bird listening


in the predawn light,
it’s just me, these quilts, 
and the morning birdsong.
do they sing for each other?

I listen, deciphering notes.
a melody becomes clear, 
and then there’s the lyrics:
chirping-pshhhhing-pewing lyrics.

as if I spoke bird,
I recognize them instantly,
coming from the winter wren
outside my bedroom window. 

its song is a love song. 
can’t you hear it? 
it’s the same one I sing, alone,
in this predawn light.

Old Flames
 
There was one who stalked me 
and one whose name I never knew.  
There were several with large breasts 
and there were a few with small breasts 
and there was one who was genuinely kind. 
Some liked adventure 
and some liked staying home
and most of them hated the books I read 
and none of them read the books I wrote. 
Most of them were beautiful, 
even if only in the eye of the beholder. 
Most had dark hair 
but there were a couple of blondes 
and even a redhead. 
Most of them loved me for a minute 
and they all finally moved on, 
mostly to parts unknown. 
But this was long ago 
and I wish them happiness 
and I hope they have found 
what they needed
as did I when I found my Jill. 
Some of these are the same 
and some are different 
and maybe it’s all imagined. 
I am old but they are young forever. 
Even when we die, 
all of this will echo someplace. 
Do you wonder, when you look at a grave, 
if it is any different than your own? 
 
 
 
 
You and Me
 
The destroyed ride buses
and sometimes take walks alone
or stare out windows
on rainy afternoons.
The feel the weight of regret
heavy in their chests
but don’t always know exactly
what that means.
The destroyed
might have pets or children
or be married
but still prefer solitude.
They are everywhere,
reading books or drinking coffee,
wishing for things that never were.
You might think them odd or invisible
until you look in a mirror
on your way to a couch, beside a window,
with a storm raging
everywhere.

to change the course


i often find myself

depressed as i reflect

on my life


there seems there

is nothing i can do

to change the course

of this roller coaster

is on as it seems it is

only picking up steam

as i get older


i'm certain that means

nothing good


as i watch countless

old friends succumb

to this mortal world


i guess the best part

of being a loner is

i can suffer alone


and not bring someone

down with me


sure, a loving hand

along the way would

be great


usually, that hand

is waving goodbye


you hear no enough


you get the point
-----------------------------------------------------------------
a sense of calm


one of those nights

you look at the bottle

of lotion and think

why bother


these are the years

you should have

become a monk


lived in the mountains


attained a sense of

calm while on the

edge of death


can't exactly find that

in the suburbs unless

the heroin is cut with

something exciting


rinse and repeat


each day it seems

the circle is closing

but not nearly fast

enough


there's this woman

on the east coast

that swears she

loves me


i remind her all

the time i'll be

dead way sooner

than she will


she might want to

get here faster than

she was planning

Backwards


I keep falling farther behind.
I can not learn the latest technology.
I begin to forget the old 
Software that is no longer available. 

I keep falling back 
To carbon paper and typewriters,
Slide rules and number two pencils. 
Some of which I could not use.

I am falling back now past fountain pens,
Back to quills and parchment. 
I am sure to fall further 
To papyrus and blocks of clay,

Farther still to rock walls
Scratched with stones
Or stained with plant pigments. 
Back now to carved bones,
Strange zigzags on trees.

Back I go to body gestures 
And odd noises made
With tongue and teeth and lips. 

Back, back to before a thought
Could form in any head.
Only fears now and desires,
Pangs of hunger, pain and aches.

Back, back until there is no more
Than a fish's understanding,
One moment at a time,
Forgotten as soon as it arrives. 




Bide Your Time


Let the sadness creep over you
As it tends to this time of night.
There is so much you could weep for
In this world and in your life.

Let it have these moments.
They will pass.
The empty space left behind
Can be filled with other emotions

When their proper hour arrives.

Anthropocentric Bastard

 
She wasn’t saying
you’re a pompous elitist,
only that your anthropocentrism
appeared on your sleeve when she said
she was eating dog food, then had to explain
she meant people food she prepares for the dog.
It was only after she felt the need to translate
love is love in culinary terms to mean
food is food that you became an
Anthropocentric bastard. 

Here I Stand

Here I stand
Less than two years from sixty
Snowflakes in my hair and beard
I should sit things out
I should be exhausted from the search 
I should accept defeat without shame 
Like a leafless tree I have become 
In this station in life
Death Is the conductor 
My spirit should be ready for flight 
Oblivion street calls out my name 
The road is an easy one

I have little strength left
The journey is winding down 
The blue skies darken 
The doubt comes from the shadows 
I cannot find the path
There is not enough light 

Tell me, am I am just a fool?
Obscurity is so profound 
I sing for you
Sometimes I think you can hear me
As my voice dies down

The blue skies darken 
In my dreams I fly toward the sun
As an infant 
The wind tosses me around 
I deserve more than solitude 
Tomorrow I might feel different 

When Not in the Mood


When not in the mood
Writing a poem
May soon change
And bring back childhood

When not in the mood
Try to write a poem
It’ll make things right
Whatever weighs you down

When not in the mood
Begin a poem
At any age
It’ll help you stay young

Terms of My Surrender

 
I am not ready to leave this world yet,
   but just in case, I need to get my terms agreed.

First, I’m a little claustrophobic,
    so no tight spaces please.

And just in case there is a hell,
    I don’t want to be on that list.
I always tried to be nice to people
    and that should count for something.

And if I make it to the pearly gates,
    I don’t want to be pulled out of the line on a technicality.

And if there is a do over of my current life, some kind of Buddhist thing,
    that’s okay as long as I can remember the mistakes I made in this one.
Maybe I stay at home next time and marry my high school girl friend
    instead of going to Woodstock and taking LSD.

And I wonder, can I stay in touch with some of the people in hell?
     Most of my best friends will probably be there.

These are my terms,
     hope I am not asking for too much.
Like Crazy Horse, I will surrender peacefully,
     but please don’t fuck with me.

Look What I Found 


Those eyes in distant cities
Still scan my screen from afar.
It is so easy nowadays 
To be robbed from anywhere 
In the country, in the world. 

I hear other fingertips 
Tapping on keyboards 
While I type this on my own.
Hopefully they will like this. 
They can steal this poem.



Errors In The System


We could not get it right,
Those signals from the stars.
Our vocabulary of the infinite 
Could not articulate the knowledge.

Communication here on Earth
Rarely does much better,
A never ending guessing game
With the truth a moving target. 

We must fudge the results 
At a galactic level,
As well as for the local
And the very personal. 

We seem to get by often
With an approximation.
That's only when we're lucky.
Error is what we are,
For we are terminally human, 
Even if that's wrong.



Another Tuesday


It is Tuesday and I am unimportant.
Which is fine.
Why should Tuesday be any different 
Than the other days in the week?

If I squash some bugs under my feet,
Or trample flowers planted
In areas for public viewing,
Maybe my stature will grow.

But only inside my head.
Outside my skull I’ll remain
A little man on a tiny planet
That thinks it’s a lot bigger.

                    Shot Glass Night’s that Pass 


Live open  
As fast as you can.  

Leave ash,  
And less cares 
For your demands.  




                    For the Adam’s of the Slap-dicks 

 
You ain’t ever gonna win.  

I eat to drink,  
So, these hips can fuck –  
I’m the spice 
And You crave my season. 

Live all the pumps  
That propel your heart,  
And release your conscience  
For idiotic Adam,  
And his stupid fuckin’ sin.