Silver Winter

Greens, yellows, oranges and reds,
Have disappeared, along with the sun…
Winds have dispatched all colors,
The island’s winter has begun.

Rabbits, calm, red apples and boats,
Have disappeared in the cold…
Memories wrote on used envelopes,
Lost now inside the fold.

Heaven

If by chance there is a heaven,
To revisit where I’ve been,
Otis is the one true few friend,
I would want to see again.

There are seven existing stanzas of this poem, but why bother. I said it all in the first four lines.

Nirvana Lost

The plump nipples of Nirvana,
Were laid bare and suckled dry…
Breasts of dreams have shriveled,
The weaned no longer try.

Thriving now on solid foods,
Nourished on avarice and luck,
We children of the sixties,
Almost evolved, but we still suck

Encore

Upon the world’s most glorious stage,
I performed a minor gig…
With adlibbed lines, I gave my all,
My love of life, that big.

No surprise the world’s masses,
Failed to attend…
Yet I so crave an encore,
To re-enact it once again.

I want to relive the glory days,
When my few jokes won applause…
I dread seeing the curtain fall,
Closing down my act that was.

Why everything is just fine!

Why do you ask?

Taking a Break

Elvis has left the building!

Black Horses

Hooves beat ruts into the road
To the rhythm of death’s drum…
Dark carriages with black curtains unrolled,
Gather corpses on the run.

Plagues can’t be cured by art or love,
The horse hoof’s clatter sounds a curse…
The disease what lies inside men’s hearts
Eludes all cures, all knowledge, the purse.

I am a simple passenger,
Sharing any carriage rider’s fate…
No white horses in my future,
So long as greed lives with fear and hate.

Black-caped midnight drivers,
Flog the dark with a furious rein...
Scarcely leaving a visible trace,
Of life in the forest or plain.

One often hears crows laughing,
As wagons leak fresh skirts of blood...
Disappearing in the moonless night,
With wheel ruts dissolving in the mud.

Remember that fate is a hunter,
Preying on both the rich and the poor...
The dark horses are round every corner;
Carriage hearse's bellies begging for more.

Awake

The Portuguese have a word for this;
“Madrugada”, the special time of night…
Silence hangs heavily in a timeless world,
Between midnight and first sight of light.

Madrugada is when life’s mysteries
Awake profoundly in my sleep…
The decades rustle through my dreams,
I snore, I laugh and weep.

Home

My journey up the Oregon coast,
Was an unforgettable ride…
I thank you Conde McCullough,
For the path to the other side.

Forty-five one dollar bills
Bought my passageway back home…
‘Cross the Strait of Juan De Fuca,
Ending my Oregon exploratory tome.

Pulled my luggage from the trailer,
Tucked my truck under the tree…
No more censoring my every word,
Free again to just be me.

U-Haul to the Mall

It’s Raining today in Oregon,
U-Haul’s packed, I’m moving away…
Raining also where I’m going,
No matter, I’m returning to stay.

Whidbey is windy, colder and damper,
Years ago there, I laid my roots…
In protest I’m headed to Wal-Mart,
I need a warm parka and new rubber boots.

Otis Stays at a Five-Star Hotel

Otis stayed in a five star hotel,
His balcony hung over the bay,
Counting cars on his left, the highway,
The whales straight ahead, at play.

Otis gave each jogger a shout out,
Sniffing a crisis beyond the norm…
He fixated on a selfish old couple,
Not sharing their Caramel Corn.