your favorite song

it's too soon to want to die
but it's okay to sigh
when the day is long
and your favorite song
is no longer played
and there's a helicopter is the air
full of black ops escaping their lair
ready to pull your hair
for looking good without overhead control.

the mighty algorithm

hearing the sound of sharp screams in the air
but it's only me that i see
falling from the Serengeti monkey tree
onto the fertile African plains
seasonally soaked from the recent rains
and there's my newly heavy brain
watching the overhead stars
long before the advent of fast cars
and electricity and the internet of all things
when my cell phone rings
pointing a finger and with a quick glance
i see myself do a tribal dance
to the tune of the mighty algorithm
when i say "Hello."

rowdy gladiators and all their liberal kills

there was a green goblin glint in his piggy eye
as the global warming sun kept approaching high noon:
his curious crowd came deferentially into view
watching him pretending to know what to do!
and they held a spelling bee but found he wouldn't read,
(a fatal flaw that he simply wouldn't concede).
the next day came slip-sliding in a Fox Mountain time
asking for poetic justice but then he couldn't even rhyme.
Humpty Dumpty said he'd pay for that Mexican wall
or perhaps a social platform from which to take a mighty fall.
and several diplomatic ladies dressed in Siberian shades of pink
heard he was color-blind and couldn't tell the truth or think;
the busy Washington wheels kept spinning and spinning
their tall tales of wine and easy winning
while an enormous coliseum fills
with rowdy gladiators and all their liberal kills.
farm animals in an Orwellian barn continued to boast
that they stoned a hippie coming in from the west coast,
as the nuclear clock keeps inching ahead,
because it's what the Alice-In-Wonderland caterpillar said.
BUT i do solemnly declare
i see citizen soldiers everywhere
marching on the village green:
one light if the British can be seen,
and two if they have to guess
there is extreme peril to our freedom of the press.

fire in my toes

fire in my toes
following the sun
whichever way it goes
and not to be outdone
my slowing walk
breaks into a run
striding to the wild
over the hill
but never enough
for getting my fill.
the babbling brook
playing the part,
an free-flying bird
comforting my heart.

no longer a virgin

and there was his ghost

spreading lies between the woman's legs,

sipping a Mar-a-Lago sour,

eating cheeseburgers and patriotic eggs,

counting down from five to almost six

playing stupid White House tricks,

looking for a safe place to hide:

one for every time he's lied

and 1,984 for the times

he asked his fixer to cover-up crimes.

and at the historic desk he sighs;

when the phone rings he takes her call.

"What do I care?" she says

from her fashionable bedroom down the hall,

counting down from five to almost six

playing stupid White House tricks,

with an accent from the European east,

in her Lincoln bed she tries to sleep
as John Wilkes Booth boldly makes his leap.

and flying turds

Barr, the dog, came to the hill
looking mean
unshaven
wearing a fancy suit
with an alligator cowboy boot
on one foot
while the other foot
stuck in his mouth.
he said he knew
what he was doing
sitting in his testimonial chair
muttering,
bewildered and pooing
words
in the shape of flying turds.

so full of moon

oh June,
under the stars
so full of moon,
the steady nighttime tune
of a whispering wind
sampling a taste,
keeping it real,
all pansies and lace.

like a water soaked log

factory by factory,
strip mall by strip mall,
the crumbling begins
from heartless border wall to wall:
a gasp for breath;
a sea level rise.
the richest people
in happy disguise
on their mountaintop summit
sitting down for a drink:
they toast to success
and defy you to think.
the migrants still crossing
scorching deserts at night,
no freshwater sipping,
no horizon in sight.
the coastal cities
submerged in a fog,
buried under the oceans
like a water soaked log.

just a regular guy

i'm wandering the fertile garden path,
fleeing from the big city block,
having spied Christians passing out holy literature:
shepherds for their flock.
my heavenly doorbell rings;
a nervous bird of paradise sings.
such a wonderful surprise
i'm watching with wide open eyes:
shopping feet scurrying into the crowded street,
going from commercial door to party door,
seeming to be satisfied
but always wanting more:
so, had i passed this way before?
i'm just a regular guy
trying to stay relaxed,
trying to stay high.
my pockets are empty;
there's an arctic chill in the air;
the flowers could be blooming,
but i haven't got a prayer.
several days before me,
with eternity far behind;
a joker shines his name in light;
i've almost lost my mind.
i see a banquet on the table!
there's a starving baby without food!
hooded solders in marching order:
everyone in a good mood.
well, i'm just a regular guy
trying to stay relaxed,
trying to stay high.
my pockets are empty;
there's an arctic chill in the air;
the flowers could be blooming,
but i haven't got a prayer.

suburban life

nowhere are there Main Battle Tanks
tearing up manicured yards in my middle-class neighborhood,
shooting fat cats
chasing pedigree dogs
netting Monarch butterflies
while plowing thru walls
and nearby strip malls
spraying toxic fumes into chlorinated backyard
swimming pools
scattering landscaping tools
running over leaves of grass
busting fancy windows
kicking ass
smashing Cadillacs
while shifting into low gear
snaking in reverse
smoking children holding simple tinker toys
little girls and boys
fearing a menacing diesel motor noise
lugging heavily armored steel
and a damn big long-barreled cannon
proving that
suburban life must still be pretty sweet.

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.