Monday, March 31, 2014

Poem - Unplugged

I stopped watching the news
reading the newspaper
listening to the radio

It was too hard, plus
my culture was out to get me
or drive me crazy with lust
or worry

And I don't condemn my
surroundings and I don't condemn
lust or worry nor my

I don't have to pay attention
if I don't want to


I can actually see my surroundings
and know what time of the day it is now


Now, often when people speak
their words sound like poetry


Sunday, March 30, 2014

Poem - is it possible

is it possible
to be as silly as the moon
or as unserious as a star


Saturday, March 29, 2014

Poem - A Man Wanting to Be Alone

at first unaware of me
he drags a stick on the trail
creating a line

he'll wack at the weeds too
and wave at the air
like fencing with ghosts

at the top of the second hill
he stands by the path
waiting for me to pass

he has a half smile
on his face looking into
the distance like it was a joke

and i know if i
were him i'd wish i wasn't here


Quail Canyon Loop Trail
March 2014

Thursday, March 27, 2014

Poem - while he played the guitar

these astonishing stars appeared
like music -- hundreds of them with no strings

while he played the guitar

and people walked by and didn't stop because
you need to be on time

but we had nowhere
to have to get to because it was time for
guitar music played just then

even if it was just a bit cold
who cared?


outside of Cherry Moon and Mystic Arts
Laguna Beach

Poem - when you forget / you don't remember

when you forget
you don't remember

but i'll remember you
for a long time

like a knife in the back
or a pet that died


TONIGHT! "Free Poetry Thursday" in Laguna Beach

TONIGHT! "Free Poetry Thursday" in Laguna Beach at A.I.R. Gallery

658 South Pacific Coast Highway -- between Cleo & Legion.

5.30 to 8.30 PM.

Come by and get a little paper boat with a poem in it. Happens every Thursday!

Wednesday, March 26, 2014

Poem - we ride our lonely memories / like trusted steeds

we ride our lonely memories
like trusted steeds
until one day we see where they take us

so on this day I hope
you celebrate one year solidly


from the canyon club

Tuesday, March 25, 2014

Any Buddha Can Be Like a Flame

"Cultivating Buddha, or enlightenment, think about cultivating something like fire. With the right circumstances of action and mind-set, fire, or enlightenment, can appear. Both are manifestations inherent to reality, but enlightenment transcends reality. As with a state of firelessness, it may seem that Buddha is not here, but any Buddha can suddenly appear as readily as a flame."

       --  Charles-Paul Straube


Monday, March 24, 2014

Poem - Reprise

i dreamed of the damned
ignorant they are in hell
accepted the suffering

and in these conditions
even hell-beings
dreamt about love


i der Verdammten geträumt
ignorant sie in der Hölle sind
akzeptiert das Leiden

und unter diesen Bedingungen
auch hell-Wesen
über die Liebe geträumt

Poem - she cries / her relationship is ending

she cries
her relationship is ending
and why why?

it is everything
in the world to her everything
and more

what can you say
buck up what doesn't kill
makes you strong?

some people
fall down and never
get back up


i dreamed that being in hell
you don't think you are in hell

you accept the suffering
like it is normal

and even hell-beings
dream about love

Poem - in the middle of the night / i look up the word 'knowledge'

in the middle of the night
i look up the word 'knowledge'

i translate it
into three or four languages

latin german

the screen on the phone
is very bright

it hurts my eyes


Quail Meadow
Irvine 2014

Friday, March 21, 2014

300 point Smiley

Here is a 300 point smiley at 72 dpi. Enjoy.

"I don't listen much to what I think...."

"I don't listen much to what I think -- it is like investing in a business that I know is bankrupt, run by a CEO that I know is a liar."

        -- Charles-Paul Straube


Thursday, March 20, 2014


TONIGHT! "Free Poetry Thursday" in Laguna Beach at A.I.R. Gallery

658 South Pacific Coast Highway -- between Cleo & Legion.

5.30 to 8.30 PM.

Come by and get a little paper boat with a poem in it. Happens every Thursday!

Thursday, March 13, 2014

poem - walk at dusk / on the hill

walk at dusk
on the hill

a moon rises
window lighted

the sky kept going
higher and higher

into stars without end
into memory


for Alexandra

Monday, March 10, 2014

Moop Frog and Chung Tzu

I saw a frog and I listened to it.

It said, "MOOP."

"You should be croaking." I said.

The frog said, "MOOP."

"CROAK." I said.

The frog said, "MOOP."

I made a note to tell someone what I have seen and heard, if I saw a certain person (or persons).


Later I saw Chung Tzu, dragging an old chicken bone down the path on the end of a dirty string.

"I found a frog that goes "MOOP"!" I yelled out when I saw him.

"Indeed!" said Chung Tzu. We sat down on the side of the trail in the shade.

"What's with the chicken bone on the string?"

"Oh, that? Ha ha ha ha." Chung Tzu laughed. "You noticed it? I've been dragging that thing around for at least a year."

"You have not, I would have noticed."

"Really?" laughed Chung Tzu.


Walking back, Chung Tzu is dragging the repulsive chicken bone on the string down the trail, enjoying himself. People are tripping over the string and getting mad at us.

"That chicken bone on the string is disgusting and a hazard to others!" I said. Chung Tzu laughs.

We come to the place where the frog is, and we listen.

"MOOP." says the frog.

"MOOP." says Chung Tzu.

"MOOP!" says the frog.

"MOOP!" says Chung Tzu. "OK -- here's a rotten chicken bone on a string."

"Why are you giving it to me?"

"The frog insists!"

"Since when did you let frogs tell you what to do?"

"MOOP" says the frog.

"I don't know what it is about him, but that frog is totally persuasive!"

Then before either of us can react, a great white heron swoops down, and spears the frog through the body and flies away. We both wordlessly watch it fly off into the distance.

Chung Tzu winds up the chicken bone on the greasy dirty string.

He gives it to me.

"Sometimes if you go MOOP too much, even if its is right --  you can get carried away."


Quail Hill

Poem - that money or fame / can't get


two boys from new york
in many ways just two ordinary boys

we became superstars
i was destined to be the 'lesser' of the pair

i knew it was going to happen
we talked about it  - thems are the breaks

we were on our way up
whoever was more famous who cared

two kids who saw the same garbage
the same old leaves the same cabs and snow

two guys who made out
with the same kind of girls from a café
or from a coldwater pad

friends envious
bullies too

lemony sky the limit
just like a lemon


but later i hated you
how far you had gone

you have a look in your eye
like you know god better than i

and i know a little less
of who goes about as god now

then fuck you saw me
and you knew


we stood aside out of the glaring lights
separated from the shoving screaming fans

you looked at me enviously
in my oily sweater

my freedom of

than money or fame
can't get


we parted
i walked

you can't

home is


Friday, March 07, 2014

Meaning? Then?

More Zen stories:

Once here were two brothers who decided to become monks. The older brother was the smart one and the younger brother wasn't as quick, and he had only one eye. They started a little monastery high in the mountains where they grew up.

They were doing ok, but it wasn't always easy to have enough to eat. Plus there was always a wall to fix, or a roof to patch, and the temple was rickety and the wind blew through the walls in the winter. Then times began to be especially tough -- there was a famine, and a war had started.

One night, after a very long day of taking care of things, a wandering monk dressed in rags knocked on the door of the monastery.

"I'd like to have an interview with the abbot of the monastery," says the shabby monk.

When the older brother heard this, he was depressed because in his mind they were having a tough time feeding the other monks at the monastery, and this monk dressed in rags would just be another worry for him. If a wandering monk could to defeat the abbot of a monastery in debate on Buddhism, they could stay.

"Tell him to wait in the vestibule of the Temple, and I will be down to see him." said the older brother. Then he turned to his less-smart younger brother, missing an eye.

"I'm too tired to debate this wandering monk, so you'll go in my place. Do your best, and because you aren't as smart as me -- tell the monk you want to do the debate in silence. I'll wait in the courtyard."

The younger brother agreed, and he walked down to the Vestibule where the raggedy monk was waiting. The older brother sighed and figured it was a lost cause, his younger brother wasn't a debater and they'd have to find a place for the monk to sleep.

By the time the older monk got to the courtyard, the monk in rags was already there and bowed to him.

"Well, I'll be on my way. Your brother monk has a deep and sublime understanding of the Dharma -- he is really quite amazing!"

"Please tell me what happened!" said the astonished older brother.

"When your brother monk appeared in the Vestibule, he motioned that he wished to do the debate in silence, and so I agreed. I started the debate by holding up one finger -- there is one truth, the holy Dharma."

"And then?"

"Your bother quickly held up two fingers!" laughed the wandering monk. "The second truth -- there is the Dharma AND the Sangha. You can't have the teachings without the community of people that practice it."

"Then what?"

"I of course held out three fingers! There is the Dharma, the Sangha, and the Buddha. We cannot have the first two without the addition of the one who taught -- this is the third truth."


The raggedy monk laughed. "Brother monk instantly held up his fist to me -- in my face -- he is really quite good! There are the three truths --  the teachings, the people who follow the teachings, and the sublime teacher -- and they are undeniably, primordially ONE! At that point the debate was conceded. Brother monk had won. I got up and left, and so I will be on my way now. Thank you for the sublime fortune to have such a wonderful elucidation of the Way."

After the monk had gone out the main temple gate, the older brother re-entered the courtyard. There he ran into his younger brother, who was clearly quite agitated.

"Where is that wandering monk! Where did he go!"

"What do you mean?" asked the older brother.

"I'm going to beat the shit out of him!"

"You won the debate!" said the older brother. "He's gone!"

"What debate? There was never any debate!"

"Please tell me what happened!" said the astonished older brother.

"Fine! What can I say? So I go down to see this monk and when I get to the vestibule I don't like the look of him -- he looks like a criminal or a common thief in those rags, but the rules are the rules -- and we'll have our debate. I bow and he understands the debate will be without words. Then he starts off being totally insulting!"

"How so?" asked the older brother.

"He holds up one finger. The nerve! He's saying I have only one eye. So I immediately hold up two fingers."


"I'm saying, see the good circumstances for him to have two eyes. I am not so fortunate. Then the bastard goes and holds up three fingers! Three! And I know what he's getting at: Between you and me, we only have THREE eyes."


"I was ready to punch him -- then he suddenly bowed and ran away!"

Written from recollection from a collection of Zen stories from Paul Reps


One night, I’m having a hard time sleeping. I toss and I turn.

In the middle of the night, I hear a scratching noise. I get up and open the door of my bedroom.

“Was that you?” I ask Chung Tzu, who is in the living room, sitting on the couch.

“Not really.” says Chung Tzu.

I close the door, and I lay back down. When I am just about asleep, I hear another noise.

I open the door, and Chung Tzu is there, sitting on the couch.

“Did you hear that noise?” I ask Chung Tzu.

“Not really.” says Chung Tzu.

So I go lay back down in the dark back room, and I stare at the ceiling and my back hurts and I’m tired and frustrated and confused at all these noises I think I am hearing.

Then, sure enough, right as I forget everything and I fall asleep, I get woken up again – it is maddening!

I storm into the living room, Chung Tzu sits unruffled on the couch.

“Why are you here right now?” I yell at him.

“Thank Goodness! I thought you’d never ask!” laughs Chung Tzu.


Quail Meadow
March 2014

Thursday, March 06, 2014

Poem - Weeping in the Garden of Eden

what is tragic is that i think there is tragedy in this world
as if you'd be in the garden of eden and be crying your heart out
because there is too much beauty and not enough ugly


was ist tragisch ist, dass ich denke, es ist die tragödie in dieser welt
als hättest du in der garten eden sein und weinen sie ihr herz heraus
weil es zu viel schönheit und nicht genug hässlich

Poem - Zippertop Clone Shoe

you strike a pose
the world is dying behind you
wrapped in lights


Zippertop Clone Shoe

Poem - Stupid

a stupid non sequitur
or a joke as you go out the door

i have nothing for you
it is over

like i'm back in high school
or junior high

bending backwards into nothing
saying it is okay

is it because i lack
courage or character

yes to even suggest so
means it is so

but also not at all


you can look at a closed door
for a long time

look at it for a few years
and be saying the whole time

what a stupid fuck
to be looking at this door

Poem - resolved/ important/ critical

resolved not to think of anyone not in front of oneself move to someplace where the weather is more interesting

important to not write run on sentences and to use punctuation to sleep like a lion and to be as strong as a lamb

critical to have a good heart thus to move mountains higher or lower and to occupy the summit of ones desires joyfully for once


Duly Noted

Quail Meadow

On Top of the Refrigerator

I've been thinking about this one a lot lately. I try to remember things that happened a long time ago, when I was little. I remember one time, my mother had to go do an important errand, something that had to be done right away. I think I was about 4 years old. She had never left me alone, so this was exciting for me, and a little bit frightening. But I was more exhilarated than scared. When she was gone for about 15 minutes, I managed to break a soda bottle in the garage -- it just fell over when I walked by it and broke! It has a mind of it's own! Then I got onto the top of the refrigerator in the garage so she could see me when she drove in, so she'd be so proud of how dependable I was. I waved at her as she pulled in, and she saw me, but she didn't wave back.


On Top of the Refrigerator
San Diego


Gozo is angry, so he decides to build a birdhouse. He gets some wood that he finds in the backyard and beats it with nails and a hammer. Ella sees it.


Gozo is angry, so he decides to build a -- nevermind. Fuck Ella.


Gozo dreams of being a birdhouse.

                              > Gozo träumt davon, ein Vogelhaus.


Gozo is angry, so he decides to build a birdhouse. He gets some wood that he finds in the backyard and beats it with nails and a hammer. Ella sees it.


Gozo lays under several broken looking birdhouses. The grass is cool, and moisture starts to seep though his pants.

Several birds have been interested in his birdhouses. One little finch is living in the smallest, most broken looking one.


Gozo goes to the hardware store to buy seed. Ella spies on him at the hardware store by the booms.


Oak Park

Wednesday, March 05, 2014

Poem - to be an illusion/ that can help

in the night
i wake up in acceptance

no sleep
i listen to mozart

serenade in B flat
the horn

i hear it
transform the melody

the room
becomes mysterious

scale of things
big or small all the same

i sense
how we are here

stokes of
sundering lightening

of fantastic cities

or bubbles
colliding together


what a blessing
to be a illusion
that can help


Quail Meadow