Monday, January 31, 2011

the wolves in nature

I watch as these wolves
Prowl deserted junk yards
Gobbling down steel ball bearings
Biting off tires and metal shards
Spying trucks up on the hill
And moving in for the kill


Under misty mountains
Waterfalls drop:
Cascading stream

Under mystic mountains
Expectations drop:
unrippling pool

Free As . . . .

I write the words:
I want to be free
I seal them in my heart
I carve them in a rustic tree
For all to see

I want to be free
Free from attachment
Free from meddling plans
I want to be free
Free as the sifting sands
You tried to hold in your hands

Free as the OOOOOOOO

Saturday, January 29, 2011

The Milkman's Horse

pavement clop
drenched from tail to mane
back to home again

me my thief and my song

a thief would ransack my heart
much like aladdin in the cave
but found terrain of stone -
and a lonely tune

the thief laid down some art
the heart had looked so like a grave
there was naught but a moan
to greet my only tune

said thief would not keep apart
but composed a new stave
the loveliest i have known
to harmonize my tune

now thief cannot leave my heart
for naught else in life does crave
so in love we have grown
me my thief and my song

Thursday, January 27, 2011

Summer Daze

*Perhaps the summer laze
Is all that has gotten into me -
You know: Those listless days
Of no particular want or need,
When to be is perhaps best not to be -

As eternal war against inertia
Is fought on the battlefield of a sofa,
I fall on my sword to avoid the struggle!

*I began this poem just before my computer crashed. I lost the final version of it. Just the top five lines survive. I added the lower three as a temporary fix, but I intend to revisit and complete Summer Daze one time in the future.

Wednesday, January 26, 2011

I write this poem -
As the poet must -
Its 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.

Friday, January 21, 2011

Hong Kong Harbor

don't call me no boy
boss brown swung and the brawl was on
i kept to the ship
drunkenly dreaming and unaware
my bed gently rocking
right off the shore of hong kong

i'd seen the city
found myself out of place and sad
the crew bent on spending
what would i do with sharkskin suits
reel to reel tape decks
i stayed off the shore of hong kong

radley blune drowned
on this night in the deep dark water
his long legs failed
when he swam from the pier toward the ship
and darin jones
returned with a chicken of which he bit off the head

The Wanderer

how fondly i roved
from state to wond'rous state
in a younger time
barriers were stoved
and the hour never late
in a younger prime

how lately i came
home from a wand'ring way
in an elders time
the lions now tame
and their long manes are gray
in an elders prime


have a cuban
have a russian
eat a missile for defense
down the hatch and up the draw
it only costs you your sense and pence

Thursday, January 20, 2011

The Hog Butchers

i butcher hogs on the plains of my seeming
in strict view of the scruples standing there preening
dont i feel debauched and yet i kill the hogs
until at last i go home greeted by dogs
which i feed and then the wife home from working
she says i killed the hogs not just once shirking
then pulls off her shoes in the dim teevee light
i massage her feet the dear says shes all right
we trundle to bed for a fitful time of it
in a jumble of sheets and how we love it
before its off once again to butcher hogs

You: Old

its not about you is it
nobody comes to pay you a visit
you wandered a lonely cipher
always avoided being the lifer
and today you visit yourself
who happens to be a kindly elf
that no one knows or loves

its not about love really
but about commitmant and dignity
and not fitting where you were at large
always caving before the battle charge
but today your feet are still
you must summon that reserve of will
for the final life's test

Tuesday, January 18, 2011

Wild Apples

rattle down dusty roads
canvass water bags
mama stops digs her toes
grips a limb and snags
wild apples

1944 and 45
good years for little boys to be alive

california coast
to the orange groves
of lindsay migrant ghosts
family that roves
wild apples

The Searching Heart

before a bright and silvery moon
the penumbra of hair in silhouette
fine and soft
the music simmering little rhythms
from the bose hidden in the deep shadows
air timeless
no movement but of the searching heart
and the shimmering of drops coursing down
lost and dark
and the sliding moon off course in clouds
the curse of darkness made more bitter still
by nights gall

Monday, January 17, 2011


piltdown man was the smartest of them all
now you saw him now saw him not a tall
he had a cranium massive jaw
imagine a fish inside that maw
hunter of the wild dewberry so they say
we most got to know him then he went away


i no longer feed concepts
i need colors warmth soil
the ideas are discussed
to giberish by ape priest and foil

a good woman cozy meal
industry for body and ague
the war in the background
for those whove forgotten how to argue

precepts i live by just are
love of grandchildren rules
warmth of the hearth gentle words
kind disregard for agendas and fools

July Fourth is a Day

july fourth is a day for lovers
picanics and horrible explosions
explosions of patriotic fervor
of blythe empiric implosions

of little flags by the flood of tepid beers
of gobblers of massive hills of red beef
proud to soldier on them godless queers
unheedful that statesmanship's on a reef

july fourth is a day for soldiers and children
for grannies and four wheelers and bands
for the deaths and lives of the expanding million
who once held the power to own freedom in their hands

Sunday, January 16, 2011

The Animals Who Won't

i love the animals who wont make war
who dont assault and will never preach
who eat what they need when hungry
who drift silently off when madmen screech

Bird Psalm

bold red bird in the whipping wind
riding on branches that shake and bend
a winter freeze when the night grows calm
bird and tree and morning make amazing psalm

War From the Other Side

hang a lantern in these dead eyes
that i might witness war from the other side
see how the glow spots on the rise
a crater ringed by human matter undignified

put on my face the tears i cannot cry
place the childrens bodies on the slab beside me
someone may come to claim us by and by
i long please for the cool earth a box to hide me

To John

searching for another walrus
through the bullrush of time
finding all the scraps of tartar
on the bones of an endless rhyme
the themes he taught us
tongs with grapes he brought us
laced them all hard and driving in the sun
grieving well im moving on
still i play his song

Two Poems By Edgar

will you be my love
when amber days turn to cold
with white on the rows of posts and rails
and clouds turn to flows from puffs and billowed sails
the blood refuse to move
all new things groaning old
with frosting eyelid and sweater too thin
and a stranger at the door with a toothless grin
will you hold me closely
through the coming night
will you light a candle
for my failing sight

summers home
in the ripe green valley
grapes growing on
slow the lazy birds
gray shadows rove and dally
and the hands of brown
cutting stems
for the winemakers talley
til they go home
and the sun bakes the heavens
oer the owners homes
in the ripe green valley

Friday, January 7, 2011


Chorus l
Don’t wear black for me
From love or sympathy
My self-destructive life’s
Been a troubadour’s delight

Verse l
Hoist up a round or three
Drink to clown called destiny
Don’t say a prayer
Never have been a Main Street player

Chorus ll
Don’t bring flowers and wreaths
Choke over memories
My self-destructive life’s
Been a troubadour’s delight

Once you were a love to me
Found how warm a home could be
Our feet went on fire
Too indiscreet to be a liar

Verse ll
Set up a round again
Drink it with a smile my friend
Who knows the whole truth
Never believe it without the proof

Chorus lll
Don’t carve a monument
Pay the poor children’s rent
My self-destructive life’s
Been a vagabond’s delight

Thursday, January 6, 2011


When you reach the end of a circle
You’ll be the same as you began
It’s there the baby in the cradle
Becomes one with the dying man

Every life move is quicksilver
A stream that has no bed
You meet the riddle with no answer
A hunger that must be fed

Before you reach the end of the circle
Gather roses if you can
Join friends in chains of circles
Celebrate the brotherhood of man

Every life move is quicksilver
A stream that has no bed
You meet the riddle with no answer
A hunger that must be fed

And: No matter what you do
When you reach the end of a circle
You become as you began
Where the baby in the cradle
Becomes one with the dying man


When the trees are bare
`Cause the leaves aren't there;
With the season's change
Snow's across the range;
I think of you on that western shore

I dream of blazing nights,
The California lights -
You out there with Jim.
I missed you back when;
Tonight, Love, I miss you even more.

(Miss you baby)
The cows are waiting by the gate
The horses milling cause you're late
(They miss you baby)
Cutting your roses by the gate
I like to view them o'er my dinner plate
(I miss you baby)
Tonight I'll see you in my dreams

I miss your dancing eyes
Before Montana skies;
Since you went with him
Give my best to Jim.
Who would think you'd even the score?

I see the shadows grow;
I hear the cattle low;
Yes I chose the range
Because the heart can change -
But I'll remember you on that western shore.


Somewhere old tigers are free
They lie in sunlit glades
You can hear them growling sleepily
You can tell their minds are made
Somewhere Midas is the king
His walls are paved with gold
He never wants for anything
His rooms are never too cold
His rooms are never too cold

As you turn inside your room
You look into your fate
Your past is a holy womb
Your future comes too late
Outside the city`s breathing loud
You see the subway throngs
In the seething of the crowd
You hear their rattling bones
You hear their rattling bones

You`ve played the radio
It`s the same on every band
You`ve scorned the late late show
Missed the party that you`d planned
How your body aches with pain
But your mind`s too false to move
In the dark night on the wane
You`ve nothing else to lose
You`ve not a thing to lose

So now the wheel must turn
The dust will settle down
You`ve never watched your candle burn
You`ve never moved around
You`ve only guessed the mystery
In a lonely mirror`s scowl
Through the deep hurting mysery
You hear old tigers growl
You hear old tigers growl


No jobs
Tough cops
Nothing else to do but fight
Walk the streets
Uptown feet`s
Looking for a place to light
I wonder what the rich boys do
I view them like a turning screw
I wonder what the rich boys do
I wonder about that uptown view

Slow down
I approach you in the night
In your eyes
Cold surprise
But you want to treat me right
I wonder what your parents do
I view them like a turning screw
I worry `bout that uptown view

Legs twined
I awake to your vacant eyes
Awkward days
Blacks to grays
We`ve used up our alibis
Go on home to your parents child
I view you like a turning screw
Go on home to your parents child
Go back home to that uptown view


In my dreams
In my genius
You are the one work of promise
I made you
Then you made me

In my grace
In my prescience
I gave you life
To live in my presence
I made you
Then you made me

And if I gave you wings
And a voice that sings
I did it all just for me
And if I gave you love
It was over and above
All courtesy

In my search for pride and power
I reached for you every hour
I molded you from lifeless clay
One shady day

Then I touched your sightless eyes
They opened like the sunrise
I wrenched a life from the clay
That shady day

If we should ever reach the sun
I am the only one
Who touched it twice
And if I should ever die
You are the reason why
The one life could suffice

Monday, January 3, 2011

When Knighthood Was in Flower

When Knighthood Was in Flower

When Knighthood was in flower
The knights were saintly men
They put bubblegum on their lances
And jousted with finger zen
They put iron pants on their ladies
To keep their heart-throbs pure
When they went off with Sancho Panza
To find a midnight cure
The street scenes at night were haunted
The peasants were the honest mass
The kings were their dear fathers
The priests a decent working class
In the bars and in the nightclubs
All night long they sang
Outside the high walls you could hear them
Came the dawn and the echoes still rang

In his study we see the doctor
Who nursed them through the plague
With one eye on their suffering
The other eye kind of vague
He tries to turn away their blessings
He knows there was no cure
His medicine was his prayer book
Only the strong ones did endure
And the smell of sulphur from the back room
Proves that any faith can lag
He knows he is only equal
To the one who wears the killer`s tag
And he swears to give his best to evil
In return for a moment`s grace
He turns his back on the Holy Bible
And greets the devil face to face

When the thief and the barber
Agreed to trim the knave
They didn`t know that his saber
Was stuck up in his sleeve
Now the thief is known as "Lefty"
And the barber needs a shave
While the knave raps Rune tunes
In the baron`s cabaret
Well the baroness is fanning
And sneeking looks his way
The knave eyes her mood ring
As in baritone does bray
"The cheese and wine are delicious
I work real hard for my pay
But the baron soon will be sleeping
That`s the time I really play."

In his lair the pimpled dragon
Still bears a torch for his love
He probes the lower hillside
With field glasses from above
He only learned in college
That he hates to be alone
When he spies a certain maiden
He knows what must be done
Meanwhile his brother Sheldon
Is fighting for equal pay
If St. George can drive a Porsche
Sheldon needs a Chevrolet
And the maiden and the dragon
Got wed just yesterday
They plan to have six children
And a home right across the bay

I`m on the street to witness
The coming of an age
The children walk in sunflowers
Their parents mock outrage
Philosophers answer questions
They get paid minimum wage
They get one second to ponder
To be thought of as wise and sage
The rulers get themselves elected
Once they`ve answered duty`s page
They get only two chances
To be up on center stage
And I have the choice of guitar
Or learning of the plummer`s trade
But I never get to plunder
Those who`ve rained on my parade

Once Upon a Perfect Time

This was inspired by Leonard Cohen, when he did Songs of Love and Hate.

Cold yellow walls, chandeliers like diamonds.
Your body still and silent as a range of ancient tired mountains.
Attend to me, Love; can you feel it; the sadness in our holy mansion?
See, the listless ghost of beauty walks these lonely halls
And the dust of her passing lifts then slowly falls,
Meeting with your flesh and turning gray and ashen.
You look upon her the way any prisoner looks upon the warden,
Then wilt inside your tiny cell, for you know full well there will be no pardon.
Will you sit with me; rise up My Love; come out into the garden.
The sun will be shining there as I comb out your tangled hair
And braid it into a rope the size and length you wore it as a maiden.

Ah, every star`s a wishing star;
Dream you`re my princess; you are.
It was once upon a perfect time,
Your eyes were cast on mine.
Your hair descended like a jacob`s ladder.
I climbed into your den.
We lay down in perfect zen.
But now the forces of destiny gather.

And your body is cold, though the sun`s ablaze like diamonds.
My soul aches for you, My Love, even as it roves to look for future mansions.
We are betrayed by time and death, dear Murdered Rose. I must burn this house of pretensions.
The dogs of loss sniff outside the door impatiently,
Smell your flesh so sweet. Don`t feel hate for me
As I spill upon the floor in floods the gasoline, don`t mention
How your magic gave to me selfish love, oh bird in detention.
See the flames embrace the timbers and lace, then hug the lovely statue in the garden.
As I haste to leave, Good-bye, My Love, I know a mansion afar that`s waiting.
Animals dance without care for the sleeping maiden there
Whose love is a golden award for the one invading.

And every star`s a wishing star;
Dream you`re my princess; you are,
Every once upon a time,
Every once upon a perfect time.
See her on the bed asleep, My Love.
See; she lies so still and pure;
Our love will be cement and sure,
This one more once upon a perfect time.

Some of my copyrighted LYRICS


Now I got a dog that needs to roam
All around the yard and inside my home
I didn't argue the why and what for
I just up and installed the doggie door
She went out and peed
And ran per her need
I thought all was wonderful and well
But that door made my life a living hell
She's a fifty pound pup called a lab
And what she wants to chew on she'll just grab
Like new shoes and sox
And porch support posts
I lost two ten foot banana trees
The dog got bored and took them down with ease
She once put in the wife's sleeping face
A sopping wet azalea’s root (mud laced)
Brings in long tree tops
Insects even rocks
Tree chippers prob'ly make better pets
And are a lot less stressful on the vets
All in all I'd say the dog's absurd
But I love her so just take my word

Where Freedom Is (it really ain't)

for Greg Caton

Well he became an outlaw
Like Jesse James
And Pretty Boy Floyd
All because he told the truth
In a land where freedom is
It really ain’t
If you don’t walk the line
You get martyred like a saint
He prepared his healing herbs
Like merchants of old
Sold them on the web
To grateful ones like me
FDA took him to jail
Like a petty thief
To serve thirty three months
And then a long parole
In a land where freedom is
It really ain’t
If you don’t walk the line
You get martyred like a saint
Rogue agent worked treachery
To make further grief
Greg went to Guayaquil
To work and to be safe
Agent kidnapped him away
For jumping parole
He’s rotting in the jail
It’s up to you and me
To make certain freedom is
Where it just ain’t
Where you don’t walk the line
And get martyred like a saint
Make them let Greg go now
Get back to his work
And make the FDA
Answer to the law
For in this land where freedom is
It really ain’t
If you don’t walk the line
You get martyred like a saint



I’ll keep writing little songs
‘Til there’s peace in battle zones
‘Til congress notes
And responds with votes
Until then I must conclude
When a child’s peaceful at night
When love’s a symbol not might
No hunger
No danger
Until then I’ll just be rude
I’ll keep writing little songs
Loud enough to rattle bones
To spit it out
In one big shout
Until then I must conclude
When folks die of poverty
The wrong ideology
Until then I’ll just be crude
I’ll keep writing little songs
Its my way to battle wrongs
To spit it out
In one big shout
Spit it out
One big shout
Spit it out
One big shout
Spit it out


Sunday, January 2, 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. Don't ball up. Don't ball up. Don't ball up. Don't ball up."

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



i love the crabs
they dawdle so
with the boney abs
body swung low
the eats they grabs
held up just so
stuffed in jabs
and then they go


Where shall we meet
On the vagabond street
Or in the hills of clay?

How shall we greet
Reserved or dancing feet
Sniff ass and drift away?
Union replete
With onions too sweet
To sting your eyes of gray?
Should we repeat
Or enter the discreet
Roll of night against day?
Remember fleet
Are the dents on your sheet
Love is a yes away


i greet the day
as time comes strolling in
on feet of gray
and the sun's old bald head
throws beams my way
so slick n shiny 'tis
new sky leaks dew
wet shoes in fields of grass
a block then two
brings me to the hill i love
as the sky turns blue
my spirit soars with the birds


i was walt whitman singing about some grass
i was henry longfellow tagging hiawatha's ass
i was edgar poe getting mellow on some hash
i was kerouac writing the oceans boom and crash
i was one of the best minds of ginsburg's generation
destroyed by madness
i wrote a poem on an outhouse wall