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.