In Memory of My neighbor's Son

In Memory of My Neighbor's Son

In the bright, conscious sunrise of the day
a loving voice-the voice of one wide awake-
calls to me from the gate, where near the stake-

the wooden marker divides the land our way.
Here on this spot we always commune, have our say.
Always through friendliness as neighbors we make

country chit-chat, of cows and sheep and the lake
where her young son drowned a year ago May.
There is a headstone in the distant grove

that, grief-defying, on its solemn hill
reveals a song of joy upon its face.
Such a song composed of a mother's love,

a season's test of passing strength and will,
a melody that neither time nor memory can erase.

Dance of the Micro Brew

Dance of the Micro Brew

Gold-colored beer
Wheat-colored beer

beer with velvet hands
or beer with warm eyes
beer,
blessed hops
of earth,
beer, mellow
as an aging love child,
warm
as a lustful wench,
beer, Olympus-honored
and filled with power,
ardent,
earthy;
never has one stein limited you,
one dance, one woman,
you are festive, extroverted,
at bare minimum , you must be praised.
Some days
you feast on immortal
longings;
your wind transports us
from near to far,
travel agent of bawdy voyagers,
and we laugh
raucous chuckles;
your
marvelous
summer ale
unparalleled,
blood pulses through the veins,
tremors excite the skin,
nothing challenges
your indisputable soul.
Beer
blesses the days, happiness
shoots to the surface
like a dolphin
walls crumble,
and rocky cliffs,
chasms close,
as more beer is born .

The Waist Manager

The Waist Manager

Waist management was her main job,
handling the garbage of daily life,
avoiding excess, becoming a blob.
Waist management her main job.
She’s no civil service snob,
determined to become a super-wife.
Waist management her main job,
handling the garbage of daily life.

La Cantina

La Cantina

“Para todo mal, mescal; para todo bien también”…anónimos dicho de México

Raúl slakes his thirst when he is sad or happy.
El gusano (the worm) in the bottle ignores
the mood of the day- is indiscriminate.
Pure agáve azul jump starts Raúl´s heart,
soothes his soul like native aloe balm.
Sunup to sundown Mescal modulates the
two poles of his bipolar existence,
one high, one low, both stupefied.

The Poet Laureate

The Poet Laureate

Mesquite should have a poet laureate
to laud the town, praise its name,
speak at the high school's baccalaureate,
spread the word about its fame.

Mesquite's poet should have vision,
a sense of a history, a love of song,
a man or a woman with little derision
to extol the city's virtues, loud and strong.

A poet who discovers life's possibilities
in the tiniest branch or the greatest tree,
A person with finely tuned sensibilities.
A poet who is identical to me!

Forsaken

Forsaken

When you are jilted
You take up bungee-jumping
from high bridge towers.

You ride Brahma bulls
at the State fair.
You wrestle live alligators.

During Valentine’s Day
you speed down the highway
erasing the memories.

The Bicycle Tourer

The Bicycle Tourer

Oblivious, the motorized world whizzes
by, senses numbed behind the glass,
smell deadened to the lilac breezes
high above the windy mountain pass.

My bike and I ascend long hills, steep
and slow we make our way,
inhale the clover, talk to the sheep,
wave to the farmer baling new hay.

We flex our muscles, stretch our sinews,
test our bodies in eclectic terrain;
slowly focus on the distant hues,
cycling through wind, snow and rain.

All our senses fill with splendor.
Separateness diminishes with each mile.
We’re free to fly like the great condor,
my bike- Rocinante and I, travel in style.

Day in Court

Day in Court

The stern judge looks downward
Two glaring eyes
Burning holes in my resolve

My wife spins yarns like a weaver
Slick as black ice in the driveway
Eager to provide a fatal skid

Truth and Justice finally prevail
Turn Hell to sweet, warm Nirvana
And I can breathe again

Poker Face

Poker Face

The smile you give is weak and bland,
it doesn’t feel like a friend to me.
I thought you’d try to understand.

It isn’t kindness or a helping hand,
it feels like a meek plea-
the smile you give is weak and bland.

Where’s the old you, my one-man band?
What happened to my loyal tree?
Are you taking some kind of stand?

My feet are shifting in the sand.
They have no comfort, no idea, no key;
the smile you give is weak and bland,

You carefully avoid discussing plans,
you seem too ready to dismiss me,
I’ve really tried to comprehend,

but now it’s clear, I’ve been banned.
I watch your face, your eyes as we
chat, your smile so weak and bland,
I thought you'd try to understand.

Kóan

Kóan

Truth a noble intention
One can clearly use-
Fabrication also useful
with varied colors and hues