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.

edge of dying

when you are on the edge of dying
and it's winter time everywhere,
your friends are still looking for an easy way
but all they can do is stare:
a cold wind is blowing across the street
wrapping it's frozen arms around their feet.
you turn your head for a quick look behind
only to realize you've almost lost your mind:
there's no one walking without a mask
and the sky is torn and frayed.
people rushing for the open door
and no one stopped or stayed.
everyone is waiting for the silver train
for a trip to where wishes always come true:
in my hand two tickets for the ride,
one for me and the other one is saved exclusively for you.

nothing important to lose

i was breathing fire
sitting on my evening chair
listening to a soulful choir
singing of the homesick blues...
i could be listening to the Rolling Stones
but really, really why should i choose?
when the chips are down
i have nothing important to lose.
music of The Cream
relaxing my nervous grip
took me to a lover's dream
singing of the homesick blues...
i could be listening to the Rolling Stones
but really, really why should i choose?
when the chips are down
i have nothing important to lose.
she gave me a chance
blowing on my uncut hair
whispering about romance
how to count the ways
her breathing came so easy
she's down on her knees to gaze
singing of the homesick blues...
i could be listening to the Rolling Stones
but really, really why should i choose?
when the chips are down
i have nothing important to lose.
it was near midnight
she asked for my autograph
i used a finger to write
singing of the homesick blues...
i could be listening to the Rolling Stones
but really, really why should i choose?
when the chips are down
i have nothing important to lose.

Willie & Trigger

Willie rode in
on his old '44
as the sun was just rising
over the southern Texas shore:
his jeans were torn
his beard was young
he sang his songs
with a righteous rebel tongue
from Austin north to the Arkansas line
his words struck hard
his music soft and fine
and in Luckenbach
where he drank a beer or two
he passed a couple of burning joints
to his outlaw road weary crew
and fancied a Spanish señorita
in his pickup bed
who famously memorized every famous word
he ever wrote or said!
Willie rode in
to the mean courthouse lawn
like a Red Headed Stranger
at the angry break of dawn
where he threw all his money
aimed squarely at the IRA
and got back On the Road Again
to tour the good ol' USA
inside sweet riding Honeysuckle Rose
with four packs a day and a grizzled smile
a guitar on his lap he called Trigger
playing easy chords for free mile after steady mile
To All the Girls I've Loved Before
the strumming carried mellow for the whole length of his ride
along with the furs and the Indian feathers
he asked for one more chance to keep you satisfied!
Willie rode in
on his old '44
as the sun was just rising
over the southern Texas shore:
his jeans were torn
his beard was young
he sang his songs
with a righteous rebel tongue
from Austin north to the Arkansas line
his words struck hard
his music soft and fine
and in Luckenbach
where he drank a beer or two
he passed a couple of burning joints
to his outlaw road weary crew
and fancied a Spanish señorita
in his pickup bed
who famously memorized every famous word
he ever wrote or said!

a body stacked full of tools

i grabbed my hat and bags
found you looking at the ceiling
took you with me
asking how you're feeling:
we went to check out the park
heard wild animal sounds in the dark
i knew you were interested in the local zoo
feeding the monkey isn't all you like to do
well, you like to pet the lion
i saw him take his last breath before dying
he never even knew your name
but to you it was all the same
one good laugh and a dance floor full of fools
a pretty face and a body stacked full of tools
i grabbed my hat and bags
found you looking at the ceiling
took you with me
asking how you're feeling:
we went to check out the beach
you wore a teacher's hat so you could teach
i knew you were interested in the local zoo
feeding the monkey isn't all you like to do
well, you like to pet the lion
he took his last breath before dying
you never even knew his name
to you it was all the same
one good laugh and a dance floor full of fools
a pretty face and a body stacked full of tools
don't eat another piece until it cools
a pretty face and a body stacked full of tools

listening to Cream

i asked her to remove her bra
it was the loveliest thing i ever saw
peaches and cream and two points of light:
we could have partied into the night
dancing the floor playing The Who!
she asked if there was something i'd rather do
and at first i didn't have a clue.
well, i said, maybe listening to Cream,
after all, if this was only a dream
perhaps the two of us could become a tag team
wrestling crazies and angel-headed fuckers
who pretend to be hipsters and long haul truckers:
oh hell, we'll drive our magic bus down the steepest street
stopping only when our holy lips meet,
banging on kettle drums like a Meat Loaf bun,
flying like a Bat Out of Hell singing Here Comes the Sun!
listening to Cream
is more than it might seem.

he'd fuck everyone if he had the time

i almost forgot

On The Road

was written a long time ago

but Jack K

is still here in memory,

hunting

for Old Bull Lee

who is somewhere shooting bullets and drugs,

lots of drugs.

Jack K drove to Boulder on the hunt,

but the Institute

wouldn't admit him,

so on their Buddhist front steps, he started to read an important poem,

Howl,

and the pages still held power,

although the original author was a former mental

patient from New York City.

A listener standing on the top step said she didn't understand the words or the work!

And to “Please return tomorrow or never.”

Jack said, in his courteous Catholic way, that he used to hang out at Columbia University,

when the poem's writer was once a student,

but the comment dropped on her like an unwelcome flash of insight.

Picking up the insight idea was Cassady,

who threw it into his car,

along with Jack,

driving off with great haste,

listening to jazz played at the highest volume,

and began yelling that he'd fuck everyone if he had the time,

though he seldom stopped speeding,

and took every turn he found,

looking for adventure.

Jack said he'd write about it

as soon as he found a working typewriter and a long

scroll of paper.

maybe he didn't need Old Bull Lee after all.

But Cassady didn’t hear none of it.

the dog was envious

all day splitting wood
without a woodie
but my nails are polished
a bright purple.
the dried white and red oak
is piled in a neat pile
ready for burning but
there is no fire.
it's a Monday and the market is
freaking down and out but i'm
sweating with the good love of work.
climate change or a normal warm February sun?
regardless, it's a pleasant day without cold or snow
in the northeast of America which is still
above sea level in Pennsylvania.
all day the dog watched me chainsaw and swing the axe.
she developed an appetite.
i drank a Manhattan and sipped a homemade soup
which had bits of broccoli and small pieces of potato.
it was more typical of a stew, being thick and delicious.
the dog was envious.

if anyone heard its' cries?

the clock hanging on the forest wall
started ticking when i raised my hand;
i didn't try to stop the sound
as i stretched my legs to stand:
i saw a dead raccoon with black eyes
and wondered if anyone heard its' cries?
i heard a white dog bark and call my name
but i felt wild and forgot what it was to be tame
and the sun was fading and i was suddenly in a hurry
to put some distance between myself and worry.
there was a path i assumed the nearby deer made;
it was narrow and seemed to ask me to follow but i stayed,
and the white dog came near me with big brown eyes
and wondered if anyone heard its' cries?

i gave her all

and all aboard
a queen and a lord
ready for their ride
with nowhere new to hide
steel tracks up and down each arm
funny thinking about the harm
punching thru the public crowd
screaming in and out loud
waiting for the boot to kick
always feeling high and sick
and Mary was her name
Mary was her name
playing needles was her game
but what was i to do?
i didn't have a clue
she grabbed ahold of me
i got down on one knee
everything a blur
it wasn't all due to her
i gave her all i should
she took everything she could
and when i tried to rationalize
she disappeared before my eyes
stealing my last breath
tattooing me with signs of death
and all aboard
a queen and a lord
ready for their ride
with nowhere new to hide.

absolute power

absolute power is a poison,
a taste so pure in pornographic content
that the moneyed class
skins the tax-collector regularly,
at the beginning of each shift;
and as the sword is passed from hand to hand,
the young become bold,
while the old
sit in fear they would become its victim,
decapitated and thrown into the nearest river.

Mr President: #45

there's a B-52 hanging from the ceiling;
underneath is a President who is masturbating while self-dealing.
on the Capitol steps he's blowing smoke
up his ass he's dealing big-time dope
rolls of loose fat falling far from his Mar-A-Lago chair;
combing his orange spray-tanned facial hair
on the white house south lawn
no generals seen but two wives gone:
it's enough to make you puke
hearing that he thinks he's too damn cute
in the morning all the official staff prostrate on the Oval Office floor
disowning personal honor by asking if he would like some more:
he'll miss this and all the fake news and other stuff
always pretending to be Mister Marlboro Man tough
but he's got those damn bone spurs
playing golf while wearing daddy's borrowed furs
looking into the mirror asking who's the fairest one of all?
banging his head against the Constitutional wall.
grab your loaded guns and your hooded masks:
deny involvement if Homeland Security asks.
a scorched earth and refugees in Central American rags
wading across a river cradling hope inside their paper bags,
anxious for when the public school bell rings:
no, it's not over till the fictional fat lady sings
Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee,
or say can you see from sea to shining sea.

methane

burn the methane in the air:
it's in your lungs; it's everywhere!
no use folding hands in prayer
or running up and down the stair:
sweat it out with your last care.
geez, it's hot enough in underwear!
there's nothing here that needs be fair:
mother nature is on a tear!

resilience

i climbed a tree when i was young
but i'm so much older now,
yet
still yearning to reach new heights
perhaps like the typical willow tree
i'm bending easily
with age or as in youth,
as in the eye of a vicious wind storm
or on a quiet summer evening,
with time on my side
or when there's nothing nearby
and the bark makes no sound!
or is that my breath i hear so quiet in the still of a
slow evening?  I'm breathing,
and so is the Earth, and the sun shoots solar flares
which i can not see but i feel.
the wildly vibrant sea waves come crashing in an orgy of foamy whiteness
while i sit near the
back bay waters:
they whisper softly, almost cooing
like a fully satisfied peace pigeon,
and i'm deeply aware
of the forest humming!
there is an essential nature
within man
and without man;
there is a swaying
and i'm filled with musical notations on many hip-hop Friday nights,
and on orchestral afternoons,
like a steady Diana Shore of seeing and smelling and singing,
i'm noticing new ideas and remembering  ancient ones.
the green sprouts and tiny shoots and nearby shadows tingle;
there's the lightness constantly dancing to a rock steady universal rhythm,
in or out of step,
and i'm still climbing the trees.
i believe a person's sense of self and their public identity
stay healthy while bonding,
with roots deep and
flexible, and
passing tests which no teacher can hope to grade.
i hang from the tree on a limb which carries my weight,
regardless of age, resilient.

no turning back

he took a long walk in the park
wondering which way to turn before it got too dark
there were heavy shadows on the path
and noises in his ear
he didn't know a life with a loving woman
nor a life without cold fear
but his step was firm while he focused straight ahead
he remembered all the hurtful things he's heard said
it's been too long a time since he was a child with laughter in his eyes
gone blind too soon under an abundance of family lies
they were heavy and he felt abused
worn out like an old shoe, soulless and overused
and the night was growing black:
there would be no turning back.