A Poem for Ruben: or cry much over this but i have

“And one by one the nights between our separated cities are joined to the night that unites us.”
― Pablo Neruda



i never expected to find out you were dead
i expected to hear you were a christian pastor
who played rock n roll in his own church
in tie dye and hippy graciousness

then

i expected you to be old and have 15 grand kids
27 great grand kids while you never slowed down
with a guitar in one hand and a book in the other

long snow white hair and bald on top
knowing cezanne, miro, randy rhoads, and queen

you

would always be here as long as i was
not here in the rooms i occupy but spicing up life
for those around you who were lucky enough to know you

when

i saw your last picture you had that same smile
and a fire in your eyes like it would never end
the world and the universe and all of us in it too

but

there is no end nor beginning nor middle nor
any point whatsoever as one turns towards omega point
and we will all be united past all cares

yet

knowing all this i miss you dearly
our time is so short so fleeting
you would forbid me to be angry

or cry much over this but i have
the final gift in memory now a smile


-------

For Ruben Lovato, Jr.

Poem - i had a dream about being high up on a terrace

i had a dream about being high up on a terrace
looking over a long blue plain
where the clouds scattered over it
like they did in barbados
over the sugarcane feilds

you were not there but everywhere
in the sky and in the chair
and the table i looked over
in the dream lunch remains
i had eaten

then i forgot you existed
and kept looking at the clouds
how they sent shadows down
the darkness wedded
with the light green
on the earth



*

Poem - he put a poem on twitter

he put a poem on twitter
it ran away like a little animal
and had fun

\

Poem - in little gilded cages

i was very excited to read they were making
small suns out of onions

i looked a bit closer and it seems they are not
making small suns out of onions

but now i think why shouldn't we figure out how
so this next winter

everyone will have a few suns at home probably
in little gilded cages


5.14.15

Poem - and the grass has grown a mile high it seems

i had a dream
that suggested i be sanely useful in this life

like clear water is
for thirst or food for an empty stomach

but i am easily angered
or my attitude is completed baffling

on one hand i am generous
then a few seconds later i am irritable and selfish

then i realize
wrangling with any idea of attitude is unworkable

because attitude is a construct
working or not working with it is a construct

a construct is a construct
only by letting go can i let go of anything


then inevitably things are simpler
and the grass has grown a mile high it seems




 to Jñana

Come up with the concept of a higher principal that is powerful enough, more powerful than me -- and it is not spiritually deaf to me.