,
when an early sun put an arm around her waist.
as for Columbus, his new adventure was too dangerous to write about.
from the deep blue waters
and felt the sharp salt splash of a strengthening breeze
when his sidewalk positively crossed 4th Street and
Lincoln Avenue under a fading street light
in a part of town where arias are seldom heard.
in the near distance,
a young Portuguese woman was walking up and down
the adjacent store front block wearing her red St. Johns outfit
which was tightly form-fitting, making it apparent
she was new to her job but had the support of a fancy wallet.
when she looked into the sky, which was seldom, she would see nothing,
heard only the noise of steady traffic, and felt a slight pain from
the broken heel of the shoe on her left foot.
passing people stopped to watch her
as she wobbled in and out of dreams.
she looked in all directions, then removed both shoes,
tossing them into a steamy dumpster,
where a black cat was seen eating the remains of a dead rodent.
it was made dead because it no longer had a head, and the cat continued
to chew without hurting the poor thing.
but now the cat and the woman's pimp were both busy,
their appetites like a song heard on the passing wind
when hungry ambitions come to play.
i saw her again by the waterfront in lower Manhattan
floating upon the wave of night
smoking near the dawn in ragged clothes
wearing a wig
uncertain how to laugh
with broken glass on the street like a directionless map.
i imagined she would set sail
on a precious voyage toward somewhere else
and was waiting, as do all living bodies,
when an early sun put an arm around her waist.
as for Columbus, his new adventure was too dangerous to write about.
Sunday, February 12, 2012
Yosemite Falls
trust me
and i will go to the lower part of Yosemite Falls
and work closely with your hand,
offering a touch of serenity to the
often clamorous air of the valley floor.
our path, flowing like a river
into the color of higher trees,
can been glimpsed as it
swells and narrows up a steep wall of
natural rock.
without doubt,
a hard climb can seem easier
when we define the effort as a flight
of our imaginations.
towering Half Dome may seem too far,
and the well-fed deer too casual,
but you walk nearby,
more stately, more historic than the granite,
and more interesting that the passing of the seasons.
it is quite plausible that we should reach the top,
briefly summarize the essence of our hike,
and find a view as intimate as our kiss.
and all the marks we left will disappear.
and i will go to the lower part of Yosemite Falls
and work closely with your hand,
offering a touch of serenity to the
often clamorous air of the valley floor.
our path, flowing like a river
into the color of higher trees,
can been glimpsed as it
swells and narrows up a steep wall of
natural rock.
without doubt,
a hard climb can seem easier
when we define the effort as a flight
of our imaginations.
towering Half Dome may seem too far,
and the well-fed deer too casual,
but you walk nearby,
more stately, more historic than the granite,
and more interesting that the passing of the seasons.
it is quite plausible that we should reach the top,
briefly summarize the essence of our hike,
and find a view as intimate as our kiss.
and all the marks we left will disappear.
Saturday, February 11, 2012
the motion of your beauty
i started an oil with you
in the quiet privacy of a small room
where skin was often warm and wet.
the shades were drawn in my favorite Parisian tones
with a sensuous deep charcoal
while you rested as a beckoning figure with slightly brown eyes.
without the covers,
i climbed willfully onto your sculpted hills,
slipping onto a fingered backside, giggling on the way down
this most delightful slope.
jokingly, you moved independently under my touch and said
"You must be the Olympian master."
the flower near your left ear did not distract me
with its orange softness.
knowing i should complete this canvas,
i am continually intrigued by the motion of your beauty.
our white pillows and their silk wrinkles will become a scandal.
in the quiet privacy of a small room
where skin was often warm and wet.
the shades were drawn in my favorite Parisian tones
with a sensuous deep charcoal
while you rested as a beckoning figure with slightly brown eyes.
without the covers,
i climbed willfully onto your sculpted hills,
slipping onto a fingered backside, giggling on the way down
this most delightful slope.
jokingly, you moved independently under my touch and said
"You must be the Olympian master."
the flower near your left ear did not distract me
with its orange softness.
knowing i should complete this canvas,
i am continually intrigued by the motion of your beauty.
our white pillows and their silk wrinkles will become a scandal.
Thursday, February 9, 2012
The Mekong delta (remix of Saigon)
The 514th Battalion was used as bait
and their ruse worked, for a government informer
noticed the marching soldiers and took notes.
His report reached 7th Division
headquarters and a sortie was pressed rapidly
into operation, mainly due to the recommendation of
an American major who insisted to his
ARVN counterpart that action be immediate.
The troops of President Diem came in on choppers
early the next morning, without music, expecting to
conduct a quick two hamlet sweep.
An American Captain and his fellow Lieutenant
unslung their AR-15s and joined the Vietnamese officers.
They scanned the terrain, immediately noticing that
the small huts to their front appeared empty.
What they could see were several old women and young children,
paddies, and fields. It seemed unnaturally quiet.
They decided to rest before proceeding.
Even under the shade of a clump of coconut palms,
sweat began to form in the increasing heat.
A rank animal odor familiar to the Mekong delta
came into their nose.
Without discussion, the Vietnamese captain wanted to curtail the operation
and withdraw. After all, he concluded, going forward could be dangerous.
The first hamlet might be deserted, or it could be the site of an ambush.
At that instant, a Viet Cong wrapped his finger
around the metal trigger of a Thompson machine gun.
He waited for a decision.
His gun was captured, oiled, and lovingly cared for.
It was only a matter of time.
and their ruse worked, for a government informer
noticed the marching soldiers and took notes.
His report reached 7th Division
headquarters and a sortie was pressed rapidly
into operation, mainly due to the recommendation of
an American major who insisted to his
ARVN counterpart that action be immediate.
The troops of President Diem came in on choppers
early the next morning, without music, expecting to
conduct a quick two hamlet sweep.
An American Captain and his fellow Lieutenant
unslung their AR-15s and joined the Vietnamese officers.
They scanned the terrain, immediately noticing that
the small huts to their front appeared empty.
What they could see were several old women and young children,
paddies, and fields. It seemed unnaturally quiet.
They decided to rest before proceeding.
Even under the shade of a clump of coconut palms,
sweat began to form in the increasing heat.
A rank animal odor familiar to the Mekong delta
came into their nose.
Without discussion, the Vietnamese captain wanted to curtail the operation
and withdraw. After all, he concluded, going forward could be dangerous.
The first hamlet might be deserted, or it could be the site of an ambush.
At that instant, a Viet Cong wrapped his finger
around the metal trigger of a Thompson machine gun.
He waited for a decision.
His gun was captured, oiled, and lovingly cared for.
It was only a matter of time.
Wednesday, February 8, 2012
Apollinaire's Death
the Seated Man might have been concealed,
yet his presence was felt
in the rough texture of a simple paradox:
Picasso's self-portrait, another deep enigma, or both.
but the simple seat had barely a leg or two,
and a hat or none at all.
his flat presence like a carpenter's square
full of angles and the sharp thin lines of construction.
many faces or none?
working at Montrouge just before 1919,
the chair master tossed his cubes onto the icy white.
He, the ultimate magician
with a proud brow and curving smile,
spoke to his friend before the coughing
death in a Paris apartment where poets came to pray.
It was 202, boulevard Saint-Germain-des-Pres at 5PM
when the final silence descended, pulling the unfinished copy
over his head.
Apollinaire was 38 when he died.
Breton was already at his door, defending the avant-garde.
Cocteau was already on his way out, although he didn't know it.
and upon feeling the sad news when a widow's black veil
touched his cheek, Picasso went to his bathroom mirror and
began to draw.
he drew a lonely man.
nothing was as synthetic as it seemed.
yet his presence was felt
in the rough texture of a simple paradox:
Picasso's self-portrait, another deep enigma, or both.
but the simple seat had barely a leg or two,
and a hat or none at all.
his flat presence like a carpenter's square
full of angles and the sharp thin lines of construction.
many faces or none?
working at Montrouge just before 1919,
the chair master tossed his cubes onto the icy white.
He, the ultimate magician
with a proud brow and curving smile,
spoke to his friend before the coughing
death in a Paris apartment where poets came to pray.
It was 202, boulevard Saint-Germain-des-Pres at 5PM
when the final silence descended, pulling the unfinished copy
over his head.
Apollinaire was 38 when he died.
Breton was already at his door, defending the avant-garde.
Cocteau was already on his way out, although he didn't know it.
and upon feeling the sad news when a widow's black veil
touched his cheek, Picasso went to his bathroom mirror and
began to draw.
he drew a lonely man.
nothing was as synthetic as it seemed.
Monday, February 6, 2012
no blue eggs
the accentuated shadows under my south window
were of her eyes.
her fragrance was palpable.
the chickadees would sing as they drank
before flying,
but no figure could be seen.
she was alive and present at that moment
in my imagination,
but what an expression she gave
to the excited gray squirrels.
with her mystery unsolved,
in spite of the straight classical nose
which framed her face,
the red headed woodpecker tapped insistently at my suet.
her sinuous lips at breakfast
could eat a cereal bowl full of serenity,
and still kiss the sun before dawn.
in my early morning studio,
while sitting on an upholstered chair
without decoration,
her mind and body seemed as one.
then our shared laugh became the brush with which
we could paint.
my big black cat went outside looking for winter birds
and found her hair, spun into a beautiful nest.
though there were no round blue eggs inside,
he began to purr.
were of her eyes.
her fragrance was palpable.
the chickadees would sing as they drank
before flying,
but no figure could be seen.
she was alive and present at that moment
in my imagination,
but what an expression she gave
to the excited gray squirrels.
with her mystery unsolved,
in spite of the straight classical nose
which framed her face,
the red headed woodpecker tapped insistently at my suet.
her sinuous lips at breakfast
could eat a cereal bowl full of serenity,
and still kiss the sun before dawn.
in my early morning studio,
while sitting on an upholstered chair
without decoration,
her mind and body seemed as one.
then our shared laugh became the brush with which
we could paint.
my big black cat went outside looking for winter birds
and found her hair, spun into a beautiful nest.
though there were no round blue eggs inside,
he began to purr.
Thursday, February 2, 2012
Anne Waldman
The linguistic hole
that only Anne could notice
from her sidewalk on MacDougal Street
in New York City,
was near the intersection
where words would often meet for a smoke and to drink
deeply of philosophical phrases, those huge swallows of paternal pride
which often led to indigestion.
No death has ever been reported as having been caused
by falling into her hole.
But Anne had the wit to slam you down with ideas
which carried the weight of shamanistic visions,
often new and frequently to become part of her daily attire.
She currently likes to wear silk scarves, for example.
The 3 gorges dam, she said,
displaced over 1 million Chinese,
none of whom visited Bennington College
or walked the streets of Berkeley, California
in anything resembling a poetic panic.
But she did.
Gregory Corso once told me that she gave him a hand job,
but he often lied from his faculty seat in the private office
he shared with his image.
Allen said she was his spiritual twin, but he often lied, too.
And if she is incendiary, it is only because her love of jazz
twisted her tongue and now when she speaks a trumpeting flame can be seen
erupting between her fine front teeth.
Because of that, she has become a fast talking woman with a song heard
by Comanche Indians many miles west of the frontier settlements around Austin, Texas.
When these Indians dance, they frequently invoke the name of Jack Kerouac
in hopes of enhancing their stamina. Anne invokes his name, also.
She can now be found poking around the trash piles of Boulder, Colorado
in any sort of weather, hoping to find another scarf.
that only Anne could notice
from her sidewalk on MacDougal Street
in New York City,
was near the intersection
where words would often meet for a smoke and to drink
deeply of philosophical phrases, those huge swallows of paternal pride
which often led to indigestion.
No death has ever been reported as having been caused
by falling into her hole.
But Anne had the wit to slam you down with ideas
which carried the weight of shamanistic visions,
often new and frequently to become part of her daily attire.
She currently likes to wear silk scarves, for example.
The 3 gorges dam, she said,
displaced over 1 million Chinese,
none of whom visited Bennington College
or walked the streets of Berkeley, California
in anything resembling a poetic panic.
But she did.
Gregory Corso once told me that she gave him a hand job,
but he often lied from his faculty seat in the private office
he shared with his image.
Allen said she was his spiritual twin, but he often lied, too.
And if she is incendiary, it is only because her love of jazz
twisted her tongue and now when she speaks a trumpeting flame can be seen
erupting between her fine front teeth.
Because of that, she has become a fast talking woman with a song heard
by Comanche Indians many miles west of the frontier settlements around Austin, Texas.
When these Indians dance, they frequently invoke the name of Jack Kerouac
in hopes of enhancing their stamina. Anne invokes his name, also.
She can now be found poking around the trash piles of Boulder, Colorado
in any sort of weather, hoping to find another scarf.
Tuesday, January 31, 2012
oh man, annie
oh man, annie
are you walking?
here he comes
i can hear him talking.
he wore the blue shirt
had the white hat
he took the microphone
where the fat lady sat
a feather on her face
tapping the warehouse floor
he didn't need permission
to be breaking down her door
he was the cool cat
playing the piano
running up the stairs
the only way to go
a smooth criminal
smoking gun in his hand
jumping on the stage
with Annie and her band
they were dressed in red
hips shaking sexy air
nine pool balls rolling
moon walking everywhere
black & white lovers
dancing throughout the night
they heard him singing
say everything's alright
i hear him calling
so annie get your gun
grab your red jacket
your babys' on the run
oh man, annie
are you walking?
are you walking?
here he comes
i can hear him talking.
he wore the blue shirt
had the white hat
he took the microphone
where the fat lady sat
a feather on her face
tapping the warehouse floor
he didn't need permission
to be breaking down her door
he was the cool cat
playing the piano
running up the stairs
the only way to go
a smooth criminal
smoking gun in his hand
jumping on the stage
with Annie and her band
they were dressed in red
hips shaking sexy air
nine pool balls rolling
moon walking everywhere
black & white lovers
dancing throughout the night
they heard him singing
say everything's alright
i hear him calling
so annie get your gun
grab your red jacket
your babys' on the run
oh man, annie
are you walking?
Monday, January 30, 2012
Dresden, February 13-15, 1945
he saw dead people
seated in their streetcar,
unused destination tickets folded in laps
forever lost in thought.
there were no secret military codes
littering the basement floor
when more burnt bodies were found
in early February, 1945.
an apartment bedroom became a tomb
when the old stone walls of a cultural center
without glass windows
collapsed under the savage German clouds.
it wasn't Slaughter House 5
where most human remains were seen
by those who were looking for answers,
but found only mountains of debris.
at an empty church and a smoking pile of books
where Vonnegut was told to load a small wagon
with a broken-down piano,
he heard a military plane flying low overhead.
nearby, a small group of hungry people wanted to shout,
but remained speechless.
soon, they began to weep.
seated in their streetcar,
unused destination tickets folded in laps
forever lost in thought.
there were no secret military codes
littering the basement floor
when more burnt bodies were found
in early February, 1945.
an apartment bedroom became a tomb
when the old stone walls of a cultural center
without glass windows
collapsed under the savage German clouds.
it wasn't Slaughter House 5
where most human remains were seen
by those who were looking for answers,
but found only mountains of debris.
at an empty church and a smoking pile of books
where Vonnegut was told to load a small wagon
with a broken-down piano,
he heard a military plane flying low overhead.
nearby, a small group of hungry people wanted to shout,
but remained speechless.
soon, they began to weep.
Sunday, January 29, 2012
Saturday, January 28, 2012
closing our book
no turn of the screw
straight ahead i could catch
the briefest sight of you
wearing your favorite red
it wasn't only what you said
that turned me blue
so what had i heard
when you flashed me a smile?
i tried to catch each word
running on fertile ground
it wasn't only what i found
that seemed absurd
you gave me that look
and a toss of your hair
but something else you took
meant more to me than life
i felt the stinging of your knife
closing our book
straight ahead i could catch
the briefest sight of you
wearing your favorite red
it wasn't only what you said
that turned me blue
so what had i heard
when you flashed me a smile?
i tried to catch each word
running on fertile ground
it wasn't only what i found
that seemed absurd
you gave me that look
and a toss of your hair
but something else you took
meant more to me than life
i felt the stinging of your knife
closing our book
Friday, January 27, 2012
Auschwitz
Auschwitz on a sunny day
was stirred into activity
upon hearing
of Hitler's Berghof estate
in Bavaria
and the priceless art hanging
from the walls of his apartment
at the Chancellery in Berlin.
He tremendously enjoyed fresh
cut flowers and bronze statues
of classically posed nudes,
requesting the presence of such
treasures throughout his living quarters.
But the powerful do live a lavish
home life, even while their most
unfortunate subjects are choking on a few
dry dreams.
There is no dry champagne in a gas chamber.
The candelabra, having been lit, was unseen
as the workers swept the floor of bone dust
and a young girl's heart was found
empty of love.
was stirred into activity
upon hearing
of Hitler's Berghof estate
in Bavaria
and the priceless art hanging
from the walls of his apartment
at the Chancellery in Berlin.
He tremendously enjoyed fresh
cut flowers and bronze statues
of classically posed nudes,
requesting the presence of such
treasures throughout his living quarters.
But the powerful do live a lavish
home life, even while their most
unfortunate subjects are choking on a few
dry dreams.
There is no dry champagne in a gas chamber.
The candelabra, having been lit, was unseen
as the workers swept the floor of bone dust
and a young girl's heart was found
empty of love.
Thursday, January 19, 2012
Whistler's mother
If the sitter
enjoys an moral position
but her chair is cushioned
with pictures of Billy Graham
as a young, exciting power seeker,
and the Vatican City in Rome with a current Pope or several
dozen of them hangs black framed from a
nearby wall from where Muhammad with his entourage of Virgins
can be seen heading to Mecca with his bloody spoils;
while the Wailing Wall of Jerusalem sits in stony countenance
near perfectly formed pyramids in the desert heat, all
easily seen from her imprisoning chair which will not rock,
can she remain comfortably numb?
Would she still desire that thin white wafer
placed lovingly inside her mouth once
each month of a year
while kneeling before her believed Truth
if it were not True?
Did she think she would not die?
And you will die, too.
We're all dying, in our own way.
Most are very afraid.
A few, not at all.
The portrait of Whistler's mother
by Whistler
did not require him to decipher any such enigma.
As a result, he experienced fewer difficulties.
enjoys an moral position
but her chair is cushioned
with pictures of Billy Graham
as a young, exciting power seeker,
and the Vatican City in Rome with a current Pope or several
dozen of them hangs black framed from a
nearby wall from where Muhammad with his entourage of Virgins
can be seen heading to Mecca with his bloody spoils;
while the Wailing Wall of Jerusalem sits in stony countenance
near perfectly formed pyramids in the desert heat, all
easily seen from her imprisoning chair which will not rock,
can she remain comfortably numb?
Would she still desire that thin white wafer
placed lovingly inside her mouth once
each month of a year
while kneeling before her believed Truth
if it were not True?
Did she think she would not die?
And you will die, too.
We're all dying, in our own way.
Most are very afraid.
A few, not at all.
The portrait of Whistler's mother
by Whistler
did not require him to decipher any such enigma.
As a result, he experienced fewer difficulties.
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Jessica in Madrid, Spring 2006
daughter is empowering herself