Archive for July, 2009

dead heroes

Friday, July 31st, 2009

I don’t really believe in that astrology shit
but maybe it explains my dual personality
a rebel and a wannabe family guy

Many of my heroes were rebels
and only a few made it as family guys

Most of my heroes are dead
and that’s an example I’m not ready to follow just yet

Why do we deify those who have died
but not fully appreciate them while they live

Is it that death is the ultimate difference
that sets them apart

from what we see as our own mundane existence

Might not we too possess what others may see
as heroics

Did our heroes realize it themselves

Some do and some don’t and I wonder

how many hidden heroes are there
of whom we may never know

my yard has a story

Thursday, July 30th, 2009

Dirt and rocks and trunks like elephants’ feet
Stomp on the ground outside my window

Passing conveyances carrying aquatic bait
For the vagaries of our times ensconced

In community pools of deep blackberry and green
Amidst the cedars and pines beyond the wall

From whence my leader once sprang to announce
A privilege ignored and denied for suppers past

In another vague and confusing rap of misunderstanding
And babbling behind the tower for which it is named.

Is nothing sacred and is it really the end
Or just another point of reflection and the same utterance

That has flowed for millennia from the mouths and eyes
Of those who age onto those who don’t

So this is my neighborhood as seen from the basement
in the cool afternoon of a comets first venture.

Growing and dying pass each other too often
as my yard continues its slide down our hill into the sea.

what makes you warm?

Thursday, July 30th, 2009

Thoughts of love
and fire beneath

sun on rocks
and steamy air

inside or out
above and below

over and under
around and through

What makes you warm
is it I and you?

why bother

Wednesday, July 29th, 2009

Its all been said before so why bother saying or writing it again
The greatest pictures have been already painted so why make more

Well, the reason is that that is really all there is — that is the main reason

for living

We are all headed in the same direction generally
which is not really a direction at all since there is only one spot in time and space’

here and now

We keep trying all sorts of things that only seem to keep us denying our divinity
since our deity is one with us it only seems natural

We are simply not accustomed to being subservient in our mastery
so we cling to our imagined and oscillating duality

here and there is everywhere and its only right here right now
or is that left here and left now, up here and down now, in here and out now?

contrast is oneness

and that is where the thrill feels the strongest and the pain most intense
for bliss is agony as pain is beauty as they and we are one.

So lets go out and fix the car, mow the lawn, feed the kids and get a haircut
while we explode and shrink in time and space honoring those before

who did the same thing in the same time and the same space

watch for the closing doors

as they open before you

knowing that you are the doors and their openings and closings

energy and matter inseparable

Now its time for lunch.


Wednesday, July 29th, 2009

I’ve been re-reading some of Leonard Cohen’s poetry
and love the way he spells G-d when referring to the supreme one

I can only make assumptions here about his intent and reason
for not spelling it out in its entirety though capitalizing it nonetheless

He also refers to Chr-st as well for probably the same reason(s)
one can only surmise and I think this is out of a reverence

and is the most elegant way to refer or express such concepts
since it is impossible to reduce such concepts to mortal words

and certainly disrespectful to even try, to lower it to our lowly level
as you can see what that has brought to the earth — crusades and war

in the name of .

poems on walls

Tuesday, July 28th, 2009

I was just looking at a large painting hanging on my dining room wall
Its nearly twelve feet wide and over five feet high and its been there for years

I don’t tire of seeing it everyday and often contemplate its simplicity
and today wondered what it would be like to have a poem there instead

would I not tire of reading it constantly and maybe it wouldn’t be visible
in type but rather be an audio recording that played constantly

Now that would be tiring, aggravating even in its own torturous way
perhaps words are just too specific or loaded with meaning

Is a visual image more palatable in the long-run than a poem?

just another day

Tuesday, July 28th, 2009

The trees and bushes are still standing watch
and the air is humid and warm as the morning blooms
into a Tuesday and the paints are drying while the pencils
await a touch to turn them into lines that may define a shape or direction

as the phone rings with the voice of a maker of pictures
and other things like wings made at night moves my way to exchange
some dollars for some carefully honed glass with which to capture
the light and colors of his days and nights

and that glass carries with it the memories of music
played on stages under lights and through the ears of friends
now passed into their own light leaving only colored reflections
in the texture of this town where we were born

into a time when possessions had different meanings
and now in their time worn way show just how futile it all is
when their perfectly maintained gloss and fit
only saddens their removal from a former stage

where all sorts of human drama played out in painful ways
weaving into some as pain, others as pleasure
but they are still there waiting to be dealt with and I say
pitch the stuff out into the snow and sun so it too can return to its elements

for that is where we all belong anyway and how often we forget
that that is all there is and that is always where we are at
despite our illusions to the contrary and no matter
how hard we try to maintain that false reflection of duality

as we dance as one in our entirety we can at least take our own steps
as they fit with those of the ground and others taking their own
flash as fire and blasting icy light glaring white devouring
our many hues that are trying to pull the whole thing into the darkness.

It always comes down to this realization as those trees stand watch
and the rocks and soil continue on their paths in this arena
of plate tectonics and subterranean melt while the otherly charged molecules
just keep doing their thing smiling and breathing and falling apart.

to my cousins

Monday, July 20th, 2009

I can’t think of a group of people
whom I may have less in common with
than my twenty-some cousins
just because

My maternal grandparents had six children
(my father was an only child)
and those aunts and uncles had from two to six
of their own, my cousins

We’ve all gone very separate ways
as our parents have
just because

One family were loggers another
in manufacturing and ice cream
and one in the military while mine
was varied from photography to physical therapy
while two others worked in newspapers

We’ve never all been in the same place at once
though we’ve come close on Christmas eves
and our grandma’s ninetieth

So what would a meeting of all be like
with our most common thread being genetic
surely there are other similarities
that will be interesting if not inspiring
and offer some insights we all can profit from
in our own individual ways

Let’s get together and see the full range
of our experiences and lives’ paths
before our eyes and validate the connection
we all have to one another in our differences
just because

We may wonder at our relation to some
while feeling more than akin to others
and that I think will be the beauty
that will provide us with inspiration and insight
as we see the differences in our common bond.

So I will take it on myself to initiate this invitation
and seek from our midst others to share in this effort
to bring us all together somewhere soon
just because

Just be, cuz.

all at once

Monday, July 20th, 2009

How many things can I do at once
and have any of them turn out as I’d like

I can write and bicycle only separately
and gardening while doing laundry can work
with bicycle mechanics and reading
if done in rotation but can my mind keep up
with the shifting focus as it tends to become
like a tossed salad can I bring out the flavor
as I look forward to appointments and fun
obligations and dreams and entries
and the evening’s meal while walking
and talking of heady and important things
and settling in to watch a movie and read
some poetry or the news while researching
or just cruising on the information deluge
that Google presents in my quest for knowledge
of specifics and hints that might enrich
whatever I’m doing in this confusion and bliss.

I do do them all at once and find that I really do
like the way they turn out — if I do say so myself.

what was it

Monday, July 20th, 2009

what rakish and daring exploit was I going to write about?
it seems to have totally slipped out of my mind this morning
as I settle in to my studio moving the four bicycles I have there
to accommodate my sitting to attack the keyboard which records
my inner wanderings and thoughts into its virtual library.

I try to fight off the distractions of others’ noises in pursuit
of their own agendas and mysteries on this fine and sunny
summer Monday morning just past the hour of nine.

This is the time I’ve determined is the best if one has to
travel about on errands — Most who start at nine are there
and those that started earlier are taking their first break
so the roads are quieter now after the rush while everyone
seems to have gotten out of my way just for me and a few
others who also have this figured out — aah, ain’t life great.

But I’ve still not recalled the event I wanted to chronicle
perhaps a diversion into something else is in order
it was something I know so well and can recall every detail
but at the moment its gone just beneath that surface film
that can more than cloud these memories in some shadows
cast by what I don’t know.


So after a diversion I still can’t recall so will be on my way
to return later when that thought returns for real. so long for now.


It was around 1967 when I shared a painting studio
in the abandoned Collins building downtown
in Seattle’s skid road

I built a small car out of cardboard boxes
to look like a child’s drawing of a car — boxy

it was covered with large pieces of newsprint
I’d gotten from my uncle who worked at the Times

and painted bright pink with black lines
and in the driver’s side window

was pasted a print of Ruben’s Child
and of course there were wheels and bumpers and lights

I took it down onto the street below
and set it into a parking space and paid the meter

We watched from our fourth floor window
as cars stopped to park then seeing it — drove on

This must be street theater we thought
so ventured out into other neighborhoods

In the U-District we again parked the bright little boxy car
and sat in a restaurant across the street to watch

It was beautiful to observe this child-styled artwork
in its contrast with the mundane surroundings

and to witness others’ amusement and wonder
at what and why this anomaly was

In a moment when our attention was diverted
by our conversation or coffee

we suddenly noticed the car had been removed
and was headed up the street in a meter maid’s cart

By the time we got out onto the street it was nowhere in sight
so, dejected we walked back to our car just up the block

As we passed by a small City storefront office we stopped
because there just inside on the floor

was our little pink child-styled car offering yet another contrast
that caused us to laugh and thrill at this circumstance

We entered immediately and inquired as to what it was doing there
since we had indeed paid our fare at the meter

and exclaimed that just because our car was so different
was no reason it should be impounded without notice

I wish this tale had a more exciting ending
like a day in court or perhaps some media coverage but alas

We were sent on our way without prosecution
since after all it was only art — hummph.

And this is the kind of thing that made Andy Warhol
and others famous while we trudge on in obscurity

Having fun and creating anomalies whenever and wherever
we can leaving no footprints and packing out our wastes.