burning on the floor

when i stood to leave and said you were beauty
as you rose and thought to ready bed
i didn't do it as my duty
could you hear anything that i said?
when you didn't seem to notice how i cried
as you firmly closed the door
i smiled even though a part of me inside
felt like burning on the floor
i walked into a strange and ghostly land
into the sundown like an angry spear
trying to maintain a sure and steady hand
even though you were not near
what is it? i wondered that you failed to know
i loved you such a short time ago

black leather gloves

black skirt and black high heels
a hard rock sidewalk
with angry tire squeals
muffling the way you talk
crossing the busy street
wearing black leather gloves
for the hungry men you meet

the memory of broken loves
with you hustling late at night
past papers tossed by heedless wind
and hopes of sweet delight
your hair unwashed, unpinned
a fancy collar by your ears
you walk with secret fears.

you take all the chances
there's no one by your side
no one to give you romances
everyone you trusted has lied
you've thrown yourself away
there's no tear falling just for you
no one can touch you without pay
will any dream come true?

by three in the morning you're tired
nursing a new black eye
but it's not like you were hired
to be baking grandma's apple pie
it's a rough world and you're the man
in a city full of rock n'roll
playing songs from Roy Orbison's band
finding your head and losing your soul

today i heard you'll find yourself
asking hustlers for a clue
as though it could be found on a closet shelf
worn like a favorite shoe

your coffee, sir

run along sonny
take your skeleton
and your rope
don't pay any attention
when they call you a dope
inspecting the sewers
the piping underground
dressed in your finest tie
you won't make a sound
run along sonny
take your Indian land
your expansion dreams
don't mess with reality
for it's not what it seems
climbing the ladder on main street
polite in the line
drinking your premium coffee
working overtime
run along sonny
with a new vehicle smell
your loyal friend
with her road map displaying
GPS to the end
and when you're exhausted
and feel like a goon
you can't think of dying
it's simply too soon
run along sonny
take an apple pie chart
an upstart leg
a seat on the sidewalk
learning to beg
take five with an option
for selling the firm
get pregnant in shadows
and carry full term
taking tests for advancement
swatting the flies
cleaning furniture cushions
polishing your lies
run along sonny
a neat hole in your head
an uphill grind
it's Uncle Sam welcoming you
to full peace of mind

you're away so far

drinking alone with my evening beer
sitting at this bar
thinking about why you're not here
why you're away so far
and i'm considering how i feel about you
tonight i just don't think i'm right
because i miss you and i never want to
feel this way again
without you i'm so crazy and then
i'm tripping down a city sidewalk
looking at a star
thinking about why we never talk
why you're away so far
and i'm considering how i feel about you
tonight i just don't think i'm right
because i miss you and i never want to
feel this way again
without you i'm so crazy and then
i'm reading about a love gone wrong
wondering how you are
singing the saddest words of my song
why you're away so far

Edna (1892-1950)

In Paris, a simple bridge over the river Seine
could not be rebuilt:
George Dillon brought his younger arms,
surrendered to lavish red-haired charms
and the scandalous Fatal Interview
about the sexuality of two
was promptly published on the following Saturday.
It offered a literary way
to understand the sad demise
of one famous Poetess sonnet-wise,
who became drug addicted and Steepletop lost
at an undeniably human cost.
With lips like a valentine heart
and sweet songs from her apple cart
would she love me, if I said
I could raise her from the dead
and read Aeneid or Baudelaire
in French or Spanish, if she'd care.
We could go walking in the nude
and while not perfect or purposely rude,
I'd kiss her inside her candle's glow
and play music on the keys of her piano.
She could recite her poem Renascence
with that unforgettable voice which forever haunts.

Paris dress

Heaven in a city of France
when i watched the happy people dance
i heard the hustling street performers sing
underneath a statue of an angel's wing
between puffs on an elegant cigarette
where i saw a woman i wouldn't soon forget
she was walking high and all alone
lips full of an exciting unknown
her shoulders back and hair pulled tight
i imagined she'd dance with me tonight
inside her low cut Paris dress
what treasures hid i could only guess
but she didn't pay me any mind
crossing the Champs Elysees where fashion dined
trailing expensive perfume in the air
snaking through traffic without a care
not hurried and with her casual sway
i sat enthralled what could i say?
she disappeared inside her foreign tongue
but God, she was lovely and very young

i just can't believe

there's a hole in my heart
where your sharp arrows flew
i just can't imagine
that you ever knew
that you would ever try
to be cruel so i would cry
and i just can't believe
that you would ever leave
baby, oh baby
there's a hole in my head
that your last words blew through
i just can't imagine
that you ever knew
that you would ever run
i'm feeling so totally undone
i just can't believe
that you would ever leave
baby, oh baby
there's a song in my bed
where your spirit used to sing
i just can't imagine
what loneliness will bring
what the sound of my life will be
without you lying next to me
baby, oh baby
i never wanted to travel to the moon without your shadow
i never wanted anyone without your sense of style
i never wanted to laugh without your laughter
never wanted to live without your smile
baby, oh baby
there's a weight on my chest
that my sadness has put there
i just can't imagine
that you haven't a care

Giverny, eventually

Montmartre 

on a steep historic butte 

with fresh strawberry tart 

unwrapped nudes,

excited affairs of the heart 

underneath a fine Parisian sky 

watched i 

seated outside my busy sidewalk cafe 

wondering what people say 

by the walls of the ancient Sorbonne 

in their studious Latin tongue. 

nearby, the spry 

Agile Rabbit 

sitting on his vineyard hill drinking cheap local swill 

with a painterly friend of mine 

asked Joyce if he really had a choice 

or was it just a rumor about the invisibility cloak? 

Perhaps another drunken joke 

about a man stuck inside his wall:

a shadow of a ghost before his eventual downfall? 

there's more that i should say: 

i recently talked with Claude Monet 

about his first impressionist flowers brush-stroked every single hour until 24 had been made 

he said he was adequately paid. 

i sipped my warm cafe au lait wishing this Paris memory would stay and stay!

 

but a wind and hard rain came up abruptly and took all the dryness away. 

Montmartre 

on a cobbled July afternoon 

in the shade 

stirring with an unfashionable plastic spoon 

i the tourist began to consume 

a Lebanese grape and a sweet pepper with a stem shaped like the quarter moon.

The Sun Also Rises

no one saw Hemingway shit into his green slop bucket 

so fuck it 

he's long dead now 

but i walked on a tour to his former studio 

and people in the know 

think it's cool he was an expat who came from money 

Hadley was his first special honey 

he wrote in a sharp narrative style making himself famous 

winning awards from the House of Lords on a hill near Paris 

i didn't give a damn that he grew depressed 

who could have guessed 

he'd loudly kill himself?

he still quietly lives on many a library shelf: 

the old street is narrow where he walked, drank, talked 

the Paris traffic passed by in its' familiar hurry: 

it did not appear aimless as it sped over ancient cobbles with edges smoothed by dreams 

which often bleed with age.

The Alps and Paris

i'm leaving for Murren, Switzerland
July 10th from Philadelphia airport
via Zurich and Luzerne. The Eiger
Guest House will be my home away from
home for 6 days of hiking and enjoying
the beautiful mountain scenery. I hope
to get on the high route, walk the
wildflower meadows, and see the Eiger
and the Jungfrau up close. Once
that part of my European journey is over,
I'll travel to Paris for a 5 night stay
in the Latin Quarter, where I have an
apartment rented, close to the Seine and
Notre Dame. I will be busy exploring.
Stay well.
Until the 25th of July, then.

traces

i think i'm going to town
and you may not be there
but i'll still have a quick look around

i'll look for the way you walk
and the style of your hair
i'll listen for your easy manner of talk

i'll stop in the grocery store
buying only what i need
sliding my feet on the linoleum floor

i'll look at all the faces
i'll focus on their eyes
& look for hopeful traces

patti smith is coming

patti smith are you for real 

or a photographic myth floating on the fog 

when the light is dim 

are you waiting at the exit or just coming in? 

patti smith where has Bob gone for his photographic kiss 

in New York City when the time is strange are you keeping it simple or forcing a change? 

patti smith becoming the night 

are you dreaming on the stage? 

what are you saying? as you escape your cage?

with your arms stabbing the air

your body swaying 

johnny's no longer praying 

'cause he's bleeding on the floor 

he ain't dancing anymore 

little joey has his little gun 

he's shooting up for a bunch of fun

patti smith, where you going with that song in your mouth?

are you packing heading south? 

down to the bad into the dark 

under the brooding trees in the county park 

over by the river and through the wood 

a rocking chair might do you good 

patti smith are you for real 

or a photographic myth floating on the fog 

when the light is dim 

are you waiting at the exit or just coming in?

441

along the river road
an old shoe and a broken commode
scattered bits of window glass
and an old outhouse
a dead squirrel, then a flattened mouse
more unidentifiable fur
of a him or a her
riding in the heat of summer
with a fried brain
in need of relief and rain
i was going east on four forty one
riding away from the sun
towards Marietta and the turn
beyond the fruit stand where i learn
my legs are really tired and the heat
is killing me and i feel beat
no car or truck or motorcycle
hits me on my carbon bicycle
as they go whizzing by at speed
after the corn field where i peed
i remounted and felt wonderful
i still had one cold water bottle full
and the memory of a special girl
and i mean that sincerely
i was thinking very clearly

since November

when i see you hiding in the bath
a secret wrapped around your head
floating above the water
thinking of what i just said
thinking of bed

well, now it's time to remember
that i've had you since November
and you've been with me since yesterday
but
that's more than i should say
won't you come again before you go away

here is my ring and a solemn vow
when a window is closed i'll reopen it somehow
when a kiss is as hard as nails
good loving fails

when i see you sitting in my chair
i'm still looking for you everywhere
and you thought it was a prankster joke
but i never spoke
and you took me at my word
although you never heard

when i see you hiding in the bath
in the afternoon before two
hair wrapped in bubble shampoo
thinking of what i just said
thinking of bed

well, now it's time to remember
that i've had you since November
and you've been with me since yesterday
but
that's more than i should say
won't you come again before you go away

here is my ring and a solemn vow
when a window is closed i'll reopen it somehow
when a kiss is as hard as nails
good loving fails

it's you i'm thinking of

now sitting on the couch
after a few beers
thinking about you only
brings me full of tears
walking in the sun alone
away from home
under the shady tree
no one but me
and i can't remember did i phone
i don't know why
there's no reply
i can't be singing
if there's no ringing
sometimes i just stare into space
i'm looking for you but can't find your face
i'm not afraid of any man
i just can't seem to understand
now sitting on the shore
after a long sleep
thinking about you only
makes me want to weep
walking in the rain alone
away from home
under the angry sky
i wonder why
it's you i'm thinking of
love
it's you i'm thinking of

whatever follows the dawn?

Sun King is so chill
but the fool on the hill
is still no easy pill to swallow
somewhere a heart is hollow
somewhere near the end
i'll have no more silly notes to send
but if i could only choose
i'd wear a pair of new blue suede shoes
i'd sweep you onto the nearest dance floor
ask you for a little squeeze and so much more
but you're not asking for anything
and pretty soon winter will pass into spring
and maybe you've never spoken that word
or possibly you haven't heard
all the winds of time are forward-blowing
all the maidens in love are happy knowing
dreams come true in paper back romance
i'm in a complete trace
but you're in a foreign land
hearing the lonely heart's club band
seeing everything while i'm not there
you're always telling me that life's not fair
now tell me how everything seems
you've exhausted all your womanly schemes
how will you feel when you hear my tires squeal
and the ride you wanted to take is gone
how will you carry on
whatever follows the dawn?

George and his brother

"This was not what I intended,"
George spat the words at Henry
as he shoved the chair aside,
"I could have been a contender,
but now I'm a bum, a bum, you hear
and without any Hollywood connections
and I'm not talking about Mr. Brando."
But Henry had already stormed from the room,
the door swinging in and out on fine hinges
and George's dog watching from the porch
seemed to follow with her retriever's eyes
the motion of the door, but couldn't ask
why the brothers argued, only knew
she wanted another bone to chew. There was none.
Henry had the keys to the Chevy parked in the
drive and inserted them into the slot, rotated
his slender wrist with a casual twist, and upon hearing
the motor come to life, he began to back away
from the small cabin, seeing his brother holding
the door, stopping its' movement, and yelling
words which were not meant to be generous.
Henry saw the mouth move, but could no longer hear
the individual words. He felt their sharpness.
He had already reversed the truck to where it nudged
the old oak tree, scraped a small section of bark,
and was ready to drive to town,
to escape George for an afternoon,
to relax with strangers on the tourist section of the
local beach, maybe to have a cold beer under an umbrella,
with a pile of steamed oysters for comfort and because they
tasted so damn good, were fresh from the beds.
Once more he looked over to his brother, and he threw his
left fist into the air, out of the open window, and
raising his clenched hand, he extended his middle finger.
It was stiffly erect, sending the message to George.
Henry shifted the transmission into drive and pulled out,
over gravel and unmowed grass, turned onto the public road,
and with a puff of dark gray exhaust,and the high whine
from it's aging engine, rounded the bend in his truck,
without caring for his brother or the dog.
He never glanced back. "Contender, my ass," he thought.

i've always been cold

if you could see me surfing
myself across the endless mountains
washing my sins in uptown English fountains
hitting the highway at a hundred miles an hour
passing French ladies each holding a single flower
border guards uniformly check out my business
looking into my private life
ask about my finances and my second wife
i'm sitting in the middle of an ocean bridge
west of Montreal on an island in the sand
falling suspended from another person's hand
it's not impossible or even fairly certain
since i'm hiding behind an anticipated curtain
all my lovers are hiding in the audience
i'm sitting in the middle of this crazy intense
bending at the shifting in the wildly blowing time
shouting so you'll tell me what is yours and what is mine?
i'm breaking out while you're apparently breaking in
soaking in the sunset while you're soaking in the gin
there are too many people pointing fingers in this town
holding themselves upright while still holding me down
and always in the new night i'm feeling packaged and sold
you're trying to convince me that i've always been cold
i've come to you drenched in my silly regret
and wonder if this is as good as i'll get
and yet and yet and additionally yet
i never wanted to disappoint
i didn't feel any special need to anoint
i just wanted to get my head out of this joint
watching you watching me
washing out to an endless sea

walking the shadow

yea i walked the shadow of
a narrow valley road
i carried a soldier's load
past mothers who had died
unmoving, while no one cried
i saw bodies tossed and crumpled
their rural lives humbled
into a tangled mess of clothes
a single wilted rose
next to the sleeping face
of a child of Oriental race
i went by walls of bullet-marked stone
standing alone
roofs splintered and a few falling
i heard native voices calling
and pleading and begging and quiet
the air once suspenseful full of riot
finally with wild despair
i saw their eyes looking anxiously everywhere
there was no where to hide
no way to know who had lied
no where to be safely buried
no longer any reason to be hurried
the dust blew fitfully into the afternoon
and i saw in the red dirt a broken spoon
a pair of sad sandals and a good luck charm
resting near a completely severed arm
i saw the uneaten bowl of white rice
balanced on top of an American doll twice as nice
as the young girl split open on her side
unmoving, while no one cried

i've never kissed you

baby how much i missed you
and i've never even kissed you
i never had the chance to spend the night
satisfying a lover's appetite
no, i never had the sense
to climb down from my lonely fence
i never had the heart
to ask you right from the start
would you have me in the morning
take me without any warning
would you be the gentle to my breeze
would you be the welcome to my please
the smile i'd walk a mile to see
be the arms my charms would love to have wrapped around me
baby how much i missed you
and i've never even kissed you
never felt the smoothness of your fingertips
moving with desire across my hungry lips
no, i never had the sense
to climb down from my lonely fence
i never had the heart
to ask you right from the start

driving down the road

i was driving down the road
with Carol and my heavy load
singing her crazy song
about war and everything going wrong
on highway 81
we were young and on the run
in the mountains of eastern Tennessee
a girl in love with her journey and me
heading west from the nearest sea
we didn't have a radio
the sun would show us where to go
across Virginia and across our mind
we didn't know what we would find
she had a picture of her rich old man
sitting in his back yard garbage can
he was smiling with a whisky sour
she laughed at him just about every hour
i had a poem from an old girl friend
waving goodbye at the very end
i laughed at her just about every hour
never had the sense to take a quick cold shower
i got the keys to a real hot deal
but i'm still looking for my next meal
and Carol is looking for her mister right
i'm no longer keeping her up at night
but we saw America and had our share
and i remember and can tell you where
we lay down by the flower meadow and saw the stars
on Saturday night after they closed the bars
i know where we climbed the toughest hills
and the view from the top which gave us chills
we saw the western ocean and slept on the silent sand
and if you didn't you would never understand
now i'm driving down the highway
and no one is looking my way
i am my own bypass in danger of running out of gas
but my eyes are still straight ahead
thinking of Carol and what might have been instead.

The Hammer

fifty thousand cries wide
courage and fear sitting side by side
their brave blood bubbling red
across the killing field, then fled
into the gathering night
atop a crazed horse with a severed Arab head
and hands and feet instead
of victory at the Battle of Tours
where Charles Martel halted a mad horde
with his infantry's mighty sword
saving Christianity and it's Lord
blocking an Islamic House of War
smashing them with the legendary strength of Thor
his soldiers stopped their slaughtering European advance
into this quiet part of northern France
making famous the defeat of the mighty Moor
on October 10, seven thirty two

Thich Quang Duc, Vietnamese Mahayana Buddhist monk

it was simply time for HIM to begin:
the flames on his skin
were fire
and serenity shooting higher
into the guilty air aimed at Diem
before formal talks begin somewhere
in the late afternoon
hopefully conducted soon, very soon
his calm eyes were wide in dry morning pain
in focus and perfectly, lucidly sane
no cell phone ringing
no chorus line singing
no appointments to be made
no debt willingly unpaid
no thoughts of shopping for an automobile
no deal to seal
nothing apparently left behind
perhaps a glimmer of hope for mankind
i saw the orange robe on a Saigon street
i saw his charred feet
in 1963
when the monk looked directly at me
with burned hands and shaved head
i knew he was dead
but i had wrestling practice in an hour
and a banana to eat and a cut flower
to buy for a blond girl and a kiss
that i surely didn't want to miss
then a late bottle to share with smooth Jake
under the tiled roof of a pavilion by his uncle's lake
i couldn't be expected to miss these chances,
these fleeting moments like high school romances
but i knew he was dead,
as i already said, 

but his memory will never die.

The Nearness of You

here is the tool, the key
to what can make a famous symphony
the salesman smilingly said
with his bald head
at six foot four or more
in his tailored suit he asked if i'd like a tea
but really
i said touching the piano with great care
actually, with my practiced flair
i'd like to play a scale or two
maybe a song, one of my chosen few
so i sat on the bench with ready ease
and adjusted myself while he uttered "Please"
as i began to tap and rap and finger from the heart
a gentle concerto from Mozart
number twenty one - Andante
listen to it, i say
a young beauty carrying her cup of tea
walked near and pointedly
asked if i knew
Serenade in Blue
naturally i quickly switched to Glenn Miller
as any helmsman would with his tiller
when the currents proved outrageous
my new situation i deemed advantageous
with the smiling lady who liked my style
she sat on the bench for a sustained while
the salesman never brought the tea
for me
but together
i played and she sang Stormy Weather
my fingers were right with every sharp and flat
i left with my cane and hat
and a sweet-voiced lady on my arm
full of charm