they all come to look for America

My generation
on the road again
let us be lovers
counting the cars on the New Jersey turnpike
soul sacrifice
summer of love
the hippie movement
white rabbit
FREEDOM
one two three four
what are we fighting for?
Arlo
walking down the line
The Who
we're not going to take it
strawberry fields forever
Timothy Leary
turn on
tune in
drop out
Civil Rights
Voting Rights
Housing Rights
ten years after
with a little help of my friends
i'm going home
country joe & the fish
moon walk
Neil Alden Armstrong
Janis
Grateful Dead
on the road again
back to the garden
let's go get stoned
Jimi
a change is gonna come
mother earth will swallow you
Blackbird
don't let the man get ya
wooden ships
a long time coming
one day at a time
born on the bayou
i put a spell on you
southbound train
idiot wind
America

waiting for the next picture show

so we're gonna go slow
waiting for the next picture show
hey, Joe
she taught me what i needed to know
on the nearest high hill
(where) she showed me her special skill
and it was a wonderful surprise
made me open up my sleepy eyes
hey, guys
she's a woman who takes but gives it hard
she'll deal in her own backyard
but that's not her only playing card
she'll comb your hair
(and) you'll want to climb the nearest stair
up to Heaven for a better view
there's so much more you'll want to do
(when) she wraps her arms completely around you
and from somewhere there's a quiet voice
says "Did you really think you had a choice?"
hey, boys
her street name is Mabel
there's plenty of food left on her table
and maybe you'll think it's alright
sitting down with a hearty appetite
don't worry, you won't have to check the books
she'll give you her bedroom looks
but there will be plenty of sharp hooks
and you'll need to stay alert
her love gives comfort but can really hurt
(and) you think you'll win but you can lose your shirt
so we're gonna go slow
waiting for the next picture show
hey, Joe
she taught me what i needed to know
waiting for the next picture show.

and that guy

i saw you on the street
walking down memory lane
there was no threat of thunder
no chance of rain
and there were people smiling
laughing voices filled the air
when i saw you slowing
i shouted "Stay right there!"
and remembering us together
i whispered movies and the old dance hall?
Sally and Wendy,
Peter and Paul
popcorn up the nose,
much more of this and some of those
and scary stories and pillow fights
post-prom parties
and chocolate delights:
your eyes gave you away
i saw you wanted to stay
you still had the sweet smile
we lingered for awhile
as the traffic lights turned
well, what have we learned?
you went inside a store
and i wanted to know more
but the evening was coming on
soon there'd be another dawn
you'd see in your mind's eye
a brief moment in time and that guy;
i'd have the aroma of your freshly-washed hair
looking around but you wouldn't be there.

she talked and talked

you've heard of the lady who walked
into the pool
and fell face down
no, she wasn't a silly clown
she wasn't fat but neither was she cool
her cell phone was stuck in her ear
like a cutting spear
she talked and talked
she should have been watching where she walked
someone said her legs were flashy
someone thought her hair looked trashy
when she hit the water she seemed surprised
someone said she needed to be analyzed
but she didn't miss a beat
she was dripping water but got to her feet
that girl was totally soaking wet
she either lost a bet
or lost her connection to reality
i heard she walked into the spreading chestnut tree
her nose was black with shades of purple and blue
her dress was torn but her cell phone seemed new
she said she was tired and lost her way
eating cake and talking all day
her ear was swollen like a sperm whale's lip
someone said she talked in her sleep but that wasn't hip
in her car her phone stayed taped to her head
she drove so slowly it was easy to hear everything she said
her cheeks blushed and her teeth grew large
she talked her way onto an ocean-going barge
someone said she lost her pants
so what?  she talked all the way to France
she bumped into the famous Eiffel tower
she said it was the late hour
and too many men following her around
she turned up the volume of her sound
i saw her talk to a buttered snail
she ate the head but left the tail
she talked about her sensitive mouth
she said she'd feel better if she went south
in Africa she fell into a watering hole
and talked and talked to the far North pole.

At The Other End: Bob Dylan, 1975

i saw your face by the brickyard wall
you stood tall but still looked small
with one eye wide on the old piano
it was the night of a new moon
the piano was black and perfectly out of tune
they gave you the last call
the house bouncer, who was a struggling poet,
stood to read your latest stuff
but he didn't really know it
he had tattoos across his etched forehead;
his girlfriend's face was incredibly tough
one glance from her and i almost dropped dead
soft guitar notes filled the smoky air
i felt like a drunk beneath a midnight New York bridge
but i knew you wouldn't care
your pen was busy with a German beer in hand
Allen Ginsberg laughing by your side
a Buddhist symbol on his neck he once tried to hide
his boyfriend a member of your current band
in his grasp a silver flute 

his face alluringly cute
i asked you for a hurried autograph
you abandoned me on the winding path
you muttered something about having too much pride
your buddy Jesus when He awoke asked you for a Heavenly ride;
you said it was time for him to go
Patti Smith, yes, she wanted to give him some really good blow
and his giant rock trembled and the dirt floor shook
he figured i stole your seventeenth century Italian poetry book
but a hand-rolled cigarette was the only thing i ever took
i heard you howl and curse and saw you pound the stage
and jumping outside from inside his lonely cage
wild William Burroughs got so damn crazy mad
he burned his book but you kept the final page
and the ladies-in-waiting pretended to be sad
no amount of money could ever make them glad
Mr. Tamborine Man seemed to be my only loyal friend
he came to my emotional rescue
i asked him what should i do?
he came to watch the late show At The Other End
i came out from the bottom to the now-where-am-i top,
heard your old songs of liberty and mild abuse
that tore Old Dixie Down and finally cooked the golden goose
well, they never seemed to stop
now i know why you ate the yellow cocktail fruit
wearing nothing except your Minnesota birthday suit
when you took a lady across your big brass bed
used ten words to keep a hundred thousand people fed
and all that next winter your handwriting paved the way
sweet Joan Baez knew better than to stay!!
her river flowed with loose debris and hard ice
you didn't even try to be that nice
your skies remained cloudy and grey
for once you didn't have anything clever to say
but no matter what you did or how you eventually fixed your hair
the times they are a'changin everywhere
the times they are a'changin everywhere.

i'll wander mostly out of sight

the dwarf danced in the courtyard
as part of a mock bullfight
late one summer night
while his partner with her fancy leather strap
sat in his tiny lap
and held on tight
they were quite a sight
for the assembled crowd
who became fans of this new ballet;
at intermission, everyone grabbed a bite to eat
and were heard to say
"hell, there's no one here to pray;
we might as well settle in for a longer stay"
and even though the house was packed
the landlord wanted to toss them out
but he was quickly sacked
and went away.
a fevered applause grew into such a maddening clamor
so no one heard when a stage hand struck his golden hammer
on the shaking floor boards
and soon more and more hordes
of delighted people acknowledged the popularity
of dancing at night under a fragrant tree
with wild bands of roving gypsy
and priests wearing starched white vests
and ladies of the evening pushing up their breasts
so much that they shook violently!
a special trance descended completely
and it soon became clear
that an invitation to attend would always be considered dear;
no one would ever have to guess
there would be no code for how to dress
the bullfight would be so ornate
nobody would ever come in late
it was soon accepted and unanimously agreed
no one would perish before they were freed
all the people said they were fairly certain
the show must go on even without a fancy curtain
and that was more than forty years ago and now what little i know
is in my old age all the mindless rage is blinding me
and like a lonely maitre de
i'm hoping to be set free
in the dancing courtyard late at night
where i'll wander mostly out of sight
it won't matter if I'm wrong or right
when the gypsy hands me a drink and asks me what i think
i'll simply say sometimes it's nice to pay the dues
and sometimes it's nice to put on the dancing shoes.

Juan Gris

About him they said
a fake and a fraud,
peacock feathers on his head,
showing off a stray thought or two
before heading to bed!
but it wasn't Juan Gris, no!
so he wrote inquiringly to his friend
about the 'two Spaniards in the room'
and what they had to transcend!
as he continued to paint,
he soon heard in heated reply
'a war was breaking out';
there would be no time to cry:
it was always Picasso up first
and Braque the next in line
but cubism's third man
was him, Gris
and he did just fine.

please tell me everything

so why don't you go
looking for a modern dog and pony show
please tell me everything you think you know
about making love either in a hurry or going slow;
about getting ripe and growing old:
was it worth looking for that precious pot of gold?
was it just waiting to be found
in a far northern Yukon underground?
or at the disappearing end of an afternoon rainbow?
tell me everything you think you know
about trying to choose
between the early morning and the evening news
riding on a subway train to the sleepy end of the track
i jumped up and saw you struggling on your back
i saw new lines spreading across your worried face
the race was being run while you hurried to keep pace
and there was a crowd and they were being loud
but you didn't seem to care when they pulled your hair
a woman and a man shouted and you stood
i heard them tell you what was bad and what was good
but what could you hear when your back was turned
i remember asking what the hell you learn ed
with cigarette smoke in your mouth and a song written on the floor
i heard what you promised but i needed more
so why don't you go
looking for a modern dog and pony show
and tell me everything you think you know
about making love either in a hurry or going slow;
about getting ripe and growing old:
was it worth looking for that precious pot of gold?
was it just waiting to be found
in a far northern Yukon underground?
or at the disappearing end of an afternoon rainbow?
tell me everything you think you know.

we just didn't have time to pray

i saw the guy who skied like hell
he almost fell
spinning backwards
while wearing a batman suit
he looked cold and cute
dressed in red from head to toe
i watched him approach at light speed
and go
down hill
spraying snow;
but that's not all i remember
of the day it dumped.
i had a really big time
standing briefly in a short lift line
talking to a sweet lady from Montreal
who told me all
i could ever hope to know
about living in Florida in the winter
playing bingo,
just an easy throw
from the fantasy city of Orlando
where the courts for pickle ball
never need to thaw.
while i waxed my ears and bases
i heard excited hoots and hollers,
saw many high and tight Patagonia collars
underneath excited furry winter faces
wearing tinted goggles;
i convinced myself not to pee
underneath a frozen jack pine tree
where the powder seemed especially light;
it didn't feel right
because i wanted to make tracks until last chair
even with my increasingly wet underwear
and a nervous belly;
i imagined eating peanut butter and jelly
with a friend who carried a fanny pack
filled with carrots and cheese
and i know many times i softly said please
but he never seemed to hear a word
from Peak 6 to Peak 10
we went back and forth over and over again,
even hiking up to the heights of Imperial Peak
for the long traverse across Whale's Tail
looking for our own final mariners' sail
to the promised land of happily steep and deep;
we might have been tired but this was no time for sleep;
we found a head-spinning drop-in within ski pole reach,
the antithesis of a lazy, sun-tanned Miami Beach
and ten times better, we would later venture to say;
heck, we just didn't have time to stop and pray.

you are a brave man

you are a brave man
walking on thin ice;
walking your crazy bitch dog near a cat farm
when she was hungry;
talking to the skinny black bear
who came into your yard
looking for food scraps
but you had none.
you are a brave man
to follow your daughter
down a steep mountainside
without carrying enough water
to last the day,
the view sufficient to distract you
from the sunning rattlesnake
and the loose rocks which slid freely underneath
your lazy steps to go
crashing down into the deep canyon below.
you are a brave man to sit on your piano bench
without sheet music
or a decent voice to carry a tune
but with strength enough to write a poem
as your mind kept wandering.
you are a brave man
to drink a bottle of French red
knowing the drive home would
be in a snow storm without winter tires.

the Russians are coming

i heard the Russians are coming
but i don't know what to think
i'm piling up everything at my front door but the famous kitchen sink
and i can't speak their lingo
what is the best way for me to go?
there's a angry crowd to my left
an angry mob on my right
and i was gonna be with my old lady tonight
but things are spinning out of control
i see Russians crawling out of a big black hole
and i'm about to run to town
don't know if anyone will still be around
but i need some bread and milk
maybe a bottle of good booze
hell, what do i have to lose?
they're probably at my back door
and i'm here at the grocery store
there is no way i'm heading home
maybe i should go skiing
i can't believe what it is i'm seeing
so do i run to the beach
or is it already out of reach?
i heard the Russians are coming
but i don't know what to think
i'm piling up everything at my front door but the famous kitchen sink
and i can't speak their lingo
what is the best way for me to go?
there's an angry crowd to my left
an angry mob on my right
and i was gonna be with my old lady tonight
but things are spinning out of control
i see Russians crawling out of a big black hole
and i'm about to run to town
don't know if anyone will still be around
but i need some bread and milk
maybe a bottle of good booze
hell, what do i have to lose?

Coco

i saw the girl they called Chanel
she loved both food and wine
and lonely artists who often didn't seem too well
but she was a successful seamstress
who made a living from her tight knots and jersey stitches
while she wore a little black dress
and a wild French hat designed to look like a Parisian celebrity
in her very early days
she took a lover whose name was Igor Stravinsky
for a night they made piano music on the stage
while she adored his fine notes,
his character and gentle playing of each page
and like a prodigal son his fingers had an angelic grip
with intelligence and special charm;
she held him tightly afraid that he might soon slip
yet he wasn't the only affair
who gave her little hot body attention
others lavished time and ample financial care
their physical qualities meant less to her
and humble origins were allowed
as she traveled from orphanage to designer fur
with a daily fondness for injected morphine
yes, she became a daunting woman who had a taste
for the companionship of poets who made the scene,
and of Grand Dukes and progressive art books;
she coveted Pierre Reverdy, a Surrealist,
in spite of his slovenly Napoleonic looks
and held him closely as he grew old,
a lay monk in a monastery,
proving that loyalty in friendship was her favorite gold.

the Second Battle of El Alamein

was it in Orlando
or the depths of Bryce Canyon
where the Desert Fox escaped battle
with his fluffy German tail blown high by the
chasing dry winds
of an angry British bird-of-prey
who was in constant pursuit?
well, i can't recall
the title of the book
with yellowed pages
but it was filled with stories of an African war campaign
which erupted along the sleepy coastal towns of Libya,
with nearby Cairo blazingly hot,
where the great Egyptian Pharaoh,
buried deeply under sand,
was at rest, thinking of his loyal friend
Apollinaire, who was last seen
with a shrapnel wound to his head
driving to Naples
inside a battle-scarred Sherman tank,
his artistic manifesto
tossed poetically on the dashboard.
his tank was destroyed
at the Second Battle of El Alamein
but not before
his great contributions
to erotic novels

were found in the burning ruins,
only a few of which have been read
by his friends in Paris.

did you know Picasso

did you know Picasso
on the streets of Paris
with a brush and a blond
was looking for immortality
as i was
floating on the main canal
of Venice
with my umbrella and a beer
looking for Saint Mark's Basilica
and the hidden tomb.
he went directly to his studio apartment
to paint the girl
while she sat in his
favorite chair
with her tongue fully extended.
i went to a famous dealer
looking for a Picasso to purchase
and found the blond wearing a
small black beret,
her nose shaped like a
Spanish penis with a wide smile.
i finished my warm beer
while negotiating for an agreeable price,
but everything proved to be beyond my reach.

With A Measure Of Grace

with a measure of grace
i went outside and took in the view
and the world sped by at its' normal pace
but i thought only of you
and the wishes we found at the bottom of the clear blue stream
they appeared to me yesterday in a fantastic dream
i drove my Self the edge of the nearest shore
where i sat to drink a bottle of blood red French wine
and like an idiot i immediately wanted more
but everything i wanted i knew would never be mine
you came to me like a soft wind with the stars in the night sky
i felt comforted when i heard you inhale and sigh
you told me a story and i heard you spin a tale
now, it can be told i listen best when we are in bed
there's no judgment with a kiss to pass or to fail
if all the preceding words spoken are truly said
there was a stone in my walking shoe
i reached down to hold it in the palm of my hand
but i thought only of you
and how hard it is to come to grips and take a stand
there is a come and go with how we honestly feel
with what we try to hide and what we openly reveal
i saw the lights shining on your face
the reflections keeping me spell-bound by the door
you asked me for a spoon and took a hurried taste
and like an idiot you immediately wanted more
down by the raging waters i pulled out the stone
you took a hard look and started off for parts unknown
with a measure of grace
i went outside and took in the view
and the world sped by at it's normal pace
but i thought only of you.

i wanted Marilyn Monroe

i wanted Marilyn Monroe
inside my pup tent
but she had her own silly ideas,
and firmly threw back the front flap and went
off to the Screen Actor's Guild.
i grabbed a 20th Century Fox sword
and an armored shield,
headed to a noisy bar room brawl,
past the open back door and down a narrow hall
where i heard about the slaughter at Verdun;
what had been done?
i felt naked without my whiskey and smoking gun,
tried to stiffen my spine;
felt an empty wallet and knew it was mine.
i had my own special fun;
she wore her Superwoman's cape.
i roped her to a folding chair
but she made a circus escape,
living the expatriate life on the west coast,
older by a decade than most.
i wore my cowboy hat and a deep frown,
her silk scarf and a princess gown
and had a little in common with the boys
who kept coming around
at twenty until four with their favorite toys,
leading me to flee to a bohemian camp fire!
i sat on the sign that said 'Worker for Hire'
and fed the two happy dogs
who were guarding the seating area logs
in exchange for a soft pet on their head.
i laid down in my straw mat bed
and dreamed of Marilyn Monroe
holding her skirt above a blast of hot air:
i imagined myself there
but she still said "No."

the pretty cottages burned

it's his fault
no it's hers
locked in a cold vault
with the famous furs
in order to get ahead
in the rental house sleeping in a silent bed
proceeding with great haste
it was a very gay time
regardless of the apparent waste
it was never called a crime
when the pretty cottages burned
it was simply a lesson learned
in the hot summer hours
and in the snow
dry wilting flowers
at the Philadelphia Art Show
for several hours each day
people lined up eager to pay
and it seemed a small price
to see brilliant colors turn pale
to watch the melting ice
receding on a giant scale
it was impossible to know what was thought
when they opened the gifts they bought.

shake her live fruit tree

it's easy enough when you know
playing in fourteen part harmony
she was looking good from head to little toe
and i wanted to shake her live fruit tree
but i had to grab her by her truck
she gave me a little squirm
like a famous Hollywood Hills drunk
i wanted to hook her like a glow worm
she asked me to take a second guess
ah, i heard her breathing on my Hawaiian shirt
as though we were on an afternoon recess
could i be sure this wasn't a school yard flirt?
so i asked to play hardball with my new Anna Bell Lee
she tossed me her softball
i hit it as far as anyone could see
over her head and down the shirt of Jerry Hall
and i wanted to shake her live fruit tree
a police car came to a screeching halt
we were dancing in the street
she told a cop it was my fault
but he started to shake and tap his feet
it's easy enough when you know
playing in fourteen part harmony
she was looking good from head to little toe
and i wanted to shake her live fruit tree.

what should i think of the wine?

what should i think of the wine?
or the stain on your blouse or
the hush in the air when i lean in for
another sip;
and looking beyond the fragrant garden,
the mountains in the distance
seem close enough to climb;
there is a special quality of life found
on a plate of fine cheeses
with garlic and the sweet smile on your lips;
in every detail there was pleasure
on my dinner plate
with your hand in my lap;
the beautiful clothes were well worn
and less perfect than your eyes;
you have things to do
as i
to make life tolerable
as we continue with our meal
thinking of the absolutely unreachable
seemingly alive and oh so temptingly
near.

Jim and Tammy Faye

Jim and Tammy Faye
wetting their ministry bed
living in an abandoned bale of hay
moved to a sleek houseboat
with a rich Christian goat
which they milked for millions of dollars;
they drove a 1953 Rolls-Royce
and enjoyed a large choice
of the best cuts of steak
Jim went on the Evangelical take
and eventually went to jail
Tammy Faye took her tanned tail
and married their best friend
yet the Bakker affair
didn't quietly end there
no, more frosted blonde tresses
loud, colorful dresses
and a reality TV show
born-again kept on the go-go
night and day dressing like pimps
anything for money:  you want limps?
tears on the thick make-up
passing around the collection cup
to poor whites with meager social security and welfare checks
more train wrecks
coming to a big tent near you
Jim and Tammy Faye
practicing their special blend of voodoo
it's what they practiced and were trained to do
stuck between the social cracks
found on the harder-edged side of the tracks.

almost like The Who

i heard you on the piano
it was everything i needed to know
we didn't have any more hands to show
almost like The Who
and then i knew
we'd learn about the complete history
believe there was no longer a mystery
the nights when there was a full moon in the dark sky
and we no longer had to wonder why
because we couldn't be fooled
we wouldn't be ruled
when we heard a sharp screaming in the night
we'd laugh in hysterical delight
at whatever came down we'd be alright
we couldn't be slowed
and we wouldn't be mowed
and no one knew where we wanted to go
it was everything we wanted to know
we didn't have any more hands to show
almost like The End
and then, my friend
we'd learn about the complete history
believe there was no longer a mystery
the days when there was a bright sun in the blue sky
and we no longer had to wonder why
because we couldn't be fooled
we wouldn't be ruled
when we heard a sharp screaming in the night
we'd laugh in hysterical delight
at whatever came down we'd be alright
we couldn't be slowed
and we wouldn't be mowed
and no one knew where we wanted to go
it was everything we wanted to know
we didn't have any more hands to show.

went to town

went to town
'cause i knew you might be around
and i knew it might be fun
i knew it might be nice
the last time i saw you
we kissed each other twice
and there you were
corner of sunset and vine
sitting on a park bench
waiting to be mine
went to town
'cause i knew you might be around
and i knew it might be fun
i knew it might be nice
the last time i saw you
we kissed each other twice
and then we talked
planning some good times and more
i saw into your eyes
it's you i adore
went to town
'cause i knew you might be around
and i knew it might be fun
i knew it might be nice
the last time i saw you
we kissed each other twice
and there you were
corner of sunset and vine
sitting on a park bench
waiting to be mine.

let's see where it goes!

i gave you my hand
and you touched my face
i asked you for a second bite
and you gave me a first taste
as we walked along the waterfront
the cobbled streets kept us on our toes
a shooting star shot far over our heads
and you said "Let's see where it goes!"
so we went into a back alleyway where
a bakery smelled like fresh bread
and the baker shouted when we made inquiries
that she didn't hear exactly what we said
then there was a bar near where we were
that had an open seat or two
and we were surprised to find that our appetites
knew what they'd like us to do
when there was a steady wind
and the afternoon threat of rain
while i sipped my beer you a ginger ale
and you spoke of your pain
you've been through a rough period
and all i could do was pick up the check
wiping my hands with the clean napkin
i was guilty of eating sloppily and neglect
but we are all happily imperfect
being everything that we possibly could
and when you wanted to go knocking
we found a handy piece of wood
and hit it as hard as our fingers allowed
before the approaching storm cloud
and the heavy rain and hail
forced the power launches and the sail
into the nearest safe anchorage
where we were waiting
in whispers and still together
dressed for success
in any type of weather.

Blue Moon Boys

in Tennessee
i left the freeway
and climbed the big backyard tree
once owned by Elvis Presley
before he hit the sack
of an apparent heart attack
he had a collection of fancy Cadillac
with a mom and dad all the way from Tupelo
the Blue Moon Boys put on quite a jail house show
and they had quite a long drive, you know,
before Elvis threw his gyrating hips out of joint
trying to make a famous black & white point
at the lonely Heartbreak Hotel
he had a special wishing well
filled with nothing but blue suede shoes
which made it easy for him to choose
so, baby, do anything you want to do
in Tennessee
but don't play hard ball games with Rockabilly boys
they'll hit you with a Chuck Berry tune and dazzle with their toys
flying all the way to Nashville
they'll eat until they get their fill
of Memphis and the Now or Never Pill
with rhythm and blues and an old hound dog
in Tennessee
they don't eat much frog.