islamic jihad

islamic jihad
the olive and the fig
marilyn covering herself
with her blonde wig
and the wind uplifting
desert sands shifting
from east to west
catching the crusaders
acting like invaders
their red lips bleeding
like a manhole cover
with a teenage lover
and an honor killing
south of southern Beirut
Davy Jones's loot
hiding in a dead man's chest
islamic jihad
the saudis and their spear
flying on an airliner
with packages of fear
happy New Year

sweet world

in this sweet world
with crowds stage right
you scream in fright
throughout the night
your face set tight
while i tell you
don't venture there
into dead air
it's never fair
a devil's lair
you should hold me
when no light's on
every one's gone
darkness and dawn
you are the pawn
full of empty
and they hate you
never rate you
disseminate
but i need you
and there's more news
meant to confuse
nothing to lose
how can you choose
sober or booze
apology
or symphony
you're wanting me
in this sweet world

crazy love

i want to ride you
like the titantic
pull you down
into pure panic
split you into two
like an iceberg on a hot bed
dress you in red
feel you bleed on my face
come on baby
i want another taste
of crazy love
while i'm sinking
and thinking of
looking up and what do i see
but your ocean pushing down on me
you're my tidal wave
i'm your passion slave
i want to be free
of your fingernails digging me
into crazy love
i want to ride you
like a speeding car
toss your heart
into my candy jar
split you into two
like a hunger in a hot tub
something to rub
feel you bleed on my face
come on baby
i want another taste
of crazy love
while i'm sinking
and thinking of
looking up and what do i see
but your ocean pushing down on me
you're my tidal wave
i'm your passion slave
i want to be free
of your fingernails digging me
into crazy love

at Christmas time

at Christmas time
cool eastern chill
a middle school rhyme
for a buddy's dime
atop Renaissance Hill
and the ocean bay with a younger lover
deeper undercover
with a Rolex on her wrist
lightly kissed & missed
not in the very least
a woman as the fabled beast
swimming in finely heated lust
serves a tender healthy bust
on an early morning plate
upon the finest linen beauty
sapphire, diamond, and a ruby
near the sensual Ivory Coast
with warm and tender buttered toast
eaten well before seven
breakfast treat a dish from Heaven
dreaming of a distant Dolomite
and pasture cows and a star lit night
at Christmas time

your eyes

the snow surrendered without complaint
to my foot weight
into the deep woods
i ventured without you
sometimes without myself
but what was i to do?
a coat was already wrapped tightly
around my shoulders yet nightly
i slip in darkness
with hot invisible breath
sometimes a silent beating death
like the cold of a lonely winter afternoon
shakes me like a sharp wind
and i fall but arise again
i wish you were here
with a snowball in your hand
the smile a blizzard on your face
your eyes the light of galaxies
illuminating my space

the healing arts

Rose &
the healing arts
like healthy little darts
penetrate the fertile ground
pulling ego full around
to face an unpolished rushing sound
of bold reality
so completely amused
body and mind fused
still often lightly used
and Self now free to claim
grounding as its newest game
while all the fingers and the tongue
the old & still wet young
all of us being among
those experienced or naive
some wanting to stay or maybe leave
now YOUR song shall be heard
without a silly random word
yes Voila! It's totally and utterly
BLISS
to never ever have to miss
this moment in sweetly passing time
DIVINE, you're simply fine
it's all sublime

Mein Square

Trafalgar square
still royally there
with tourists and fanatics
wearing turbans
speaking freely
like Horace Greely
on the Place de Concorde
while the champagne is poured
into spirited eyes
of African immigrants
on their European shore
near the Plaza Mayor
the fantastic Red square
much older than Times square
where a terrible Ivan
and the post Romanoff brood
look westerly and linger
with caviar on a jeweled finger
at Piazza San Pietro
and tame pigeons that flow
past Roman Catholicism
eating discarded food
from a cobbled stone
where once had shone
the sun on Alexanderplatz
in Berlin where Hitler rots
with Eva and despair
like hope undone still turning
the Statue of Liberty
without a hint of ambiguity
her torch held high
in Rightfulness toward the sky
the Sons of Allah knife
your treasure and your life

cooking class

when it rains it pours
she said
as though it were easy for Lance
to win multiple Tours
but she meant men
wanting affairs of the heart
or the breast and implore
i listened just to be sure
while she spoke of loneliness
all day throughout the night
then eventually stopped actively
looking for Mister Right
when surprisingly all Hell broke loose
because she grew a certain vibe
which felt attractive to male
members of our older tribe
and they swooped in
grinning a grin
she said you find true love
when you're no longer looking
so recently it appeared
in her kitchen cooking
with a widower and his spoon
coated with a rich pasta sauce
adjacent to the Pinot Grigio
and the hand rolled noodles tossed
carefully with mozzarella cheese
he spoke so convincingly, please
pass the olives
no he didn't snore
and what is more
he proved genuinely pleasant
their next meal will include
wine, of course, with greens, and pheasant.

who's there?

who's there
if my mind is empty?
across the green hill
on an island of mystery
where my full weight
rests on the faire ground
of Scotland or Earth
cacaphony, total sound
while time forever bent
under the runes of life
tugs my sweet sorrow
from temporal strife
Witnessing! Witnessing!
but not the Holy Ghost
wandering inside my head
this fine mysterious host
with seconds on his wrist
hours on his face
what have i missed?
my eyes invited inside
his jacket long and flared
this King of the Underworld
gone before i dared
toward where once he was
i stared:
who's there?

take home pay

i love the smell of napalm
in the morning
even when sometimes
without warning
it doesn't taste like victory
or even sound like death
before a certain final breath
there is still the stare of danger
in the sunlight
or when the screaming
begins at night
i see a bullet in the air
like a heated curse
pointing a finger
at my thin verse
and splitting a head apart
then a heart

Obama

He wasn't on the Thunder Run
and didn't dodge an rpg
at Larry, Moe, or Curly
when the firing was intense
but in Afghanistan
north of Kandahar
more Marines are
sent to serve in our defense

milosevic

milosevic
was doing what he thought was right
but horrible fright
and rape camps
stamped across a young girl's eye
she wanted to die
he wanted to be an ultra nationalist
and create an empire
a simple narcissistic liar
and a mass murderer
with a driven wife
who had a complicated life
changing opinions everyday
killing afternoon teas
with sugar, please
torture in the mountains
skeletons found
underground bound
broken arms around the trees
holding dead babies
with sugar, please

about GOD

nothing here about GOD
or evangelicals or even Mormon polygamists
in southern Utah with a child bride
nothing to hide
behind or conceal
i'm not upset with Islamic fanatics who randomly kill
innocent children or anyone else who
their explosives tear into
this is not meant to be a blog
where i'm preaching about myself
or nature or Earth
it may in fact have no worth
& i'm okay with that having already fought one war
in Vietnam a long day ago
it seems now like a shadow
before the twin towers fell and ground zero cast a spell
into the mountains of Afghanistan
when i didn't understand
the CIA or wall street executive pay
no, this isn't about food or being intentionally rude
& not about global warming
or locusts swarming onto fertile land
or how mankind has finally found
freely & unbound
his soul and his Redeemer
i am not the schemer
nor will i use sleight of hand
to lead an angry hearts club band
in my small white town to a soft note of silence
where all heads bow down
and see a child-abusing priest
like a night time thief
rape a young girl or boy
repeatedly for years of Catholic joy
nothing here about GOD

the closet door

you worked real hard
playing me
inside the closet door
but nothing more
i was your dime store buy
so casually you'd try
to come up to my room
with flowers in your bowl
like fingers
digging into my soul
& our shared secrets in bed
fell out and totally bled
you took me for granted
like a seed that was planted
and measured me
like a disposable chew
what was i to do?
i was in love with you.
you looked real good
deceiving
my head alive with hope
growing tougher to cope
as i heard your stories
of love and glories
come up to my room
with romance at the start
like fingers
digging into my heart
& our shared secrets in bed
fell out and bled
you took me for granted
like a seed that was planted
and measured me
like a disposable chew
what was i to do?
i was in love with you.

save us from this killing beast!

Roosevelt, Churchill, Stalin,

Potsdam, Yalta, Tokyo and Berlin 

South Korea and Mao and for the other guys somehow 

this is important 

without the atomic bomb but with the Marshall Plan 

and the German wall

before the fall 

Seoul overrun by Kim with a quick plan for victory to Pusan 

foiled

& the Great March forward somehow spoiled 

by stiff US resistance and blood and guts and honor

and then Truman, McArthur and the Yalu 

long after Nagasaki but who really knew 

what Eisenhower was about to reveal?

yes, the military industrial complex was designed to steal 

what even the CIA didn't understand 

or the KGB as they used to say 

back in the Cold War day 

alongside Fidel Castro (but he's now dead, too) as is the Shah

and Ayatollah Khomeini,

who didn't understand containment so said let the revolution begin 

with Iran 

and Venezuela and Hezbollah 

the oil flows spelled mister moolah in a brave new world 

with Huxley golf courses in the sky and 

the fervent Taliban who hate women, 

who want control more than sex 

Man is the new T-Rex!

not the woman in flames or whatever else remains 

beyond Marines in central Baghdad or the Chinese in Senegal 

they're unlucky enough to want it all: 

prayer flags flutter in a Himalayan wind.

the soul of Tibet, the Dalai Lama, without a bed

in his native-born country said, 

Peace on Earth (at the very least) 

save us from this killing beast!

be my valentine

"i think i'm gonna make it through just fine
won't you be my valentine?"
you read the words & wished it true
the soldier would come back to you
in Springtime with his flowering smile
he'd pick you up and squeeze awhile
your thin and fine young lady breast
closer to his young man chest
you held his letter in your hand
and feared it was a grain of sand
slipping to the kitchen floor
where it would likely be no more
"i think i'm gonna make it through just fine
won't you be my valentine?"

he died in ambush just past nine
his wet clothes still hanging from your line
a box with ribbons and other stuff
arrived much later but it wasn't enough.

in time

an old wooden cart
was pulled by two draft animals
as two wheels spun
in time to the passing of the sun
scoring music, conducting art
while Mozart on his cresting wave
of enlightenment and fire
tossed tools to a valley slave
for thought and even higher
the speed of universal light
being true to natural law
was bent in time beyond his sight
but not beyond recall
as two wheels spun
in time to the passing of the sun

what do i say?

the pale blue dot
a point of light
still in balance
between what is right
and misunderstood
with rivers of blood
and tides of gloom
marching armies
bringing death and doom
instead of what is great and good
tell me, what do i say
if i'm asked today?
what should she teach her children?
& if they disagree, would i care?
is it my responsibility to be everywhere
there is a special need?
another open mouth to feed?
a human with malcontent
maybe even murderous desire
in a belly full of hate
eyes aglow with wicked fire
and dreams of religious empire
tell me, what do i say
if i'm asked today?
am i a Christian or a God
Jew or Muslim or naked man
running from the garden tree
toward a sweetly scented land?
regard the thin atmosphere
both far and fragrantly near
spinning around our simple Star
in a cosmos where all words
bounce away from where they are
to settle on an unhealed scar
tell me, what do i feel
the moment i find to kneel
and pray?
tell me, what do i say?

Dear Mr. Hoover

Dear Allison,

Thank you for the kind letter
acknowledging my military service
to our country, the United
States of America. I do wish to
say, however, that I'm not sure
upon reflection if I was a brave
young man. I went to a far-away
land called Vietnam, in 1969.
There, the people were mostly farmers whose
favorite food was rice, which they grew.
They spoke a language I could not speak, and
I tried to learn, but wasn't very good.
Sometimes I felt afraid, especially at night
when there were unexpected noises, strange shadows,
and the loud sound of rifles being used.
I met many people and they were mostly friendly
and beautiful, with big smiles on happy faces.
Yes, I did volunteer for the army and if I helped
keep people in America safe, I am grateful.
I love this land, because it is your land and it is mine.

Again, thank you for the kind letter, Allison.

by
Greg Hoover

in military hands

taps for Fort Hood
on the sad shoulder of a weeping country
firm and good
the melancholy chords
drift underneath the raised
and sharpened swords
in military hands

taps for the dead
on the still unanswered Sargeant Major call
Honor said
that silence calls the name
of soldiers laid to rest
and they remain
in military hands

the ghost

i know what you're thinking.
Charlie the dog
by the back door
rubbing a shadow on the floor
with his tiny tongue
could not smell your disappointment

but it was to be all or nothing.
the fall leaves keep falling
into the pond
where they would bond
with the surface tension of water
and struggle to stay afloat

you have always been truthful.

i kicked around in the kitchen
re-facing cabinets and myself
wondering if the shelf
in the closet would hold my weight
when i gave up the ghost

you have cared for me too much.
i tried to walk
in your trail shoes
reading a section of the news
but was overwhelmed
by the lines of my indifference

she's

she's got pins in her nose
white ears silver toes
chocolate lips on her face
and candy boys in her case
that go wherever she goes
she's got fire in her hair
a hot whiskey stare
heavy songs in her head
grinding urgent in bed
she's more than happy to share
'cause she's the new girl tonight
higher than a kite
bright in her fancy Irish sky
like sweet strawberry pie
not a stranger in sight
she's a special delight

and I always die

what the fuck was it all about? 

"piss off!" i heard them shout 

it's Hiroshima 

with a blinding atomic storm 

early August trees smoking and torn 

Los Alamos created pieces of despair 

melting human skin in super heated air

and no United Nations to give a shit or care:

there are shadows torched against a crumbling wall

and i'm expected to forget i saw??

damn, applause rose from across the Pacific

from bar stools who thought it was terrific:

i still see the survivors pointing bony fingers

at me and i always die.

Operation Restore Hope

Blackhawks rising
in the late afternoon
near the Indian Ocean
and the waters of Half Moon
where the invasion beach
without a passing thought
to the mighty swell
of brave men who fought
in Mogadishu
sits under a Somali sun
without arrogance
without a single gun
without ambition
to restore hope
for the hopeless hungry
as Rangers on their rope
found a white-hot scream
& the road to Hell
paved with good intentions
over the many lives that fell
in this alley of death
the market devoid of heart
each corner a dance with madness
exploding sanity apart

Louise Gluck

sad and strange off the range beyond the boundary fence where you rest with barely a lick of sense Louise Gluck sad and slick in your metered brain teaching poetry under the driving rain of New England where you stand with sharp words and fate heavy on a wounded heart the cemetery gate opens as you wander by closes when you shut one eye a skeleton with bones raw white rises to kiss your lips tonight

FOX NEWS

how is it possible
that FOX NEWS is not news
it's like saying green is yellow
& blacks are really blues
as consumers we must choose
look at realness dead in its eye
like a fundamentalist Sunni
who'd prefer nothing than to die
embracing his history of Islam
by making himself a personal bomb
& declaring his faith to Allah
how is it possible
that Pakistan is a military
and not a country
isn't this scary
considering their nuclear warheads
are out of sight
not out of mind
where is the Mullah who's said to be blind
who had fought the Russians
in Afghanistan
allied with the Taliban
who killed diplomats from Iran
and were honored
how is it possible
Omar is at sea
in the tribal mountains drinking tea
like the British in India
when empire was at hand
we need to understand

the county fair

it's a summer night at the county fair
& the old yellow bus is going nowhere
thirsty drunks in a party mood
drinking booze & eating food
kissing Mary Jane up high
waiting for her warm reply
on a football night lined up for scores
male touchdown runs behind closed doors
as Priscilla and her flower girls
show the party boys sweet natural curls
their hungry kisses a starving shout
& the big bad boys just hanging out
it's a summer night at the county fair
old folks watching from a wicker chair
Hillary's hand in little Willy's pants
before the homecoming game
at their high school dance
sweet Bill Monroe lying to his ma
about sucking up to big Betty's bra
it's a summer night in a church town bar
where the band is playing with an old guitar
their music louder than a wild drum beat
on a sweaty Friday in the summer heat

43

you were caught in the shadow between two lines
blinded by the crowd applause and couldn't read the signs
with arrows to infinity and a moon rise out the door
you told a waiting nation that you'd lead them into war
displaying fresh aluminum and biologic threats
with yellow cake and operatives as secret as it gets
in Poland and Iran or was it Brussels and Milan
smirking as the words emerged La Cosa Nostra con
the bastards at the Pentagon had hoped you knew the score
with little donny rumsfeld sucking madly as your whore
he whittled down the numbers and he sent Marines ahead
in a lightening strike surprise attack to minimize their dead
it was cheney and mr chalibi who lied about the scope
of opposition in Iraq to give reluctant liberals hope
yet no crowds of people tossing flowers on the road
as M1A1 tanks and troops in Baghdad finally showed
it's good to declare victory on an aircraft carrier deck
& then retire to Texas with a lone star on your neck

mother won't you

mother won't you hold me
now closer to your breast
let me cry before the dawn
before i empty this nest
before i lose my soul
on a downtown street
make a fool of myself
for everyone i meet
mother won't you know me
before i die
in a dead cold field
with this strangers' eye
looking at you
in a loose embrace
for the longest time
hungry in haste
mother won't you love me
won't you even smile
ask me to remember
childhood for awhile
won't you wonder
on this side of my pain
how it'd be different
if you did it over again?

the magical word

carmen san diego
jesus is coming to your world
with a long white robe
& painted colors that swirled
on Guantanamo beach
where life's an eastern Muslim peach
Koran & blood on sacred ground
the 4th of July a special sound
heartfelt & sticking around
carmen san diego
madness at the break of dawn
invading Afghanistan
in broad daylight & then gone
to where tribal warlords collect dope
Saddam swung from his bastard rope
& you've got nothing more to say
reciting Bible verses pray
deep into another fateful day
carmen san diego
the CIA hiding in your pants
close by the hidden exit door
with an airline ticket to France
flying from Beirut like an overripe fruit
the magical word is SHOOT
like a missile crazy from Iran
or a nuke from Pakistan
what can't you understand
carmen san diego
jesus is coming to your world

shadow on the floor

why can't you tell me what i've been missing
your door is simply never open
it's just a shadow that i've been kissing
on our dance step with electric feet
the black light searching for your smile
it's just a shadow that i meet
at night behind a tightly shuttered door
i saw you standing on my simple dream
it's just a shadow on the floor
i can't be lovin you anymore
someday i might pack my socks and shoes
find that ring i never want to lose
getting physical in a more physical sense
without the hold of a guilty fence
why can't you tell me what i've been missing
your door is simply never open
it's just a shadow that i've been kissing
it's just a shadow on the floor
i can't be lovin you anymore

God, what should i learn?

i'd really like to see
Tennessee
i'd like to live in an old house
with a rose garden
and a happy mouse
and a yellow kitty
full of pity
i'd really like to be strong
all day long
i'd like to have a gentle man
to understand
how i love living
and giving
and ask for so little in return
God, what should i learn?
i am the dragon and the fish
but this isn't what i wish
i'd really like to be free
of the illness holding me
be with Angel in a village store
i call my own and more
i would sip the moisture from a rose
and feel the red from head to toes
i would stay awake at night
read in bed by candlelight
with my lover strong and proud
together on a floating cloud
above us Heaven for a day
would listen as i pray
i'd really like to see
Tennessee

going home

2012 the Mayan bull
a fancy fad
more wool to pull
in a cinema
on November 12
then collecting dust
on a back lot shelve
while i walk the beach
with a friend of mine
in imagination
on sand so fine
the grains polish skin
rolling out then in
like fine wine softy
on a thirsty tongue
while the song is sung
one footprint before the other
as the wave comes crashing
a single walker dashing
to Oz and the wizard job
a long hard ride away
into a sun easterly
before the end of day
not the end of time

seasons

the seasons change
with a color in the sky
the foghorn blast
a lonely iceberg cry
and heavy mist
which shrouds the eye
the seasons change
with hard music overhead
the drum roll shake
an angry sound instead
of easy pause
& gentle dead
the seasons change
with a feeling in the air
the long goodbye
a lingering Hi there
which slows the day
suggests i care
the seasons change

zodiac signs

i can't find you
looking in gardens and trash
full of hurt & pain
empty of cash
& sun & rain
i want to have eyes
reflecting me
in honest side streets
and fancy free
sexy treats
i want to feel love
in a tomorrow kiss
or later tonight
with happiness
without the cat fight
listening to songs
between the lines
i'm looking for you
but finding zodiac signs
color me blue
i can't find you

The Maasi

The Maasi saw
from Kenya's land
their river falling
couldn't understand
the wildebeest
or the hippo
would die in this heat
with nowhere to go
without water
without a voice
dead indifference
leaving them no choice
great migration
sadly ended
while African tribes
in smoke decended
forests were cut
charcoal was made
cattle were grazing
without ancient shade
in an old land
with a new pain
without much food
without much rain

north of Tam Ky

The recon platoon
was in the bed
of a nearby creek
and still being led
by captain Joe
& sergeant Bill
but they had to stop
on a steeper hill
when they heard noise,
then rifle fire
and decided not
to climb any higher!

an air strike call
was being made
before advancing
with their base camp raid:

Happy Valley,
north of Tam Ky.

September 15th
Nineteen Seventy

J

Janice came from the government
one day uninvited
watched for movement undercover
didn't know what she sighted
people right and people left
before the party started
laughed at all her silly games
and fully felt lighthearted
while the champagne flowed with kindness
into a natural cup
the hosts were in a screaming mood
and couldn't drink it up
their Ritz was at capacity
so full the graveyard choked
as floods of refugees came past
& everyone got soaked.

Angel

you are the perfect angel
& i found you on a walk
when i was feeling loneliness
& didn't need to talk
my heart still needed mending
so i tried to find a pace
to slowly gather in your smile
& focus on your face
your eyes were like a fortune
in a treasure chest of dreams
i felt you whisper to my soul
it's everything it seems

Hanadi Jaradat

Oh God, give me a new death
let this be my final breath
as i pull this lonely pin
i've worn from my home in Janin
into Maxim's restaurant
so i won't die old & gaunt
in poverty and without a son
i'll be the 6th female to die undone
in my hijab for martyrdom.

October 4, 2003
on a jetty by the sea
Jewish Sabbath Jewish Blood
interrupted by a flood
of Arab hair & wicked sound
the 22 dead soon being found
children scattered among debris
cute, innocent, & free
never knowing killer Hanadi.

sea of dreams

your sweet lips
underneath my fingertips
taste this westerly world of mine
sipping skin sipping wine
on the softest summer bed
restful now to calm my head
roll me on this sea of dreams
life is more than what it seems
your sweet touch
underneath my need so much
dance with me beyond our star
holding close holding far
in the darkness of this night
satisfied by candlelight
hear me once more i love you
on our mountain top for two

more than matter

Nova should have taught everyone
there's more to Universe than math
& while religions scheme to monopolize
there's always more than one path
to enlightenment & ecstasy
the history of philosophy
& thought is a curious book
collecting soft dust yet a second look
would reveal the story of our creative arts
which emerges boldly from human hearts
and impaling minds with splatter
makes all existence more than matter

the lorraine motel

i had a vision of a dirty bomb
tear my head completely apart in Vietnam;
i saw the mushroom cloud explode in '45
Trinity was born!  i was barely alive,
fed a steady diet of black & white
watching John Glenn take his historic sub-orbital flight
into near space on a rocket ship.
he nearly died but i didn't know it,
hiding under the classroom seats
with Peggy Sue and her forbidden treats,
so near to touch but i'd have to wait.
i saw Kennedy get blown away
in his black limo on a late November day.
watched the flowers that people held
growing old until they smelled
like thousands of dead bodies in a distant Cambodian field.
i saw them & felt chilled
when Martin Luther was struck down
on a balcony near my hometown.
he was hit with a thud and bled and bled,
but it didn't matter what anyone said:
The Dream still lives, the body gone,
remembering the Selma bridge
hoping to see the promised land over heartbreak ridge.
and i heard Nixon really got pissed!
he put countless enemies on his list
& his White House was infiltrated by crooks
who to this day in countless history books
have an amazingly large asterisk by their name
believing Honor was just a fool's game;
it didn't matter that people died;
they still cocktail partied and lied and lied and lied,
believing until the end that God was on their side!
and i indeed saw their God walking across my rice paddy water
leading His sheep to another senseless slaughter,
while i cleaned my gun under the afternoon sun
and waited.

Black Mountain Fever

An autumn rust fell on a man's eye &
blinking with color, he wondered why
he felt so fundamentally certain
soon would appear a winter curtain
of three Earth leaves on a fine line
suspended in balance like soulful wine
which grows wildly in a wild ferment
of pebbles, shells, feathers all Heaven sent
to become the ying & yang and yellow Heart
renewing our journey from virginal start:
stranded in sand the planet cries
as the great horned owl sings & dies
a nocturnal dancer true to form
circling our world inside the storm.

comment

if you won't comment
NOW or then
as i sit like an ass on a spongy toilet seat
contemplating ZEN
in this room freshly painted
with odors of s(hit)
PRAY TELL ME
how do we GET OUT OF IT?
i need your ANSWER
HONEST or in disguise
give it to me shamelessly
& give it to me wise
where have you been hiding
as my discomfort becomes an ache
inside my heart and spreading
like little ripples across my lake

Ginsberg

Ginsberg saw the punch of heavenly insanity
through glassy homosexual eyes
across oceans of distance & nearing death
He wrote from his head the trade wind Howl
of demon smokestacks and collapsed cities
screwing a Buddha universe of astronomic atoms
where lived man who spit blood and broke heart
among hard machines made by hard machines
on a hard rock surface called a world
pregnant with firearms & hypodermic needles
in need of cash and the warm hot fix
of a thousand writhing angels in passion frenzy
Ginsberg felt this madness of america
& the naked copy world of cruise ships
underneath their starry night
with cots full of spent sperm and false hips
and wigs with plastic faces before He died
beyond a prison wall with His tender man
confessing eternal love within a loveless womb
powdered dry like the Sahara desert
without relief from suicide or happy June weddings
with happy cake & wall street traders
pumping for their gymnasium membership
when the dancing couple fell into their bloody hole
& found a habit without a nun attached
near the Harvard yard of nothingness
Ginsberg danced on His string of inspiration
with Beat poets studying the crowded beer hall
of ashcan lids craftily blown across the street
to where the Brooklyn Dodgers once had played
before an admiring crowd of immortal souls
in Ebbets Field the memories grow like Hell

B flat

little cindy was shopping on a friday afternoon
looking for a new mirror
with a border for her room
friend joey went to lend a guiding hand
and took along his friends
members of his high school marching band
dressed in blue uniforms and white boots
meant to generate lots of laughter
for shits & giggles & hoots
but their mothers never knew
ever though all mothers should know
what was really false & really true
where genuine love was genuinely found
no matter how hard the rains fell
or how slippery the ground
little cindy smoking pot with her tv
friend joey playing with his clarinet
in B flat for free
on a covered porch by a wooden door
where busy paths converge
wondering if there was more

BenBully

i missed my mother at the picnic
'cause she stayed in church too long
and my father tried to harmonize
but he didn't know this song
while brother Jakie played his mandolin
in a bluegrass band of five
near the railroad tracks in our county jail
but he's coming out alive.
His prison cell is an old hard time
with tobacco in his cheek
he once killed a man on Labor day
to prove he wasn't weak

he was a mountain man & he's coming home
a good woman by his side
prayed for his MA, prayed for his PA
& the man he shot who died
he was a mountain man & he's coming home
a good woman by his side
spent twenty years for his lone mistake
and every night he cried

At a moonshine pub he pulled a gun
when BenBully came around
& grabbed his girl around her neck
she couldn't make a sound
if looks could talk and ask for help
she was calling for her Lord
her life grew faint and darkness
she was quickly headed toward
Jakie fired his gun and screaming
BenBully hit the dirt
& the crowd came back to wonder
dead man's blood upon his shirt.

goodbye girl

i will love you again
with the mad blood stirring
and you'll voice a sound
like a heated cat purring
your ribald comments soft
at the corner of my lip
beyond the hard tomorrow
of a painted fingertip
that you colored in your youth
and yet it seems to be
there is no conversation
with your mind far out to sea
i will have you tomorrow
without a conjunctive noise
no pause for sermonizing
on your chest box full of toys

What is IT?

i listened to Al Jolson last night with his voice snappy & gay 

he sang a depression tune of men without employment or pay as their line of heads hanging low shuffled feet near the free kitchen door 

hot soup for all who would show the multitude haggard & poor 

but Clara Bow was the one who had IT:  a real jazz baby in movies & print 

without talk her mouth was a dancer and smiling delivered the hint 

the 20's were F Scott Fitzgerald and Cooper (who'd soon be a silent pictures star) 

driving a chrome-adorned American car.

the chestnut tree

The chestnut tree took my weight
that morning I went up high
under the sun near you
bending a limb to try
to snatch a prickly little green husk
well before dusk
we were not robbers stealing life
in nature such as ours
we are the lovers & explorers
searching our heart for hours
on a simple gravel path
of loose stones and hard dirt in tandem
uphill we stately strolled
looking at random
bits of scat or poop, berries & ivy
the tree of Heaven still on Earth
where mother deer and fawn
scampered without mirth
fully determined to be reunited
on the near horizon sighted

see the moon

you tell me i can't see the moon
but i'm watching from my darkened room
and holding on & won't let go
so easily from what i know
it bothers me you've shut our door
inside my head and said no more
i'm crying on a bed of flowers
missing you like this for hours
passing time and passing out
crazy with my lonely shout
wondering where you might've gone
without me till the break of dawn
and i remember how you smell
and taste and feel, life's hell
knowing that you've gone away
left me with this empty day
i'm crying on a bed of flowers
missing you like this for hours

Zelda was insane!

Zelda was insane!

she saved the last waltz for me
on her Turkish rug

while dreaming by
the Mediterranean sea
of a life beyond the doldrums

which pinch & heat & chill,

which can torment a sailors' Spirit
and break the strongest will.

but her finest point 

still spinning

surrounds my beating heart;

her secret jazz age dances

tear my stage apart.

Zelda was beautiful!

the Hawkeye shine was in her eye:

it could capture moments swiftly
as sharp talons from the sky!

it held tight & flew forever
over solid and imagery.

and i heard her bravest whisper
when she saved the waltz for me.

still dead

i saw a dead man's balls
sticking out of his head
after he pissed his pants
which were full of lead
from a claymore mine
resting in the mud
of South Vietnam
no, it wasn't a dud
it was a real man killer
but it never asked who
the hot metal bearings
would be ripping into
this hot summer day
in a cold body bag
on a foreign highway
for an imperial flag.
so where are you punk?
with your tidy white shirt
your pedigree stamp
smooth face in a smirk
just another adventure
to a rice paddy hell
pointed cute politicians
thought they knew it so well
but they didn't know shit
as it sat on their ass
while a down arrow pointed
to the fucked working class
who didn't know shit
yet they ate it all day
from their first morning coffee
to a late night souffle.

a woodland trail

a woodland trail
single track
ascending past paw paw trees
then turning back
when the bald eagle flew
along the river's edge
& i sat to marvel
on my leafy ledge
the brisk wind blow
of a thunderstorm
by a far horizon
the sky was torn
and the river danced
with a liquid light
while i walked away
before the coming night.

a woodland trail
blazed in blue
a natural place
to spend time with you.

i will see you again, Pascin

i will see you again but not yet a friend whispered several years after we'd met and i was dead not he or they or all else who came to play the many artists and hangers-on drinking and eating and loving till the early dawn they might say it was madness in my blood i wrote but i merely slit my wrists & hung by throat threw a bloody testament on the nearby wall before the solo show about Cecile and my downfall i knew triumph & color & whores with fine lines and wit or maybe duller but if you slept i was alert at Montmartre always the flirt never the serious painter as i wanted to be known so i fade, become fainter & wonder when between bottles of wine i will see you again

sonata, Moonlight

soft
& softer
with the moon
the stars deeply in tune
as tender lovers swoon
& clouds with drifting light
marry everyone in our sight
& gravity momentarily suspends
the music still floating here
far from any anchored pier
this sonota tenderly
wings the heart
& sets it free
to be
me

two halves

it's a lazy summer afternoon
and i'm midway between
two halves of desperately hungry
hoping that i'll get to see you soon
BUT
from my dream to the nearby bar
i won't have to travel very far
to kiss your luscious lips
& watch your moving hips
sense the appetite of my anxious fingertips
touch the sweaty smile of body heat
Yes, it won't be long before we meet

it's a lazy summer afternoon
and i'm midway between
two halves of desperately hungry
hoping that i'll get to see you soon
BUT
when you left me at the corner store
told me you'd be coming back for more
was it a lie you spoke?
some kind of silly joke?
should i just lay here until my body's broke?
i'm the loner crying in the street
Yes, it won't be long before we meet

Pictures at an Exhibition

i saw the pictures at an exhibition: 

no price was charged 

or admission ticket required

no stub 

or membership rules posted! 

i felt a moving mystery. 

it gathered all the straining ear

along a horned path 

with strings 

and played the famous Mussorgsky song in four parts 

an ethereal alien air grew louder 

but then soft; 

a tidal sweeping water spray of sound

& a flair for the flamboyant 

the kettle drum and french horn 

keys with flute attached 

the trombone blast and some elfish piccolos 

a large section of bass 

incessant rock knock and pound 

The Kingdom of finest woven lace weaving notes

of orchestral tempest 

escaping notes 

fleeing from excellent instruments 

& fingers of humankind grandly being toyed.

write & more

if you happen to live long enough
there's a chance of writing some pretty
good stuff
or die unsung
& much too young
without reporting anything of note
are you the goat
with a voice
stuck in your throat
no sound at all
& then the fall
to distant depths unknown
not shown
on any human map?
so, write
& write more, more
to stop a war
inhale a breath
comfort a baby
before death
whatever reason
or without one
proclaim yourself
it can be fun!

Gertrude Stein

her straight dark hair cut short & tight 

leaned closer toward me,

asking for a light. 

she smoked my name,

exhaling from the promising start.

she tapped her ashes directly into my heart. 

we were sitting warm at the best cafe 

on a Paris terrace.

 

we had clear words to say.

we heard a Piaf song flying slowly from the nearby boulevard. 

i scribbled je t'aime on a French notecard!

by the Eiffel Tower,

i sipped a small glass of chilled champagne 

underneath her watchful eyes and 

a soft afternoon rain.

i remembered a fine Cezanne 

yet couldn't explain 

why it was hung inside a fancy wooden frame.

and on the Rue de Fleurus 

drinking white wine, 

we saw approaching Gertrude Stein,

and she would certainly provide the answer.

On The Waterfront

come with me kid & give it to me straight 

Karl Malden said from his dinner plate 

his priest grew angry at the crowd  

stevedores loading down in the pit manly loud 

where Irish whisky killed an honest man 

& Johnny Friendly cried from his witness stand 

"i could have had class!" but, alas. 

Buddy Brando said to brother Steiner in their cab

"i could've been a contender!"

spoke tender Terry Malloy who wouldn't have to surrender 

his conscience for success 

they laid odds he wouldn't get up but he passed that crucial test.

a broken heart

the shortest sound is too long
no voice can help me sing this song
the blackest night i can not bear
i'm looking for you everywhere

my eyes hang heavy i can not sleep
i didn't want to be in this deep
no one near can feel my ache
it's almost more than i can take

i died a thousand times today
yet still my lover shied away
i'm lonely when i'm left alone
not knowing, but i should have known

how can i cure a broken heart
how to rewind it from the start
how can i prove that i love you
if you're not willing to be true?
i'm just another i o u
set drifting dear without a clue.

whiskey bride

She grabbed the whiskey bottle by the neck
With a red-nailed fist
& poured herself a stiff one
While the piano player kissed
The beer she set aside
He took it all in stride
Had played this scene before
as she strummed her plaintive voice
above the bar room floor
her breath like soft Jack Daniels
with sunshine in her eyes
she sang such lusty stories
& swore they were not lies
She left a hungry trail around his neck
with a red-tipped tongue
& whispered into his ear
for the song he hadn't sung
a simple prelude to another piece
the quick embrace that wouldn't cease
His fingers on the ivory keys
his focal point surrendering
her fingers on his mouth & face
both lips just now remembering

come & be my whiskey bride
forever time we'll set aside
come & tell me what to be
for you and then for me

without a full moon

take this sword in your gut
dog man
i fire you to hell
with the Hades group
of idiots ringing my bell
it's 8:20 on a Sunday late
with rain like a torrent
overwhelming my front yard grate
and you won't care
as long as the cable TV
is working and the air
is suffused with scents of eclair
why have my bracelets gone to rust
and bones to ashes
my heart a victim of your wars
and scarred with gashes
all the while you busy yourself
with makeup off the shelf
and on your face
i yearn to know the watchman's name
and guess the nature of his game
know intent
and kiss true love with true devotion
stop the tide & pause the motion
of the spinning stone
still left unturned
great forests burned
great oceans warmed
beyond their natural call
and so you fall
& i, dog man, bark
without my lover
or a full moon, in the dark

a busy intersection

i don't want to love you
more than you love me
but rather keep it balanced
centered, evenly
between two strands of interest
human or divine
dressed like nun or harlot
regardless, call it mine

i don't want to leave you
cold & flat & sore
but rather make it handsome,
always wanting more
in spite of time demanding
new movement at a pace
that blurs the definition
& the lines upon my face

i don't want to lose you
more than you lose me
on the shoulder of a highway
near the sounding of a sea
past a busy intersection
by the bus stop, carelessly
i don't want to lose you
more than you lose me

field of flowers

i smell you in this field of flowers
as our moment passed which seemed like hours
when I took you tight to make you mine
skin on skin in, out of time
behind the door which had no key
best left unlocked for you & me
beneath the sun beyond the wall
with fingertips i took my fall
i called your name you knew me well
left me dreaming cast a spell
i couldn't run, or get away
tried to talk, no words to say
that childhood crush is coming down
i just can't use it on this ground
i just can't notice how i feel
i can't be honest, can't reveal

i smell you in this field of flowers

Edwardine, forgive me:)

She dressed like a Vassar student
from 1932 with formal tucks, a pearl necklace, and silver hair
held high like her esteem.
She would not play the fool,
nor did she like to be entertained with anything
less than the most erudite spoken language
of Shakespeare and Charles Dickens.
She force fed as though we were fledgling baby birds
and she the raptor with wild owl beak and a penetrating
gaze into your forming character.
She would ply that mold by God because
that is what an English teacher did, so suffer little children
and welcome high school Class of 1966, into her domain.
You will never remain the same!

long last night

i stayed up long last night
thinking of how you make me feel
and there's more to what fuels my interest
than your obvious sex appeal

it's your eyes, mouth, your auburn hair
& how you listen to the words we share
your mind, smile, and creativity
combined with your touch enrapture me

i wish i could encapsulate
that one single exciting trait
so i stayed up long last night
thinking of why it feels so right

and then i remembered beneath the tree
i was struck by your sincerity
as you spoke about your life and more
& trusted me unlike anyone before

with an easy voice and a gentle strength
i could measure you but whatever length
if my nights are short or the days are long
i'll always have you in this song

crazy girl

she had her own mind
but was never unkind
rolled herself in a bed of newly cut clover
close to the edge but never went over

she was a crazy girl
with a smile like a bumblebee
her stinger dug deep into me
i wanted her most intense pain
and she gave it over and over again
told me it was genuine love
& that's what i was thinking of

she had her own voice
but gave me a choice
tied me up in a bed of freshly laundered clothes
somewhere in space where no one goes

she had her own dress
but showed me much less
wrapped herself in the style of perfect hollywood
under the stars whenever she could

she was a crazy girl
with a smile like a bumblebee
her stinger dug deep into me
i wanted her most intense pain
and she gave it over and over again
told me it was genuine love
& that's what i was thinking of

TS, phone home

i slept in the Victoria Hotel
down in old Mexico
and walked on handmade tiles
colored in deep indigo.

Eliot wasn't on my floor
nor was he in the bar
listening to the young gringo
strumming on an old guitar.

i heard he was still swimming
in a pool without a sound
with a handful of wasteland dust
i remember he had found.

he was wearing a huge sombrero
pulled tightly against his cheek
with a slip knot fully made
still showing the receipt.

my margarita had no salt
but i drank it all the same
to not offend the bartender
who called me by my name.

a Spanish lady with the melons
she was proposing to sell
approached the nervous tourist
ringing the front desk bell.

i came to walk the canyon
so deep it smelled of death
where spirits wear an empty mask
and take away your breath.

a train would leave the station
soon maybe the next day
and though tempted by those melons
i knew i shouldn't stay.

my coach was full of writers
down on their luck & drunk
on mescal which they all consumed
until their voices shrunk.

we stopped above the canyon walls
& began the long decent
into darkness at highest noon
i wondered what it meant

i heard the hidden waterfall
down in these depths of doom
and supped on poetry endless
beneath a Copper moon.

the slightest trace

corpus callosum
amygdala
basal ganglia
i am looking for you everywhere
but can't find you anywhere.

are you a sore on my ass
a bent blade of grass
a lady with exceptional class
or nearly nothing at all?

thinking, but i can't recall
from where are you watching me
and why aren't you here?

i want you near, dearly

tell me if you're close by
with a simple sigh so that i
can finally be at ease
would you, please?

i sat by the pond & watched the fish
poked at my food, didn't finish the dish

lost the appetite i tried to keep

wanted you

took a quick peek
but saw nothing interesting, went away
and determined finally to stay
away, 

but your pull, your eyes
eventually even i realize
there's magnetism and magic
in desire 

along with the tragic

Oh yes, i'd like to see your face
the faintest hint, the slightest trace.

the 3rd i

it was a time before television
or radio was perfected
when poetry was important
the words and phrases dissected
and contemplated,
simply stated
like the dandelion seed
without a philosophical creed
released into the air
and blown everywhere
into currents swiftly rode
nothing showed
no signs or spiritual pointers
no businessman loiters
on this trail,
without fail
the wooden bridge spans
this clear creek where we hold hands
and kiss; a heavenly angel
with wings beating our hearts.
is this how it starts
i wonder, torn asunder with wildness
and scents of bliss
it's you i miss.

a song for you

is love something you can measure
based upon ones' sense of pleasure;
a cup into which you can put so much
and feel it like a special touch;

a mood reserved for just the young?

you'll know it when you hear it sung.

a melody of such exquisite grace
enchants, enfolds, & pulls your face
into a smile of cat-like purr
when you simply think upon him or her.

Thriller

Michael we need who you were
when you'd dance with flying fur
and the crazy music hit our beat
moon walking dancing on your feet
toe tapping snapping drums a'cracking
jumping up & spun around
never ever come back down
hipping hop the world of rock
beat it thriller ticking tock

smooth criminal in white ties
billie jean falls down & cries

your table is ready, Sir

i've waited all eternity
to sit & talk & sip my tea
at this special table
God reserved for me

it just happens to be there
when I reach out from this chair
& position myself
the world is everywhere

in colors & landscape & sky
& water which is really why
i should be happy
i thought with a sigh

yet,

from asia to the ivory coast
shadows & hunger like a ghost
escape from our notice
when we need it most

from the highest point to the low
the most insignificant know
overlooked is the fate
they suffer & grow

the gardens they plant with some pain
for nourishment not for acclaim
not glamor nor fame
they're just hoping to remain
to survive another day
on minimal pay.

little bastard

her mother was not married
she barely knew her dad
short memories of his furtive face
were the only ones she had
10 years she said she suffered
lived with her mom away
heard bastard spoken to her face
behind her back all day
by raucous kids who felt secure
they'd taunt and chase her hope
& catch it in a bloody dish
then swing it from their rope.
she married a street fighter
from a nearby river town
who proved to be full jealous
kept her locked inside his crown
she couldn't smile to strangers
or dance with men unknown
for years his anger strangled
her love which should have grown
kids called her little bastard
cruel hurt that word dug deep
lodged in her heart forever
so sad to hear her weep.

night watchman

i saw you watching me
but your touch was far
as you smoked a lusty cigarette
full of nicotine and tar
your hair soft on your shoulder
with your face around two lips
so full of promise as I drank
my beer in hungry sips
a man sang Frank Sinatra
with a microphone in hand
while couples danced a lover’s beat
on our patio of sand
underneath tiny Christmas lights
wrapped tight around your waist
i found myself in puzzled knots
and wondered how you’d taste
with smoke still on your Texas tongue
and rapture in your eyes
i heard the night voice whispering
there was longing in these skies.

talk to him!

why don't you talk to him?
i can't

i mean, really there is nothing to say
i have to go my own way

and besides
what life would it be
for him or me?

two souls in thin air!
what would keep them there?

why don't you talk to him?
i can't

closeness

a long time coming
but what's the rush
this pleasure center
is not meant to gush
like an out-of-control firefight
on an insane battlefield
it's not a contest meant
to win or yield
not an Einstein's
relative theory
where going too fast
will make you weary
but rather stay
& take your pleasure
in deep relaxation
at your own pace, leisure
that's how satisfactions' hold should measure

brown eyes

the lady with deep brown eyes
never questioned she knew my name
held my hand which was a great surprise
& walked an early morning mountain
easterly and sunrise
touched the marvelous meadow flowers
where we paused, sat for hours
we counted all their colors
unaware of any others.
the lady with soft safari step
sometimes closeness needs at night
found my face while she still slept
and knew it could be good & right
the freedom song she hoped to get
& touched the skin of inner thigh
where lightly paused and gave a sigh
we counted all near passing stars
and felt that moment they were ours.

the wooden door

behind the wooden door
at midnight i felt the floor
as i walked to my soft spoken bed
in the heat of this long summer spell
i surrendered my dream and fell.
the youth who can be no more
found crying on a pillowed shore
weeps softly to not arouse a head
finds pleasure in a single fashion
fitfully yearns for love & passion.
behind the wooden door
anguish from a throat is tore
rushed to the nearest window pane
and looks outside, but all is rain.

a Maine woods

i'm having a love affair
with my surroundings
as i sip coffee
are you there?
i use sugar & cream
as i watch the lake shimmering
and flowers unfold
before my dream
that i dream in this paneled room
hidden from all prying eyes
i take myself adventurous
even to the edge of doom
i walk onto the dock and stop
hear the pine needle fall
touch my heart and pause
the movement of my human clock
the tick tick tick tock tock sound
the spider i watch is oblivious
wraps the prey in a tight silk web
spits a line to the distant ground
and watches me watching waiting
scurries beneath a leaf is gone
as i should be from this Maine woods
growing restless, anticipating.

magellan's strait

i am possessed
i am consumed
this woman's dead
i just presumed
to touch her flame
& feel her fire
her voice ignites
an unholy pyre
i saw her shadow
beyond the SUN
& wondered why
her love's undone
i heard a trumpet
from distant past
& dreamt its' call
within my grasp
then felt her tease me
flirt & dance
wooed me special
into her trance
i am possessed
i am consumed
this woman's dead
i'm being groomed.

play on

i placed my finger on your mouth
& watched it heading south
past moist lips of sage
where thyme has no hand
in the striking of the band
you wore your dress with care
and watched me linger there
with rosemary on my breath
instead of a usual plea
& you knew it was me
singing a midnight song
so nothing could go wrong
as tempers safely fade
i placed my spirit on your bed
& gave my arm your head

don juan & Vincent

in the storm
she could not find
him
or the Peace of Mind

for the wind was vicious
-his writing delicious
yet fatal came ashore
& he lived no more

no fire or lover's lyre
was ever found
on the rocky bottom
of that roaring sound

& then she died
underneath the fleeing tide
with her degree
in eternity

but not before fingers
(her power still lingers)
scrawled across a page
& i witnessed her rage.

elementary elizabeth

she didn't know who the mothers were
to the children soon to be
and wondered in nervous anticipation
if she could simply flee
to the classroom closet in the back
beyond the door where students tried
to find their own coat rack
and that's exactly where she cried
& lost herself with nervous tears
because she wasn't sure what to say
to those approaching ears
is it fine to say that history
is a tale without an end?
to give a glimpse of loneliness
in this life without a friend?
she could teach them winning numbers,
painting freehand, spelling bees
then send them out to recess
say "be back in twenty minutes, please."
but what about western religion or
science in evolutionary terms
but heck no, nothing substantial would do
beyond the idea of our everyday germs
and human health in general for charges so young:
but mostly just remember to keep a civil tongue
sticking to the basics and teach
elementary subjects that are simple for kids to reach
and she did.

my tongue

this is my tongue that i show
and speak to people that i know
it's native like an early Indian village
before the europeans came to pillage
and expand westward with a mumble
slipped from the mouth like a careless fumble
because their destination was the thing;
not the words they employed to sing.
With a WAGONS HO! and a mighty wave
rose unlovely voices they came to crave
of a single syllable and a lazy grunt
Oh Bards, attack this affront!
To the language walls and guard your post
or this English tongue, my man, is toast.

the Taj

don't tell me about the bird song
when you could possibly be wrong
and i have no way of knowing
if it's ego you're showing
in a show business sort of way.
what more can i say?
my palm has lines of coincidence
and it's been that way ever since
i was a little boy.
so are they some devilish ploy
to have me think of vanity,
an insult or an insanity,
an artful attempt to hide the clear
or a ploy meant to be insincere?
don't tell me about the Taj Mahal
when you know nothing at all.

Eros

my raft upon the shore
sitting here i need no more
no Pound or TS Eliot
could allude to what i get
while i'm thinking of you
it's what i was born to do.
all my tears for your true face
& i find it no disgrace
to sit silently for that sound
which informs you've been around
behind dark curtains of despair
where i'm gasping now for air.
my raft upon the shore
take my torment like a whore
then bring a glass into my sight
filled with stories of pure delight
let me drink a real romantic glow
it's no fun being in love with a shadow.

morbid obesity

where do they get these asses?
do they all just buy them at a store?
i don't remember seeing so many waddle
as they maneuver through the door
sideways in some extreme cases.
i guess the idea of exercise has vanished
since i can't find it on their faces.
certainly the excess food must swell
like an ocean wave for miles and miles
& make their comfort level HELL.
roll upon roll of human fat
sags and sways from this to that
no rhythm in any hip hop sense
this flesh is cold & thick & dense.
has modern beauty redefined its' part?
can this weight be good for a normal heart?
and how does one fill a tub with water
knowing blubber like a carcass to slaughter
will enfold the pores and hide the dirt?
just using a towel has got to hurt!

dreams

i saw donald duck on a saturday afternoon
as my neighborhood friends came over
to my birthday party with cake and a blue balloon
in a high chair strapped with a ribbon about my waist
i saw my mother run to catch a cab
& forget to love me in her haste
but no worries here before our song
that we've practiced between playing games
so absolutely positively nothing can go wrong:
Happy Birthday bouncing from the concrete wall
hit Jerry square in his flat forehead
and was the singular cause of his downfall
into Vickie who dropped her party dish
and laughing ran into the backyard storyboard
to steal my birthday wish
but i was faster than she by far
slipped out of my big shot party chair
grabbed that wish by hand and jumped into my car.

breasts beware

she appealed toward me with eyes
already rolled & i saw white
"Mr. Brown is a creeper," she sighs
and tries to be polite
but insisted his stare was really weird
he seldom took his glance away
it concentrated on her breasts, he leered
seemed to calculate what they weigh.
then i watched him lick his lips
as the girl passing left the class
his eyes bouncing with her hips
& settled on her moving ass.
Shouldn't the school give Brown the shove
before he confuses his lust for love?

SouP

Sue left her face on a library chair
while she talked among her students
with her freshly laundered hair

She left her man & cried angry on his pants
which didn't fit her anymore
and made it hard to dance

Marriage bed a cold asphalt road
washed away with the summer flood
and became her heavy load

Sue left her face on a library chair
while she dreamt of another day
but she didn't find it there.

Cheney's chant

Dick Cheney was the 46th Vice President
but his mind was seriously bent
on killing and torturing fiends
but it isn't exactly clear what he means
talking about waterboarding
which isn't as easy to understand as hoarding
your cash savings under a bed
it's no longer a question of being RED
or anti-communist
no, it's about national interest
against simplistic rheortic
and it's the electoric
who should decide whether or not
an Al-Qaeda plot
deserves a nuclear response or a surgical strike
let's better reflect on what is right
about America and not swim in this ocean of fear
and run to mommy GOP to make things clear
there is nuance in the world outside
& danger lurks in words that lied

The Penny Loafer

I once was a penny loafer discarded in a city dump
left soulless and without a shine
tossed away by a friend of mine.

I once was a soldier with some pennies in my hand
twenty three to be exact
and that's pretty much an actual fact.

I once was a traveler who looked into the face
of personalities and a great storybook
and gave equal to what I took.

I once was an victim of a roaring on the sea
but scrambled to the shore
momentarily then went back for more.

I once had a teacher tell me all he knew
of philosophies and demons in the head
but he became ill and soon was dead

I then was an artist who painted with his eye
and wanted to create a magnificent poster
found a city dump with a penny loafer

Which would represent all the journeys of mankind
I thought it an anthropological find
since it had no soul.

empire strikes back

royal blue fell on my face
and i wanted to sample a tiny taste
but the proper way to take that sip
was to develop an honest relationship
with the color of truth.
you can't hide in a circus booth
pretending to be a certain clown
with a white face & red frown
collecting money from passersby
who expect everything is a big fat lie.
royal blue with black high heels
and laughter are my favorite meals

in cold blood

Truman Capote
like a wild coyote
stalked in for the kill
and saw a man die
pretended to cry
then had to fly (to New York)
for a book review.
what else could he do
with a drink in hand
& 4 murders to explain
three shot in the brain
1 throat slit in pain
it was a tough job for a man
with a cigarette in his hand
to gather all the facts
for a compelling story
but he thought of the glory
and the killings were gory
& he needed the cash.
what he did was brash
but a national best seller
came out of that cellar
and then he was famous.

cards, anyone?

in the time of yesterday
when i didn't know what to say
i saw my knocking hand on the door
my crumbs on a living room floor
i crawled into the Trojan horse
paid NASA for an interstellar course
and showed my ass to Kathy Lee
with pants dangling around my knee.

then sometime after the war
when i didn't fit in no more
spreading leaflets i went away
a beard i saw who had bent to pray
started walking in my crowd
but quit when someone talked too loud
He sat down on the nearest curb
and started smoking a fragrant herb.

i figured if even Jesus Christ
couldn't hope to catch a break
i'd farm on a communal land
in the country by Moose lake

there you seemed so unselfish
when i opened up to you
and your female sensibilities
were helping me get through

but i hated when you made me drink
got me drunk so i couldn't think
then took advantage of my bust
and ravished me with all your lust.

think it's funny how you took a bite?
used me for your toy that night
and when i asked what are you doing
you smiled and kept up with the screwing.

so years have passed and i've been around
to hide where i can't easily be found
i hope you're happy with that piece of me
and remember how much fun it seemed to be

night vision

night vision goggles
won't let you see into a soul
but they will help you spy on someone
or make a kill once the sun has set.
they are made to be light
fit your head comfortably
and enhance an image
so the advantage is yours, in theory.
green is the color humans see best
and it's not envy
so if you're hiking
after dark
on a moonless trail,
are worried about the footing,
wear a pair.

7 mad lovers

i have seven mad lovers
naked in my bed
a backpack with a sleeping bag
and a pillow for my head.
a book with all the secrets
resting open on my lap
is my favorite source of knowledge
with it's history and a map
which points the way to Paradise
but i might not want to see
(since i'm feeling pretty decent now)
all those memories chasing me.
i have a glass in my right hand
filled with scotch and ice
and a deeper appreciation
for what it is that's nice.
i'm writing when i need to
and about things socially
without exaggeration
i can say it truthfully
there's never been a finer time
to write it down and smile
and i'm hoping i'm the good old boy
who sticks around awhile.
i have seven mad lovers
naked on my nose
a vision of a painted eye
and a pencil for my prose.

wave rider

i was riding in a 30 foot yacht
dropping over the giant wave
when i saw my face in reflection
and realized i didn't shave
i reached down for my cell phone
which was hanging from my belt
and called my stylist in new jersey
about the whiskers that i felt
but my sail was causing problems
and had to be withdrawn
because the winds were whipping stiffly
and would continue til the dawn
so no connection could be made
as i scrambled to my feet
and furled that sail in record time
to a hip Jamaican beat
i slipped down to the galley
and found supper cooking there
then i closed the hatch and rested
with wet clutter everywhere
i felt the current warming
when i hit the Gulf stream flow
and set the autopilot
to tell the boat which way to go
then in the morning dawning
i saw the rudder true
not much sleep the night before
there's so much more to do
this ocean is relentless
it never tires as people will
& weather is always changing
so the challenge is the appeal.
i know i'm not like Lindbergh
nor is Paris on my mind
i'm heading for the Mediterranean
and a destiny to find
and you?

night time river

the night time river
where all our quiet tears flow
where dreams that failed are found
and lonely people go

the night time river
down by a midnight shore
that used to be my hiding place
but I can’t get there anymore

there’s no safety for my broken heart
or our romance come to grief
this pain caused by your absence
can never find relief

the night time river
where my voice is heard by crying
into an empty room
for lovers' with a broken heart
beneath a broken moon.

the night time river
where all our quiet tears flow
where dreams that failed are found
and lonely people go

May Day (SOS)

one kid focused
the remainder totally hocus pocus:
"Hey teacher you red-butt monkey
I WANT YOU to think for me
work for me, too
i'll use you like my rambling shoe
think i'm dumb?
i'll just suck my American thumb
why should i even try?
i don't care about the how or why
of anything you think cool, dude.
am i acting particularly rude?
i don't care about your favorite history skit
and that's totally it
except for my own personal pleasure
'cause honey baby that i can measure.
now listen i just heard the bell
so adious mister school house hell
it's time to leave this prison ship
and show my friends i'm more than hip.
Peace out."

off-piste plunge (re:ski)

when i push away from a lonely lip of snow
in the high Rockies of Colorado
and the open space beneath my feet
drops like a savage tempo beat
the sensation of falling
is not appalling
but rather wild and sweet.
i totally surrender to the flow
of gravity and the word is GO GO
and the number is unlike any 9 to 5
because i'm perfectly alive
and confident
not sad and spent
but rather dance and dive.
an abandonment of all common sense
and rules of the human road, hence
the great rush of supreme delight
released like an escaping kite
only natural law
can affect my fall
but i stand upright.

young time

when i was young
neil armstrong was in training
to explore the surface of the moon
if it wasn't raining
a time when lennon was alive
because mark chapman hadn't flown
from that island in the pacific
to kill a man he hadn't known
yes it was fun to dance at Camelot
& imagine being a mouseketeer
singing with walt disney's voice
for all the kids to hear
when i was young
white keds were on my feet
and i couldn't have considered
the different people i would meet
a howdy doody played by his string
or soupy sales as manic as a clown
playing music to rock around the clock
as long as Elvis was around
my Doors weren't just for opening
& simply pot could make me high
while tinker bell in never land
was spreading faerie dust to fly
when i was young
men still cried i didn't hear
and worked two jobs routinely
with no pampering or fear
a time when i was totally naive
like now the hubris blinding
so that fly balls in the outfield
were the secrets i was finding
when i was young

Lynden Gallery on Market

so i went to an art opening
at the lynden gallery
in etown & many people came out
including Luke and Mallory
whom i hadn't seen in about
two years or so plus Lisa
the owner was there
with her beautiful raven dark hair.
Ned Wert was the artist on display
(i met his sister & her fiancee)
and his works are now largely abstract
hanging with red as the predominant shade
i was gasping at the numbers as fact
then noticed several full prices were paid
but it was simple since the mood was so good
to be friendly and feel that you should
in this fire hall converted to art
just mingle and fondle a heart
drink wine, eat crackers, and cheesy
to imagine that living is easy
here is original stuff as it should be
poking holes in the idea of normal
a space which is happy and free
relaxed and certainly not formal
so visit.

another day in Paradise

i watched a teenager play with her hair
using an index finger
during a film about anxiety
but it didn't linger,
moving to her neck just to scratch
a small batch
of pimples.
i watched her fidget then roll her butt
on the surface of the chair
but she acted oblivious
and didn't seem to care
about my adult impression
during our talk about depression
which ensued.
in fact everybody was ready to leave
as soon as the bell announced
& had most of their books in hand
as assignments were pronounced
but ignored them.

reading Hemingway

the campfire burned a bright flame on top of my hunger 

i hope everyone knows by now:

we're not getting any younger;

thus cold time sitting in the freezer calls my name! 

it sounds like geezer 

while the cod on the cape has lots of wealth & ladies stroll the beach for health 

but i can't go there with my head of hair 

and share 

that dream of paradise 

it's a lump of coal a chunk of ice 

an alley with an deep dead end 

and you're dumped there without a friend 

without a lively book, no color on your face 

that you didn't paint or trace 

but this appetite on my tongue isn't a hangover from when i was young 

the hard surface feels like a passion which persists beyond any passing fashion 

as sun brightens the fire and burns the wood 

it lingers in the bones and makes them feel so damn good 

running full face inhaling air swallowing embers and playing dare 

reading Hemingway reading Crane 

thinking youthful shit with an active brain 

dancing to a temptress's song 

and trampolining naked is never wrong.

resurrection

i rolled the dead body over
in the street so i could see his face
blue like the brilliant sky
and i wondered why

but time wouldn't wait for my thought
to coalesce around the fact
that this bicycle rider has died
and i should have cried

but pure instinct and good luck
carried my mouth to his
and the hard chest compression
made a very good impression

call 911 lady and do it now
i shouted as she gawked
at me pinching his nose
and tickling his toes

yes, the emt said, no pulse
and here's my zapper on his chest
lean back and watch the graph
hold your breath, don't laugh

okay, got something, let's go
as the police paved the way
and the ambulance raced for life
now i had to tell his wife.

well, damn, it can be said
i brought a buddy back from dead
it's official he now can state
i didn't look around or hesitate.

so today we rode together
easy as an Apache feather
it's been six months and a day
since his wife fell down to pray

tally BAN

the creepy psychopaths
who disdain baths
i mean where in the hell
can they go for the smell?
wearing the same stupid rag
on their heads like a tag
from department stores
they not only kill whores
they kill love
and presume to judge
without a nudge
from a human conscience.
just this once
i'd like to have the power
to erect a prison tower
and stuff all these assholes
onto long spiked poles.

take the 12th century
and shove it mullah.
of shit you are full a
& you're screwing our hope
you slimy dope
and i don't mean to be funny, honey.

little etown

once
and for all
we played little league ball
on a dirt field by the little creek
and little girls would peek
we rode our bikes at night
on the sidewalk, in the street
and people would speak
we watched the band marching
and could touch the clarinets
as good as it gets
we ran in the local creeks
splashing water and turning stones
finding helgamites and bones
rode the pole in a fire hall
watched the milkman call
danced in the square
had very short hair
knew peggy and sally
knew every alley
everybody knew you
and what you do
ice skated the pond
loved and were fond
swam in the quarry
never a worry
before color tv
just you and me
sneaking at night
halloween delight
cards and the table
ruth, alice, and mable
chocolate smells
back yard wells
small town living
generous giving
howdy neighbor
do me a favor?
name it.

Fame's fence

why are fences all so tall
as i flail my fingers to raw bone
trying to scale the wall
which time has cleverly grown

you are on the other side
wearing costumes proper and prim
all in an effort to hide
with a light kept purposefully dim

i should have noticed much more
since everything was colored in sight
but one eye saw the floor
while the other distracted by light

It seems never to be what i thought
so i apologize having been caught

i the fool who went rushing within
never knocking but wearing this grin

an old man who should have known better
still thinking i've got to go get her

our hearts are sewn on our sleeve
while our minds are clever and bright
and it's hard to know when to leave
but i'll acknowledge and wish you good night.

Lady Brett

it wasn't a stairway to heaven
she was buying with her smile
she was sitting in the cafe
and just reading for awhile.

it was early in the morning
and no drummer from her band
was drinking gin and tonics
near the hero worship stand.

the central square was busy
but no crowd would come today
no rider was approaching
to take her book away.

the bulls ran down an alley
blood dripping on the street
no pages hidden under cover
could find a safer place to meet.

she heard her name a thousand ways
before the lunch bell rang
and watched a group of laughing men
approach her as they sang.

the napkin fluttered as it fell
onto a cobbled stone
but when she bent to pick it up
she found herself alone.

her city was a hundred miles
across the mountain range
but she hoped to dream forever
and didn't find that strange.

the fire down in the valley
a hanging in the street
of a picture framed before it's time
would keep her in her seat.

another one bites the dust

check back with me in 1/2 an hour,
near the end of this April shower

or the passing of the big black hearse,
whichever comes first.

the funeral is for mrs. summers
and they're usually perfect bummers

at close to ninety years with balloons,
spent her childhood in cheap saloons

with men who were mainly strangers
wearing masks like fake lone rangers

and she swore like a drunken sailor,
married a poor man who was a tailor

but that husband died from screwing around,
no cure for the disease was ever found

yes, there were kids but hey tough shit,
it's what it is so get over it

she had beauty once but never more,
now we're wondering what was here before

with no morals and maybe less class
there's not much mourning that loss of ass

i counted one daughter sitting near,
seven others shedding not a tear.

Virgo

so Virgo the virgin lady
is an exercise
in my writing class
of smallish size,
mostly female
but two male,
i one.
yet, it's certainly fun
and we do creative writing
without backbiting,
which is the way to go
what with a writer's ego
that's an accomplishment.
and i've been sent
to do a story
on romance and glory.
it's rather good
and i knew it should
be, since it's closely
based on my mostly
accurate memory.

leisurely pace

I can be that hard-hammered steel blade
Or the soft spoken tavern maid;
Perhaps a literate school professor,
Or the naughty sin confessor.

But, I’d really like to be set free,
Then, all the time I can just be me.
And what a wild and wooly ride
To have you flying by my side
Where fairy tales are never told
And hearts are stout and men are bold.

I’d like to move with a sounding whale
And ride the sky on a raptor’s tail.
I’d like to swim where the water’s deep
And have you with me in my sleep.

I’d like to be an eighteen wheeler
Or a mean, green Pittsburg Steeler
Brushing softly on your face
And have you with me keeping pace.

I can be that point man shot
Or the cannon barrel burning hot;
Perhaps a lion in attacking force,
Or a warship on a mighty course.

But, I’d really like to be set free,
Then, all the time I can just be me.
And what a wild and wooly ride
To have you flying by my side
Where fairy tales are never told
And hearts are stout and women bold.

I’d like to travel to the moon
And balance on a silver spoon.
I’d like to cure mankind’s disease
And have you know I’m not a tease.

I’d like to be an OK corral
And have you love me anyhow
Brushing softly on your face
And have you with me keeping pace.

In the shadow

In the shadow of the moon
Where I felt you kiss my lips

I watched the rising of the Earth unfold
Beneath your fingertips

You are my journey into space
As I stand hopeful by this door

And feeling stardust filter through
I settle quiet on the floor

Try to find a single planet
Or a flower soft with dew

With a strength as captivating
Or a heart that beats as true

In the ocean of the night
Where the desert rides the sand

We flew on a trajectory
Down countless years to land

In the shadow of the sun
Where I felt you touch my soul

I watched the rising of the Earth unfold
And needed nowhere else to go

you're so soft

you're so soft and yet so far
and how i wonder who you are
as the restless night and the ghosts are gone
i search for you til the break of dawn

a passing whisper towards my ear
gives me notice that you've been near
and still i see you on a rise
and marvel at the gorgeous eyes

then smiling with a summer sun
you call for me, i try to run
and save this memory for my heart
to comfort me while we're apart

you're so soft and yet so far

the gate

i miss you like my hand
misses the heft of a really good sword

i miss you like my Lord

i miss you like a cavalry charge
vanquishing my enemies at large

hearts and trumpets screaming & proud
thunderous battle raging & loud

arrows & hell
life's new smell

i miss you with my clear bright eyes
then i die but still time flies

over and over again
while i miss you, my friend

the detail

the detail is the darnedest thing
it controls the arc of a playground swing
and sets the mood when a candle's lit
before a diner has a chance to sit
it holds the butter in a vinegar base
while the wine's reduced just before a taste
it sets the color and adjusts the noise
puts into motion all the girls and boys
who march around to their drummers beat
and dance and laugh in a midnight street
it signals when to beat the heart
and fans the flame for old Mozart.
it cautions when the wheel gets spun
against the frenzy of too much fun
it laps the water upon the shore
to erode the castle that stands no more.
a picnic lunch by a country road
made by the lover who cared and showed
that detail is the darnedest thing
as she caressed your face and began to sing

edge of doom

it's always incomplete
even when we meet
there's words we cannot speak.

i feel i'm just undone
as cowboy on the run
who dressed without his gun.

so here's my helping hand
as writer in the sand
and member of the band:

remember love's not lost
there's just an awful cost

and remodel every room
even to the edge of doom

and when you ride the horse
keep it focused on a course.

your shoulder

i touched your shoulder with my tongue
in a dream i tasted you as an ice cream
cone the flavor of which was heavenly
and i fell to the floor for that last drop
which wouldn't stop
at my lip.
i'm not ashamed to say
i didn't come to play
as an expert at this game,
so for a long time i wondered where
you were and what.
the space you occupy is why
i feel good and your finger on my arm
tracing the line lightly and fine
is divine.