June 24, 2014 in Nature's Backyard, Poetry
cool air, come
through pass and canyon flow
to bring us sweet relief
this oppressive inland heat
clamps down on us like a lid
to impose its harsh will
whether still and stagnant
or filled with smoke and fury
it shows no mercy
we look westward to the coast
to blue pacific water
and with open arms beseech
O cool air, blow
sneak in through the night
under cover of cloud
and stay a while
June 3, 2014 in Poetry, Scrolling Back
Big Joe Turner – New Year’s Eve, 1983. Club Lingerie
With crutches supporting his giant frame –
The inevitable ravaging of age –
In a slow but steady swing,
Big Joe Turner took the stage.
A hipper-than-hip Hollywood club
Is a long, long way from K.C. town
Where Mr. Turner stoked that fire
Layin’ his solid boogie down.
On a stage where white kids commonly droned
In skin tight jeans and tennis shoes,
Big Joe, sportin’ high waist pants,
Leaned in to the mic to shout the blues.
Like a king on his throne, he took command.
His voice – a roar from the pit of the soul.
He moaned , he pleaded , he testified
As the whole joint shook, and rattled, and rolled.
With wicked wink he delivered the line ’bout a
A one-eyed cat in a seafood store
As the band dug in with a fat back groove,
And the crowd turned wild out on the floor.
With every note he gathered a strength
That rose beyond mere second wind.
The decades seemed to melt away.
The old man became young again.
Oh, we whirled with joy into a brand new year
On the leather of our dancin’ shoes
When Big Joe Turner took the stage,
Closed his eyes, and sang the blues.
May 27, 2014 in Coping, Poetry
Invisibility
1.
they call them the ‘wee’ hours,
but when enveloped in their dark cover
one breathes the severed solitude of the ‘I’
the bed creaks under my rustle and turn
a dog barks in the neighborhood,
sharp spears of sound pierce the night.
do keen ears detect an intruder?
perhaps he fears invisibility,
dreads disappearing into the inky gloom
and is announcing to the universe
a confirmation of his existence –
‘I bark therefore I am’
I fight the urge to open the window
stick out my head and
join my canine friend in primal cry
2.
I step forward gingerly to pass the young man
who has suddenly, and abruptly halted his gait.
his eyes sucked downward in channeled focus,
he thumbs frantically on the video screen that
flashes like a tiny beacon in his hands.
“shit!” he mutters under his breath as he
lifts his arms in “why me?” gesture,
and with deliberate sigh of exasperation
spins a quick quarter turn into my torso,
knocking me back on my heels.
“watch it!” I shout
the human connection takes him by surprise.
“huh! oh!.. sorry , man!”
a momentary break before being drawn
like a magnet back to his phone
as I move on.
3.
her eyes looking elsewhere
the female clerk performs the transaction
and stretches out her arm to hand me my change.
she pours the motley assortment
of coins into my palm,
all the while flirting with a male co-worker.
‘thanks.’ I say. ‘have a good one.’
‘that’s so cool !’ she says to the guy,
‘no way!’
4.
909 booming from a hot shot wagon
hi hat hissing and snarling like a dragon
filling the available air with a sound
whose intention is to wrestle all ears to the ground
white boys digging on a groove they think is baddass
‘if you don’t like it, brah, then move your little sad ass!’
a male voice enters with a rhyme and a rant
like machine gun fire in monotonous chant
and with a slant that aims to inform and to wow us
with his mean street credentials and his sexual prowess
I’m waiting at the stop light, and rolling up the window
there ain’t no escaping from the sound that’s gettin’ in, though
boom boom kack – ka boom boom kack
’til the car peels out to leave me in its tracks
hey, I’m just a captive stretched out on a sonic rack
boom boom kack – ka boom boom kack…
5.
like children walking single file
we weave across the restaurant floor
following the young maitre die who
cradles a stack of menus to her breast.
she swings around to flash a smile
as her eyes turn downward to empty table,
her free arm inviting us to be seated
a brown skinned man takes one last swipe
with wet rag over table top
as a second busboy falls in with place settings
the waitress arrives to announce her name
and recite her sing song litany
of daily specials and high priced drinks
menus unfold like a circle of birds
extending their wings and eyes begin scanning
printed page as conversation commences
I lean in get the drift when suddenly behind me –
a startling explosion of laughter –
I turn to sneak a quick glance
the party… already two shots of alcohol ahead
and apparently working on a third,
erupts again in a double decibel guffaw
that only my left ear will register.
yes, after twenty-five years
of diminishing… bit by bit…
my right ear has nearly given up the ghost.
stereo sound is a distant memory.
yet, like a deep subterranean river
the music is always moving through my mind.
I mouth a little prayer… “Please…
“Let my good ear be spared.”
I think of poor Ludwig and his torment.
how he must have suffered.
his fingers penetrating the keys
in vain. unable to hear the echo
of his soul… the joyous rapture…
the agonizing heartbreak …
but somehow finding strength to continue –
ideas flowing from brain to open air
the beauty of his inner life
shared with the world..
someone is addressing me with laughing eyes
I struggle to hear the speaker above the cacophony
of clanging dishes and ringing dinner ware
the oscillating waves swirl chaotically in my head
I lean in with my good side.
no, still not understanding…
“I’m sorry?” I say.
the friendly question is repeated.
I attempt to decipher the telegraphy of moving lips
but the light is low,
my eyes are no longer sharp,
I do not make out the pristine outline
Christ! I can’t ask her to again repeat.
instead I flash a foolish smile
and bob my head knowingly,
hoping my fakery gets me through
the moment undiscovered
the sonic swell begins to settle
into a steady stream of white sound
like distant waves breaking on the surf
and I feel myself melting away…
I tune out…
adrift in a cool liquid world
horizon to horizon… not another soul…
floating in a sea green stillness…
embracing my own invisibility
May 20, 2014 in In Ovid's Wake, Poetry, Uncategorized
This poem was inspired by the Song of Solomon, by the love poems of Roman poet, Ovid, and by the verse of Walt Whitman –
sensual stillness
come, my love, and sit beside me
we’ll set to ‘pause’ the mad whirling dance
and let our universe collapse
into smaller and smaller concentric circles
’til it twines its loop around you and me
rest your head upon my shoulder
there to breathe and sigh in the stillness
I’ll pull you even closer to me
to luxuriate in your perfumed presence
and savor every heart beat’s throb
anxious fingers full of wanderlust may
yearn to explore new hidden worlds
yet… we will be still
though we burn with heightened desire within
yet… we will be still
there will be time, my love… time to
stroll through secret gardens paths
time to pause and taste the honeyed nectar
time for the crescendo and the swell,
the pitch and roll, the ache and release
and there will be time…
to bask in love’s warm afterglow
to lie beneath your fallen tresses
sheltered in their canopied forest
and to gaze at your face above
as it beams in my night’s sky
mysterious and lovely as Artemes
and to thrill at the sound of your
soft, low murmur of pleasure
May 13, 2014 in Nature's Backyard, Poetry
the Italian cypress
the Italian cypress had to go
near three times the height of the roof
it stood pointing to the sky – aloof
swaying a healthy ‘to and fro’
but the Italian cypress had to go
when it was a small and pretty tree
perhaps it had seemed to make more sense
to plant it there between house and fence
as it could be viewed in its entirety
a green and lovely little tree
but now it was a towering mast
too much tree for too little space
simply put, it was out of place
and so this day would be its last
the date being booked, the die being cast
at seven a.m. there appeared a truck
and out stepped a small and wiry man
with rope, and belt, and saw in hand
the cypress had run out of luck
an easy mark, a sitting duck
in a few short hours they’d cut her down
this fast and most efficient crew
the chainsaw roared, the branches flew
and upon inspection all I found
was a patch of sawdust on the ground
I told myself… ‘It’s the way of the world –
the old must make way for the new.
besides, its absence makes for a better view.”
then I caught sight of a little squirrel
who seemed perplexed as he dodged and whirled
searching for what used to be,
looking left and right, and up and down
and at the sawdust on the ground
perhaps he wondered why he could not see
the tall Italian cypress tree
my mouth turned into ironic smile
this nuisance tree, so out of place,
that marred our lovely living space
was something other all the while …
a creature’s happy domicile
May 5, 2014 in Poetry, Reflections, Uncategorized
triad
ripe fruit
poems appear in my mind
like ripe fruit on a tree
near, but out of reach
ah, to muster the gumption
to climb the fence
and traipse through thicket
to pick them
wet words
sometimes my mind is a desert landscape
and thoughts are like bleached bones in the sand
then suddenly the words seem to fall like rain
from the sky – a trickle, then a downpour and I’m
frantically throwing out buckets to catch them,
knowing the dry spell may soon return
ball point
a poem may be like
the stubborn ball point pen that
refuses to leave a mark
I must scratch around in circles
before the ink will flow
don’t think – just write
