off-piste plunge (re:ski)

when i push away from a lonely lip of snow
in the high Rockies of Colorado
and the open space beneath my feet
drops like a savage tempo beat
the sensation of falling
is not appalling
but rather wild and sweet.
i totally surrender to the flow
of gravity and the word is GO GO
and the number is unlike any 9 to 5
because i'm perfectly alive
and confident
not sad and spent
but rather dance and dive.
an abandonment of all common sense
and rules of the human road, hence
the great rush of supreme delight
released like an escaping kite
only natural law
can affect my fall
but i stand upright.

young time

when i was young
neil armstrong was in training
to explore the surface of the moon
if it wasn't raining
a time when lennon was alive
because mark chapman hadn't flown
from that island in the pacific
to kill a man he hadn't known
yes it was fun to dance at Camelot
& imagine being a mouseketeer
singing with walt disney's voice
for all the kids to hear
when i was young
white keds were on my feet
and i couldn't have considered
the different people i would meet
a howdy doody played by his string
or soupy sales as manic as a clown
playing music to rock around the clock
as long as Elvis was around
my Doors weren't just for opening
& simply pot could make me high
while tinker bell in never land
was spreading faerie dust to fly
when i was young
men still cried i didn't hear
and worked two jobs routinely
with no pampering or fear
a time when i was totally naive
like now the hubris blinding
so that fly balls in the outfield
were the secrets i was finding
when i was young

Lynden Gallery on Market

so i went to an art opening
at the lynden gallery
in etown & many people came out
including Luke and Mallory
whom i hadn't seen in about
two years or so plus Lisa
the owner was there
with her beautiful raven dark hair.
Ned Wert was the artist on display
(i met his sister & her fiancee)
and his works are now largely abstract
hanging with red as the predominant shade
i was gasping at the numbers as fact
then noticed several full prices were paid
but it was simple since the mood was so good
to be friendly and feel that you should
in this fire hall converted to art
just mingle and fondle a heart
drink wine, eat crackers, and cheesy
to imagine that living is easy
here is original stuff as it should be
poking holes in the idea of normal
a space which is happy and free
relaxed and certainly not formal
so visit.

another day in Paradise

i watched a teenager play with her hair
using an index finger
during a film about anxiety
but it didn't linger,
moving to her neck just to scratch
a small batch
of pimples.
i watched her fidget then roll her butt
on the surface of the chair
but she acted oblivious
and didn't seem to care
about my adult impression
during our talk about depression
which ensued.
in fact everybody was ready to leave
as soon as the bell announced
& had most of their books in hand
as assignments were pronounced
but ignored them.

reading Hemingway

the campfire burned a bright flame on top of my hunger 

i hope everyone knows by now:

we're not getting any younger;

thus cold time sitting in the freezer calls my name! 

it sounds like geezer 

while the cod on the cape has lots of wealth & ladies stroll the beach for health 

but i can't go there with my head of hair 

and share 

that dream of paradise 

it's a lump of coal a chunk of ice 

an alley with an deep dead end 

and you're dumped there without a friend 

without a lively book, no color on your face 

that you didn't paint or trace 

but this appetite on my tongue isn't a hangover from when i was young 

the hard surface feels like a passion which persists beyond any passing fashion 

as sun brightens the fire and burns the wood 

it lingers in the bones and makes them feel so damn good 

running full face inhaling air swallowing embers and playing dare 

reading Hemingway reading Crane 

thinking youthful shit with an active brain 

dancing to a temptress's song 

and trampolining naked is never wrong.

resurrection

i rolled the dead body over
in the street so i could see his face
blue like the brilliant sky
and i wondered why

but time wouldn't wait for my thought
to coalesce around the fact
that this bicycle rider has died
and i should have cried

but pure instinct and good luck
carried my mouth to his
and the hard chest compression
made a very good impression

call 911 lady and do it now
i shouted as she gawked
at me pinching his nose
and tickling his toes

yes, the emt said, no pulse
and here's my zapper on his chest
lean back and watch the graph
hold your breath, don't laugh

okay, got something, let's go
as the police paved the way
and the ambulance raced for life
now i had to tell his wife.

well, damn, it can be said
i brought a buddy back from dead
it's official he now can state
i didn't look around or hesitate.

so today we rode together
easy as an Apache feather
it's been six months and a day
since his wife fell down to pray

tally BAN

the creepy psychopaths
who disdain baths
i mean where in the hell
can they go for the smell?
wearing the same stupid rag
on their heads like a tag
from department stores
they not only kill whores
they kill love
and presume to judge
without a nudge
from a human conscience.
just this once
i'd like to have the power
to erect a prison tower
and stuff all these assholes
onto long spiked poles.

take the 12th century
and shove it mullah.
of shit you are full a
& you're screwing our hope
you slimy dope
and i don't mean to be funny, honey.

little etown

once
and for all
we played little league ball
on a dirt field by the little creek
and little girls would peek
we rode our bikes at night
on the sidewalk, in the street
and people would speak
we watched the band marching
and could touch the clarinets
as good as it gets
we ran in the local creeks
splashing water and turning stones
finding helgamites and bones
rode the pole in a fire hall
watched the milkman call
danced in the square
had very short hair
knew peggy and sally
knew every alley
everybody knew you
and what you do
ice skated the pond
loved and were fond
swam in the quarry
never a worry
before color tv
just you and me
sneaking at night
halloween delight
cards and the table
ruth, alice, and mable
chocolate smells
back yard wells
small town living
generous giving
howdy neighbor
do me a favor?
name it.

Fame's fence

why are fences all so tall
as i flail my fingers to raw bone
trying to scale the wall
which time has cleverly grown

you are on the other side
wearing costumes proper and prim
all in an effort to hide
with a light kept purposefully dim

i should have noticed much more
since everything was colored in sight
but one eye saw the floor
while the other distracted by light

It seems never to be what i thought
so i apologize having been caught

i the fool who went rushing within
never knocking but wearing this grin

an old man who should have known better
still thinking i've got to go get her

our hearts are sewn on our sleeve
while our minds are clever and bright
and it's hard to know when to leave
but i'll acknowledge and wish you good night.

Lady Brett

it wasn't a stairway to heaven
she was buying with her smile
she was sitting in the cafe
and just reading for awhile.

it was early in the morning
and no drummer from her band
was drinking gin and tonics
near the hero worship stand.

the central square was busy
but no crowd would come today
no rider was approaching
to take her book away.

the bulls ran down an alley
blood dripping on the street
no pages hidden under cover
could find a safer place to meet.

she heard her name a thousand ways
before the lunch bell rang
and watched a group of laughing men
approach her as they sang.

the napkin fluttered as it fell
onto a cobbled stone
but when she bent to pick it up
she found herself alone.

her city was a hundred miles
across the mountain range
but she hoped to dream forever
and didn't find that strange.

the fire down in the valley
a hanging in the street
of a picture framed before it's time
would keep her in her seat.

another one bites the dust

check back with me in 1/2 an hour,
near the end of this April shower

or the passing of the big black hearse,
whichever comes first.

the funeral is for mrs. summers
and they're usually perfect bummers

at close to ninety years with balloons,
spent her childhood in cheap saloons

with men who were mainly strangers
wearing masks like fake lone rangers

and she swore like a drunken sailor,
married a poor man who was a tailor

but that husband died from screwing around,
no cure for the disease was ever found

yes, there were kids but hey tough shit,
it's what it is so get over it

she had beauty once but never more,
now we're wondering what was here before

with no morals and maybe less class
there's not much mourning that loss of ass

i counted one daughter sitting near,
seven others shedding not a tear.

Virgo

so Virgo the virgin lady
is an exercise
in my writing class
of smallish size,
mostly female
but two male,
i one.
yet, it's certainly fun
and we do creative writing
without backbiting,
which is the way to go
what with a writer's ego
that's an accomplishment.
and i've been sent
to do a story
on romance and glory.
it's rather good
and i knew it should
be, since it's closely
based on my mostly
accurate memory.

leisurely pace

I can be that hard-hammered steel blade
Or the soft spoken tavern maid;
Perhaps a literate school professor,
Or the naughty sin confessor.

But, I’d really like to be set free,
Then, all the time I can just be me.
And what a wild and wooly ride
To have you flying by my side
Where fairy tales are never told
And hearts are stout and men are bold.

I’d like to move with a sounding whale
And ride the sky on a raptor’s tail.
I’d like to swim where the water’s deep
And have you with me in my sleep.

I’d like to be an eighteen wheeler
Or a mean, green Pittsburg Steeler
Brushing softly on your face
And have you with me keeping pace.

I can be that point man shot
Or the cannon barrel burning hot;
Perhaps a lion in attacking force,
Or a warship on a mighty course.

But, I’d really like to be set free,
Then, all the time I can just be me.
And what a wild and wooly ride
To have you flying by my side
Where fairy tales are never told
And hearts are stout and women bold.

I’d like to travel to the moon
And balance on a silver spoon.
I’d like to cure mankind’s disease
And have you know I’m not a tease.

I’d like to be an OK corral
And have you love me anyhow
Brushing softly on your face
And have you with me keeping pace.

In the shadow

In the shadow of the moon
Where I felt you kiss my lips

I watched the rising of the Earth unfold
Beneath your fingertips

You are my journey into space
As I stand hopeful by this door

And feeling stardust filter through
I settle quiet on the floor

Try to find a single planet
Or a flower soft with dew

With a strength as captivating
Or a heart that beats as true

In the ocean of the night
Where the desert rides the sand

We flew on a trajectory
Down countless years to land

In the shadow of the sun
Where I felt you touch my soul

I watched the rising of the Earth unfold
And needed nowhere else to go

you're so soft

you're so soft and yet so far
and how i wonder who you are
as the restless night and the ghosts are gone
i search for you til the break of dawn

a passing whisper towards my ear
gives me notice that you've been near
and still i see you on a rise
and marvel at the gorgeous eyes

then smiling with a summer sun
you call for me, i try to run
and save this memory for my heart
to comfort me while we're apart

you're so soft and yet so far

the gate

i miss you like my hand
misses the heft of a really good sword

i miss you like my Lord

i miss you like a cavalry charge
vanquishing my enemies at large

hearts and trumpets screaming & proud
thunderous battle raging & loud

arrows & hell
life's new smell

i miss you with my clear bright eyes
then i die but still time flies

over and over again
while i miss you, my friend

the detail

the detail is the darnedest thing
it controls the arc of a playground swing
and sets the mood when a candle's lit
before a diner has a chance to sit
it holds the butter in a vinegar base
while the wine's reduced just before a taste
it sets the color and adjusts the noise
puts into motion all the girls and boys
who march around to their drummers beat
and dance and laugh in a midnight street
it signals when to beat the heart
and fans the flame for old Mozart.
it cautions when the wheel gets spun
against the frenzy of too much fun
it laps the water upon the shore
to erode the castle that stands no more.
a picnic lunch by a country road
made by the lover who cared and showed
that detail is the darnedest thing
as she caressed your face and began to sing

edge of doom

it's always incomplete
even when we meet
there's words we cannot speak.

i feel i'm just undone
as cowboy on the run
who dressed without his gun.

so here's my helping hand
as writer in the sand
and member of the band:

remember love's not lost
there's just an awful cost

and remodel every room
even to the edge of doom

and when you ride the horse
keep it focused on a course.

your shoulder

i touched your shoulder with my tongue
in a dream i tasted you as an ice cream
cone the flavor of which was heavenly
and i fell to the floor for that last drop
which wouldn't stop
at my lip.
i'm not ashamed to say
i didn't come to play
as an expert at this game,
so for a long time i wondered where
you were and what.
the space you occupy is why
i feel good and your finger on my arm
tracing the line lightly and fine
is divine.

You are the bright spot

The world is crazier than I thought
But you’re the bright spot
Not all random and blown apart
Much more true at heart
Not Bloomingdales
Or cat-o-nine tails

You’re not the orange with twenty seeds
Not a bag of beads
You’re not the house without a roof
Not a doorknob, not a goof
You’re much narrower, not so wide
Much more open with less to hide

The world is crazier than I thought
But you’re the bright spot
Not all plural without a sign
I think of you as a friend of mine
When things get various and I lose control
You always play the calming role

You’re not the wall without a floor
Not a guided tour
You’re not the car without a horn
Not a spare tire feeling worn
You’re much more focused, more at ease
Much more certain who to please

The world is crazier than I thought
But you’re the bright spot
Not all random and blown apart
Much more true at heart
Not Bloomingdales
Or cat-o-nine tails

Obermesser

I rode my bicycle into the wind
And you followed me like a swan in flight
Maybe slightly less graceful but right
Before we reached the hill
You gave a determined look and still
Managed to keep the pace
Even though we didn’t race
Like crazy we tried to look quasi-pro
And people who’d see us would say “Oh!
They’re so colorful and obviously fit
How do they find the time to keep doing it?”
But on the hill we’d focus and pedal
As we pushed our rolling steeds of metal
Because something was in the air
As we rode we found it there
And it was good for our spirit
So we kept riding farther to hear it
To the top of the hill and away
Into the distance of another day
Where you rode your bicycle into the wind
And I followed

High fool

You wore the sweater
And it must have been wool
And I watched the sweater
And must have been the fool
You jumped and kicked and spun
I watched and was quickly undone
It was football night
In an autumn chill
I was in the band
Watching from a nearby hill
I heard you call out to the crowd
Singing a fighting song proud
With energy to spare
And I kept wondering how
To get you out of there
Hot dogs and soda pop
It’s better that we didn’t stop
Scoreboard flashing neon bright
You wore the sweater
And it always seemed tight
And I watched the sweater
And everything seemed right.

Bangkok, 1970

I saw you there
Your long dark hair
Pinned to a number
With a fish bowl stare.
Nothing to do
Who was I to you
But a passing dollar
In a G.I. shoe.
Your hand was small
I can recall
We walked the steps
Then down the hall.
You made no sound
Eyes to the ground
I wished for buddies
No one around.
I saw your look
An unread book
A face so impassive
The years it took.
I made a stance
Pulled at my pants
And left you wondering
It’s not romance.
I saw you there
In the thin air
Like a baby ghost
With a fish bowl stare.

Jesus tells me

Running a finger around his thumb
Jesus told me tomorrow would come
And a lonesome lawyer with a reed thin smile
Would follow my footsteps from the river Nile.
He’d be tossing his stones between my feet
Telling me never to trumpet retreat.
But what could I do about the 12 mad men
Who covered my eyes with their hands and then
Ran from the garden with an apple tree
Upsetting the cart which would set them free?
And you’ve probably heard this story before
About the smallest boy who dressed for war
And with a single well-aimed timely shot
Scattered an army before it had fought.
Locusts and plagues came in on their knees
Looking for temples to challenge and seize
Then finding a story that couldn’t be told
They started their mission to eat all the gold
While telling that tale it’s usually spun
Their kindest words are often undone
So what is left is fresh stark and bare,
Hardly a heart is still settled there .
But strongly some search for Paradise
Where the easy land is free of ice
And the western winds are glad to blow
On a nearing horizon where soulful men go.