selected poems:
Crazy Old Man by the Sea
he was down by the waterfront
dreaming of being a captain
in the navy, wearing his old
captain’s hat and smoking his
corncob pipe. the crazy old man
said he was part of a special
mission to bomb the shit out
of those Chinese commies,
as he wildly waved his arms
and gestured toward the sea.
suddenly, he said it was cold
and he had to go to a funeral,
his car full of old garbage
and his few belongings.
he climbed in and shifted into
drive as I shook my head
and talked to myself in the rain
walking back to the hotel,
just a few years younger
and a couple more marbles.
Change Time
somehow the winter knows
when to subside
and the grass knows
when to grow.
they know it’s change time.
no questions or fears,
no pondering, wandering
or hesitation.
they know it’s change time.
the rain knows when to fall
and the sun know when to shine.
they know it’s change time.
today, i feel like winter, frozen,
yet starting to thaw.
i know it’s change time.
Level Up
there i was just standing
on solid ground, minding my own,
drinking some courage
from a cup.
you couldn’t just leave enough
alone,
you swooped down
and plucked me like flower.
now here i am another level up,
learning how to walk again,
air is mighty thin, less solid
than quicksand.
i must tell you that i love
and hate
this blessed curse
that’s always blooming.
the flower never seems to reach
full bloom, just grows incessantly,
enough to make me strut
for a week or two.
another level up has no meaning,
only irony,
when there’s nobody
there to prove it’s real.
One Set of Warm Clothes
i’ll take the money
and buy one set of warm clothes
so you’ll know i won’t get cold,
one set of warm clothes
to make up for all the missing ones,
i’ll buy a Filson coat,
some custom Levi’s demin,
a Pendleton shirt,
some Red Wing boots,
and some Darn Tough
wool socks,
one set of warm clothes
so you’ll know i won’t get cold,
isn’t that what a good mother would want?
one set of warm clothes
that’ll keep me warm for years,
i’ll throw in a hat and gloves,
a bolo tie
and a new wallet
for the change,
and maybe i’ll wear that
Filson coat
until it’s my time to rise,
one set of warm clothes
to remember you by,
i’ll buy one set of warm clothes
so you’ll know i won’t get cold,
and to try to forget that scared
empty stare of death
in your eyes.
Orphanage
here i am
in the orphanage again,
like the one
when i was a child
before you were gone.
there i was
stranded all alone
in a world of strangers
being manipulated
like a puppet on a string.
here i am
in the orphanage again,
eleven years old
going on 59,
trying my best to understand
forgiveness.
for what worth is a father
who cannot protect?
a mother, who does not nurture?
death stings yet does not
define the past.
here i am
in the orphanage again,
comfortable,
for it’s always been home
to be without
the love i’ve always had
to fight for.
The Arch of Life
the Arch of Life stands before me,
waiting like a soldier’s bride
as the waters of Jordan flow backward
into the intimate parts of my mind.
saints fought battles of the Holy,
withstanding the devil’s fork
as Jesus turned wine back to water
making us all worthy of the Lord.
the Arch of Life is a journey,
spilling the blood of the lamb
into the ole’ Mississippi
while i burn with the music of man.
Robert Johnson drank down the poison,
trembling before his own death
as juke joints kept playing his shadow
the devil just got up and left.
the Arch of Life bends like magic.
The Unbeating Heart
total demise is inevitable
for we are becoming the machine.
i cannot work without a machine,
nor can i speak to my neighbor,
nor get to the doctor, buy food,
supplies, or do much
of
anything.
we have become co-dependent
with machine.
my life, my world,
your life, your world,
our lives, our world
becomes the gears,
the circuits, the unbeating heart
of
the machine.
machines break down,
gears rust, circuits fry,
programs become antiquated,
security breeches, systems fail.
what happens when this machine
we are becoming falls apart?
total demise
is
inevitable.
As I Move On
nothing is the same, yet everything remains
as i move on. history repeats, victories
and defeats fill the columns of the papers:
sports, money, music, war. what’s it all for?
everyone wants to win, i just take it all in
as i move on. someday, you’ll be left behind,
as i cross the finish line, i’ll be gone,
yet everything I Am remains as i move on.
Let the Wind Blow
let the wind blow, let it whistle and cry,
let it blow all the fallen leaves and the trash down the street.
let the wind blow, let it whine, let it moan,
let it blow down the trees and the rickety old shacks.
let the wind blow, let it howl, let it rage,
let it blow out the windows and the roof overhead.
let the wind blow, let it thunder and break,
let it blow down my house and all the belongings within.
let the wind blow, let it chasten and steal,
let it strip all my clothing leaving me naked and shamed.
let the wind blow, let it fuck and destroy,
let it rip out my heart and spit my tear-shaped blood.
let the wind blow, let it crush, let it kill,
let it demolish my bones and all the marrow of life.
let the wind blow, let it try as it might,
but it won’t take my love or my spirit of truth.
let the wind blow, let it wrestle me down,
but it won’t break my faith in God or in you.
let the wind blow until this world is a wasteland,
until there’s nothing but nothing as far as the I can see.
let the wind blow, let it take me, let it take you,
but it won’t take the soul or the contract that binds.
It’s Basically Love
the judges sit on their thrones
and cast the first stones
at the clowns and the jesters,
the homeless, the helpless,
the motherless, childless,
fatherless, and the wandering
minstrels who put on
the shows.
judging their antics,
their tactics,
addictions and words, even
damning their very breath,
waving them off as nothing
but a plague and a curse.
if only they’d ask them what
keeps them alive, oh the judges,
they may be surprised.
it’s basically love
that runs through their blood,
music and memories along
with the sorrow and drugs.
meanwhile,
the judges keep casting stones
because they don’t understand
what’s missing in themselves
and their own.
even Keith Richards
knows
it’s basically love.