Stationary Schwinn Bike
torment. Sleek as a steed-
or the sleeve of armor
round a steed-iron horse
it’s dark weight of cast iron
and the deep impression
on the blue rug. It stays
silent by the window
in the bedroom- tortured
prisoners. How it holds
back all raw emotions
like ancient sins hiding
in closets, or microbes
beneath frozen tundra.
Speak Anyway
anyway. I’ll raise my voice above
the deafness, defend the silent, seek
ears willing to listen to my love.
anyway. I’ll blow my horn under
the red sky, listen to dancers sway
and clap in the dark like rolling thunder.
anyway. I’ll cast my vote beneath
The silver hair of destiny. I’ll mount
A campaign and lay a laurel wreath.
anyway. I’ll fire my canon into
the cold hearts of the night
I’ll protest tyranny until my lips turn blue
For freedom’s sake I’ll always be true
I Wish You love on Your Birthday
I see the love shine from your eyes
And desire to kiss you once again
With wonder I feel your passionate skin
And feel revived as the light goes dim
And birthday candles turn to sighs
With wonder I feel your passionate skin,
I see the love shine from your eyes
A Deep Sadness (A Rondeau Redouble´)
There’s a deep sadness when I look at nature now.
My children will never see what I’ve seen,
and their children will never experience the wow
of American wilderness- deteriorating, picked clean.
American frontier, our own timely tale of how
we came to be and what to others we intend to mean.
There’s a deep sadness when I look at nature now.
to protect and preserve the quality, the bright sheen
of
My children will never see what I’ve seen,
unpaved paths meandering like a ship’s prow
over uncharted waves. The vision of
My grandchildren will never experience the wow.
Through my tearful eyes her lost grandeur is plainly seen
I shall never become accustomed to the now
of American wilderness-deteriorating, picked clean.
days long before the highway, bulldozer or plow-
un-crowded days where life was less obscene.
There’s a deep sadness now.
Fish Tales
Oh fish that tease our lines, you who swim
Through every rippled corridor we cast,
We’ll hook your greedy gullet, once again-
Your freedom we will spurn and end this fast
Along the banks are mossy walls where dim
The beauty that all dying might outlast
Oh fish that tease our lines, you who swim
Of what we feel, or how the time is past
With rod and reel extended from our limb
Through every rippled corridor we cast.
And wish our hook sets to be on the rim
But whether they be substantial or hold fast
We’ll hook your greedy gullet once again.
The natural world, we hear voices of the past –
Urging us without the guilt of sin
To spurn your freedom and end this fast.
Each behemoth grander than the last-
Ginormous creatures with gargantuan fins
Jumping like dolphins with every long cast
Oh fish that tease our lines!
Angry Old Girl
Earthquakes in
Typhoons in
Volcanoes in
Wildfires in
Tornadoes in
Rampant death and destruction.
Mother Nature has her game-face on today.
Nightfall
the dark
of near nightfall
eases through the window
magnificent clouds of shadow
swirling
tonight
almost as if
we have been here before
we pluck stars from the sky
and more
tonight
thinking of you
I almost remember
all that you have shared with me
these days
how our
hours of loving
leave me longing for you
beyond any sense of pleasure
I see
just now
the simple deeds
of a man and woman
who have grown to need each other
in time
Night Out at the USO
Sailors went to the dance with high expectations
Loftus found a girl with black fingernails
Dancing around a boiling cauldron and
Heard unintelligible incantations bathed in moonlight
Todd tangoed with a gypsy in a candlelight cave
Covered with hieroglyphs- hovering hallucinations
Undulating unconsciously in an underworld
Kampsnieder clung to the known- a pretty thing
A blue dress with large breasts; a sweet breath
A clone of dear old mother and home sweet home
Sayre sidled up to the bar, antagonized the local
Anesthesiologist and spent a bloody night in the alley
Dreaming of dolphins in the deep sea
Williams wept at the widow’s tale- the wrongful
Woe suffered at a murderer’s whim
He made her forget in a welter of mists
They boarded the liberty launch after the bash-
All that is except Todd, who succumbed
To the gypsy’s spell and became a flamenco dancer.
Neither Famous nor Infamous
They’ll never make a movie starring me.
Cantankerous, overweight, out of step
I don’t fit the star mode as you can see.
They’ll never name a school after me.
Non-conforming, impolitic, invisible
I’m out of tune with social philosophy
I'll never get the treasured Nobel Prize
or win a Grammy for my musical art
or cause tears to well-up in admiring eyes
as I receive a gold medal for my sport.
I’ll never be the most rich or famous or
listed on the FBI’s Most Wanted report
or celebrated for my great invention
or crowned a king at a coronation
or be the center of world attention
I can only settle for who I am,
a proud father and a man with
a stand living under God's plan.
Hot Sauce
Awhile back I lived in
studying language and culture,
learning about food, visiting
ancient ruins, becoming worldly.
Then I met her and ate her eyes, her
lips, her hair, her skin. Now I lie
awake at night with a heartburn
craving the sting of chipotle sauce
and jalapeños.
Hiking the Hatchery Trail
On the path to the salmon hatchery
beneath the canopy of the green
foot soldiers—water rushing. Beyond, the
peaks of lofty, mountain passages
white with late snowfall, fallen and decaying
sections of old growth forest
the ghosts of giant sequoias
whisper in the gentle wind
brownish, pronged, scattered, bits and
pieces of history- remnants of an early age
with lifeless, agéd fossils in the ground;
embossed timepieces—
embedded for eternity, slow-moving
the foggy path advances —
we penetrate this novel world wary,
bitter, unsure of ourselves
unlike the wild salmon . Everything about them
the cold, familiar water—
then the gravel, next
the green moss of spawning beds
little by little matter is distinct —
It vivifies: lucidity, outline of the origin
But now the reality of the season
eternity—yet, the intense transformation
has come upon them: deep-seated, they
now deposit new life and begin to die.
The Village at Sunset
The waning days
at Sunset Greens
are not your ordinary days
none of your
busy days like the city
The waning days at Sunset Greens
are slow days
dawdling days
and days of leisure
dozing in warm sun
drowsing at noon
around plush fairways
sitting in the village square
and then the early cocktail hour
after the sun goes down
when lanterns illuminate adobe walls
like fireflies dancing in darkness
their tiny lights flickering
making the square look like
an old Mexican village
but fatigue arrives suddenly
for residents here
long retired from the ebb and flow
and then another day
when another sunrise
eases in
and in those rays of warmth
the old folks smile
waiting for sunset at Sunset Greens
