Source
When it comes to me,
it comes from somewhere
unknown
and it flows naturally
head to hand to keyboard
and I am always thankful
to the Source
wherever, whoever, whatever
the Source is
There are times when it
doesn’t come
doesn’t flow
and I wonder if the Source
is on vacation
like now…..
—–
Rainy Day
it never fails
I leave the house
without umbrella
without raincoat
only to get caught
in a downpour
and by the end
of the day the
wetness leaves
me cold and
heavy and
in need of a
dry place to rest
for awhile
these rainy days
come more
frequently as
time goes by
and sometimes
seem to go on
forever and I
am no more
prepared for
the next as I
was for the last
the rain is
coming down
outside
it never fails
—–
Fiona
last night I
walked through the
park at midnight
as ghosts howled
through the trees
reminding me of
you
—–
June Carter Cash
That ring of fire that once
burned now smolders
as she slips out of this
reality into the next
The man in black
left alone
now sings in
shades of blue
at the loss of his
wife
lover
soul-mate
And the circle of love
connecting June and Johnny
will be unbroken
in the sky
Lord in the sky
—–
Conversation With My Ex
what I mean to say is this…
well, that’s not exactly what I mean to
say but I’m sure you know
what I mean
don’t you?
well don’t you?
let me put it to you this way…
no, that’s not right
it’s more like…
let me clarify
(although we both know that
clarification is not making
oneself clear, but putting
oneself in the clear}
is that clear?
do you understand
where I’m coming from?
am I making any sense?
let me try one more time
to explain….
or maybe I should put it
this way….
it’s so nice that we can
communicate
so easily
—–
Gypsy Rain
“I follow the gypsy rain and its
carvan of clouds. It is freedom
and purification of the spirit,
like jazz.”
Free form jazz
free falling into
my gypsy life
Kamikaze saxophone
dive bombing down
Keyboard meanderings
dancing down
all around
the heartways
the soulways
the pathways to
spiritual purity
It is Saturday night
and I am alive again
in the falling rain
—–
Mom
A moment’s joy,
seemingly endless,
like journeys into the
souls’s memory –
but it’s fleeting
My mother comes to me
when I least expect her
and leaves the same way,
leaves the heart weeping
tears of blood
tears of joy
tears that flow into
a river of memories
and I am left
empty and wanting
—–
One O’clock Moon
one o’clock moon
riding high, beming,
intimidating the
one o’clock stars;
chasing us down
dark alleyways
and empty beaches,
glowing gold above
interrupting darkness
in the night sky.
one o’clock moon
befriending, aiding
one o’clock lovers
guiding romance and
streaking the oceans;
drawing howls from
one o’clock dogs.
one o’clock moon.
—–
Teeth
Bright and pearly white mine are not
but they are all there and all mine
and do their job to the best of
their ability even if they don’t
make a picture-perfect smile. People
occasionally still make comments,
although usually it’s the kids who
seem to feel the need to remind
an adult to brush, then laugh at having
turned the tables. Medical science is
not always compassionate, and has cost
me vast fortunes by preventing me from
pursuing a lucrative toothpaste ad career.
Damn that Doxycycline anyway!
—–
Daze of Wine & Kerouac
flight time again, west bound
as dharma trails unfold ahead
trek trek treking
hitching and hiking through
fields of green and gold
and down black highways, byways,
and taking me to Old San Fran
across the land alone
alive ablaze
nightfall finds me lying
under the dancing stars
under that one o’clock moon
dreaming of the days of
wine and Kerouac
they are upon us once again
then as day breaks
forging forward I go
onward toward the bright lights
night lights of red and blue
the flashing neon city is alive
arriving at last
feet fat, tired and aching
as Jack’s ghost comes to my
side, whispers
“I’ve been here before”
and as my journey ends
I realize it is only
just the beginning
—–
Evening at Black Dog Cafe
Jazz piano plays
in the coffeehouse
Friends old and new
sit together
talk listen
Through the window
I see the sun set
on the lake
watch lovers
walk hand in hand
and remember
a time when I too
walked hand in hand
with my lover
around the same lake
love in my heart
jazz in my soul
Tonight the
piano plays
a lifetime of memories
——
5 a.m.
eyes
like twin TV’s
turned into
different stations
each with poor
reception
I stare into
the nothingness
mesmerized
hpnotized
and wonder why
I bother looking
in the mirror
at all
—–
Untitled Love Poem
Planets may crash
but we have touched
the sun and moon
and the heavens light
up our love
as we dance among
the stars
Tonight at least
we are one
—–
Between the Moon and the Sea
Somewhere between
the moon and the sea
we dance
A million birds
beat out a rhythm
with wings to air
and we step,
our souls as one,
in time
among the stars
to celebrate
our own kinship
Nights like this
were made for
us alone
Somewhere between
the moon and the sea
we dance
—–
Untitled but Nonsensical
tonight I sit on a sideways mantra
eating and drinking away the future
with no cause for regret,
and the dotted skies at midnight
remind me of my days of youth
when I was shining in the dark.
life has come and gone and
come again with no thought of me
nor I of it except in past tenses.
sobeit if my days are numbered
as long as my nights like this
go on forever.
—–
Circus Truths
untamed and deranged
romantic thoughts of
the circus
lead to questions
which in time
reveal certain truths:
the tamed lions and
the high-wire act
are illusions from
an overactive ego,
and the infinitely
sad clown cries
tears of wine
and the parallels
to my own life
are clear
—–
The Nature of Poetry
The nature of poetry
is
the poetry of nature,
a clap of thunder
or
the buzz of a bee
or
the rain that falls
and cleanses the night.
The nature of poetry
is
the poetry of life,
the pain of a lost love
or
the joy of a new one
or
the smile of a child
or
the tears of a widow.
The nature o fpoetry
is
a group of people,
many strangers to
one another,
comign together from
different places
and sharing words
ideas
concepts
identifying with and
unconditionally accepting
each other
Here you discover that
the nature of poetry
is
Love.
—–
Monday Afternoon
I can’t think of a damn thing to say here
blank white slate staring at me
laughingly
and I wonder if anything will ever
come to me again in the form of
poetry
stories
lyrics
so I put fingers to keys and type out
the nothing that is in my head
and hope for the best
but dread the worst
and doubt I’ll ever be able to tell
the difference
Poet 