tapping time with both my knees

i'm the man in a winter coat
reading 'Dear Johnnie's'
on all the returned love letters i ever wrote
sitting in my frozen chair
satisfied without a care
breathing on my own for free,
tapping time with both my knees;
stripping off my clothes,
picking my teeth, picking my running nose
but remembering how my momma said
that's sometimes just how it goes.
i've got to walk the narrow beach
to figure out what i can reach.
so i'll spend my time to read a book;
first chapter needs a second look,
it's running hot,
taking everything i've got.
picking my teeth, picking my running nose
stripping off my clothes,
i'll visit eternity
for a better view of the open sea,
tapping time with both my knees.

since i was a kid

so what don't we know?
there's a lot being hid;
the missiles have been pointed
since i was a kid.
there's angry old men,
they point and they shove;
they fight about peace;
they quarrel over love.
they trade in their blues;
they expect you to lose.
they'll lie to your face
and call it the news.
there's a sound that they make;
they'll want you to hear
all the songs that they sing,
and what words you should fear.
all the clouds in the sky,
a bright sun burning thru.
i'm putting faith in myself
and i'm relying on you.
don't heed their calls;
tear down the damn walls.
so what don't we know?
there's a lot being hid;
the missiles have been pointed
since i was a kid.

already after noon

i'm running on an empty tank
nearing the end of a very short track,
the nearest sun is behind the moon,
the land under attack;
it's already after noon
and the clouds are grey
but i asked you to stay
before you melted away.
the circling stars are black,
and i tried talking to you,
but you weren't talking back.
i'm falling through our relationship crack
towards a safer place to hide:
no one of consequence standing by my side,
maybe to sleep in a heartless shack,
a nearby magazine unread,
headlines reporting what other people felt and said.
i'm running on an empty tank
nearing the end of the short track;
the nearest sun is behind the moon,
the land under attack;
it's already after noon
and the clouds are grey
but i asked you to stay
before you melted away.

herds of buffalo

don't even try to crawl over desert rocks!
the political pollsters and bobby socks
collecting answers to all the easy questions,
underneath the shooting stars and harvest moon
arriving late or stumbling into the busy streets before high noon,
are remembering herds of buffalo and passing tribes with tents
but favoring apartment blocks and monthly rents,
a change of tune and a five hundred dollar bill;
waiting for the next dance with a weekend thrill,
betting on a Kentucky Derby horse or a passing bus,
watching the super bowl and all the halftime fuss;
drifting over the sound a free-running river makes,
excusing how the white man takes and takes,
singing bible songs within a hard-seated church
while not seeing the eagle flying from her wind-swept perch,
or a Spirit vision or endless wild grasses waving in an vast prairie,
or hearing the wisdom of an ancient forest tree.

fighting for my life

oh snow
how much further can i go?
fighting for my life,
dodging your famous Bowie knife;
and a kick to the shin.
come on in
it's already approaching midnight
and i'm in no mood to fight
or to roll off the corner bed
do you remember what i said
when you tempted me with a wink?
i found myself face down over the bathroom sink
watching my skinny life
dodging your famous Bowie knife.
but by a quarter until two
i told you i'd always be true
no matter how you washed and dried;
no matter how i laughed and cried
we'd be together on the city street
smiling to all the strangers' we'd come to meet,
dancing on a mountainside or on the lonesome beach;
i'd keep you within easy reach
and with a nod and a kiss,
a little of that and some of this,
a lot of high and a little low
no matter which way the cold winds blow
oh snow
how much further can i go?
fighting for my life,
dodging your famous Bowie knife,
and a kick to the shin.
come on in,
i can already see your grin,
so squeeze me hard.
keep me off my guard!
oh snow
how much further can i go?

how he was bred

striking out on your own
listening with your sympathetic ear
ditching fake news and crazy foxy TV views,
tuning out the monstrous fear
to find there's no easy walk in the park,
no easy ladies dancing in the dark;
it's ugly or nice with big or small bowls of fire and ice.
but, hell yeah, the passing stranger said;
being mean was how he was bred
many miles from the state line near 5th Avenue and Main
and now building his border fence while celebrating being insane,
traveling to the far right side of a busy railroad track
and that's an undeniable fact, Jack!
his hot air is blowing hard;
a gambler playing his terrible hole card:
but change is coming, the immigrant voices said
jumping up jumping out of a terrible bed,
going downtown or wherever the freedom winds led!
striking out on your own
listening with your sympathetic ear
ditching fake news and crazy foxy TV views,
turning out the monstrous fear
to find there's no easy walk in the park,
no easy ladies dancing in the dark;
it's ugly or nice with big or small bowls of fire and ice.
but, hell yeah, the passing stranger said;
being mean was how he was bred.

chasing an elusive ghost

fixed bayonet!
baby, here it comes:
the napalm jungle smell,
the fighting drums,
singing war is hell!
body bags,
frightened soldiers in rice paddy mud,
khaki rags,
fields of blood:
no more bombing!
no more death!
no more war!
chasing an elusive ghost
across the floor
into a sea of fire
on the other side of razor wire:
a missing leg;
a worn out boot
teaching children
to stalk and shoot!
burning skin and harder eyes
falling from the morning skies.

the pot of gold

she stuck a stick in my nose
i sucked her toes
she played me for a fool
i tossed her into the backyard pool
she wore a pout
i watched her fancy twist and shout
i drove a VW bug
she grabbed my sleeve and gave a tug
and though it seemed
we were sometimes mean
she combed my messy hair
i gave her her fair share
and when we fell
it was always hard to tell
who would get up first
who was the best and who was the worst?
we stopped at nothing to enjoy the ride
upside down uncertain side by side
when the grass was green
she was smart and i was keen
and in the cold
i was timid and she was bold
young or old
always looking for the pot of gold
never feeling bought and sold
hunting for bargains in every convenience store
taking turns to open the door
sometimes running and sometimes slow
never knowing exactly which way to go
fun and games without pretense
we searched for love and some good sense:
she'd read her favorite book;
i'd take a glance but wouldn't look,
we gave it everything it took.

you were almost ten

so long ago
and yet it seems just like yesterday;
i can't recall everything
but i remember what you had to say
about the time we kissed under the bright moon light!
How could it be wrong when it felt so right?
we both laughed with childish delight!
you told me you were almost ten
while i was going on to the big great eight.
we didn't exchange autographs
and we didn't stay out too late.
there was a chill in the autumn air
as we acted like kids without a single small town care.
imagine that, we laughed, while rolling on the hard ground.
all the forest animals stayed quiet:
we were the only ones making any sound.
you said i was pretty and i said your were neat!
ice cream would never again be our favorite treat.
there was a tingle and a blush;
we knew somehow there was no reason to rush.
and the next day
you told me again you were almost ten
and could we please do it all over again?
so long ago
and yet it seems just like yesterday;
i can't recall everything
but i remember what you had to say
about the time we kissed under the bright moon light!
How could it be wrong when it felt so right?
we both laughed with childish delight!

but without you

i laid down to cry
and now i know why
through the darkest night
you moved out of sight!
i felt this heavy weight
keep me from opening the gate
and you waving goodbye
from the other side of my dream
i'm no longer what i want to be or seem
without you,
without you
there's an arrow through my heart
knifing me
tearing me apart;
i can feel your sweet breath
but without you,
without you
my life is a lonely death
and where have you gone?
i can hear your sighs;
i can almost see your shining eyes
and hear your soft voice.
why do we have to make this choice?
no one has to tell me how it might have been
but without you,
without you
there's an arrow through my heart
knifing me
tearing me apart;
i can feel your sweet breath
but without you,
without you
my life is a lonely death.
i laid down to cry
and now i know why.

Roger Stone

i saw the shadow of Roger Stone
digging deeply it seemed
into the dark world of Nixon dirty tricks
sucking a pixie bone
dripping with the gay fat
of Roy Cohn,
the famous anti-communist lawyer
who in early 1954
swept the dusty Senate floor
along with his good buddy Joseph McCarthy,
searching for total access and power.
Stone
spit out the bone
on the top floor
of Trump Tower,
before all the phone lines went dead,
or so the FBI said,
when he
crawled from behind a borrowed desk,
no jury or open trials
would remember hearing this:
the soon-to-be President speaks
about what he hopes WikiLeaks
will spill.
i still see the shadow of Roger Stone.

A couple of ounces

A couple of ounces ruled your life!
no loyal dog or faithful wife,
sometimes the brutal Siberian air
was the only thing there;
a few white lies
could make it hard to categorize
all the frozen finger tips,
the stiff upper lips,
and shuffling feet
plodding over an forlorn prison yard street:
a vast expanse of squeaking snow and ice.
no four-legged rats or healthy field mice;
hardly anything of substance to eat or drink;
no time to truly think
while being strip-searched like a lonely feral child,
punished for being alive and running wild.
A couple of ounces ruled your life!
a small piece of thin bread without the knife.

Janis Ian

Janis
at seventeen
a literary beauty queen
lovely in her own way
searching for the most poignant words to say
isn't it remarkable
that her moon is still full
and her seas turquoise blue
and you're left wondering how she ever knew
the tv
wasn't where it was meant to be,
at twenty three!
growing old and growing young
counting all the words she's ever sung
so baby, please don't go
there's more we want to know
like a little bird and a lullaby
singing all the way
down the forgotten highway
glowing under the sunrise
in blue jeans and a t-shirt
haunting with your words that heal and hurt
and in peace
a guitar plays and will not cease!
Janis
at seventeen
a literary beauty queen
lovely in her own way
searching for the most poignant words to say
isn't it remarkable
that her moon is still full
and her seas turquoise blue
and you're left wondering how she ever knew
the tv
wasn't where it was meant to be,
at twenty three!

a happy dog and i

it's been a long time since
walking in the primordial woods
 hearing the latest news
grabbing girls by the hair
polishing cheap leather shoes
remembering how the day comes undone
watching the setting sun
dripping through the misty rain

soft clouds hanging low
forgetting the mayonnaise
forgetting where to eventually go
a happy dog and i sitting on a fallen log
feeling restful with some love to give
imagining a lady and a life to live
holding her hand
she is holding mine
we're sipping wine
red in the nighttime and white during the day
remembering what else she had to say
looking to our future
shadows on the high stone wall
seeing the wild ravens fly and listening as they caw
wondering about lost arts:
valentine candies eaten like tiny hearts
 a top hat and low-rent landlord cries
boyfriends and great-grandmother's pies
my transistor radio playing scratchy sounds of American trash
lost in the middle of the Lincoln tunnel
looking for Mega Millions jackpot cash
reciting Shakespeare and his thoughtful English verse
stuck in both forward and reverse
flying on the busy boulevard
the world in my rear view mirror and traffic noise
second grade recess and rowdy boys
a price tag hanging around our necks

saying NO CASH!  please include checks

 Louis Armstrong and his drummer keeping the beat
shadows on the empty small town street
looking for my future in a cab, which i grab.

give me a kiss, baby

give me a kiss, baby
i won't take a no or a maybe
give me a gentle squeeze and a warm hug
a little love making on the living room rug
listening to the rain drops fall
soft footsteps coming down the hall
your eyes
filled with the sweetest surprise
all whispers and contented sighs
the music turned low
no where we'd rather be or go
reading poetry from the classical book
giving each other that special look
wine and food
taking a hint getting into the mood.
give me a kiss, baby
i won't take a no or a maybe
give me a gentle squeeze and a warm hug
a little love making on the living room rug.

in walked

in walked this man!
he was Bud

with an open can;

he tapped his toe,

pointed a finger

to where he wanted to go:

over on the stage,

a lady inside her cage.

when he opened the door,

she swept the floor

with her piano;

at the beginning of the show,

all ripe blues and jazz,

he showed her what he has

inside his hard case,

a beautiful string bass.

and they began to play,

everything they ever wanted to say.
and out on the dance floor
everyone asked for more.
the sounds filled every head
with what the music Gods said.
all night long
like a beating heart each song
kept pounding away
and no one was asked to pay.

picking up the pieces

but remember, the brick fence idea is dumb and should be broken!
like a cheap subway token
no border wall is so tall
it can't be climbed and left for dead
regardless of what the boss man President said
with a blue sky overhead
children continue to play
while their parents pray
among the ruins and poverty dreams,
picking up the pieces, picking new teams
with a blue sky over head
changing colors from blue to red:
a country club lawn
is awakening to a new dawn
of passenger and driver with scolding sounds
in a rush,
making the rounds,
sweeping through rough city streets
slicing prejudice to pass out like candy treats,
like fast food
to quickly inflate a defiant mood!
but remember, the brick fence idea is dumb and should be broken!
like a cheap subway token
no border wall is so tall
it can't be climbed and left for dead
regardless of what the boss man President said
with a blue sky overhead
children continue to play
among the ruins and poverty dreams,
picking up the pieces, picking new teams.

what Miss Universe said

here's how it goes man
sitting on my piano bench with a whiskey in hand
sipping one for you
tapping my foot with nothing else to do
touching the sky while romancing the keys
playing guitar with a little gypsy strip tease
the band cranking out the hottest blues
living large outgrowing our baby shoes
reaching into hearts and finding something for everyday fun
lots of Hollywood lovelies and a western setting sun
a bottle of the finest French red
remembering what Miss Universe said
shivering at the sight
reciting poetry in an art house late at night
over and over again until it feels just right
custom written for her ears
erasing all her hesitations and fears:
the joys of life and happiness tears!
here's how it goes man
sitting on my piano bench with a whiskey in hand
sipping one for you
tapping my foot with nothing else to do
touching the sky while romancing the keys
playing guitar with a little gypsy strip tease
the band cranking out the hottest blues
living large outgrowing our baby shoes.

you cannot dance tango alone

you cannot dance tango alone,
like two dogs trying to share a single bone
their bark becomes worse than the bite;
the lazy afternoon becomes the frantic night!
loose women and crazy men fight
spitting on the ballroom floor
"well, you're a dick! but i'm a proud whore!
there's a lot to share, but you're not getting anymore."
the kicks hit where the tender parts rest;
nobody is invited in except for the unwelcome guest
dancing in the street,
no polite company ever wants to stand up and meet
dressed in powder white and speaking neat
"you go your way and i'll go mine!"
feeling so good and feeling so fine
you cannot dance tango alone,
like two dogs trying to share a single bone.
acting like a hell cat flying upside down,
married in a bra strap without a wedding gown,
all the women running around;
all the men reaching for a buck;
they're running undercover but mostly running out of luck;
you cannot dance tango alone,
like two dogs trying to share a single bone
their bark becomes worse than the bite;
the lazy afternoon becomes the frantic night!
loose women and the crazy men fight
spitting on the ballroom floor
"well, you're a dick! but i'm a proud whore!
there's a lot to share, but you're not getting any more."

An American flag

the old man
swinging from a live oak tree,
combing his fake orange hair
like a wild chimpanzee
looking for a trap door score,
is still rolling on his golden bedroom floor.
he doesn't mind the latest news:
he's standing tall in Brooks Brother's shoes,
all the way to the Texas coast
with crazy cowboys he loves the most.
these are the days when cash is king
and dirty rats refuse to sing!
the local crowd sitting at the local bar
stood to look but couldn't see far:
an American flag
with a Made in China tag
tried to stand but couldn't rise
weighted down by countless lies.
on the sacred beach a soldier died,
his widow and her children cried.
the white tombstones buried in foreign sand,
dreaming of the promised land
far from the homeland shore:
they weren't marching home no more.
clever lawyers kept writing in their books,
covering tracks from inquiring looks.
bags of money and a fashion show honey
in a tower passing minutes and an hour
while around the block
a shepherd, searching for his flock,
shook the ground as he walked,
listening as the boastful old man talked.
each word a lie scattered into thin air,
meant to hide the truth everywhere.
the old man
swinging from a live oak tree,
combing his fake orange hair
like a wild chimpanzee
looking for a trap door score,
is still rolling on his golden bedroom floor.
he doesn't mind the latest news:
he's walking tall in Brooks Brother's shoes,
all the way to the Texas coast
with crazy cowboys he loves the most.
these are the days when cash is king
and dirty rats refuse to sing!
the local crowd sitting at the local bar
stood to look but couldn't see far.
An American flag has a Made in China tag.

watching caravans of immigrants

i see new blood on the early winter snow
and lost souls
looking for a better path to follow.
i can't speak the tongue!
am i simply too young
or willfully old?
with my poisoned lungs, perhaps i'm the spy in from the cold,
in a country of all things
constantly bought and sold,
watching caravans of immigrants bringing their young children and tiny sprigs of hope:
not tattooed criminals with illegal bags of dope,
climbing the high wire, scaling the border wall,
seeking answers before their fall,
much like another group once before
seeking justice from shore to shining shore
but the native Indians are mostly dead:
the buffalo soldiers took their land and their horses and i can't remember
what the Great White Father said.
those words are on a page but i can't find the history book!
millions of eyes are searching but where exactly should they look?
a young man is swimming across the Rio Grande river;
in the heat of summer i can see him shiver.

Phnom Penh

Phnom Penh
was hot as hell and filled with the nervous shadows
of dry bones and sick smiles
on the narrow streets of blood and broken glass,
memories of ancient temples
and the smell of escaping elephant shit
floating on the monsoon junk of another endless day
filled with acrid war smoke and sour piss,
as Kissinger sat in his cloistered Washington office
surrounded by his ass-kissing apparatchiks
who demurred when he plotted an invasion across a neutral border
with his tanks and his guns and his bombs and his helicopters
to bring random death and mayhem and marauding murder
to the rice paddies and the huts of peasants
speaking a language Henry never understood,
with power his only purpose.

remembering how i lied

okay miss Mary Lou!
i won the race,
so how about you?
it snowed as i drove hard,
skidded and slide
into your front yard.
you took a cold look;
took another hard sip,
and closed your book.
i handed you my letter.
it simply said
i was finally feeling better.
you gave me a stern gaze
before saying
that crime never pays,
and i knew that
as i sat
by your side,
remembering how i lied.

the boy from Manhattan and Miss Mary Lou

oh, i'm heading uptown;
gonna try keeping my baby bottle down!
feeling so smart,
holding onto my heart;
gonna get me another battery jump start
heading to the next Apprentice show,
onto the nearest street corner where i need to go,
where i heard about the boy from Manhattan.
he came to a party dressed in freshly pressed silks and polished satin;
loved his glittering gold and bought and sold
handsome new Miss Mary Lou
who
talked like a girl from the deepest south,
or was she a foreigner with a slippery tongue swimming inside her mouth?
she walked the straightest line in her latest fashion and sharp high heels,
looking for a sugar daddy to buy all her next meals;
she wanted a fast ride and he had the wheels,
all shiny silver and black;
he had his and wasn't giving any back!
Miss Mary Lou took him by his favorite arm;
he flashed a sullen smile and went looking for some charm.
he called the press and told them the greatest news:
he wanted Miss Mary Lou and she couldn't say no or refuse,
changing all his stripes and his Wharton School underwear;
she eventually said she loved him but in the end he didn't care,
oh, i'm heading uptown;
gonna try keeping my baby bottle down!
feeling so smart,
holding onto my heart;
gonna get me another battery jump start
heading to the next Apprentice show,
onto the nearest street corner where i need to go.