Sevenling ( I want to Smile)

Keith's reading of I Want To Smile

Sevenling (I want to Smile)

Make it as if I’m dying in my sleep
instead of dying in my life.
Touch my face, my hands, my brow

gentle mother. Soothe your boy
right the sinking ship
of yesterday, today and tomorrow

I want to smile as the light fades

A Small kitten in Your Heart

A Small kitten in Your Heart

There’s a small kitten in your heart.
You keep it locked up in there
A silent secret, hidden deep within.
Feelings steeled away in a private
chamber, protected from the rage
of circumstance.

At night, it purrs softly in your
lap, shares the tears burning down
your red cheeks like hot lava.
You’ve learned not to share kitty
lest also it be killed, turning
to stone your diminished heart.

When you get the shit kicked out of you
long enough, long enough and
long enough, you know how to survive-
really survive! Your words like razors,
silence like inert acid, an artist etching
your way through every trauma.

Some days you show me your kitten. You
coax it out of the heart’s cage, into the sunlight
and I gently stroke its fur. When I give you
something good; let’s say my feelings, you
become a strong woman and the kitten
hangs around a while longer. I live
for those moments!

A Prairie Home Companion: December 27, 2003

A Prairie Home Companion: December 27, 2003 listen to poet laureate Billy Collins read some of his poems.

Billy Collins- Forgetfulness

Billy Collins- Forgetfulness

On Discovering That Trail Creek Tavern Became a Museum

On Discovering That Trail Creek Tavern Became a Museum

They can’t bring it back again from time.
Not one beer left. The outside the same,
Except for the museum sign and a planter
Filled with mountain flowers. Neighbors
Complained for years, as bikers, fishers,
Loggers and n’er-do-wells whooped it up
Like wild coyotes in heat. It was bound to
Happen.

Where will the salmon drifters go now
To wash away the truth of the river,
to swap hardship over Budweisers
with rock hard logging crews?
And when truckers pass by again
Will some recall the voices echoing
Large fish and wild women caught
In the same net, or hear yarns of the
“Great Canyonville Fire” or the twang
of Friday night country guitars-perhaps
they'll hide in daydreams.

Nothing fades slowly as a memory.
The worn pool table, balls clacking
Over the din of the dusty bar--slippery
Sawdust floors--frothy beers--lonely
Women--these linger in the log façade
of the new museum.
Soon the river will wend its way
downstream to wash away the remnants.

A Mothers Watermark

A Mother’s Watermark

The book of my life bears her watermark.
On every page her seal impresses

Each chapter invokes her blessed name,
Each fragile leaf, delicate and wise

Strengthened by her soft caresses.
Each word filled with surprise

Illuminates hidden passages of shame
Her epilogue is read through child’s eyes.

My faults and sins are not her blame.

Waiting for a Hero

Waiting for a Hero

When I was a boy
I entertained myself
in a fantasy world
of my own

I loved comics and I
loved Superman, heroes were
not fiction and batman
stopped crime.

If anyone challenged me
I stood upon my apple-crate
throne and yelled “Beware or
you will die”

And now here I am, old
and living with terrible war!
awaiting a hero’s deliverance!
Amazing!

A Sevenling ( Her music Convinces)

A Sevenling (Her music Convinces)                        

Her music convinces heroes
to weep, storms to calm down,
and prods sinners to repent.

I am a devotee of her symphony,
a magnet for her melodies,
and a woodwind in her mouth

I pray she blows heavenly notes.

Star

Star

You are
the star of my
favorite galaxy
first among  love’s constellation
brightest luminary
on center stage-
my heart

Sadness

Sadness

There’s simply no predicting its arrival,
Or the way it shows up, like a nosy neighbor
Who returns borrowed sugar just to hear
The latest gossip of local tragedies.

It’s impossible to forget, it’s everywhere.
Those times when among friends, lazy
Afternoon barbeques, friendly poker games,
And simple rounds of golf, it strikes.
A sudden thunder storm clouds your soul,
Reminds that the merry-go-round sometimes
Stops in the middle of the ride.
You are alone.

No, sadness is the lost brother you always
Denied, who arrives in a taxicab at night,
Broke, drug addicted, bottomed out-
Pleading for his keeper’s deliverance.
The shadow world that visits during
The brightest hours of your happy denial,
Hours of capriciousness.

It comes to the child at play.
It comes to the doorman holding the door
With a bright smile, to the priest
Who’s blessing the flock at Holy Communion.
It comes to the mother, to the geese flying
Far north, to the soldier, to the circus clown,
And to the candy striper delivering flowers
To the wards.

It even comes to the river
In the silent shade of pebbled banks,
To boats churning on the rough sea,
To the grandmother, happily holding the child.

My Shadow

My Shadow

When I die my shadow
shall walk to the edge

of the Falls,
or just north of there,

there forever
to remain.

to catch shadow fish
by the shadow river

from my shadow boat.
I will listen to shadow birds

singing shadow Songs.
cook shadow trout

over shadow, heat-
less fires,

live in a shadow cabin
in the shadow

of the forest.
This is what

awaits us all.

I Sleep With War

I Sleep With War

I sleep with war
An unwanted affair

I awake with war
A brutal nightmare

I sleep with war
A persistent mistress

I awake with war
An ominous bird

I sleep with war
A deadly woman

I awake with war
A solar eclipse

I sleep with war
A dominatrix

I awake with war
A choking chain

The Last Days of the Suicide Kid by Charles Bukowski

Autumn Aspens

Autumn Aspens

She faded like a mirage that Fall.
The thorns of life and death
Were not enough to turn back trust
They were like our love
Their crowns were dense with autumn leaves.
Their branches were interlaced.
In front of our rustic cabin,
We would go out, hand in hand,
And admire the aspen trees
While she was still alive.

Esperanza

Esperanza


The Bay of Esperanza
In the Sea of Cortez
Has no fine beaches
But is considered beautiful,
Perhaps it is not.
Remember, we used to walk
By the Sea of the Pescadores,
Over the rocky shingle jetties.
The green-jeweled seaweed
Like wings quivering in the morning


And the waves rock the kelp beds
Like wings quivering in the evening.
The sea tangle sways and floats,
At one with the wave,
By my side you clung to me.
Now our love is over.
But it is considered beautiful.

Is it considered beautiful,
When now our love is over?
By my side you clung to me
At one with the wave.
The sea tangle sways and floats
Like wings quivering in the evening.
The waves rock the kelp beds
Like wings quivering in the morning.
The green-jeweled seaweed
Over rocky shingle jetties
By the Sea of Pescadores,
Remembers our walk.
Perhaps not,
But is considered beautiful
In the Sea of Cortez,
The Bay of esperanza.

Our lives fall away,
Farther and farther away
The ocean lies between us.

Passions Throes

Passion’s Throes

Eyes flashing hotly
Hearts beating rapidly
Breasts heave
Winds howling loudly
Palms sweating profusely
We weave
Bodies meshing tightly
Lovers loving nightly
We grieve.

The Continuity of Nature

The Continuity of Nature

Although it is not yet summer,
The birds have altered their paths
As if it were a sign for leaving,
And wrapped up in the poet’s words
There is a kind of celebrating,
There is a kind of chanting
That even the warm coral canyon makes
As though all nature was waking
At once, and new life sprang from the desert
In one savage, quick fleeing.

Where are the snowbirds going?
And who arrived on a tortoise shell
With the grit of the desert this morning?
---Creating a small revolution
Perched above the clock tower
By chirping, “It’s gonna be ok.
There is a kind of celebrating.”

Is there a kind of celebrating
In chirping, “It’s gonna be ok?”
Perched above the clock tower,
Creating a small revolution,
The grit of desert this morning
Arrives on a tortoise shell.
Where are the snowbirds going
In one savage, quick fleeing?
At once, new life springs from the desert
As though all nature was waking,
And even the warm corral canyon makes
Here a kind of chanting,
And there a kind of celebrating,
And wrapped up in poet’s words
There is a sign for leaving
When the birds have altered their paths,
Although it is not yet summer.

There is the continuity of nature.