The Dog Park

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

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

Before Sunrise

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

Withdrawal

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

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

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

Shut In

Shut In

Like an insect he carries in his heart
the dreariness of winter; turns inward
and exists on small pleasures.

He ignores a splendid law of natural
rewards: he who gives receives, he who
only cultivates avaricious appetites,

afraid to share with others, loses his
humanity, dries up in the sunshine,
becomes loneliness itself.

My Timid Mother

My Timid Mother

She speaks too much of danger,
afraid of life’s natural, healthy risks.

Don’t be afraid I tell her,
poison ivy grows outside the door,

The snake coils under the porch
and the eagle’s talons cling to the roof

but the sun goes on, lighting the sky
and our lives tread upon the earth unscathed.

Candy kisses

Candy Kisses

Oh your smile is like a sweet, sweet kiss
That truly tastes like love
Oh your smile is like a small bird’s coos
Perhaps a morning dove

And sweet you are my lovely girl
To yield your precious lips
And I will want you still my love
When you’re old and the scale tips

Till the scale tips, my love,
And the moon falls from the sky
And I will want you still my love
Until the day I die

So keep the trust my dearest girl
there’s nothing that’s amiss
your suspicions are unfounded
and your smile a sweet, sweet kiss.

Help Wanted

Help Wanted

I’m literate, shy, but no way a nerd.
Playing golf with demented friends is just great.
I’m looking for a new job, something to do with words

My application for work is not really absurd:
High salary, long vacations, perks and medical.
I’m literate, shy, but no way a nerd

Want a quiet setting, away from loud herds
and indiscriminate, biased co-workers.
I’m looking for a new job, something to do with words

I like a boss who doesn’t give damn, a civil service bird.
I have gray hair, poor eyesight, a bulging paunch.
I’m literate, shy, but no way a nerd

I’m sixty-nine, white, retired. Salary diminished by thirds.
Searching for work, any type, anywhere, ideally suited.
I’m looking for a new job, something to do with words.

No Scams! (Some offers have been absurd).
I hang out on a bench, near the library.
I’m literate, shy, but no way a nerd
I’m looking for a new job, something to do with words.

Inauguration 2009

Inauguration 2009

My Mexican friends coined a new verb
for the inauguration. Obamanos (Let's Obama)!

Passing the baton, a delicate moment
in a relay, adroitly transitioning,

balancing two acts simultaneously,
racing and handing off, separating

winners or losers, successes or failures,
victories or defeats. It is poetry-the rhymes

and meters of the will synchronizing
to the music of the human spirit.

Obamanos!