Poetic License

Noise Abatement

2011-12-08T10:04:00.000-08:00

Noise Abatement

Like an incoming tide
the dishwasher is roaring
and just when I think

that it is the only sound
in the building, a woman screams
below me. The condos on

both sides of me suddenly
awaken with music and chatter
men shout at their wives

and girlfriends. The racket
multiplies. The woman next door
is teaching her goldfish to sing .

The parakeets are restless
and peck their beaks raw
against the cold steel cage bars. I too

am fidgety and think
the sound beaming from the television
the limit of my patience.

Were you here, I would not
hear the goldfish sing ,
nor restless, angry birds.

We would dance all night,
your hair sleeping across my chest.
In the morning, I would awaken you

with my warm hands and say,
“I’ll make some coffee”!

A Glass of Wine

2011-08-13T19:43:00.000-07:00

A Glass of Wine

Here is a glass of wine from my vines
It tastes of sweet grape and pungent earth
It is the best I've grown, from early times
and it is precious, and better than new rain.
Maybe someone will visit this vineyard one day
to sip and be refreshed, and leave happy,
a traveler in deep depression as I was
before I drank down sweet wine from a glass,
sipped a deep-red hue to keep me sane,
after the blue cloud had disappeared.

March

2011-03-12T09:57:00.000-08:00

March

A thirty-five mile an hour wind with no relief
Our days upended...the blow enormous and

indiscreet, shakes loft and limb to rafts of leaves
The onerous gale leaves an ominous dark

with no respite. We nail the shutters
as the weatherman suggests. Neighbors follow suit.

Danger captivates us. Stay indoors.
In the distance, a throbbing, muffled noise

a cyclone, whirling round its eye
seeking a random victim.

Afternoon Heat

2010-08-17T09:13:00.000-07:00

Afternoon Heat

Sometimes
when we feel a tinge of heat
fevorishly, an afternooner happens,
we grab an hour of love while lumbering tortoises
crawl over sandhills, seeking respite
from the desert sun.

Birth of a Salmon Smolt

2010-06-07T17:37:00.000-07:00

Birth of a Salmon Smolt

It was born in the morning
Groping for life
Its fins wriggling and busy,
Groping too, its smooth scales
A meek, measurable weight
in a new world. Where is she
that birthed this minnow?
Its life has come in solitude,
The lonely must fend for themselves.

Life Beyond a Cell Phone

2010-05-21T10:19:00.000-07:00

Life Beyond a Cell Phone

Plugged-in, they drop out of nature
like zombies on a moon walk

Plugged-in, their nervous systems evolve
like crack addicts lurching for a hit

Plugged-in, they forget the color of the sky,
the sea, the backyard juniper trees;

they eat and text, ballooning up like bloated
cows at an alfalfa festival

Plugged-in, they deafly call and dumbly listen,
robotic responses from robot minds.

Plugged-in, and connected, they disconnect
from all but a narrow screen, a stream

Of nothingness infused with meaning by peers,
sanctioned by parents eager to please

Plugged-in, they spiral earthward, numbed
by indulgence and self-gratification,

staring into cyberspace, androids waiting
for the next message affirming existence,

fearing an unplugged universe full of
stars, planets and possibilities.

Home Again

2010-05-19T07:12:00.000-07:00

Home Again

After absence the homing instinct
kicks in, gravitational pull of love
tugs the tender heart succinct ,

prods horses with a gentle shove
after a hard day beneath the plough,
bound for home like the morning dove

or homing pigeon's flight from bough
to bough, along a chosen path.
After absence, home seems sweeter now-

a warm respite from life's wrath,
a getaway from labor's harms,
a familiar meal and a hot bath.

After absence, nature works its charms-
resets the clock of hearth and home,
with welcomes wrapped in loving arms

Trees Have Muscles

2010-04-28T10:36:00.000-07:00

Trees Have Muscles

Exercising in the strong wind,
The trees swing back and forth
in unison like ballet dancers.
Pliable limbs strengthening against
each swirling gust in nature's gym.
Until today I didn't know that trees
had muscles.

The Art of Being Second to Last

2010-04-11T10:07:00.000-07:00

The Art of Being Second to Last

Never last, but penultimate
Out of the gate
Second to last
Not very fast

Penultimaters play their part
A special art
Ahead of one
Under the gun

Almost like a wallflower's first date
Penultimate
They never lose
Just wear slow shoes.

Bitter Tea

2010-03-27T07:58:00.000-07:00

Bitter Tea

Wispy wusiness, waffling of words,
Cliché-ridden conundrums
Salacious sloganeering,
Sans substance
Characterizes the crassness
Of totalitarian tea-baggers
Bandying about banners
Of bogeymen, faux
Commercial-fisherwomen
Fiddling in fire, gaggling
In gibberish to crowds
Of classless coneheads
Following the flock
Like extinct bison
Behind a herd bull
Leaping to sure death
Over a buffalo jump.
Rappelling to repeal is
Hazardous to Health.

When I Awake

2010-03-24T07:29:00.000-07:00

When I Awake

The poem, my fix, begins the day
Takes me away
Rights my ship
Without a blip

The bard's word my inspiration
Pure elation
To soothe my soul
Render me whole

The poem, the sun, a perfect pair
In air so rare
I find my way
Above the fray

Spring Arrives

2010-03-20T09:32:00.000-07:00

Spring Arrives

Lord give us pleasure in the changing season,
And let us not dwell on any reason
As the uncertain future filled with fear
And lessen hope in the spring of the year

Give us the courage to be as a child
Smelling the lilacs and running wild
Listening to meadowlarks beckon the sun
Over meadows where cool rivers run

Oh give us contentment in our lives today,
And let us not to the distant stray
As the fickle future always unknown
Hears only its own voice and tone

Oh give us the freedom to fly like a kite
To weave up, down, left or right

Invasion- March19, 2003

2010-03-20T09:30:00.000-07:00

Invasion- March 19, 2003

Seven years to the day it began
Without a plan
Persuasion
Then invasion

Proclaimed victory short and sweet
Then came defeat
And gaping jaw
Of shock and awe

Saadam fell and then was hung
The Shiites sung
Victory songs
Righted some wrongs

Seven years to the day it began
In shifting sand-
Our blood remains
In desert rains

Red tide

2010-03-05T09:14:00.000-08:00

Red Tide

I smelled an odor by the sea
As if my senses knew,
I longed to touch it, waft by waft,
But could not find its hue

The scent beneath I sought to pair
Close to a life I knew
But connection simply was not there
Like red within a sea of blue.

Desert Cycle

2010-03-05T09:09:00.000-08:00

Desert Cycle

Yucca is in its springtime bloom
The arroyo gulch is dry
Under the April crescent moon the desert
Hears a coyote’s cry.
Upon the shifting sand among the dunes
Are natural love tunes.

My seventieth season has come upon me
Since I first left my home;
I know before I am well -finished
I will surely roam
My heart has not grown old
Passion and love remain, still bold

I have gazed into these luminous decades
And now my soul is calm
I’ve changed since first seeing this skyline,
The desert has become my balm
The night –sounds of crawling creatures in my ear
Creep with a lesser fear

Unhurried now, minute by minute
I dabble in my art
Inscrutable schemes in rarefied air
Images straight from the heart
Emotion and intellect fuse where they will,
Depend upon a thrill

And now I glide on the shifting dune,
Beautiful, mysterious;
Above the music, ever so faint
As the season finally serious
Blossoms into full bloom
Before inevitable doom

A Blue Day

2010-02-16T19:16:00.000-08:00

A Blue Day

Today is dark and bleak
The sun hides behind the hill
The soul is starved and weak

The quiet river dares not speak
The body feels the cold chill
Today is dark and bleak

Your warmth is what I seek
For my emptiness to fill
The soul is starved and weak

Needs gentle hands. A meek
Touch to restore the broken will
Today is dark and bleak

Shadows cover the swollen creek
Birds quiver on the windowsill
The soul is starved and weak

Without the company I seek
Awaits your presence to fulfill
Today is dark and bleak
The soul is starved and weak

On Discovering My Family Tree

2010-01-28T14:26:00.000-08:00

On Discovering My Family Tree

More like a forest than a tree
My lineage spans generations
Family spreads from sea to sea
Like an ocean of crustaceans

Features a lot like you and me
DNA passed through celebrations
More like a forest than a tree
My lineage spans generations

Pioneers in the land of the free
Living on high expectations
A respite from dark tyranny
They came in waves of migrations
More like a forest than a tree

A Soldier Returns to Afghanistan

2010-01-25T08:31:00.000-08:00

A Soldier Returns to Afghanistan

That Sunday, I felt sad leaving again:
Up until about
Five-thirty in my tortured brain
Did my almost-full- plane pull out
All engines roar, all seatbelts on, all chance
Of seeing her again soon gone. We flew
Over the tops of mountains, crossed a peak
Of raging snowstorms, felt the aircraft dance.
The cloud's even drifting breathe soon blew
Where sky and love's desire and war reek

Perfect Storm

2010-01-22T08:28:00.000-08:00

Perfect storm

Today, the rain a surging tide
The howling wind a blustery gale,
Perfect storm for a winter's tale,
A spun yarn by the warm fireside

Ideal weather to set the sail,
Follow dreams on a joyous ride
Today, the rain a surging tide
The howling wind a blustery gale,

Idyllic day to remain inside,
Hear the tempest on hill and dale-
Drink tea, Read a book, plot a trail,
Meditate on the Holy Grail

Today, the rain a surging tide,
The howling wind a blustery gale.

At First Trailer Light

2010-01-16T07:48:00.000-08:00

At First Trailer Light

Ambient air arouses the valley.
A hint of nature's scent.
Chilled bones creak, and crawl

out of comforting warm covers,
moving like snails in the frigid
morning trailer air.

Passive, contemplative the mood,
no fear, anger or dread-
only admiration for the mountains.

Still, snow-covered, blowing
winter's breath, expelling energy
to jumpstart human engines.

Dreaming

2010-01-11T19:12:00.000-08:00

Dreaming

What was I dreaming of last night?
All those floating faces in the stream,
grinning over the houses and trees,
or flying from star to star like that,
forever round and round in circles,
headless faces intoxicated, laughing.

Everything I dreamt was strange.
I peed behind the billboard over the freeway,
then I was surrounded by 100 cop cars
spotlighting me beneath "Hollywood"-
the famous hillside sign.
Wondering about cheerleaders shouting
my name, cheering gimme a "P".

Familiar faces, visages of the dead
hovering on the fringe of Freudian
hypothesis. Waiting for epiphany,
a startling awakening, Sleep breaks,
memory dissolves. Awake, unsolved
the mystery of the netherworld.
I start the morning coffee.

Winter in the Bitterroots

2010-01-09T09:36:00.000-08:00

Winter in the Bitterroots

Stop; the large antlered elk
Bugling from the mountain's peak; listen.

Up there: the herd bull, high
And trumpeting, sounding the entire herd.

Down there: its mate replying, squealing
Shrill and urgent, echoing their need.

The frigid foothills inhale
Their music, soft, easy, and now both

Bugle at once, symphonious

Fall arrives and disappears.
Eerie silence covers frozen tundra,

Thick snow blankets the ground,
Solid ice hardens the rivers,

ice in the blue heron's nesting
Ground, asleep for the winter.

Life suspended in the dark woods.
Today the steepled silence peals

Like church bells calling the faithful,
Loud and clear, deep in sleep

Now the large herd covers
The hill, the alpha bull's bugling sounds

Strength and resonance, they follow
An icy trail, pair up mates

And loping in long strides, make
A getaway, separate and apart, to measure

The snow blind junction they must cross
Over silent white meadows,

The silent black hills, where they gauge
Tomorrow's chances, gauge

Each moment, separate and alone.

G Spot

2010-01-04T08:19:00.000-08:00

The elusive erogenous zone said to exist in some women may be a myth, say researchers who have hunted for it...BBC News

G Spot

Researchers hunted for the thing
most evenings
among the stars
beneath the cars
elusive erogenous zone
hiding alone
a secret spot
a hooded dot
in a burrow incognito
love's torpedo
lost in space
without a trace

Two Thousand and X Or?

2010-01-01T06:42:00.000-08:00

Two Thousand and X Or?

A new year is here again,
What should I say?
Two thousand and ten?
A new year is here again,
Or twenty ten.?
It's a brand new day.
A new year is here again,
What should I say?

A Prayer Under the Blue Moon

2009-12-31T17:47:00.000-08:00

A Prayer under the Blue Moon

Lone Guardian of the blue moon, protect me
from myself in this New Year: instruct me
to be calm in turbulent seas: support
my creative efforts:friendship and writing.

Do not abandon me in the throes of despair;
allow me peace daily, delicately direct my dreams,
temper my intolerance with a gentle air,
a jaundiced eye against despair.

Extend me periodically the charity of your hand.
When every pore bleeds in pain, take away the crutches.
Open your heart to my plea.
Let me walk unafraid in the shadow of death.

Foul-tempered I am sometimes with friends:
insult their souls with rage: Forgive me Lord.
harmonize my fractured spirit,
Lone Guardian of this blue New Year's Eve moon.

Words Rendered en Plein Aire

2009-12-26T08:31:00.000-08:00

Words Rendered en Plein Aire

Shapes and colors, presidential suite
In a copper canyon
Sun's rays atop Big Chief Sleep EZ

White Mormon steeple, lonely desert spire
Calls to church all good people
Over midden of ancient Piute fires

Artifacts and bones of native hunts-
The mulch of modern man
A blending of cultures

Virginal sacrifices on the Virgin River
Spirit on spirit- piling on of eons
A divine power emanates from the earth

Shaping nature's clay, guiding the painter's
Brushes, unspoken freedom- flourishes
fully in the December desert.

A Homeless Iraq Veteran Explains

2009-12-24T08:20:00.000-08:00

A Homeless Iraq Veteran Explains

The homeless are familiar with the street.
They trudge in winter snow and ice,
find themselves without shelter or heat,

are acquainted with every form of vice,
common as the air they breathe;
common as a scalp filled with lice.

The homeless have no luxury to grieve,
preoccupied with looking for a meal,
a bed, a drink, a simple reprieve,

a respite or a sanctuary to heal
from the heartless wounds of war-
a place of love, an even keel.

The homeless are like you and me,
one break away from being free.

Snowbird Christmas

2009-12-20T05:56:00.000-08:00

Snowbird Christmas

Cranky as the trailer's space heater,
I groan and grumble in pre-dawn chill,
wait for the coffee pot to finish playing
reveille to my numb mind.

Shuffling around the RV Park,
elderly snowbirds make mischief,
cackling like contented
chickens under the Arizona sun.

A grateful respite from grueling
gray cold fronts of Great Falls,
Saskatchewan, and Denver.
A time of celebration and decoration.

Christmas lights, ornaments, nativity
scenes, Wal-Mart Santas and reindeer,
a plastic Jesus or two adorn motorhomes,
trailers , old converted greyhounds.

Christmas Eve, wrinkled faces gather
in the clubhouse by the artificial tree,
reminiscing of Christmases past,
speaking of children in childish voices.

Christmas in Summit Park

2009-12-17T08:02:00.000-08:00

Christmas in Summit Park

Christmas day I got up before the dawn,
put on my thermal clothes in the frigid air,
then with old bones that ached
from age and sub-zero weather, shoveled
deep snow under the driveway floodlight.

The house still slept as I fed madrone logs
into the fireplace, made coffee, warmed-up
the cars. No one noticed. When everything
was cozy, I'd awaken them.

They spoke sparingly to me, me
who had heated up the dawn,
and scraped their windshields as well.
What did they know, what did they know
of a dad's loneliness and love?

Massacre at the Kabul Bazaar

2009-12-16T07:29:00.000-08:00

Massacre at the Kabul Bazaar

It was quiet except for the birds
They wouldn’t speak or want again
After a massacre there are no words
It was quiet except for the birds
It’s a theater of the absurd
Like the silence after rain
It was quiet except for the birds
They wouldn’t speak or want again

Short of Breath

2009-12-15T08:02:00.000-08:00

Short of Breath

The scent of sublime
wafts in the air
at nighttime
the scent of sublime
permeates the mind
and the fragrance of her hair
the scent of sublime
wafts in the air

Alzheimer Days

2009-12-07T11:46:00.000-08:00

Alzheimer Days

We remain in limbo but
We do not notice
How can we notice?
We don't remember
Yesterday

We've lost our history
And found ourselves
Adrift on a solo raft
And who remembers now
The stories we heard as children?

We are accustomed to solitude
We hardly detect
Our emptiness
For most of us
There is no solace here
No comfort

Not even a memory
To stir the ghosts
that haunt us

Humanity
You have abandoned us.

Black Friday

2009-11-26T06:07:00.000-08:00

Black Friday

Like Ramadan pilgrims they converge on
Walmart, Black Friday Mecca
flagellating themselves in early dawn
before the Golden Calf of bargains.

Lines form, encircling the mosques,
faint unintelligible chants waft in the breeze
of the behemoth's parking lot to the lull
of broadcast elevator muzak.

Doors open, a rush and crush like locusts
descending on Mormon grain fields,
they push, pull, scratch, bite-fight
to the death for toasters, TVs and trinkets.

Letters From Around the World

2009-11-18T07:03:00.000-08:00

Letters From Around the World

Epistolary friendships -
pen pals worldwide
bring the globe to a single
heart, combining cultures

into a delicious dessert-
a tasty pastry, delectable
to tongue and thought,
sweetness and light.

The letters we write
broach abysmal bigotry,
remake the matrix of
universal understanding.

Artifacts

2009-11-10T08:24:00.000-08:00

Artifacts

Stowed away in the attic
in old trunks
family secrets reside
like forgotten diamonds
In safety deposit boxes.

Love letters from the war,
old newspaper clippings
of a suicide, a love-triangle
murder, a drowning, a
Pulitzer Prize. More shades

than we ever knew, color
the existence of our very drab
lives. Buried beneath the ballast
of genealogy , our history
sleeps under a pile of old clothes.

Make Your Own Days

2009-11-09T09:31:00.000-08:00

Make your Own Days

At a certain point, you must be self-reliant,
making your own days.
You must
find the magic thread,
leading you away from the labyrinth alone.

Who can resist independence?
To color your own sky, write your own song,
while the world weeps in quiet desperation.
.

What Can a Poet Say?

2009-11-08T09:55:00.000-08:00

What Can a Poet Say?

You cannot write about moonbeams
When the world teems
With war and strife
Impoverished life
You cannot sing of daffodils
On bloody hills
Among the dead
Where soldiers bled
You cannot dance a joyful jig
While mourners dig
A child's grave
Among the brave.

Calmve Gladio Fortier

2009-11-06T15:29:00.000-08:00

Calamve Gladio Fortior

The tools of war won't move a mountain
Or justify the ways of God to man
As a powerful pen pushing forth a fountain
Of well- wrought thoughtful words can

The novelist, poet, paper-back writer
Slays more dragons than a fearsome fighter
Sways more kings than an army of Huns
Evokes more passion than a battery of guns

Millions are roused by the words they wail
Like Chief Joseph's "I'll Fight no More Forever",
Abe's "Emancipation Proclamation" endeavor
Or Martin's "Letter from the Birmingham Jail"

Indeed, the pen is mightier than the sword.
Lay down your arms, embrace the word!

Ever Nineteen

2009-11-06T08:03:00.000-08:00

Ever Nineteen

Just below the surface
Sits an ageless boy of 19
Who ignores my aging being

Resides in careless, carefree crowds
Drinking, dancing, drowning out
The din of responsibility

With a carpe diem consciousness
Que sera sera, what will be will be
Embraces the clichés of youth :

Lets the chips fall where they may
Stokes the fire of the imagination
Resuscitates an old man's dreams

Back From Near-Extinction

2009-11-04T07:32:00.000-08:00

Back From Near-Extinction

Now stealthily, quietly creeping through the trees
beside the still lake under the cloudy shroud
of the dark night, the alpha-male wolves come drifting
near to the shoreline, loping across open plain
where prairie-dog mounds, jutting through snow
in the dead of winter, and at the end of a pasture,
suddenly bare their fangs, snarling,
and leap, jaws open, downing the terrified lamb.

A Minute About a Minute

2009-11-03T11:28:00.000-08:00

A Minute About a Minute

Do not try to live forever.
Being clever,
will not succeed.
A finite breed,
into the good night we all go.
On with the show!
Strike up the band!
You understand?
This moment is your greatest chance.
Discover romance.
Wear yourself out.
Jump up and shout!

When the Children Have No Time for You

2009-10-31T08:41:00.000-07:00

When the Children Have No Time for You

Entertain yourself in old age.
It is your stage.
Be the actor,
the star factor.
Don't rely on your busy brood,
for your soul food.
Nurture the time,
create some rhyme.
So much depends on the attitude.
Show some gratitude
for your good health.
Living well is wealth.

An Open Letter to Americans, the President, the Congress

2009-10-29T15:55:00.000-07:00

Why should senior citizens have government-sponsored health care (Medicare) while the rest of the population has to get their health care from an employer-sponsored plan or in the case of the unemployed, buy it themselves or go without? It is evident to me that a Medicare for all citizens in a single payer system best serves the health needs of the country. It would cut out the middle man (Insurance companies) who have not served the health care needs of this nation for a very long time. They have reaped exorbitant profits, denied insurance and care to the needy, and made it virtually impossible for the average family to have health care.

The pending health care reform with its weakened public option is a joke. In fact, less than 10% of the population will benefit. It will be a huge windfall for insurance companies, and the politicians who are on the take (Most of them) will tout this as a huge success. It is nothing more than a ginormous government spending bill put forth by a gutless congress who is and has been out of touch with you and me and every other red-blooded working class American since World War One. This new health care reform should be abandoned. It will not do what it has been touted to do.It is a ghetto policy that throws a bone to a dying dog.
We need medical reform for all, not just the very poor or the very rich. We don't need triggers, delays, exchanges or any other nonsensical tactic to deny the care we deserve.

We have a Democrat president, a Democrat House, a Democrat Congress- a clear mandate from the voters to accomplish two things: Health care for all and end the war. It looks like when the cards are on the table, that neither will be accomplished because too many elected officials will capitulate to the special interest lobbies of the wealthy 1%.

It is criminal, the promises made by the President and the Congress. All the flowery speeches in the world will not deceive most Americans who are much smarter than most politicians and understand very well what is happening. Methinks, this sorry government has gone too far with obfuscation and the people will rise up in anger and take back what they've lost to the dishonesty of the financial and political system. Shame on you. You have sold out 300,000,000 people for your own minuscule slice of a very large pie. I, like Mrs. Obama don't have many reasons to be proud of my country right now. Perhaps Rev. Wright isn't as crazy as the naysayers made him out to be. Sometimes every American must feel like "God Damn America" is the correct feeling for the idiocy that streams across the nightly news.

I know as I write these words, that my children and grandchildren are facing a much bleaker future than I've had. The gap between the haves and have nots will widen, personal wealth will decrease, debt will increase, Afghanistan and Iraq will be an un-winnable quagmire and the nation's health, accept for the privileged will decline. It is my fervent prayer that I'm wrong, but I don't think I am. In closing, I implore Mr. Obama and the United States Congress to do an integrity check and do the right thing, before it is too late.

Keith B
October 28, 2009

If Only You Understood

2009-10-27T07:58:00.000-07:00

If Only You Understood

I have a trigger, like a loaded gun
Incites my anger, changes my mood
Makes me ugly, not much fun
I have a trigger, like a loaded gun
Bad humor as the setting sun
My intent is never rude
I have a trigger, like a loaded gun
Incites my anger, changes my mood

Homeowner's Association

2009-10-23T07:27:00.000-07:00

Homeowner's Association

Take down that flag, we have our rules
No plastic pools
Pink flamingos
Foreign lingoes
Not allowed-cars in the driveway
Do it our way
Or we'll sue
Don't paint blue
You must use brown, like all the rest
We know what's best
We keep it neat
A perfect street

Choice

2009-10-07T13:13:00.000-07:00

Choice

He chose her
He said he loved her
of course, but choice

the thing, choosing
the chosen, the will
at work, free cruising

down independence highway
for better or for worse
he did it my way

like Frank Sinatra
crooning under the moon
singing his mantra

proud and able,
a spirit free
a genuine American Fable

Paddling Through Wheat Fields

2009-08-27T06:50:00.000-07:00

Paddling through Wheat fields

After the flood of 1957
I found up in the pasture one spring
day a new canoe, with everything perfect
as it lay upright, swaying gently
in the mild breeze. I was twelve.

I loved all its mahogany finish, the
intricate curves, the exotic logo
etched on its bow; I sat in it quietly
among wheat stalks and paddled away
down the river of my mind. I was twelve.

Awakened, back nearer to myself, I heard
a pickup, just driving up, and I jolted upright
from my journey. It had a bed rack, for boats-
I helped the man load his canoe. He lovingly caressed it,
gave me five dollars, and sped off.

I wept. I was twelve.

She Wanted to Own Her Last Breath

2009-08-15T08:20:00.000-07:00

She Wanted to Own Her Last Breath

Aunt Ethel spoke of being ill
Making a will
To share her voice
And make a choice

For final days of self- respect
To disconnect
The life support
To have a snort-

A farewell drink to bid adieu
To all she knew
A warm goodbye
Like apple pie.

Close Your Pie Hole Daddy

2009-08-12T08:39:00.000-07:00

Close Your Pie Hole Daddy

I opened my mouth
inserted my foot
and then it went south
and I was kaput

what came over me
I’ll never know
I floated out to sea
and stubbed my toe

Sometimes we win
sometimes we lose,
and then again
sometimes we snooze.

Today it’s clear-
I was dead wrong.
I hold you dear,
like a favorite song.

I hope this isn’t the end,
and we can go from here.
You are my love, my best friend,
and today I shed a tear.

I misspoke, caused this pain,
wish I’d eaten my words.
If I could do it over again
I’d chew on giant horse turds.

Chemical Bond

2009-08-10T07:53:00.000-07:00

Chemical Bond

Like Leonard and Virginia Woolf
we seem a natural fit.
My neurosis, your psychosis-
true symbiosis carrying on, two
separate organisms chewing on
on the same leaf.

Funny how we met through the
hazy biosphere of the asphalt
parking lot, amidst yellow school
buses, and my old camper- two
bees buzzing among the belligerence
of noisy schoolchildren.

Older now, our interdependency, like
the sun and the grass flourishes,
a photosynthesis of radiant energy,
a green going of goodness-our natures
melding, forming love and friendship
for all time.

Seeking Paradise in America

2009-08-07T07:00:00.000-07:00

"There are always greater fish than you have caught, always the lure of greater task and achievement, always the inspiration to seek, to endure, to find." - Zane Gray

Seeking Paradise in America

He built his retirement dream
a cabin by a stream,
a place to live forever.
Before the roof was on,

he sold it for a song,
thinking he was clever.
He moved to way out west,
where living seemed the best.

Just a little slice of paradise
With green fields of clover,
then left before winter was over-
he couldn’t stand the snow and ice.

He took up a new profession,
Christmas trees his new obsession,
but when they grew to sprouts
he rented out the whole lot,

it wasn’t what he thought.
His head was filled with doubts,
so he headed south to old Mexico,
married a senorita in Calexico,

Left her there, headed for Alaska.
Now he’s home in Nebraska
on the homestead of his birth,
waiting to return to mother earth

P.O.W.

2009-08-02T06:43:00.000-07:00

P.O.W.

I see her everyday from my cell,
remember days she was by my side
before my life became a living hell,
and the flame inside me died.

Is this how life was meant to turn,
decaying in a prison to yearn
for freedom before I die,
in a dark cage under a Baghdad sky?

In my dreams, she smiles, holds my hand
and gives me hope to stay alive,
reminds me of our future plans,
provides me reason to survive.

When she crawls up inside my brain,
for just a moment, I forget the pain

Dear Senator

2009-07-30T07:31:00.000-07:00

Dear Senator

A clean bill of health requires
A clean Health Bill-
No attachments for new tires
Accoutrements to decorate the Hill

Parasitic riders for bridges to nowhere
Or studies for synthetic aeries
Or high altitude habitations of bears
Or birds of prey or dental caries

One bill, one purpose, a simple duty
A nation's wellbeing the ultimate goal
No muss or fuss, a thing of beauty
A struggle for America's soul.

Death by Cell Phone

2009-07-28T08:55:00.000-07:00

Death by Cell Phone

They text
From sun to moon
Erudite messages
Wandering busy city roadways
Bridging the boundaries of common sense
Irrational writers in cars
Teenagers seeing stars
Dangerously dense
They text

Drooling Dreams of a Septuagenarian

2009-07-20T10:45:00.000-07:00

Drooling Dreams of a Septuagenarian

The edgy uneasiness of growing old
saps the strength from daily life, which must
ease from habit to routine to a slow trust
in tomorrow and embrace a greater need,
and hold in tender arms a new deed.
Vacating employment a decade ago,
unsure which way the winds would blow,
like a sprig, a newly planted seed-

my path turned thoughtful, meditative.
I thought of careless days gone by,
of nights living a glorious high,
and the carnage strewn everywhere;
then I fell asleep in my old, worn chair,
dreaming of warm milk in my underwear.

Chernobyl Ant

2009-07-15T09:56:00.000-07:00

Chernobyl Ant

A bit of oval buoyant foam
Some soft coxcomb
Four rubber legs
A skein of eggs
Tied with red thread in a vise
Wound around twice
To keep it real
A buggy feel
Meant to fool a crafty swimmer
As light grows dimmer
The quiet mood
Becomes trout food

The Homestead

2009-07-12T09:01:00.000-07:00

The Homestead

Heat waves and tobacco-spitting
grasshoppers in late summer arrive.
She sways in her rocker, pearling, knitting,
Mormon crickets swirl and dive.

Grasshoppers in late summer arrive,
and threshers level the winter wheat.
Mormon crickets swirl and dive,
she knits and pearls in radiant heat

And threshers level the winter wheat.
The old man counts his chickens.
She knits and pearls in radiant heat.
Dust in the air from a combine thickens,

and the old man counts his chickens,
like gold nuggets in a miner's pouch.
Dust in the air from a combine thickens-
She says "Smile Papa, Don't be a grouch!"

Like gold nuggets in a miner's pouch,
his gold teeth flash with a crooked smile.
He ambles to the porch in a tired slouch,
and she pleads with him to sit a while

His gold teeth flash to where she's sitting.
She always makes him feel alive.
Heat waves and tobacco-spitting
grasshoppers in late summer, still thrive

The Gospel According to Lil Abner

2009-07-10T07:30:00.000-07:00

The Gospel According to Lil Abner

If I had my druthers
I’d druther have my druthers
Than anything else I know…Bobby Darin

I’d druther be a pair of ragged claws
And etc. than live without my druthers

I’d druther be born in Arkansas
Then live with a woman who smothers

My druthers, keeps me locked inside a cage
Hates the fact all men are brothers

I’d druther be my sorry self
Than a stagnant wimp upon a shelf

I’d druther live as a spirit free
And choose the way I wanna be

So dear you’d better find another,
I’ll never give up until my dying druther

The Longest Day of the Year

2009-07-06T08:11:00.001-07:00

The Longest day of the Year

Fly fisherman imagine that the rivers
are running only for them, there where the spring
from the high lakes form with a trickle
of snow-melt. Yawning in the spring run-off of sleep,
flow memories of flora and fauna, children, labor,
family and comedy and tragedy, the quiet thoughts
of loss, and the odor of love and the pulse
of the heart that is beating now, at this moment,
where the fish are rising in each of us, and no-one else.

Not So Plain Bill

2009-07-04T07:48:00.000-07:00

Not So Plain Bill

Today another Billy passed
Billies are vast
Twas Billy May
Billy the kid, another day
dead on Boot Hill
Buffalo Bill
Then William Tell, another Bill fell
Where archers dwell
Billy Carter and Billy Bob
Joined the mob
It's been a thrill
We'll see ya Bill!

When the River Sang

2009-06-29T12:37:00.001-07:00

When the River Sang

I followed the verdant forest path,
Because magic was near the brook,
And strung and dressed my line,
And attached a mayfly to a hook;
And when the fly was in the air,
And the sun's rays were peaking through,
I saw the trout rise in the pool,
And softly mouthed a small prayer.

When I lifted it to the bank,
And almost had it in the net,
It flipped off and my heart sank,
But I wasn't ready to quit yet.
To my surprise, I heard a song
rising from the rivers flow,
A sacred song, a song of love,
Serenading me from below.

Although I'm slowly fading,
And my flies seem old and tattered,
The mermaid's song will lure me on
Until my ashes lie scattered,
And float among the fish and fowl,
Drifting in the stream until I'm done,
And sing and dance to the Osprey's cry,
And warm my soul in the setting sun.

Plecoptera

2009-06-29T08:26:00.000-07:00

Plecoptera

An ugly bug the stonefly
A brief time to live and die
Prized by trout and fisherman
An ugly bug the stonefly

One to imitate and tie
To put fresh fish in the pan
An ugly bug the stonefly
A brief time to live and die

Enough Said

2009-06-27T07:00:00.000-07:00

Enough Said About Lovely Hills and Dales

I can’t make a fuss about the clouds
They get enough attention as it is

To explore the least among us, the
Downtrodden forgotten souls,

dreams crushed, hungry for love
in cold cities, remote farms,

dank dungeons and empty nests
yield enough material

for a tome the size of a chocolate
cake, big enough to feed a million-

man march celebrating in a frenzy
as the sun erratically spews gases

whimsically rearranging the climate
of the world with its perilous rays.

Poet's Corner Perspective

2009-06-26T10:36:00.000-07:00

Poet’s Corner Perspective

Lush, verdant, a small spot tucked
away in the woods, The Poet’s
Corner a hidden gem amongst
the ordinary plethora of words-
forgotten, unappreciated in a world
of commerce, befuddlement, baseball.
A nugget concealed deep in the veins
of a dark mineshaft awaiting discovery.
A poem, supple as a mother’s breast
to nurture the child within.

Come Along With Me

2009-06-21T11:33:00.000-07:00

Come Along with Me

I want to take you home
Where we can make love like
Howling wolves under big sky
And hear the blue heron’s song
From the mighty Missouri

I want to take you home
And eat huckleberry pie
In the Bitterroot Valley
Or explore the trail of Lewis
And Clark; inhale fresh pine

I want to take you home
To visit places of my youth-
Emerson school, Sun River,
Augusta ranch, the white church,
Gibson Park- my beginnings

I want to take you to home
Where the buffalo roam
And the skies are not cloudy
All day- home on the range-
The treasure state; Montana-
My treasure

Vanishing Act

2009-06-21T07:55:00.000-07:00

Vanishing Act

I have always lamented the slaughter
of the great bison. Massive herds
like raisins on white cake once
dotted The Great Plains.

I have never understood the paltry
salmon runs that once filled Rivers
as gnarled traffic in LA at commute-
time.

I fail to fathom diminishing rain forests,
which once covered massive portions of the earth
like thick hairs on the head of civilization,
filtering impurities, sustaining life

I cannot conceive of a world without
flora and fauna, trees and animals
speaking in mysterious tongues,
whispering my name.

Montana Guy

2009-06-18T19:30:00.000-07:00

Montana Guy

Drinking two six-packs a day,
counts as almost abstinence,
in Montana, the cowpokes say,
(Although that’s utter nonsense),

but it’s true they like to chew
and brag about their favorite stew,
and hunt deer in deepest snow,
and ride broncos in the rodeo

and they’re rarely heard to whine
(Even in the dead of winter)
or when crippled from a splinter
or hung-over from cheap red wine),

Hard to pigeonhole a Montana guy
who lives his life under the Big Sky.

Patsy's Surprise at Thirteen

2009-06-18T07:55:00.000-07:00

Patsy's Surprise at Thirteen

Girls steeped in blackberry winters
like decorous snow women smiling
from frozen firs

Proper girls, obedient, asexual
groomed from girlhood for
matrimony; docile and compliant

populate Our Lady of Lourdes
school yard amongst the sisters-
stern-faced penguin women,

pallid creatures of the cloth,
doling discipline and dogma,
mathematics and music.

"Where are the boys?" Patsy asks
on enrollment day. "It's an all-
girls school dear", Pop said.

"OMG, I think I'm gonna die!!"

Dim (A Sonnenizio)

2009-06-17T10:19:00.000-07:00

Dim (A Sonnenizio)

“But how shall I improve the
swiftly-dimming hour”…George Johnston

Headlights grow dim in waning hours.
Dying dimwits dull bright senses.
Wilted lettuce dries dim-gray decisively.
Our dimmer moments fade with despair,
diminished we clutch and grasp old truths
in the dim light as we deteriorate amid
bucolic dreams with dimming memories,
gather in our fate, dimly seeking respite,
grateful to be lucky during dimmest days,
knowing what we now know, diminutive
our significance in a grand dimpled scheme.
Our world now spins on a dime,
less inclined to rage against dimming light,
contented, one-dimensional without much fight.

Bloomsday in Dublin

2009-06-16T15:02:00.000-07:00

Bloomsday in Dublin

Irish dance a jig on Bloomsday
Joke of doomsday
Speak Ulysses
Over kisses
Swig sweet Red Breast Irish whiskey
Act too frisky
Ape Leopold Bloom
Sixteenth of June
Honor great Joyce
Sharing his words with brogue-bound voice
And lilting tongue
Beloved native son

Seventieth Birthday Appreciation

2009-06-07T11:23:00.000-07:00

Seventieth Birthday Appreciation

Your selfless gift is unsurpassed
I’m left aghast
My place is clean
It is a dream
I could not ask for any more
Kisses galore
And a big hug
A heartfelt tug
My gratitude
Because of you my attitude
Smiles like a boy
Filled with joy

Impulse to Silence

2009-06-05T08:33:00.000-07:00

Impulse to Silence

Rendered mute by what he saw-
a tongue frozen by the trauma,
nerves honed, sensitive, raw-
muddling through his inner drama.

The soldier's life becomes surreal,
an un kept promise, a broken deal.
Images of death, destruction, pain-
a steady playback in his brain.

Memories of blood and gore,
lapses into a world of silence,
shuns questions asked of war,
an inner voice suppresses violence.

It's "post traumatic stress" they say.
He wishes the voices would go away.

Summer Run

2009-05-31T08:17:00.000-07:00

Summer Run

Early June, and somewhere the first
of the silver salmon
have returned from the sea.

The moon tugs the tide ashore,

What lies ahead? Rivers, deep riffles
and osprey, close to the mind.
A school struck by waves.

They exist as they are, I exist
as I am-content, and that is
enough.

Impact

2009-05-30T12:07:00.000-07:00

Impact

Young and drunk
I didn’t have time to care.
I wanted to play.

When Norman the neighbor
boy was killed by Walt,
another neighbor boy

accidentally while hunting
rabbits at The Goat Lady’s
place in the sand hills,

I shrugged it off and
never thought about
it again until now-

sixty years later,
waking from my dream
in a cold sweat.

A Letter After the Rain

2009-05-29T17:13:00.000-07:00

A Letter After the Rain

I have tried many times
To tell you some things
and have failed:

How
life can be like a child-simple
and uncomplicated.

How
with its wounds, it
scales mountain after mountain
on slick ice.

How
the warm evening, gray
like a breeze, has persuaded
our old tired bodies
to protect each other.

How
when we try to believe everything
the believing muscles
of our minds soon tire,

and make us weak and we
don't believe the simplest
of truths then.
Simplicity is our survival.

I made coffee this morning,
and it rained last night. Today
along the palm-lined street
a southwest roadrunner-
wet-feathered
but intent on its prey
scurried along the asphalt
like a frantic tourist
in a frenzy
without a road map.

What Am I Worth? You Ask

2009-05-12T07:26:00.000-07:00

What Am I Worth? You Ask

You are as in the soil a brilliant gem
At twilight, when all the rays descend
Upon the earth, a rainbow blend
Of golden colors, a seamless hem

Hidden beneath a haze of anthracite
Just below the surface, dull bright,
Your luster longing to be mined,
Released from earthly ties that bind,

Unearthed, polished to a high patina,
Displayed proudly in God's arena
Basking under earth's brightest star-
A precious stone without a mar

Your value well beyond some measure,
A best kept secret, a hidden treasure

Grandma's Photography

2009-05-11T10:17:00.000-07:00

Grandma’s Photography

You see yourself in the viewfinder
as you were half a century ago.
The ties that bind you and bind her
are ties of bloodline and love that glow.

A small clone of you this tiny girl.
Her radiant smile, red hair, wavy curl-
the silly grin upon her face,
her beauty that nothing can replace.

You are her, she is you, but merely
through the camera’s focused eye
can you capture your lives clearly-
and look upon her with a sigh

and say “Smile for the birdie,
Ah! My darling, you’re so pretty!”

El Puerco, the Mexican Flu

2009-05-10T12:44:00.000-07:00

El Puerco, the Mexican flu

It arrived late in the afternoon
On the porch with the evening news
Without fanfare or a warning tune
Silently, on tiptoe in ballet shoes

a tragic villain, plotting chaos
In the corridors of useless dross
Floating into space an undetected
Virus soon to be resurrected

Assaulted my large intestine
Leaving me prostrate and very ill
The doctor came, prescribed a pill
Left me ravaged without question

Pallid, washed out, an old rag
I'm still alive, but I'll not brag.

The Question: To Tell or Not To Tell

2009-05-09T07:12:00.000-07:00

The Question: To Tell or Not To Tell?

Hidden in the crevices
often clichéd as skeletons
In the closet, our dark

secrets, cling like parasites,
chewing away at the fabric
of our freedom. The world

is too much against us. Grief,
like a stealthy ninja
waits inside us for a door

to open, for a hand to release
the caged bird of suppression,
for a “Let freedom ring” moment.

Confession like porous petrified
wood yields only to moments
of sadness, or madness.

Runaway Bride

2009-05-06T11:02:00.000-07:00

Runaway Bride

Her lie waits within her for a chance to escape
Her lie is impatient as a rabid bat.
Her lie is a rabbit pulled from a hat.
Her lie is that innocent, sweet child
Building sandcastles on the Jersey
Seashore. In her younger years
She would dance and sing. She was virtuous.
She was kind of “naïve,” they all said.
It was June, a time for brides and weddings.
She’s been out of my thoughts for a long time.
Lies take everything and leave us naked.

Travel Advisory

2009-04-30T10:34:00.000-07:00

Travel Advisory

A warning to all travelers on vacation!
Avoid crowds, kissing, hugging friends.
A virus has invalidated your vaccination.
A swine flu in México has pandemic trends,
Fear has paralyzed the entire nation.
Don’t take the plane, the bus or train.
Avoid museums, markets, public transportation,
Petting zoos, public parks, walks in the rain.
Cancel school field trips to the local pig farm.
Wear a mask and always wash your hands,
Follow health rules to escape great harm.
For the Ballet Folklórico change your plans,
Or throw caution to the winds, say “What the Hell,
If the bug don’t kill me, I’ll get well! ¨

A Wake Up Call

2009-04-26T11:43:00.000-07:00

A Wake Up Call

It’s that blurred feeling of fear
That creeps into you
Waking up in bed alone
At dawn, thinking, this is unreal
Living by myself, surrounded by
Neighbors in the sleepy first-light
Of morning, that must be

Someone else in a catatonic
Fog trying to focus his eyes,
Stretching his stiff aching body
Over the bed, thinking, this
Can’t be real, waking to the birds
With the other neighbors, slowly levatating
To percolate coffee with the hardiest
Early morning risers, yearning

To be somewhere else, wishing
That I was anywhere else but here,
An old man looking in on himself, as if
From another planet,
Flipping the switch on the pot, smelling
The coffee, waiting for the early news

Feeling himself sliding downhill
In a sluggish stupor, looking past
Years wired in the memory’s hard drive
Years which seem hauntingly blank
And odd,
and abruptly thinking
With a new rush of queasiness
This isn’t real, waking in this place
Feeling as if I were about to decompose

In the desert heat, that must be
Someone else, staring out

At his elderly neighbors, on a normal day,
Which begins like every other day
With a man waking in an empty bed,
Feeling himself alone and trying
Not to fade away

On the final leg of the journey
When the fruit and the sweet-red wine
Seem to ripen under a pale moon
And the heart fills up with delight

Mesquite Days 2009

2009-04-24T07:33:00.000-07:00

Mesquite Days 2009

The faces of the town have changed
Remnants and names remain.

Progeny recapitulates phylogeny
Hughes, Jensen, Leavitt, Adams,

Bowler, Woods-pioneer names,
Founder names, Mormon names

Sprinkled among new immigrants-
Jones, Browns and Dragesoviches,

Refugees from cold climates
Seeking the warmth of tradition

The security of small town life,
A friendlier place to live and die

Strangers, changing the face of history,
Won by the hard fight of pioneers

Who carved a future from a hostile
Desert with sweat, blood, tears

Fulfilled a prophet’s dream
Broke new ground

And left the children a legacy-
A niche in small town America

The faces of the town have changed
Remnants and names remain.

From My Rooftop Patio

2009-04-23T16:22:00.000-07:00

From My Rooftop Patio in Ajijic, Before the Fiesta Begins

Trucks loaded with children dance together
After the music begins.
Engines vibrate between Mariachi bands.
The old women- las viejas, spread flowers
Over the carretera.
A brown burro, it’s soft liquid eyes
Glassy with lagrimas, brays in Spanish
And invites pairs of señores y señoritas
To dance on rough cobblestones.

Temporary Insanity

2009-04-20T08:46:00.000-07:00

Temporary Insanity (I think)

A small spot of loneliness
resides in every mind.
A dark spot, unexplainable
like an incomplete sentence
lacking sense of connection
to meaningful context,
on its own, floating freely
like debris in a tornado.
Helter-skelter and random,
rising and falling willy-nilly,
hither and yon, settling down
when it takes a mind to.
Today my dark spot, my
loneliness, settles on me
like dust on the rooftop.

In My Dream

2009-04-20T06:54:00.000-07:00

In My Dream

My somber heart seeks you always
I love your happy body, your rich, soft voice.
Dusky butterfly, sweet and sure
like the wheat field, the sun, the poppy, and the water.

Your savage hair blows wild today
Over the meadow of my dreams
Standing in a field of yellow sunflowers
My somber heart seeks you always

The nectar of my soul’s sweet blossom
Simple syrup for a lovable life
Your presence fills the days with joy
I love your happy body, your rich, soft voice

Soothing, reassuring in troubled times
I love your happy face, your glad, warm smile
Flitting here, there and everywhere
Dusky butterfly, sweet and sure

Covering days of sadness with flight
Masking sorrow in the sun’s bright light
Natural, thoughtful, at ease with me
Like the wheat field, the sun, the poppy and the water.

What Remains, Remains

2009-04-15T15:09:00.000-07:00

What Remains, Remains

The sign in the road screams
“Dead people’s things for sale”

No “Estate Sale” euphemism
For these good old southern folks.

After all Grandpa Fred can’t
Hear the cuckoo of his old Black

Forest clock from his grave.
Might as well sell his shit,

Pick his bones clean, and recycle
Some of the love he displayed

Fawning over his collection
Of thingamabobs, doodads,

Gold watches, old books,
Bronzed baby shoes, and

Aztec funeral urns Acquired
from yard sales in Mexico.

So Much Rides on a Healthy Breakfast

2009-04-14T08:27:00.000-07:00

So Much Rides on a Healthy Breakfast

The neighbor at the house across from mine
is complaining again. Her voice, pursuing
the heels of her husband, screeches loudly
each time he opens his mouth. Life

and the world with all its vagaries
might experience apocalypse as foretold
by Nostradamus, but what about
this woman chasing this man

in the middle of the morning,
Sweet Jesus he caused no harm
to anyone, and while he was eating breakfast
only wanted a banana on his Cheerios.

Semana Santa

2009-04-12T09:46:00.000-07:00

Semana Santa

The parade
Of saints waves from narrow streets
Celebrates the suffering
Holy tears of Our Lady de Guadalupe
Flow like fresh lava

The children
Of Ajijic ape ancient rituals
A blanket of white robes mounted in
A pageant of adorned brown asses
Clopping on cobblestones

The nerves
Of Mexico crawl up her spine
Indifferent to the elements
A mantle of bougainvillea scarlet spreads
Over her gnarled hands

The dirt
From her garden, like Wednesday's ashes
Nourishes the heart
A blessing of Pascua Florida
Renews lost hope

Paradoxical Sleep

2009-04-11T10:57:00.000-07:00

Paradoxical Sleep

I have been wakeful at night
And words have come to me
Out of their deep caves
Needing to be remembered…Wendell Berry

The noesis of my learning
Follows me everywhere,
Overrules the depths of sleep,
I have been wakeful at night.

I toss about in a sea of knowledge,
Pitched in a tumultuous storm
Neurons flashing like lightning,
And words have come to me

Images of the perfect poem
Fly around like rabid bats
Chasing air- breathing arthropods
Out of their deep caves

Syntax and substance are drowsy,
Yawning in these early morning hours.
I jot notes, lest I forget half-asleep, words
Needing to be remembered.

In Praise of the Short-Lived

2009-04-03T07:14:00.000-07:00

In Praise of the Short-Lived

Exotic, romantic- life in a foreign land
like a poem or a song, brief and ephemeral.
Solitary women dream of Latin lovers
serenading, crooning “Cielto Lindo”
among fireflies and bougainvilleas.
We praise the transitoriness that impresses
possibility and gives joy to dreamers.

The Dog Park

2009-03-30T15:24:00.000-07:00

The Dog Park

They parade their dogs upon the grass
In finery fit for Easter Sunday
Showing off their royal class
They parade their dogs upon the grass
Poodles and schnauzers full of sass
Out for a stroll, a canine fun day
They parade their dogs upon the grass
In finery fit for Easter Sunday

War Sings Only One Tune

2009-03-30T14:55:00.000-07:00

War Sings Only One Tune

“You cannot sit on bayonets
Nor can you eat among the dead
When all are killed, you are alone,
A vacuum comes where hate is fed”
…Delmore Schwartz

You cannot sit on bayonets
Leisurely smoking cigarettes
While making faces at the moon
Or bowing cellos in string quartets
The seat of war sings only one tune
You cannot sit on bayonets

Nor can you eat among the dead
Converse with souls who have fled
Or stroll along brick parapets
Where the soldier’s blood flows red
Cursing the guards in high minarets
Nor can you eat among the dead

When all are killed you are alone
With the silent desert, far from home
Pensive, reclusive, without a plan
In the shadow of a mosque’s bright dome
Iridescent in the wilderness sand
When all are killed you are alone

A vacuum comes where hate is fed
Devoid of matter, an empty bed
A time when a soul is forced to choose
Between the living and the dead
Finding the heart to win or lose
A vacuum comes where hate is fed.

You cannot sit on bayonets.

Before Sunrise

2009-03-30T08:12:00.000-07:00

Before Sunrise

The loud songs
of the doves
of spring
disturb my sleep
with mating calls
of passion.

Withdrawal

2009-03-28T14:52:00.000-07:00

Withdrawal

The things we care about
are suddenly disappearing
and we don't get it.

We've been too busy
writing blogs, searching
Google, indulging fantasies.

Lately have you noticed
how talks are one syllable grunts?
An uh-huh and a yup!

In and out of our lives
friends disappear, reappear,
disappear like spring blossoms

no time to inhale fragrances,
or nurture with chit-chat
lost in the clamor of cyberspace

mesmerized by the screen's glare
our world shrinks as we stare
into our own narrow gap.

The Bells

2009-03-07T11:49:00.000-08:00

The Bells (Las Campanas de la Iglesia)

On every roadway, two paths-
One follows darkness, one light
Usually we choose neither.

Usually we wake up to the alarm,
roll over and re-close our eyes,
drift back into dreamland.

But the church bells----a wedding ? a funeral?
Or did you think it the sounds
of another Mexican fiesta
beatifying a new virgin towards sainthood?

In Memory of My neighbor's Son

2009-02-27T09:37:00.000-08:00

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

2009-02-26T14:46:00.000-08:00

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

2009-02-23T11:47:00.001-08:00

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

2009-02-23T07:54:00.000-08:00

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.