liberation

How about Thanking my mother
for the shocking taste of disgustingly red Tabasco sauce...
its' abrupt richness: yes, it was raw and spicy hot and awful
and unwelcome and burnt my throat as it sloshed
and i gagged as it was being forced into my mouth.
she always held me down!
at 5 or 6, i couldn't get up and felt hurt, uncertain, vulnerable.
Was she confused about her role?
Was this normal mother behavior?
privately behind closed doors hiding the disappointments; the anguishes.
Thank you for it all.
How about thanking my father for the broken nose at 8 and
the busted collarbone, the visible scars, the
body slams of my frail body into the unyielding living room wall,
or onto the linoleum kitchen floor, or the cheap bedroom mattress,
while on the new TV the Wonderful World of Disney
was telling everyone how wonderful life in America could be?
was my dad mad over his marriage or confused about his role
as a new father?
did his experiences in the 2nd World War as a navy sailor
scribble wildly in his emotional coloring book?
what about his drinking to excess? the drunken threats?
the belt lashing?
It couldn't have been entirely my fault, i later wondered?
Thank you for it all.
How about living in my metaphorical dog house
pushed down onto all fours, two small feet, two small hands,
thin arms and a thin body, being yelled at like the most disobedient mongrel?
i was always in the dog house,
shamed, abused, busted, but, significantly, never permanently broken.
NEVER BROKEN!  Well, house broken, yes.
Thank you for it all.
AND the SHARP knife?
How about the hatchet blade
violently chopping into the closed wooden door as I cowered on the far side?
NO, i wasn't going to open that bathroom door.
And how to explain the spontaneous angers?
The random beatings?
BUT all the while i was diving deeply into myself, hoping to learn,
to survive, to come out the other side, to thrive.
to discover a new world, a new life, a new way of seeing,
of breathing, of being.
Thank you for it all.
It wasn't a free ride.
not at all!  i paid.
Thank you for it all.
And for all of it, i forgive you.
My liberation.
i can't give it to you but i can talk about it.
My liberation.

November, 1942

midnight in the Pacific
and a symphony of death
with violin strings vibrating
as the orchestra holds its' breath;
a conductor reads the service
along the starboard side;
rifles are raised and volleys fired
for all the sailors who died.
battleships and destroyers,
cruisers and PT boats
answering the call of battle
for anything that floats!
into shelling range
ready to commence firing:
spotlights on the enemy.
the thirst for revenge never tiring.

boneyards of men

Diem and I sat on top of a concrete bunker
while the eastern sun was slipping low
talking about living life in a war zone
when there was no where else to go.
we shared a smoke
and a view of the razor-sharp barbed wire;
we listened to nearby water buffalo cries
and heard distant artillery fire.
Apache helicopters flying low and fast slapped the air.
soldiers walked to pull guard.
he dreamed of having a bar of soap for his wife;
i dreamed of having a bar-be-cue in my small town backyard:
but there were no treasure chests in these foothills;
no liberty bells ringing for hearts yearning to be free;
no light at the end of a tunnel;
only boneyards of men who had ceased to be,
now lost shadows like ghosts wandering about
perhaps along the DMZ
or on the lazy current of the indifferent Saigon River
or inside a Buddhist temple or behind a plantation rubber tree.
who knows which way it goes?
when the cigarette ends and fighting men go their separate ways,
noticing each misfortune or thankful for the luck of the draw,
and a short-timer's calendar is ticking down the remaining days
for the survivors,
who when the lights are off and the room goes black,
remember a napalmed young girl's skin
melting off her back.

together on the bed

trying to catch my breath
running in straight lines
over hills and under mattresses
looking for signs
which may mean a thing or two
containing significances or only a few
fleeting glimpses of solid ground
but when everything is quiet i can feel you around
growing in intensity
like a Spring Beauty on the south facing hill,
i can't get enough until i get my fill:
there's no hard rain striking my face
no sun too hot or bright to sour my taste
for your deep mouth
baby, there's no such thing as a dead rock
or a heart with an unbreakable lock:
you catch my eye with your exhale
and inhale
like a prisoner i'm in your cell
enslave me and i'll never tell
what happened when we fell
together on the bed
while looking over my shoulder.

at barely thirty five

When we told grandma Jake had died
She looked at us and cried
“Sakes alive!
Sakes alive!
There was no one more unfortunate;
He was barely thirty five.
He stubbed his toe on a mountain side
At barely thirty five.
He should have seen a doctor friend
But he swallowed too much pride!"
and as her voice trailed off,
she muffled a nursing home cough,
went right back to eating her cookie
reminiscing about the time she once played hooky
from her days with a traveling Band;
they were scheduled to play a small town grandstand
but she saw her boyfriend climbing a nearby tree:
he tried to grab an apple and a peach;
he ate one but the other was out of reach
and she thought he would learn his lesson
but she didn't know how to teach.
"Sakes alive!
Sakes alive!
There was no one more unfortunate;
He was barely thirty five.
He lost his grip on a fruit tree slide
At barely thirty five.
He left me with his Oldsmobile
But i didn't know how to drive!"
when it was almost time to go
she wondered if we'd stay to watch the preview show:
Tarzan and his son boy
or was it Dale Evans and her cowboy Roy?
or Sammy Davis with that Rat Pack?
or The Day The Earth Died from an alien attack?
but no matter she was already in her sack
eyes closed, body wrapped
and as we tried to adjust her bed
she slowly opened her mouth and said
"Sakes alive!
Sakes alive!
There was no one more unfortunate;
I am barely thirty five.
I lost my marbles on a tilt-a-whirl ride
At barely thirty five.
I'm tired but i'm satisfied.
Would you turn me on my side?"

One plus One

i didn't have a drop to drink
on the evening of my twenty first birthday
'cause i drove past the local Lutheran Church
as all the parishioners were on their knees to pray
and i could see their faces and almost hear them say
"It's not a good way
to spend your time
when you're down to your last thin dime!
Make yourself at home in this peaceful place
where all our wonderful words rhyme!"
but my borrowed car kept going down High Street,
past the singles bar and the rundown movie house;
past a woman searching for her photo album
and an old man thinking about his former spouse
now that she was dead,
hoping to remember the tantalizing words she once said
when they were young and all the windows had a view,
when all their caresses were light and one plus one always equaled two
and soon enough i saw the central traffic light
Hut's barbershop was off to my right
where i often sat in his big, red leather chair;
he'd cut me a flat top as i'd watch my hair fall without a narcissistic care;
he'd brush my face and squirt some cheap perfume
as thoughts of backyard burgers and Pabst Blue Ribbon would filter through the room:
fifty cents and a quick dab of wax,
no added charges and no sales tax;
men sharing personal war stories
reliving their past imagined glories
and out the door in fifteen and on the street looking for a double thick strawberry shake
wondering how to be on the make
Saturday matinees with hot popcorn in a big paper bag with loads of melted butter?
on screen, Marlene Dietrich with her smoldering sex appeal would always make my heart flutter
under the seat where all the chewing gum stuck
i'd try to find some spare change but never had the luck
and out the door in fifteen and on the street looking for the cheerleader who had the tiny feet,
the long blonde hair and her teeth would be perfectly white
she'd wrap her arms around me and fill me with such delight
i'd ask my mother if love was real and she'd poke me in the eye
"We never talk about stuff like this and you really should know why!"
i didn't have a drop to drink
on the evening of my twenty first birthday
'cause i drove past the local Lutheran Church
as all the parishioners were on their knees to pray
and i could see their faces and almost hear them say
"It's not a good way
to spend your time
when you're down to your last thin dime!
Make yourself at home in this peaceful place
where all our wonderful words rhyme!"
but my borrowed car kept going down High Street,
past the singles bar and the rundown movie house;
past a woman searching for her photo album
and an old man thinking about his former spouse
now that she was dead,
hoping to remember the tantalizing words she once said
when they were young and all the windows had a view,
when all their caresses were light and one plus one always equaled two.

trying to figure out the final score

i tried to pin the tail on the donkey
during a party in my own basement
but the donkey moved to another town
and never paid me the rent
so i missed that elusive tail
as you sang me a Beatle's birthday song
and mercifully it didn't take you very long
since i was only four
still eating cake crumbs off the kitchen floor
many, many years before the Vietnam war
where i almost died trying to figure out the final score
watching everyone running around with their hands held high in the air
all i clearly remember was wondering how i ever ended up over there
but i digress
probably, i guess
'cause now i'm five and feeling pretty much alive
wishing i could have been the test pilot for Jefferson Airplane
or the drummer for Hendrix or the author of Purple Rain
living thru the hard years with all the love and none of the pain
wearing large sunglasses while hammering at the keys of my Steinway piano
never running low on ammo
and always running up the tab
enticing all the beautiful ladies and lads with my good looks and my gift of gab
but i digress
probably, i guess
'cause now i'm six playing another game of pick up sticks
with my mother and how she'd always win the game
regardless of how hard i tried it always ended the same
i wanted to be a wild animal but always ended up tame
i tried to pin the tail on the donkey
during a party in my own basement
but the donkey moved to another town
and never paid me the rent
so i missed that elusive tail
as you sang me a Beatle's birthday song
and mercifully it didn't take you very long
since i was only four
still eating cake crumbs off the kitchen floor
many, many years before the Vietnam war
where i almost died trying to figure out the final score
watching everyone running around with their hands held high in the air
all i clearly remember was wondering how i ever ended up over there
but i digress
probably, i guess.

the front porch evening show

she came from behind the imaginary front door
with her long blond hair recently washed
and one very broken down front tooth;
she offered me a sip of her southern vermouth
and a half-smoked cigarette
(which i took
as she stood uneasily and shook)
but if that was all i would get
i'd be leaving with such heavy regret
that i couldn’t tell the good old boys
but on her old Magnavox radio i heard a new commercial for a Ford
and although she acted bored
with my small talk and over-eager smile
i asked in my Texas drawl if we could walk a mile
for a camel? or perhaps take a slow ride in my Chevrolet?
what'ya say? i asked her twice
as sweetly nice
as my dry tongue allowed:
she didn’t seem wowed,
so i had another idea; i asked about a friendly skinny dip in the barroom pool
heck, it's just around the street corner and not far away but she called me a fool
“You’re a fool!” she drew it out like a cat hissing
“I’m not!  What am I missing?”
well, broad suspenders holding up his loose pants, her dad just peeked
with his nose smashed against the dusty window
“See, even my dad thinks you’re a turd!"
“But I've said nothing he heard.”
and just to make amends, I handed her some spearmint gum
which she chewed all night long, “Yum!  Yum!”
“Hey, wanna read Lolita?”
“Shove off; do you take me for some cheap Señorita.”
but i heard her dad whisper he had read the book from first page to last page
like a tiger released from a morality cage
he enjoyed the old man part
said it touched his hidden heart
gave him a new start,
and he drank southern vermouth
with one very broken down front tooth
feeling down on his luck
but generously gave his daughter his last hard-earned buck
to buy her cigarettes and that old Magnavox radio
just so he could go
in his broad suspenders to watch the front porch evening show
with his nose pressed against the dusty window and his ear held to the wall
to relive all the memories he still could recall.

it always seemed right

in a paisley painted VW bus
together we once rode
heading to the setting sun
carrying our lightest load
and you sat by my side
your hand on my heart
with a quick turn of the key
our adventures would start
for there are dreams out there
towards the rising sun and the stars
and we simply hoped to
make a few of them ours,
to mend torn bluejeans
washing the dirt off our face
to make it our spirit journey
at our own gentle pace
and sometimes the cold winds blew
as the chestnut trees swayed
we'd find a evening campsite
and eat the food we made
sitting by the lonesome lake
who knows? it might have been a mistake
but we were so damn young
i memorized all the country songs you ever sung
as the Tennessee mountains closed in
we kept sipping Uncle Sam's deep valley homemade gin
and the passing clouds dropped down low
with no plans for which way we should go
we'd check around, we'd check our maps
and it always seemed right
to try counting all the stars at night
some of them would sparkle
some of them went shooting!
we'd hear forest animals come alive
some wandering dogs barking, some old owls hooting
and a fast red fox gave you a surprise
when he stopped to look straight into your eyes
and smile
yes, it's been quite a while
and now we've grown old
the VW bus rusted out and finally got sold
but hell, we're still together
don't give a damn about any winter weather
still dreaming
still scheming
still making bonfires down by the lake
still trying to stay awake
listening to the mysterious winds
and it always seemed right
to try counting all the stars at night
some of them would sparkle
some of them went shooting!
we'd hear forest animals come alive
some wandering dogs barking, some old owls hooting
and a fast red fox gave you a surprise
when he stopped to look straight into your eyes
and smile
yes, it's been quite a while.

young men always carry all the load

the old man said he knew the score
told me about his last time in the last war
said young men always carry all the load
whether sitting on an easy chair
or like dead men walking down a lonely road
said they never get the pinup girl who wears the tight sweater
with her warm summer smile regardless of the weather
said they always hear the sounds of battle in their dreams
and wake up in a bed hearing old friends and their screams
and it just didn't seem right
that they'd have to be afraid of the night
that their youthful sacrifice
would be treated like a roll of dice
by the power hungry men eating tenderized steaks grilled prime
who crow about their station and it ought to be a crime
how they like to brag about life
while they sharpen their favorite knife
for another slice of pie and there's no wondering why
some men like to be on top and to brag and to boast
they'll always pretend that they're better than most
if you're not one of them, they'll pretend you're a ghost!
so the old man stood and he slowly looked around
i watched him tilt his head as though he heard a familiar sound
and when he spoke
i knew it was no joke
said young men always carry all the load
whether sitting on an easy chair
or like dead men walking down a lonely road
said they never get the pinup girl who wears the tight sweater
with her warm summer smile regardless of the weather
said they always hear the sounds of battle in their dreams
and wake up in a bed hearing old friends and their screams
and it just didn't seem right
that they'd have to be afraid of the night
that their youthful sacrifice
would be treated like a roll of dice.

Jesus and the Easter bunny

the man in a white house
looking for his white hat
gathered his friends
for a party
where they all quietly sat
talking of Jesus and the Easter bunny
thumbing a new bible for old stories
they thought were tragic or funny
drinking Chardonnay
waiting for some clever words to say
but nothing important came
which wasn't lame,
every moment seemed the same,
so they all stayed quiet
like an unending mime riot
expecting to see a grown man cry
but never questioning the how or why
and fake spider webs spun and grew;
dust settled on each head
possibly famous words were left unsaid
but no one seemed sad
no woman was mother-in-law mad
nothing much transpired
no prophetic wise man got hired
so
the man in a white house
looking for his white hat
gathered his friends
for a party
where they all quietly sat
talking of Jesus and the Easter bunny
thumbing a new bible for old stories
they thought were tragic or funny
drinking Chardonnay
waiting for some clever words to say
but nothing important came
which wasn't lame,
every moment seemed the same.