Archive for May, 2009


Friday, May 29th, 2009

Ran into her at a club, had a few dances
and some nice talk that led to swapping numbers
this sister of a close friend’s old girlfriend
was just what my lonely heart needed

a vibrant soul who’s smile and laughter
rang away the longing and left a glow
that ran from my dancing boots all the way
to my blues tinted brain atop my shoulders

which cried out for an embrace and were met
with her beaming eyes and we were off
into a flaming romance that left us later
at a bar, making out incessantly

Neither could get enough of each others touch
and our bodies and minds seemed to link
with a charge that resounded until something
cut us apart and it was of my doing not hers

that we parted ways to become friends that had
been lovers for nearly a year and now some three
decades later after only a few chance encounters
have met again in life’s gloaming to ponder

her soon to be demise at the mercy of cancerous
growths that have taken chunks of her beautiful body
and left her vibrant mind intact along with her laughter
at the wonders of life with something inside her

that beats all the evil cells and shines through all that
bad stuff with that indomitable spirit that caught me first
and has mellowed with the years and leaves her glowing
as she prepares to pass into the open arms of darkness

or light which in her case would be a well deserved surprise
after a life of uncertainty and struggle with demons
both in and out, a respite earned to crown her magical
soul with eternal bliss surrounded in well designed glory.

So, rock on girl and blow away all those on the other side
with your ready wit, laughter and smile, dancing feet
and sparkling mind or whatever they call it out there
where none have returned to this veil to tell for good reason.

Farewell my friend. I am so blessed to have known you
and loved you and felt the warmth of your being penetrate
the dark strands of my own with your wonderful light
that no one can extinguish from even this earthly den.

51 buick

Monday, May 25th, 2009

t was 1951 and Grandpa Hansen
had gotten a brand new Buick.
A Roadmaster sedan in two-tone
Light Blue and White.

Two-tone cars were a new thing
and this one was glossy since he had ordered
the Porcelanized version, it glistened
both paint and heavy chrome

It has an antenna that was above
the broad one-piece windshield with
a handle inside to turn it up over the roof
or down over the windshield.

Inside were special seat covers to preserve
the new upholstery underneath, all blue
and the dashboard was full of chrome
grill-work and knobs and gauges and

a radio on which we would hear Jack Benny
and Amos & Andy on Sunday drives
while Grandpa enjoyed a cigar, with Dad and I
in front, mom, Carolyn and Grandmother in back

sam fain

Saturday, May 16th, 2009

a dear neighbor and friend
caught by surprise in the grip
of an ending unexpected but
met with such grand aplomb

with such delight in the wonder
of his own entropy and passing
Sam has struck a chord in all
he touches that will sing on

long after his passing into what
for him should be at least the best
that can be since his grace and love
have shone like the sun in his own nova

I cry from the pain of his leaving
and thank him for his friendship
and wish for some miracle that
we both know can't be but damn it

there's unfinished business and more
to love and laugh about so if its not
too hard, hang on or come back
to fill the void that's now opening

as you align your steps with the oncoming
wave that will carry you surfing
into the essence of light and source
from whence you must have come

I admire your awesome candor
and your unending curiosity in the face
of something we're all powerless to control
and deny its approach even now.

I wish I could be there to share some time
in your hospice my friend I will miss you
sorely and thank you for the time we shared,
will not believe you're gone when you go.

You have met your prayers with your
"cheerfulness amidst growing-pain"
an example for all in your faith and trust

bon voyage Sam and bless you as you
have blessed us all with your love
thank you again for getting closer
and sharing your path.

midspringnight’s dream

Saturday, May 16th, 2009

The muse has returned from its mid-spring night’s dream
of my old friends John and Doug and the band of merry pranksters
from the halcyon days of grass and acid, the second renaissance
that brought about the summer of love reborn last night

as a romp on the hill to the tunes of rock where I sat transfixed
awaiting a breakfast of pancakes on a couch with four girls so young
and promising in their wisdom unfit for their age in bodies to match
that thrilled my heart and loins as I left them to their joy and sisterhood

to return to the building where ensconced at small tables were
old acquaintances chatting of things and sipping espresso in bicas white
while I searched for my friends in my dream last night aside my mate
who life has trained to have everything in a neat little boxes with tags

while mine hangs out not even in bags but strewn with an abandon
that to me makes order like Thelonius Monk and Miles Davis arrangements
to her Bach and Mendlesohn played on the same instruments with
different styles in a place where I can enjoy her music and she but tolerates

the cacophony I crave to her pedantic ordering that makes my heart sing
as the opposites ring like a bell that reverberates to my core in love
that keeps me from the boredom and death of my own cravings met
and this was only a faulty remembering of my mid-spring night’s dream

perhaps brought on by digestion of a most beautiful Brazilian meal
and exposure to some truly amazing tiny folk art images by the cook’s
mother past in a neighbor’s home where love and life are evident
in the very surrounds crafted and assembled with care and skill

in their own special world, the ones we all keep in our big boxes we call
our castles and castles they are for this is where we reign and look out
on the world to see what differences pass and which we like and those
we don’t but put up with to appreciate the differences that bring song

to the streets rather than bullets and rocks, singing and dancing rather
than death and crying through the barking and grinding and roaring
of leaf blowers and trucks, of howling dogs and rats along with cats
and the occasional lizard and fly in this land where you and I live and love.

I only got pieces of that dream the muse left behind in the dust of morning
and the cool of night passing too fast in its ending scene to be caught
in words but left in feeling on the theater seats of my minds arena to be
spread like apple butter on the toast of this verse, lettered only in crumbs.

airborne ostrich

Tuesday, May 12th, 2009

americans hanging out in splendor
while afghans die in their humble homes

blown apart by blasts of warring
from within and without while we

look at real estate and ponder
our dotage and set about planning

for those golden years so long promised
and now descending with amazing grace

how to balance these two extremes
in my mind is challenging my heart

and I cry inside for guidance in the darkness
of the light that rains on my path

hurry home you sense of unity
and settle me down gently in my bed

of wonder and delight at the engagement
of thoughts that transform my being

into the essence of energy that is never lost
and constantly renewing its thrust

making my skin sing with the rhythms
that encase my soul and let its light shine

out into eternal night to be seen
and applied by someone else to theirs

can I truly radiate bliss that others
may drop their misery and find peace

amidst the carnage that hides inside
a thin veil of ego in us all or must I fall

prey to the tsunamis of negativity and gloom
that are so inevitably presented as inevitable

well, I choose to say yes to bliss and follow
the inner voices that sooth my anguish

to bring the darker forces into the glowing
and vanquish their shadows in sequined dew

I’ve now become an airborne ostrich with my head
in the clouds and feet trailing along

on the winds of insanity and denial that will
let me live out at least this day in peace.


Wednesday, May 6th, 2009

I tire quickly of the constant chewing of events
by puffing pundits determined to gnaw the gristle
of financial disasters and encroaching plagues
into mush that chokes with blandness and stench

whatever happened to negative space
the golden silence that makes true words stand out
against the backdrop of our daily realm
where we continue to labor with good intent
making what we can with what we find

want not what is at our feet
and overflowing the world with wealth and wonder
if only we would stop to see it and let it soak in

quiet now listen to your breath and the wind its part of
as a word vanishes over the horizon of your becalmed mind
leaving only a sparkling trace…

*** ** * * * * * *

something to say

Wednesday, May 6th, 2009

everybody’s got something to say
and its like we are a choir
singing our disparate tales and wails
out into the evening of our time

who sees what and what sees who
as we jostle for position and wring out
the juice from our tales into the goblets
held high by the cheering mobs

a fleeting presence on the stage
of the sunset club for aging gods
and its too late to plant seeds
or even nail some sharp points home

who lets these things in
through the holes in the fabric curtain
that forms our shelter and makes our beds
in the dark gloaming of our intent

and why do they exist anyway
if we already are aware of their being
and are worn from their yammering
into nubs of drooping wax

but we keep on and on and on
batting the shuttle here and gone
weaving the floor so we can stand
and shine what little light we have left

so that those whose eyes have shut
through some negative twist of fate
might take a spark into their nests
and spin some golden raiments

that may just be the birthing
of the next new age or at least
not the last in this inevitable trudge
up the looming hills of night


Tuesday, May 5th, 2009

now that I’m free from the confines
of job and position, schedule and plan
where will my course take me

as I drop my tools and brushes
to take up the pen and embrace
the ephemeral world of words

wood and stone build houses
paint and canvas become works of art
while words float all about us

calling us by our names
and announcing lunch while waiting
to be lines of poetry or prose

they are certainly easier to carry
and don’t require a truck or cart
but only a twist and occasional turn

artists drive trucks and novelists cars
while poets walk and essayists talk
their courses all defined in words

if time does any telling it will be in words
laid atop other words which rest on a base
of words and letters and spaces and

unknown friends

Tuesday, May 5th, 2009

their names pass briefly before my eyes
as I toss their messages into the trash

so in memorium here are some names
of the bravely passed:

Amy Lawson, Felecia Wheeler, Cindy Chung,
Derick Cassidy and Stevie Goodman

there are literally hundreds each day
including Howard Purvis and Clayton Kruse

what piece of human technology has brought
them to life with names like Zelma Atkins and Alba Bell

so here’s to all the Nathan Prescotts and Lowell Thorpes
who daily bring me messages about my penile girth

or offer me constant erections, winning
investment strategies and high-end watches

are you out there Porfirio Pace or Carter Friend
in the digital ether or some lonely restroom stall

hunched over your Web-TV passing these gems
along to me for a penny per?


Tuesday, May 5th, 2009

a whole lot of talk about nothing
words without actions and consequences
are just air forced from bags of flesh
through tightened sphincters past
chattering teeth softened by
a lack of nutrient and texture.

social networking is a sign
of the advanced stages of illusion
that plague our efforts at evolution
as if filling our bodies with helium
when we need water and food
and our growth is only imagined

twisting content and inference
into knotted webs of confusion
and the splattering of ideas against the wall
of mediocrity presented as enlightened
mass brain farms bursting with
excrement and spreading like fire

what a joke the crowdsourcing elements
play on systems burdened with newspeak
and warmed-over neoplatitudes when
hopes are falsely built for dreams
of synchronicity and success derived
from some imagined coalescence of thought

juvenile ramblings on newly discovered
antiquities of conceptual detritus cast off
for good reason but recycled into a plague
that looks like the new while carrying
seeds of destruction and failure
when all we need are true leaders

the twittering sparrows in their blindness
become a quick snack for the swooping hawks
who speak not but move to their own unstoppable
course into the wall of time where their own
failed programming will bring about their demise
while the spirits of the free fly on.