Wednesday, August 31, 2011

A Finger

I shot a finger in the air
To show I frigging do not care.
The bastard shot back at me.
Now I'm on the ground, as cold as can be.
If I had kept my finger in check,
I'd not be headed now for heck.
So be careful all you frustrated souls,
Or you, too, may end up full of holes.

The Peephole

Through the peephole I see,
Starin' right back at me:
One round eye.
Could be the pizza guy,

If the peeper were blue;
But, stuck there like glue,
Brown and ugly mean,
Is the nastiest glower I've seen.

Where have I beheld that iris before?
Was it inside the finance store?
Or on the dude sold me my shitty car?
Maybe it's the pissed bastard from the bar?

He can knock until his eyes turn green;
He won't get a step past the screen.
If I just pad softly off to bed.
Screw 'im, hope he concludes I'm dead

Friday, August 26, 2011

An Encounter in New Mexico

I have my life through admired the native American Indian and have been outraged that encroaching whites committed their crimes against them. I reverenced a vision of the wise old Indian, a man in tune with the Earth and his past and felt I had perchance met one that day in New Mexico, when I the hitcher got let out at a restaurant. He was standing beside the door, his greeting scarcely a grunt. I felt honored that he followed me in and sat next to me at the counter.

"Give my friend a hamburger," he told the waitress, who frowned.

"Give my friend a hamburger," he repeated.

She scolded the old Indian, who broke into a fit of coughing.

I got a cup of coffee.

As I sipped the tepid liquid, the Indian decided to impart a great wisdom upon me. "Don't ball up," he said between fits of coughing. "Don't ball up," he said several times.

I gulped the last of my coffee, paid hurriedly, and got the hell out of there.

Wednesday, August 24, 2011

Monday, August 22, 2011

poems is

poems stands on a table
like the salt a condiment
they hides under the label
a very own continent

poems speaks beyond words
beyond initial fizz
like the very guts of birds
because dears they simply is

Sunday, August 21, 2011

A Private Poem

I wrote a poem,
As all poets must.
Mine's of ashes on roses,
Eyelids gone to dust -

A private poem,
About a friend's heart -
The charming poses -
He lived life as art.

I end my poem,
With a fond farewell.
Another life closes -
One more final knell.

- For my friend, who recently died

Saturday, August 20, 2011

the chickens on my soul

spreading my calm
sad whistle from a train
spontaneous psalm
soft rustle of rain

the chickens on my soul
ever scratching and peck
ing to get at the burrowed bugs
i stretch tom sawyer
legs on the soft bank
softly imbibe much hallowed drugs

Friday, August 19, 2011

stopping so suddenly

stopping so suddenly my brain crashed
i stood there woodenly impulses smashed

then a dog
piddled
and my leg warmed

i felt so
little
and so alarmed

i heard a butterfly swooning
saw it crash on the lea
i stood there mooning
it could have been me

Thursday, August 18, 2011

not finished yet

i wish to again see you
in this or any milieu
cork or can or bijou
not finished yet i need you

Wednesday, August 17, 2011

the man thats gone

at last free my dears
the grease is in my gears
and i roll on alone

when they look for me
then they quickly will see
he is the man thats gone

Tuesday, August 16, 2011

i ain't older than the mountains

i ain't older than the mountains
they ain't older than me
north is higher than the south lands
ain't no borders for me

mountains may be turned to rubble
death can overtake me
mountains are just a bubble
only water is me

sprinkle me over the mountains
where the eagle soars free
forever the cycle maintains
for the mountains and me

Monday, August 15, 2011

when last i heard the cricket sing

when last i heard the cricket sing
and in my tree a mockingbird did dwell
i felt so greatly honored

but when my neighbor railed
all the magic dulled then sullied
and i felt out of sorts and bullied

Sunday, August 14, 2011

How the people

How the people make you stare,
through the windows in your hair:
bouncing and loping,
dancing, groping -
So secretly admit you really care

Saturday, August 13, 2011

an ark would be nice

a flood might surely wash the drought down the drain
and be worth enduring the forty nights and days of rain
better than watching as majestic pines turn slowly brown
and finally among once verdant stands come crashing down

an event to cause mother nature to hike up her gown
as waters make even giants tiptoe or else drown
so put those pontoons on your home and make of it a boat
and gather any relatives and assorted personages of note

Friday, August 12, 2011

peripheral window

peripheral window
where secret wonders display
and life is solved though hidden away

so quickly it shuts
before a mind wanders inside
the decisions not yours to decide

Thursday, August 11, 2011

Lucinda

I awoke to the rain and thunder
That come a bustin �'cross my roof
I closed my eyes and wondered
Dear God what 'm I 'spos' ta do

I knew I wouldn't see the sunrise
But I packed up my bags anywho
I knew I wouldn't see the sunrise
I growed under like a root

Well if you see my baby Lucinda
Tell her I just had to go
Tell �'er I gonna miss her
Ain't gon' ta see her not no mo'
Lord, lord
She put a padlock on her door

Well if you see my baby Lucinda
Tell her I just had to go
Tell �'er I gonna miss her
Ain't gon' ta see her not no mo'

I ain't seen no sunshine since Monday
Seems like a hundred years ago
I always believed that one day
Lucinda won't hurt me no mo'

No no it's gonna rain and thunder
Until the happy day I die
Ain't no surprise and wonder
Dear God there ain't no use to try

Well if you see my baby Lucinda
Tell her I just had to go
Tell �'er I gonna miss her
Ain't gon' ta see her not no mo'
Lord, lord
She will never see me cry

Well if you see my baby Lucinda
Tell her I just had to go
Tell �'er I gonna miss her
Ain't gon' ta see her not no mo'

Wednesday, August 10, 2011

i dream it to be

i dream it to be
dylan and ginsburg and me
howl up hobo night
surrounds us like fey light
dark starry van gogh
bloom and freely flow
of steel and desert
in harmonica concert

Tuesday, August 9, 2011

i see the words as sparrows

i see the words as sparrows
which cannot reach the ground
stuck in trees like arrows
feathers all tucked and bound

that once flew the straight and narrow
until they were traced and found
it chills me to the marrow
that they'll never be fetched down

Monday, August 8, 2011

Oh to be the bird with the sweet voice in the willow

Oh to be the bird with the sweet voice in the willow
With the sun going high o'er the great green meadow
I'd sing all the day long and beyond the evening shadows
Aiming the notes at hearts like the tips of kind and deadly arrows

I'd sing for the ones with no notes in their hearts to sing
And for the ones in despair who may have lost everything
My song would touch the ears of the low and the lowly
Of naked children who age so fast and then die so slowly

You would hear me sing through the walls of any fortress oh
With the leaders inside and the youth under heavy duress oh

All dogs on chains lose their bark for the song's this moving
At last the barker of war grieves the lives that they're losing
And as the cheaters of thoughts and the stealers of life
Confront their own tears the reality cuts in like a carving knife

Oh to be the bird with the sweet voice in the willow
With the sun going high o'er the great green meadow
I'd sing all the day long and beyond the evening shadows
Aiming the notes at hearts like the tips of kind and deadly arrows

Sunday, August 7, 2011

Ark on the Water

Aren't we alone
Aren't we all alone
Seems the rain must always keep falling
Aren't we unknown
Aren't we unknown
Vast universe a stalling
Star lost its mooring

Aren't we alone
Aren't we all alone
Seems like the sky never will be blue
Aren't we unknown
Aren't we unknown
I just feel it can't be true
Where's the dove that flew

While we're waiting
Contemplating
There's no better time for love
Hide us away
We'll make love all day
There's nothing else but love

Aren't we alone
Aren't we all alone
Seems like the sky was never so gray
Aren't we unknown
Aren't we unknown
Hide us away
We'll make love all day
There's nothing else but love

Hide us away
Hide us away
There's nothing else but love

Saturday, August 6, 2011

The pterodactyl

The pterodactyl
Can be rather docile;
A quiet contemplater is he.
Wise pterodactyl;
He lives on his rock pile,
Shunning bustle and community;
Polishing his claws,
Humming without pause,
Often slipping into dormancy.

The pterodactyl
Is wholly without guile;
A solitary wisher is he.
Round pterodactyl,
Fat his chosen life style;
A monumental fisher is he.
Indifferently
Allows men to breathe ;
They taste most un-fishlike, you see.

Friday, August 5, 2011

i'm not bleeding on the outside yet

i'm not bleeding on the outside yet
don't lick my buttons shep
my heart pleading at the outset
don't lick my loafers shep
maybe a trickle
get away dog

Thursday, August 4, 2011

is there anything new

is there anything new
or is the sky only blue
searching every heart
and every growing part
what if the stones tell us all
the shrouds of mystery fall
or the darkness takes it away
a day becomes just another day

Wednesday, August 3, 2011

toasting marshmallows

He sat toasting marshmallows
Over a burning corpse.
They'd together faced battles
Where one's character morphs.
He looked for angel nurses
At first but soon sat down.
The flames defied his curses;
He toasted them black-brown.

He ate, burning his poor tongue,
Wished his friend lasting peace,
Who had coughed up his lung.
He'd witnessed the release;
No more was to be gathered;
He packed away his gear.
And not that it really mattered,
At last the nurse appeared.

Tuesday, August 2, 2011

50 years of howl

50 years of howl allen ginsburg allen ginsberg
and the best minds long gone
a dripping chop moloch in the caves of our defeat
in nam and iraq
the wind whip grit in our hobo teeth
along the 700 mile fence we burrow into berlin
skyscrape windswept fly with our arms
from the castles of the multinationals
to the cornfields below
xbox nation
a serpent in the classrooms
for science can't exist
with voids for minds
take heed
the cos
mic shutting
do
wn
process
i
n
m
o
t
i
o
n

Monday, August 1, 2011

there were sails

there were sails
and troughs among endless waves
dolphins tails
and clouds in windless staves

sails hung down
our hearts were listing to
clouds did frown
the sky went misting through

we were blown
like thistles in the storm
soon came home
one early brighthurst morn