Poem - Some Other Time

watching an innocent pair
of autumn stained clock
hands turn

and hearing the traffic
in the street without
looking at anything

new york you are in
my mind and outside of me
trying to get in

going for a walk
taking a break from mute
white pages

soon it may snow a
new white that will conquer
all the gray

a few flakes will defy
gravity like living forever
over the facades of w 43rd street

-----

To Bill Evans, playing "Some Other Time"

Poem - To My Foolish Heart

Video of Bill Evans playing "My Foolish Heart"
at the piano, NYC 1963

*

hey bill you're breaking mine
as you play 'my foolish heart'

smiling at the same time
of the busting of it

remembering all the doors
passed in and out of

saying hello to such
an unexpected upturned face

and then one day she is gone
no letter unsaid goodbyes

through all this i see
how we can't go back

we only go on
as brave as possible

and then being
that way

as every place always
was embracing us

Poem - The Shore

life is words
words can kill

we are ruled
by the language we acquire

you will never realize
if you are not free of this

you will stay on the shore
and see a horizon

you will have a shack nearby
with an unpaid bill

you will have a girl you loved
who left you

~

la vida son las palabras
las palabras pueden matar

que se rigen
por el lenguaje que adquirimos

que nunca se dará cuenta de
si usted no está libre de este

se quedará en la orilla
y ver un horizonte

usted tendrá una choza cercana
una factura sin pagar

usted tendrá una chica que amaba
que le dejó

poem - simple here

bird droppings
twigs rusted pipe

the ride of the hill is that way
you know your feet

below is earth
above is sky wing white

hint of cloud over
you & bugs old barbed wire

forgetting now
in everything

simple here

well water newspaper
old pipe

Poem - The Nightingale

you do not understand
so i do not understand
there is nothing to understand

*

hep!

these words the mysterious call
of a surreal nightingale

wanting to come in
during the long dark night
when i am half asleep

in fear at those times i choose
not to be unconscious or oblivious

it comes unbidden time and time again
because you have shown me

seeing is lovely
how some deal made
to allow you or i to go

where few are allowed to transgress
certainty dies propellers ejected

steering on and on

------

for Latif

In Charge of the World

there is a cat in a tree
not supposed to be so high in the tree
a little girl calls for the cat to come down out of the tree
the cat thinks it is in charge of the world

there is a well-dressed man in a limo
living a secret agony in the city that never sleeps
everyone fears him and he has the power to ruin lives
the man thinks he is in charge of the world

there is a person who is writing this poem
sun rises over the cat and the man and me
like them i think i am here and i am relatively in control
just enough to be in charge of the world

Poem - i expect things to make sense

i expect things to make sense

with the sunlight i worship not here but 8 minutes into the past

and my very substance borne from an unknown star

exploded billions of years ago & specks of it wandered through trackless space

through an eternity of death


i expect to have certainty

in a place that is as fragile and transitory as it is ridiculous

with the rest of the universe in mind

full of emptiness and unequaled nothing

no sighs no thought no place


how amazing it is to be so different

like one polished gem in the inscrutable throat

of murderous time or a bright illogical mote of dust

that magically arises in the face of

the dread certainty of nothing

--------

Written, written, written -- might not be fixable, but there it is. For JJ. CM

Poem - my good luck shared let us be resolute together

my good luck shared let us be resolute together

here is the morning full of the memories of mahasiddhas

a million letters from the buddhas held up now delivered

padmakara and jesus christ entered like all-day with no mysterious divisions

old leaf royal at my left foot and a pool humbling me with clear water

-------

For Latif and Alpha

Poem - Incomplete Poem to the Mahasiddhas

Incomplete Poem to the Mahasiddhas

(Author: It cannot be done, but like a stroke of lightening on a blue cloudless day, here is the thunder-clap.)

i pray to the mahasiddhas
they laugh

no harm done
give your offerings

we like rocks
we like guts we like wind

trash death
sun moon mold beer

*

mahasiddhas
emanate from jail

mahasiddhas
spring from traffic accidents

mahasiddhas
evolve from old ketchup

*

acinta mahasiddha was in a meeting and found it boring

ayogipa mahasiddha was offered a free bath & laughed

aryadeva saw all the pretty girls from serenity house

babhaha sat next to him and laughed ha ha ha

kilakilapa shared

bhandepa clapped him out

bhiksanapa had a donut

bhusuku came in late

camaripa had on old white shoes

campakapada showed the bums loving eyes

godhuripa had plenty to give away

caurangipa appeared to be whole to the missing

celukapa mute and strong as stone in his chair

kalapa stole my heart

dengipa shushed me

-------

Ah! The result of Sensing a Beautiful Morning & being alone, or these and all the others
1.07.2011

Poem - The Poet

a poem could be written
a thousand ways
and not at all

some of the best he declined
to ravage by fuck death
pen

no false pride in this
you don't know him

i do

Poem - Rework: To the Place

you go to the place
in hip of the narrow valley

not a lamb to the slaughter
nor fools gold rambling

if you go look for the drunk
who slept in the barn

he left incidentals
rotted with bird droppings

you're looking

you're looking
look at you looking

he could be in needles
he could be in a library

he could be crossing a stream
he could be the river

or not place buildings streets
dark windows shine

hell laughing medicated
high arrested shot stabbed

own burned lost forgotten to all
except to your own eyes

that now see above tree branches
in the form of a mute 'X'

*

you feel an apple
in your barn jacket

you take it out and eat it

----

Bennett Valley

Poetry Makes Me Coffee

Poetry -- who uncannily looks like a friend of mine who lives in San Jose, comes in.

"You're writing terrible poetry." says Poetry.

"Yes, I do." I say.

"Are you doing this on purpose?" asks Poetry.

"I don't know." I lie.

"Hmmm." she says. Poetry looks around the kitchen. "Would you like some coffee?"

"That would be very nice."

"Ok." says Poetry. She gets up and starts making us coffee. "You should cheer up."

"I don't feel depressed."

Poetry looks at me with her beautiful hazel eyes. "You should cheer up."

We have coffee and she tells me about how other poets were cheered up, throughout history. I'd like to make love to Poetry, when I'm in a better mood, but her phone rings musically and she has to go -- there are many writers who need her more than I. On her way out, she kisses me on the cheek.

Poem - Bar

lies as precious as rhinestone
cast over the floor of the bar
sown night gap after night
the door opens and all look
without turning your head
through red eyes
how are ya paul frank joe
don't ask

the police have come
girlfriend is banging aurora

Poem - To the Place

you go to the old place
situated in a lonely valley

not a lamb to the slaughter
nor fools gold rambling

if you go look for the drunk
who slept in the barn he is gone

he left incidentals
rotted with bird droppings

he could be in needles
he could be in a library

he could be crossing a stream
not wet at all this time

or laughing medicated
stoned high arrested shot stabbed

burned lost forgotten to all
except to your own eyes

that now see above tree branches
in the form of a mute 'X'

*

you feel an apple
in your barn jacket

you take it out and eat it

----

Bennett Valley

Poem - days a steady rain/ no hiding from it

days a steady rain
no hiding from it

sky the color
of dull aluminum

each fence post
ink black

straw nods down
sleeping on wet earth

scrub oak dark
on mountain

---

Winter Solstice
North County, San Diego

Ching Tzu Says "Ah!"

Chung Tzu comes in, through the sliding glass door all rainy. It has been raining for about 36 hours, uncommon here.

"What did you want to tell me?" he asks.

"I don't remember." I admit, drinking cold coffee.

"Ah!" he says.

"But it was something good." I remind him.

"Ah!" he says.

"You'd have liked about half of it, I think." I assure him.

"AH!" he says.

"I--"

"AH!!!" Chung Tzu yells.

"But --"

"AHHH!" Chung Tzu exclaims, and he goes out the back door, with his robes a-swinging.

Into the rain.

Poem - last night interview dream

last night interview dream
job title: running the sun

not too hot
nor too cold

raise it lower it
i had no related experience

spoke movingly
about growing green things

down here
on earth they listened

called me later

i got the job

Poem - boring as hell you & me

now we are friended
online

what amazing possibilities
lost now found

boring as hell you & me
it turns out

Poem - like a light in this place

from the bar last call

walking home in the lions den
of 3 am sunday morning

saturday night whim
exhausted

promises decayed
failure or dark irony

then i see two lovers
just sitting holding hands

like a light in this place

-----

Lower Haight Street
San Francisco

Poem - Doings of a Serious Crow

i

serious crow

on a lamp post

haight & baker

accepting the music

of buskers

ii

serious crow

flies to the panhandle

and a pretty girl

gives him sandwich

just a pinch from

her pretty fingers

o lovely girl

iii

serious crow

to a funeral watching

out of one black eye

a white coffin

rock up the steps

of a white church

the body bumping

softly so you can't

almost hear it

iv

crow back

to lamp post

at haight & baker

buskers gone

stale food and a ticket

and a magazine

w/ cigarette butt

caw caw caw

says crow to

muscular fog

and crows black eye

sees me

Poem - Clayton Street

pearl gray morning

i walk on clayton street

i know the cars the sidewalk

i know every shining window

i am the path of the mind

now going up over rooftops

from city to mysterious sky

into unknowable air a bell tolls 12

back to earth i hear

two students talk about girls

and smell the toke

a cab cuts through residing thought

an electric bus passes

a motorcycle goes

the postman is at the gate

----

For Evan and Fonta
12/10

Poem - The Mountain

no mountain climbing is worth it
unless your heart breaks halfway for how big the mountain is
and there is no confession to ease it
simply is

night falls and you feel lost
you can't go back
you must wait for the dawn
to see where you are

it isn't worth it unless you pray then
and there is no comfort because
you see how small you are to
mountain

fate flickers like a candle
you reach for faith like a sane person
feels for light or a rope
or a map

Poem - Morning

thanksgiving day

my words have failed me
thank god for the failure of words

i'm sun
i'm the pool cleaner mechanically going about
through a dreamy shadow
under water

then of this reveille
a bird cuts through the air

black phoebe to the best place
in the backyard

----

november 25
escondido

Poem - Venus Rises Over The House

venus rises over the house
suddenly everything holding onto
i let go of
as naturally as a sigh

i feel less weaponized
and how thru a whole bust life
i honed
my edges

day makes it seem
i never thought these things

Joe Stalin Helps Me with the Crossword Puzzle

It is a sunny, pleasant morning in Newport Beach. Joseph Stalin and I are drinking coffee on the patio, and we are reading different parts of the newspaper.

"The Pope!" says Joe Stalin. "How many divisions does he have?"

"He doesn't need any divisions." I reply. "He's the Pope."

"I've KILLED men who dared to even THINK about speaking to me that way!" says Joe Stalin.

"What way?"

"The way you are talking to me right now!"

"But you asked me a question!"

"There you go again!" yells Joesph. "I don't want the TALKING after I talk -- I was making a STATEMENT."

"OK." I say, and I start the crossword puzzle.

After a few minutes of silence, Joesph Stalin throws down the want-ads.

"We'll hang all the capitalists with a rope -- and they'll sell it to us!" he proclaims. He sticks his thumbs into his belt loops and looks at me.

I keep working on the crossword puzzle, it is very hard and frustrating. And I wonder inwardly, what does J.S. mean? What does the rope represent? Why a rope? How much rope? When would this hanging take place? What does the hanging, or 'hanging' signify -- literally or figuratively, or metaphorically? etc. etc.

"Well!?!" says Joe Stalin.

"I'm sorry, you told me to not interrupt." I reply. "But now that you asked, what is a 7 letter word that starts with an 'A' for the clue 'Alike: Twin'?"

Stalin thinks. "Hmmm. Try 'Achiral'."

I try it. "No."

"Acmatic?"

"No."

"Adenoma."

"Now you're guessing."

Stalin throws all the papers into the air and I hear them cascading down the side of the balcony. "ALL THE TALKING MUST STOP!"

*

About a hour later Pope Pius XI comes by, after playing golf at Pelican Hill. He's in a good mood, tan, serene, he mentions he shot an 83.

I think Joe is going to go at him for the pope thing, and I wait for it, pretending not to be hoping, but Pius and Joesph talk about baseball, and the Giants.

Chung Tzu Has Had Enough of Me

Now, at mid-morning, I am doing things. Chung Tzu is here, and I am trying to ignore him.

Bread needs to be sliced. I cut the bread with a knife.

"Oh!" says Chung Tzu. So I cut harder.

A mirror needs to be hung. I get a screwdriver and I drive the screws into the wall.

"My." murmurs Chung Tzu. So I drive the screws harder.

A cabinet should be repaired. I get out the hammer and some small shiny nails. I hammer away.

Chung Tzu has had enough of me. "Tisk-Tisk!"

"And what?"

"I've seen what you're up to --you use all your tools the wrong way tools should be used! You use a knife like it is a knife, a screwdriver like a screwdriver, and gracious! A hammer like a hammer!"

"And how should I use a tool like a tool?" I ask irritably.

"Well, right now, I certainly can't tell you. But I do know you're hurting them all. Possibly you should just stop what you are doing."

Chung Tzu leaves.

It is quiet when he is gone, very still. My feeling are hurt. I look at the knife, the screwdriver, and the hammer. I arrange them on the table, and I reflect on what I was doing.

"I'm sorry if I have been hurting you." I say to the knife, the screwdriver, and the hammer.

I decide not to cut, drive screws, or hammer for awhile.

*

When it is getting dark, Chung Tzu comes back. He sees the tools on the table.

"I'm sorry." I say, and I look down at my hands. "I see I don't know how to use tools right."

Chung Tzu smiles, and gives me a bear hug. "Ok, Brother. There, there."

The first star of the night rises.

-----

Dedicated to David Given Schwarm

Chung Tzu Fishing - Me Thinking

After the sun rises, I'm walking on the trail that loops around Back Bay. Around a steep bend in the track, I see Chung Tzu with a length of string and an old piece of wood. He has part of the string wrapped around the wood in the middle, but I don't think that he would ever catch anything -- it is comical, there is no hook.

"Good morning!" I say.

"Good morning!" says Chung Tzu.

"Going to go Fishing? I don't see you catching much with that!"

"Going to go Thinking? I'm sure you won't catch much your way, either!"

We both smile.

We both look at the vast expanse of Back Bay in the morning, and the wind comes up.

----

For Camilla

Building the Tower

morning sun shows
sugar under my fingernails
from making ice-coffee

dr seuss hypnotizing
the kid with songs & all kinds
of happy messages

well, how did we do? great!

if you want to build a tall tower
that stands in place, be sure to build it
in one solid place!

-----

October 29

Lao Tzu and Every Leaf in the Forest

Lao Tzu and I are sitting. We are sitting on a rock.

"I want to help others, but I am never sure when I am interfering, rather than helping." I say.

"Every leaf in the forest does not know it's name." says Lao Tzu. "But they all fall."

I watch the wind blow and I see the trees slowly shake. I want to believe each leaf that falls free and twirls in the air, decides to let go.

Poem - this morning tigger becomes a genie

this morning tigger becomes a genie
and has the magic to solve everything
but tigger discovers that the power of wishing
isn't everything without love

all of this wisdom
contained in a tv cartoon
on an ordinary monday morning
before 9 o'clock

i catch myself saying
'look! see? i'm starting to see!'
but i still don't love enough
and i keep at the wishes

oh to realize like tigger

Poem - but look

i go to the vintage cars
on display down the street

there is a light rain falling
and i am early all the cars are not there

you can't look at them yet
explains the nice lady

i would be disappointed but look

i have an angel by my shoulder
60 stories tall &

as bright as
a star

how nice

.

.

.

Here are Some Random Numbers for Today

7 20 7 95 38 78 18 39 64 23 10 4
94 20 84 6 11 21 98 39 98 38 79
12 40 92 17 94 83 17 65 89 23 88
44 48 50 6 96 8 95 83 38 49 11 53
34 85 26 63 52 10 100 98 10 44 92
18 6 58 64 11 36 56 61 78 97 99
70 92 8 13 17 66 38 48 72 49 95
85 34 55 90 55 4 74 97 54 30 50
22 27 71 77 29 81 38 7 88 66

Have fun!

Poem - rain drops/ down

rain drops
down

fuzzy

i'm immune
to it

i shouldn't
be

here is this
cloud

fresh from
sea

full of sprinkling
things

memories old
anger

notes from
the oldest

man in the
world

Poem - now today is like an open ocean

now today is like an open ocean
hovering before your eyes like a bird

the rocks are gone so is the tricky harbor so keenly aimed for
such is the grandeur of the mind

Poem - that is the way it is

disgusting hard messy
crazy fruitless
fucked up

do you like it
you must be crazy
or a bastard

sitting in the sun
with no real problems
being sad

in the other room
hear someone say
dick dick dick

dick dick dick
dick dick dick dick
dick dick dick

that is the way it is
it might feel better
or worse

-------

To Me
10.12

The Well

A sheaf of rain hangs over the hills, or a dark crows wing of rain falls with raindrops on raindrops riding piggy-back. It is 11 o'clock. Dishes were just finished in the sink and garbage must go out, water falling from the sky, or no.

I was thinking about Peter Shaffer, the playwright, though I do not know him personally. I am thinking of him now again, as I cast the bucket deep down the well of my mind like this, feeling for water and possibly something unexpected when it comes up.

Down goes the bucket again, it falls a long time. The sun is out. The bucket comes up. I remember remembering someone I met a long time ago, who I've heard lives in Alameda. I think about another person who works at a big bank now.

I know we're all connected somehow. So wish me inspiration, fame, money, a good lay, water at the bottom of my well. I'll give you crow rain, cleaned dishes, taken out garbage, and Peter Shaffer, and something else from the well.

Christopher Smart

For I am not without authority in my jeopardy, which I derive inevitably from the glory of the name of the Lord.

------

– Jubilate Agno -- Fragment B, 1 - Christopher Smart

Poem - memories and recollections

memories and recollections
points in the darkness

oh look at them
so beautiful

bright scattered out
getting smaller

millions of them
all narration

you can navigate by
but don't believe in them

Poem - i can see my son/ watching the show

i only hear the tv
when it is one room away

i can see my son
watching the show

bathed in blue light
he laughs when it laughs

and jumps
to the explosions

Poem - i have a pond in my hand

i have a pond in my hand
fish live they look happy
with no worries in the world

my other palm is over the water
and makes nice shade with such
smooth water how could we be unhappy

Poem - the strokes/ of a silent bell

night was clear
like a noiseless bell

it tolled again and
again the hours

but unlike last time
i wasn't counting

nor was i not
counting

the strokes
of a silent bell

Poem - the wonder i see

big jet off to japan or chicago
look at that plane pull for the sky

catching the morning light
through the mist -- go go go

so straight so shiny
it can't exist or be made

the wonder i see
senses i previously was blind to

now shows me of what i lost
and what i have

Poem - Untrampled

we are not right
we think our needs will heal us
we think our wants will give us happiness

contentment is not chained
nor can it be gathered like any gathered thing
that is why it is contentment uncontainable

and we know this
we were born knowing this
and this is why we are what we are

yet we resist and we burn
to take daylight to a war or the moon
from a starry ocean night to a tomb

words thoughts ideals plans
brief as they are pretty as they are
saw the wide world & said they owned it

our mental defects
are so much lesser and poorer
than any deficiency we ever thought up

.

so the imperishable
comes back after much ruin and denial
untrampled by beginning middle and ending

----

9/12/2010
for Anicius Manlius Severinus Boëthius

Boethius - Song VI. -- All Things Have Their Needful Order

For to each thing God hath given
 Its appointed time;
No perplexing change permits He
 In His plan sublime.
So who quits the order due
Shall a luckless issue rue.

---

From "The Consolation of Philosophy"
This is the seed of the AA Serenity Prayer

Poem - but it is here

moving out of my dead time
i understand a little of what you taught

there was no way to impart
this comprehension & you knew it

all that could be done was to suggest
over and over and give out clues

hopefully or not hopefully there'd be
some kind of impression

but still learning does not stand of anything
and impressions are voids to be filled

when we look fondly at what we have learned
and see there are no gaps at all

everything is naturally complete to create
uncreated completion

now i have strayed out of words and thoughts
but it is here

words and thoughts cannot describe anything

those who do not understand will say it is secret
or impossible to know

but like love it is here

----

for LTR

Poem - what comes to your mind

in the middle of the night
what comes to your mind

when i am naked and
unguarded i see clearly

all these things
i have had before

you cannot keep them
but they come again

i awake and i know
if i abide

they too will be here in our
short time

the new song is not
freinds are gathering

the house arises
there are no new places

nothing has been lost
but there is the fear of time

like a jewel that can be broken
in a clock that can stop

you who fear like this
a spot of rain just fell

is it on your left of me
or the right?

Poem - of the river & the sea

do you keep doing
the things you've always been doing?
so am i
as summer is almost over and fall
begins the fall

being in a new place old cartoons
sound charming
and there is no mist or overcast
until 7 am

full blown day

the barge has
moved it's black bar down the bay
i feel soon
when fall is in full swing
it will be at the mouth

of the river & the sea

----

Back Bay
Newport, CA

Places With or Without My Love

I've never been to Kornsjø.

Or Stolipinovo.

Never visited Nagaland, or gone to the banks of the Rivière Soliette.

If I could listen to the Seufzer-Galopp, while driving on the Arbuthnot Road, while talking to a blonde about the 1911 Tour de France -- specifically about the close battle between Octave Lapize and François Faber -- would I be satisfied? I'm sure someone has had this conversation in such company, and they were happy.

Or I could figure out which Richard Doyle had come close to listening to the Seufzer-Galopp, while driving on the Arbuthnot Road, while talking to a blonde.

Or I could guess from Kornsjø, Stolipinovo has had a few people who have been back and home again on the way to the Rivière Soliette.

The moon is the same here, and in Nagaland. And whatever version of the Seufzer-Galopp you listen to, I'm sure it sounds the same.

With or without my love.

Poem - even if you want/ or even if you don't want them

what have i forgotten
many things wiped away by this day

but money lives in the past present
and future

a deadly responsibility
this business of having things

even if you want
or even if you don't want them

but don't be fooled and say
it is money's fault

Poem - all is before 1st light

mist hanging low & blue over the back bay, lights twinkled from a far off barge over silver water

all is before 1st light: the barge was black and questions died away,
thoughts caught off guard were annihilated

----

Back Bay
September 1

Poem - watching it snow

i

towards death

trembling hands
opened the bottle

it was a long walk
to the store & back

this is what you wanted
and nothing more

harming yourself

a face in the window
watching it snow

ii

months later

you can still see

every single falling
flake

iii

there is a part of you
a part of all of us

where it never stops
snowing

Poem - every time/ i watch dawn get started

here i sit again
before the dawn
on the third of four terraces
all others asleep below

i can't help but
marvel at the sky
dark blue yet
hinting of the coming light

the sun will rise
above a series of silhouettes
of the mountains
behind me

dewdrops surrounding
will become
a bewildering maze

and most will awake
to an ordinary day
in a given place in a given
moment

i am
stripped of this every time
i watch dawn get started

-----

August 2010

Poem - who is burdened with more than what they can carry

old pictures showing my tracks through the heart
stabbing reminders of past joy scattered over an unmade bed
the bed begs to be made so i fix the sheets

later i'm walking in a garden that is not mine
here i can see to the heights all the possible paths i might take
some trails are good some are bad

it is the choices at the start of a new journey that are bright
but otherwise there are things you cannot know
who is burdened with more than what they can carry

------

For Mel

Poem - over the boats

gone all month
but i'm good i suppose

my arms surround
a perfect circle of empty air

the light is lifting strong
off reflections from the waves

back bay newport beach
this is where the bluffs rise up

this is where my heart rises too
sun giving a new day

over the boats

Poem - risk

marine killed by an explosion
a youth who became a man

risk

concerned neighbors sent extra milk over
and a patriotic flag



when he came back
he's anywhere but here

Poem - on the train home/ we laughed

in love i see you and i don't know who you are
i know that i will never know you totally
but why be insistent -- has anyone been able to have anything
in such persistent questioning

we danced under the moon at buckingham fountain
and the lights changed color
as music played

"I got rhythm, I got music, I got my girl
Who could ask for anything more?"

on the train home
we laughed

Poem - a figure who is already there &/ watching you enter the door

you are dragging me into the room
by my hand, please stop

my arm was rigid and crooked
but i let you lead me, it is comical

people see this as a salute, or as a
declaration, for you this is help

my hand is not there it never was
i am someone different

a figure who is already there &
watching you enter the door

Poem - always coming/ always going

each moment
is like a wave

coming in
going back out

dragging us
or pushing

it lulls us to sleep
then to be awake

always coming
always going

----

River Forest
8/14

Meeting God in New York

Before I woke up this morning, I had a dream I was standing on a sidewalk in New York. I was near Chinatown, in Lower Manhattan. Grime & gum on the sidewalk, the old brick buildings stood, the stray bits of trash. For some reason, this hip guy was walking towards me -- when I saw the figure, I knew I was waiting for him.

It was God, coming into my life again, and this time he was disguised as a young, streetwise punk. When he got close enough, he had a tough friendly New York grin on his face. The kind of smile I'd seen all over New York. So I wasn't afraid when he was close enough to talk to me.

I woke up. It was dark and 5.30 in the morning.

Poem - they always meant well/ didn't they the grown-ups

i decided as a child
there was something to find

had to be something
because adults were crazy

they always meant well
the grown-ups

i had no idea mature
was to be a big dumb old kid

Poem - the horror/ of efficiency

i'm killing
ants with
bait

so last night
i dreamed of
thick lines of
ants going
from the
door

thousands and
thousands of
them all hungry
to their
deaths

the horror
of efficiency

who was the
genius who
cooked this
stuff up in
a lab

they're great
at what they
do these bugs
don't have
a chance

Poem - &

he was hooray for you
hooray for me
hooray for this
hooray for jesus christ
all together in this bar
all together with more drink
and he wouldn't stop
until he was seriously
hooray hooray hooray
down off the barstool
to the floor to the bouncer
to the curb / cop

&

when they stuffed him
in the back of the
squadcar he convulsed
like a fish i could hear
him screaming "You're
all a bunch of F--ing
worthless pukes."

the baseball
game came back on
and i watched his
abandoned last drink
sweat

Poem - he looked

he looked the way a drunk looked
he took pride in this denial

he thought he was like a sordid champ
even like a writer about to do the best work

he brought paper and pen but he did the crossword puzzles
to not think about anything

left every night by 11 the same way
in & out through the side entrance or back door

it is a bad dream for a dreamer who thinks
they still dream

Poem - One Typical Night Awhile Ago

bad men looking for
beautiful women
looking for bad men

i keep my eye on
the clock and the
clock doesn't give
a goddamn because
it is a clock

dwelling in the clasp
of imagined or real
missed opportunities
rolling along like
one drink after another

i have a smoke
i see the fingernail moon
i don't want to go
back in but i do
there is nothing else
to do when you
are at this

-------

Poor Phil's
Oak Park

Poem - i love you

i love you
but the love does not come from you

i see it is
the love in me to care for you or for anyone

so i can't lose it
like you can't lose your own love inside

and if you love me
with this in mind we'll be loving true

never believe
i can take it away from you by going

Chicago

I was interested to discover there are several places named Chicago in North America -- Chicago being a derivation of the Native American construct ''Chi-cau-qhu', which was a widespread catch- all for a kind of flowering wild onion, or herb. One of my favorites I visited recently is Chicago, NV. It was founded in 1877 by Emiline Roquefort, who established the famous silver mine "Delight" in 1876. Regrettably, in 1879 Mr. Roquefort shot himself with a pistol during an altercation with Bart Blanchette, who was a native of Chicago, IL. Another Chicago is located in the State of Maine, by Bett Crossing. Civil War buffs will probably remember the battle there, fought by Union General C. Marshall Skilling at Patch River Bend. In Chicago, in Maine, vistors can get a good view over the Patch River if they choose to climb to the heights along Telegraph Street. From the downtown and a numbr of quaintly restored shops & historic buildings, you can see the steeples of Benchley Church, in the village of Sorrow.

Lady of Oak Park

Every day during the summertime, I recognize a lady who goes to Scofeild Park at about 1 o'clock in the afternoon. Under the trees, she plays checkers by herself near the war monument. The war monument is under renovation, but it does not seem to bother her. If you see her, the woman does not look unhappy in the least -- she won't talk to you, she's not there. I think she's in 1958 with a boyfriend, who moved to Canada just before Autumn. When October rolls around she waits in the lobby of the Oak Park Arms retirement home, for a letter that will never come. Tomorrow will be another day.

An Author, a Book, and a Librarian at the Library in the Morning

i.

It is a beautiful summer's morning in Oak Park. I put on a nice soft plaid shirt and grab a copy of my smallest, thinnest book. You have to start somewhere.

"Hello." I say, at the library.

"Hello!" says the librarian.

"I am an author." I say.

"Cool!" says the librarian.

"I live here, and this is our community library. It is a very nice library!"

"Thank you." says the librarian.

"Look what I have here! I'd like to give the library a copy of my latest book. It was written in Oak Park, and it is about Oak Park."

"Oh." says the librarian. "We don't accept book submissions to the library."

Being ready for this, I say, "Well, it is a library, isn't it?"

"Yes." laughs the librarian seeing the irony. "But still, we don't usually accept book submissions to the library." The librarian thinks. "But there have been exceptions."

"Who would know about those exceptions?"

"Administration, on the second floor."

"Thanks so much. It was nice talking to you."

"You're welcome!"

I talk to the nice people in Administration, and then, in a cafe, I give my book away to a pretty girl. This was the beginning of my Library, which I guess is not a library at all -- where books are accepted, where people don't know they are a branch of my Library, and if they give my book away to anyone else, it makes a new branch.

Or, out of my confused thinking, I remember one of my heroes, Richard Brautigan, used to hand his poetry out on the street, the work attached to little packets of seeds. I have no idea what I'll do.

ii.

When I get home, I decide tomorrow I'll go to the Oak Park Historical Society & hide one of my books in the bathroom.

It Starts to Rain

i.

Once dreaming about a book I was reading, now working where my old office used to be in the side basement room. The house is empty, save me and what I need to pack. I cannot quite capture the dream. A friend and I go to a thrift store called Brown Elephant, I need a tie for a meeting tonight. In the dream last night I was in a meeting. I pick a tie out and an old National Geographic for $3.50, but I can't go to the meeting because of a deadline. The dream is completely gone now.

The sky darkens, wind blows, rain scheduled never comes.

ii.

If I had time, ideally I'd go to Scofield Park and look at the trees and see if they reminded me of anything about my dreams. There is a deadline as real as a dream to be done. The deadline changes like a dream. The dream and the deadline are the same. Looking around, I think I am more awake when I am asleep. If I dream tonight of going to a meeting after getting a tie and an old National Geographic magazine from Brown Elephant, that would be fine. Or the dream meeting in the dream would be interrupted by a dream dream deadline that changes in the dream like a dream.

It starts to rain.

Joe and Pianos

Joe lived alone in the house his mother and father had bought in Oak Park, IL. Joe was 52 and had never been able to make many friends.

For many years, Joe was an aspiring writer of gags. Usually he wrote every day after having a glass of milk at the cafe. Often it was about pianos. Joe wrote:

Goes to show you, some musical instruments can go bad and get you when you least expect it. Today, a piano attacked without warning from the back of a piano moving truck at Harlem and Home Avenues, about 40 miles per hour. There was just a split second for a driver to hesitate a bit on the accelerator, but that was it. The piano hit the pavement with the flash and crash that sounded like the start of an epic Wagner concerto & the mayhem commenced. Ivory keys exploded, strings and sharp pieces of shaped wooden piano guts fighting with the cars as they ran over the thing. Renegade stand up piano took out 4 cars and a motorcyclist in 30 seconds flat. Not a few people in Oak Park will go home tonight and look at, say, a harpsichord and wonder when a seemingly innocent objects will SNAP.

He sat there for a few minutes, looking at what he wrote, tapping the pen to his teeth. Joe tried reworkng the writing, because he couldn't figure out why it was funny.

He fed the squirrels. He came back inside. The great piano attack story wasn't funny. It wasn't even true.

At about 11 PM, Joe tucked himself in.

He had a dream about naked ladies playing pianos. He blushed. He had no paper handy in his dream to write about the ladies playing the pianos.

To the Other Shore

You are on the shore of a river. The sun is out, and there is not a cloud in the sky. Where others should be, in the brightness, they are not, it is just you & I. You are wearing clothes as if to go boating -- white slacks and a white loose shirt. You look dapper and at ease. At first I do not recognize you and I hesitate to intrude, to go back into the shade of the trees. But easily you look up, and you say "Hello, I remember you, how have you been?" Just fine, I say back. We look at the water, hardly you can look at the sun on it. But there is a gladness to it, a fierce happiness in the glare. Understand he and I were somehow inside, and outside the light & we both comprehended this without necessary comment. How do you feel? I asked. "I'm fine, better than ever. Be careful what you tell, I don't want you to give the wrong idea about how good and easy it was. I think I'll be pushing off to the other shore, it looks good there." Image passed before my eyes, stronger, yet dimmed. A paddle dipped down, then two in a stroke while the oarlocks sweetly creaked.

July 12
2010

Lines

i.

In looking
at others and
imagining anything
you are stealing
from them --

do not do this.
It is stealing.

ii.

There is no
jealousy in
true spirituality.

iii.

If there is
division, then
it is the product
of one's own
deluded mind,
which is the self.

Poem - come/ with me

come
with me

don't face
empty rooms

the apartment
is packed

look

sun will keep
coming through

day and day it will
touch the floor

right there
in that spot

so lovely

you had to move
to see this

-----

Lombard Street
Oak Park

Today's Jim-dandy!

He learns, from the internet, how to open a wine bottle with a shoe. Jim-dandy! But he doesn't drink anymore.

Poem - even asking/ if it needed to be found

even asking
if it needed to be found

meant it was here
all along

playing idly
like imagining clouds

and what they
resemble

a dream boat
a person
a place
a name


-----

Just before July
Oak Park

Poem - mysterious beautiful/ moment

evening of
past storm
hundreds of fireflies

orange sunset
mysterious
beautiful moment

oh yes
the speaker
then is silent

Poem - i count

i count
people
cats
bikes
money etc

assign them
stories

but these
are
just me
going on
about them

Poem - night

night
rooms full of trees and houses
the river was in the hallway
going down the stairs

Poem - June 14

for Francesco

my grandiose plans are just that
we should all strive for moderation

if i do achieve my fair share
then i have failed to abide in the portion

so i beg of guidance for joy
in meditation of doing

simple love
in a world full of striving

The Longest Journey

"The longest journey
is from the head
to the heart."

-- Ravi Zachariah

(Not much to write, but overheard & appreciated.)

Today is Today

It took:

4335 days to get here.
Or 374,630,400 seconds.
6,243,840 minutes.
104,064 hours.
619 weeks.

11 years, 10 months, 14 days.

And now, for the next series of things.

Hooligan Loses to Unitarian Temple

One winter night, I have a few drinks and when it gets late I decide I'm going to climb the Unitarian Temple. Not a huge climb, but an historically significant piece of architecture, irreplaceable as other famous structures, like the Golden Gate Bridge, I think. Yes. I take off my flip-flops and put on a pair of hiking boots, good for climbing. I walk down the dark midnight sleeping streets of Oak Park checking now and again to see if I'm being followed because I'm up to no good, but nobody cares. When I get to the temple, I see climbing it would be a bitch -- if you've ever been there, the walls half way up are 20 feet of blank cement with no footholds. Plus when I go around in back, I almost fall over a homeless person who obviously does not want to be disturbed by another drunk idiot. Reluctantly, I walk back to the house.

SCORE:

Unitarian Temple: 01
Nostalgic Hooligan: 00

Poem - Poem to the Interpreter

i knew this wicked smart guy
who told me about how the world would end
i minded the time the world didn't end
years later i can still see him on the beach
he seemed to be happy and also he told me
he was dying of prostate cancer

----------

Strand Beach
La Jolla
2003

Poem - Three Things

Z.

big thing
no gifts
just seeing
what was there

or bigger thing
seeing what
was never there
never could be

L.

back to dreams
not remembering
they are dreams
being so serious

the waterfall or
the mountain the
garden they all
tremble like music

Q.

big thing gone
dreams gone

still here
pleasantly

Poem - if i reside/ in a love/ and a gratitude

i dream
of a
soft night

we were together
walking on
a beach

and i said

you don't exist
i don't exist
the beach does not exist

all that is real
is desire for things
but this is okay

and i thought

if i reside
in a love
and a gratitude

more than me
more than you
more than a whole world

and all the
precious things
held in it's thrall

there could be

* * * * * * * * * *
* * * * * * * * *
* * * * * * * * *
* * * * * * * *
* * * * * * * *
* * * * * * *
* * * * * * *
* * * * * *
* * * * * *
* * * * *
* * * * *
* * * *
* * * *
* * *
* * *
* *
* *
*
*

an ebb in this hurt
this longing

and i knew

we are all
naturally orphaned
from ourselves

Poem - Osel's

"Last night
I had a dream.

Oh wonderful error!

I dreamt that here
In my heart,

golden bees were making
honey

and white combs
out of my old forgotten failures.

I bow to the bees and the honey and to all
our old forgotten failures."


-------


From the "Unnamed Book with a Reclining Buddha on the Cover"
by Osel
1999

!

Thus..........











.........the Rambling Taoist paraphrased, quite nicely, from a delightful May 10th post from blogger Ta Wang.

Poem - For Jack

pictures of you when a youth
on fire life drugs writing making it
the photo 15 years later
a bitter old man very lost angry
my heart aches for this as much
as it surged when i saw good time
laced with all the crap that won

when i see birds remote and high
like your dreams floating in a sky
i can only look and wonder
many glad in seeing it because
it will never be touched
carried on winds of no name & no place

i bow and pray to the earth
first for you
and then
for all the rest

Poem - silly innocence

what a thing
kept from the misery
of your own hand
by silly innocence

Poem - The Clown on a Bike

i've taken to sleeping when i don't wake up
i write poetry when i am away
6.22 am on my bicycle i see the moon
in morning blue powdered sky

i can't resist repeated metaphors
like you i tell the same stories over and over
we all get the place like a broken record
that goes round and round

when you think you have a grip on things
you'll think you're a sane person
but you're just another clown on a bike
all we have is what we do

------

For the Suburban Fellowship Center
River Forest, IL

Poem - a monday morning

i watch you sleep
your phone hums ceaselessly

what could people want
of you right now

barely 8 am PST
a monday morning

you almost wake up
but continue to sleep

the phone hums again
and again

Poem- but part of you will never ever/ forget

1.

in the night
with the other wanderers

looking for something
that didn't occur to you

didn't know was wanted
until intoxicated

you'll never get it
this way

knowing this starts
to hurt

so drink more and hope
you don't remember it tomorrow

but part of you will never
ever forget

the star high in the sky
making this place so dark

2.

morning is here
last night was a dream

the bells of the old mariners' church
are ringing

the light on the wall
almost touching crumpled sheets

ring bell ring
last night was a dream

----------

For "Crazylegs"

Detroit
May, 2010

Poem - promise yourself/ you won't be so reckless

i hear the lawnmower
after i smell wet cut grass
mixed with fresh weeds

i heard the mower but
didn't hear it

earlier today i looked up
at trees full of leaves

strange to see so much
when you know you'll be gone
in a few months

makes you wonder about time
and how you wasted it

promise yourself
you won't be so reckless

Poem - (a rockstar/ lingered inside)

new york
just after winter

art opening
on the edge of chinatown

a line
50 people long

they waited
to catch a glimpse

a rockstar
lingered inside

Poem - but then a day came/ this very day

"Only the lonely
Know the way I feel tonight
Only the lonely
Know this feelin ain't right..."

Only The Lonely,
Roy Orbison

------

that's right baby
i held on lonley
but then a day came
this very day

later

the moon was still
the moon
flying up there
in a perfect night sky

News - The Oak Park Taoist Primer

Every once and awhile I publish a book. My latest collection of writing, The Oak Park Taoist Primer, is up at my shop The Refreshingly Obscure Online Mercado at CafePress.com. The OPTP is a collection of Taoist stories that were written from 2007 - to the present, located in and around Oak Park including such scintillating personalities as Lao Tzu, Chung Tzu, Horatio Nelson, St. Francis of Assisi, Roy Lic, drunken cowboys, bums under a railroad bridge, Here, and Stove Parts. I did not mention the pretty girls, squirrels, and snow issues that are also discussed. I'm happy the way it turned out, my copy is going to arrive any day now.

While you're visiting my online store, why not buy a coffee mug, sticker, or another one of my books? Or another book of mine, more tantilizing than the first? Or one more book, to absoultely satisfy you? I'm sure you'd be pleased.

A Big Drunk Guy in a Tweed Blazer

A big drunk guy in a tweed blazer makes friends with me and says he is drunk. He then tells me emphatically that people in England are EFFING IDIOTS, because they drink their beer at room temperature. I laugh at that, because ha ha ha what can you say to that? BWA HA HA HA HAAAA!!!!, he laughs in return. I smile politely. BA HAAAA HAA!!, he laughs again, grabbing at cheese and crackers -- he stuffs them all into his mouth in a great jumbled wad of food. With crumbs falling down his chin and blazer, he suggests a toast to all the Vices in Life, and so I agree -- to all the Vices in Life. After he is gone, my wife comes up and asks who my new friend is. I don't know. Wait, he comes back for more champagne. THE GODDAMN GLASSES ROUND HERE ARE TOO EFFIN SMALL! he exclaims, holding the plastic cup to the light.

-------

Downtown Open Studio Night
Escondido, CA
2006

Poem - i wish i spent my/ $8.99 on/ candy

i get a gun magazine
guns!
bang!
BANG!!
fight fight fight

protect yourself
from the bad guys
like going back
to cowboys &
indians

but this time
it is serious &
people are gonna
get put in
a grave

i throw out the
gun magazine
i wish i spent my
$8.99 on
candy

-------

Spring
Oak Park
April, 2010

Poem - adventure time

adventure time
with tom & jerry
oh the simple life
of kicking your foe
to death

don't worry
how can you get upset
over cartoon creatures
being all fucked up
besides

------------

George: What is wrong with that crazy cat?
Wife: Oh George, don't be mean to that cat!

Later

Wife: You BAD CAT!
George: You want the neighbors to think you're CRAZY?!?

Problematic Short Stories

Problematic Short Stories
no. 1
------------

I feel like I should write something, after looking at the fishbowl.

"Do you want ribs for dinner?" I ask my daughter Phoebe, over the phone. Phoebe say yes.

Soon I'll go to the store with my son Daniel -- he's 3 years old and has Grandpa Licata's stubborn streak.

Problematic Short Stories
no. 2
------------

I should have gone to the store by now. Danny sits on the floor and eats goldfish crackers, the "flavor burst" kind. Betta fish are small eaters.

I'm watching the Betta fish swim. The wind blows my white cotton drapes up in a slow huge surge, whenever they sail upward I'll think about a scene from "The Great Gatsby".

The kids need to be fed. I don't want to be thinking the same repetitive literary images from the Great American Novels I've read.