Friday, February 25, 2011
The Old Time Fiddler’s rallied us,
Strumming their ballads in the street…
You put our love to music,
Making new heartbreaks seem upbeat.
We danced on skates to the music,
Played in an empty downtown garage,
George Jones echoing over Stockton,
From a third floor idling Dodge.
I often wonder what went wrong
Reflecting on those long past days;
Comfortably in a world removed,
Yet still missing your subtle ways.
Every song you wrote for me,
Left with you on the Greyhound bus,
Guy Clark lived a similar day,
“Sometimes the songs write us”...... amen
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
Sometime after the snow thaws,
And the fruit trees bloom another day,
No one living will remember,
Routine required we pass this way.
Walking amongst the seagulls,
Our backs toward the morning light,
We scanned Penn Cove’s horizon
Inhaling ourselves into the night.
Perhaps the next life tenant,
Will for decades, with dog after dog…
Traverse this old cliff trail,
Borrowed from my travelogue.
Monday, February 21, 2011
Chinese words tattooed on your arm
“Trusted drunks” told you what they mean…
You can’t waste time on definitions,
You only care that they are seen.
Your flashy BMW’s parked,
In front of your mother’s home…
The stereo cost a thousand bucks,
So your girlfriend pays your phone.
Once again my vocal friend
You appear to be a fool,
Floundering in the shallow end
Of the intellectual pool.
Saturday, February 19, 2011
I prefer pontoons flying over water,
Than airborne over land…
Sometimes water is more forgiving,
Than concrete, trees or sand.
Now bridges feel like float planes,
A new added fear of living…
Hating the spans leaving the land,
Water seems much more unforgiving.
Footnotes: My mother was in the first head-on accident on the bridge in 1935.
Thomas Hingston, who I bought my house from, flew a Canadian Air force plane under the bridge TWICE!
I have lost three students on “The Pass”
Thursday, February 10, 2011
I did not exist in Emily’s era,
Or in the world of Robert Browning…
The words in my life were Ginsberg’s,
Kerouak’s, and Natalie drowning.
Dylan, Joni, Cohen and Nyro,
Blueprinted our lives in words,
Directing newly awakened masses,
Like sheep into funneled herds.
I find now that I am older,
Much simpler chains of thought…
Were often more heroic,
Than the intellect we bought.
“I can gather all the news I need,
From the weather report”…
“Rickey don’t lose that number”:
All thoughts now banned in Beiber’s court.
Sunday, February 6, 2011
It is of no importance to youth,
World War ll, JFK or the Marx Brothers.
All the markers in my life,
Were in time, replaced by others.
Vietnam, draft cards, burning bras,
The events that shaped my views,
Mean little to the young now days,
Compared to Lindsey Lohan in the news.
Now the modern youth today,
Tattoo themselves for hip new charms…
Unaware my generation had parents,
Brandishing tattoos on their arms.
Thursday, February 3, 2011
Mankind will never stop the wars.
The search for peace, too long,
Eternal battles split good and evil,
And so often, both sides wrong.
Two sides share a single dream,
That will every time divide…
One side drifts towards money,
The other fairness; dreams collide.
The ignorant guard their families,
Against a cancer cure,
While educated people gamble,
On theories unproven and impure.
I envision Aslan on my cliff,
Regal with a puffed up mane…
Looking down on all humanity,
Then sulking away in shame.
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
In the beginning, unsure baby steps
Over a South Dakota plain,
I learned to fly on sharpened blades,
Across the frozen Prairie rain.
The documented accidents,
Now Kodak moments showing pain…
Zamboni gods smoothed out life’s ruts,
En mass, we rose to skate again.
In so many of life’s chapters,
I’ve shaved the ice on purpose,
Realizing no matter the conviction,
I’ve barely scratched the surface,
Every day another sunrise,
A celebration I am awake...
Each goal another challenge,
Each trial another frozen lake.