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.

On This Morning He Said to All of Us

Now, after many years of practice, on this morning he said to all of us, "It is so nice to be involved with other people!"

Beautiful statement. The walls have fallen, the lies undone, the struggle finished. No poise -- Ego and Willpower on the wane, rooted out.

What remains? You and the rest of us...some practice the path, others do not. No matter what, we all are involved with one another.

As long as we practice together, we will not be alone. We only fail if we stop trying.

Inks - MOST NOTES

Poem - i'm sure as he works he knows/ they can hear him

the sun is out
i hear a man drilling
into a wall of the refurbished
house next door

he says
"hello!"

nobody answers
so he drills some more
and the shadows move a fraction
down the side of the house

he says
"hey guys?"

indistinct response
the drill is switched on
i'm sure as he works he knows
they can hear him

Poem - The Devil

"Ya know, my Daddy used to say every man's got a Devil. And you can't rest 'til you find him... but if it's any consolation to you, you have put a smile on my face."

Top Dollar
The Crow

is it true even
reflected in a movie that
we all
have an ultimate foe
personified in this life

people forget
his name was translated
from
'the adversary'
when thought germinated
of such a thing not new

the book of job
tries to explain why bad
things
happen to seemingly
virtuous people but i know
i am not virtuous

many believe the
devil has a hand in everything
from
the bedroom to
the store to the church
even in their faith

(i don't know/but

i avoided a thing
for such a long time and
built
a life around this denial
until i knew i would
never be free

it had to be located
then looked straight in the
eyes
without shirking or
making any kind
of flimsy excuse

i know the devil is me
thinking the devil is
a foe
urgently to be eluded
bargained tricked lied
or destroyed

i'm looking at him now
and he's looking
me
nothing much to say
because there's no fight
fear or admonishment)

Poem - barely shackled/ to this waking life

for P. Irelan

they had to get at your heart
so they cracked you open like a hammer
to the portland vase don't worry it can be
glued back together with hardly
a scratch

what are the alternatives anyways
you could die like generations did before
unmolested but the good news is
it wasn't raining the day they operated
and you don't remember much
before of after

they helped you walk
the treadmill keeps the coffin at bay
now after months you're going
report about those strange places
you traveled to in delirious whimsy
barely shackled
to this waking life

Poem - THIS IS

Almost Spring - Hilarious Tears

"We might get published." I say to Chung Tzu. Lao Tzu is in the background, sitting quite still.

"Oh my!" says Chung Tzu. "People like to read about things they've already realized, even if they don't think they have accomplishment -- or any special qualities."

I spy a faint smile on Lao Tzu's face.

Chung Tzu and I walk to the store.

It is almost spring.

+++++

When we go into the supermarket, Chung Tzu grabs me, and he says, "OK, young fella. See here! You're onto something, but remember -- you can play with an old stick only so much! If you bend it too far, it will go 'CRACK'. Don't crack the stick!"

"Are you saying TAO is the OLD STICK?" I ask.

We're standing in the produce aisle, and Chung Tzu laughs so loudly, holding onto his gut -- the whole store stares at us like we're maniacs or bank robbers.

He recovers and wipes the tears of hilarity out of his eyes.

Poem - Almost spring

for Peter Marti

Almost spring
On a bright day
Not cold at all
People are tapping
Fixing raking building
Playing loud
Mexican music

I see a cut stump
Oozing sap like
Blood it shines
In the sun
I wonder if the tree
Is not dead &
Will magically
Grow back

Maybe it can I think
As I walk to the store

Maybe it can

---

May
Lombard Street
Oak Park

Greg, Me, and Andy Warhol

I dream Greg and I are at Andy Warhol's studio in New York, it is about 1972. From the long windows, I can see a tea-colored autumn day. After we check out the scene, Greg turns to me and he says, "Man! Andy Warhol definitely has the "15 Minutes of Fame then I'm Gonna Die Because I'm Already Pretending to be Dead" thing going on." I see Andy standing far away wearing a white wig, dressed in black. With nobody near him.

WE CAME TO FIND YOU

"Hey, honey. A weird thing happened today at the store. I go in there to get milk and whatnot, and everybody felt like talking. Shoppers, people who worked there -- today we were all in this great mood. We must have chatted about things for about 20 minutes -- nobody was in a hurry in this huge store, people talking in line at the cash registers, in the meat isle, produce, wherever you looked, everyone was talking and having a great time getting to know one another. When I left, everyone said Goodbye! See you later! It was like we were all best freinds. I drove home feeling great, I still feel curiously great. Am I going insane? Am I dreaming? Then, coming in with the groceries, I see all these silver banana shaped things cruising in the sky. Each one has gotta be 200 feet long, polished like chrome. You can hardly stand to look at them, they are so bright & beautiful. Looking at them, all of them up there, was not upsetting in the least. You'd figure I'd panick, but I was glad to see them. And as I was unlocking the door, I think I heard this voice, going through the minds of everything that walks, jumps, or crawls, in this whole world of ours, and it said, to some funky psychadelic synth-mech tone: WE CAME TO FIND YOU: NOW YOU ARE NO LONGER ALONE: YOUR SUFFERING HAS ENDED: REJOICE!"

Poem - time is short

there is just a hole
no wait not a hole
because a hole is something

saying it is a hole
implies missing or void
so what isn't it

or not nothing
&
not something

.
.
.
.
.
.

i lost it i found it
i lost it again i found it
night & day

i promise not to be
too mad or too bothered
time is short

lucky we all are

Amazing

This morning I don't feel like it, but I have to go into the DMV (here in Illinois it is called "Secretary of State" to confuse you) and renew my car registration. Naturally, it is raining. As I've written before, whenever I have to do something important and potentially unpleasant, it is always raining. I miss the exit, double back, find the place. The parking lot is half full, a good sign -- I was expecting to have to stand in the rain outside for about 20 minutes before you even get inside. As I park, I see a few shitty drivers troll the lanes between parking spaces, numb, lost -- only seen at the DMV -- go figure. One car next to me has the alarm going on and off every few seconds.

It rains harder. I get out, open my umbrella, get my papers -- I see there is no line to get in. Inside, there's no line to the people who ask you what you want and tell you where to go. Amazing. There's no delay to pay the casheer. Amazing.

I'm outside in under 4 minutes, total. Reopening my umbrella, hearing the car alarm still wailing in the distance, I look up at the sky & I say "Wow! Thanks Universe! I can't believe how easy this was."

As I drove home, I heard a roll of thunder & the rain kept falling into rainbow slick puddles.

Poem - of this

getting to know anyone
is to terrorize yourself

but i'll get to know you
if you won't hurt me

i have not given up
i was just going to sleep

i missed you and thought
of this

it does not bring you
any closer

Why?

The phone rings. Caller-ID says the call is from Omaha, Nebraska. I know no-one who lives in Omaha, Nebraska. Therefore, I grab the phone, and I say, "You know, whenever I get a phone call from OMAHA, NEBRASKA -- I pick that call up IMMEDIATELY!"

The caller hangs up.

Poem - look kid here it is sorry to say

your designation is not unique
with the toilsome mindless extent of time
who you is so used worn out
look kid sorry to say
you are like a beautiful goldfish in a
isolated fish bowl only one person can see
but dang you are sooooo beautiful
cannot be replaced

me too


-----

Right Before it Started Raining
Oak Park

Poem - winter is going to be OVER

winter is going to be OVER
no more falling SNOW
no more glittering SNOWFLAKES
it will be raining TOMORROW
no more SNOW

I WANTED
MORE SNOW

3/5/10

one time i saw marc in metitation

one time i saw marc in metitation
from the expression on his face

i was convinced without doubt
that ego is as real substantial

as a theater stage or a puff
of smoke

Poem - so i am/ cautious/ in both/ lives

diamond sleep
takes me

a million
facets

brilliant
leading me

into universe
after universe

all stuffed
into 6 hours

or even
less

if we are
unconscious

to our ultimate
nature

what is
the difference

between
diamond sleep

and waking
life

so i am
cautious

in both
lives

Poem - living on modified aphorisms

living on modified aphorisms

"every dog has his day"

but when THIS DOG has his day

it will be a grand parade

;-)

Robbing Banks

Imagine you were taught to rob Banks. You were rigorously trained to take any kind of Bank, anywhere in the world, night or day. And for several years, you were sent to far away places, doing just that. You were good at what you did, and you never wanted to harm or kill others, but some Bank heists didn't go off as planned, and people got hurt. Sometimes it was unavoidable, but you did what you were ordered to do, and you were praised and promoted. You found that you were very good at robbing Banks, and it was fun. The people that sent you told you how important it was for you to rob Banks. Then one day, Bank robbing was declared completed, they sent you home. You find yourself surrounded by family, freinds and community -- but what you do best is forbidden. At home, robbing Banks is illegal, but also is seen as unethical & even immoral. On the outside, this seems to make sense, but on the inside, there is a problem. When you drive by a Bank, sometimes your knuckles get white as you grip the steering wheel, because you think, "I could take that Bank. I could take it all by myself and they'd never see me coming or going." Your freinds, family, and community don't understand what they did to you, what you were asked to do, and how you did it. It dawns on you that you hate everyone a little bit, and even yourself secretly, because of this. 20 years old, you should have your whole life ahead of you. But all you can think about is robbing Banks. Because nothing else for the rest of your life will be so memorable and intense. You feel bad. Even scared.

Poem - 8.8

"Although the Richter Scale has no upper limit, the largest known shocks have had magnitudes in the 8.8 to 8.9 range...."

-- USGS

to ride an 8.8 earthquake
you wouldn't like it

you'd hear a roar like a freight train
100 stories tall coming straight on

the solid ground would be roiled
as if you were in a heavy sea

a shaking would be so severe
you would be blown off your feet

furniture and other objects are flying into you
as bodies
ricochet off the walls and floor

and all you can do while the shaking lasts
is to lay wherever you are and try

to hold onto the ground
while the house or building above you

most likely collapses crushing you to death
in a few seconds all is dark

if you are still alive after the first shock
you dig out full of blood

as far as you can see will be ruins
screams and a horrible smoke

you sit there coated in dust choking
hearing trapped people cry for help

the buildings begin to burn
incenerating anyone alive in the ruins

what is it like to come to the conclusion
that earth has no feeling for you
alive or dead

but then at the same time earth!
we come from you and go back to you

that is all there is

Poem - but enough of this

after coffee in the late afternoon
we walked to the top of the hill
not a big hill and you were breathing heavily
and farting and i laughed and i said
did you ever think it would be this way?

i wasn't talking about you or me
but charmingly a story of years ago
you told me about an older poet & when you
were young how slow he was
when you wanted to get to a reading on time

more farting more lame jokes HA!
up the hill we go hey look at that pretty chick
almost to the top of the hill
i know you'll be okay while time time time
calculates death to both of us like a wolf to rabbits

but enough of this
up the stairs into the snug house
the evening is here

-----------

For Latif

-----------

Latif sez:

"oh how very kind you are
remember your madness
is the cornerstone of your kindness
and your sanity
is not different from either
it all has names or words
and similes metaphors
moved along on syllabic oars

our language is so precious
whether sacred or tesars hiding yet
we're gonna get there you bet

give me tears of laughter

Namaste"

Poem - in her endless sleep

what was it
i had it i lost it --

oh yes
msnbc headline today

"Big Quake Question: Is Nature Out of Control?"
jesus h christ on toast

a question posed by one of us
when we are ALL clearly

outta of our minds
with things death and killing

big earth shrugs and things
fall down

earth below us here billions
of years before puny us

and we ask what is wrong with
the mother of mothers

when she stirs a pinkie
in her endless sleep

i still/ now

i still
now
can't
stop being
thankful

this
make me
a
stutter-ing
fool

:-)

-----

for Latif
ha!

i've slipped nothing/ is obvious to me

i've slipped nothing
is obvious to me
anymore

is this the original state?

i don't take my boots off
when i come in from the snow
i don't close the door

i mourn cuddly reason

i lack being sure being satisfied
knowing what i am doing
i can't sleep

-------

now i take my boots off
and i close the door
so here things do change

Poem - then i wake up and/ i suppose this is true

another voice speaks
early in the morning

"if you're having trouble
with a woman

you can speak to trees
when it is dark

dark trees will give
excellent advice

when you have trouble
with love"

then i wake up and
i suppose this is true

Poem - phone rings @ 8 am

phone rings @ 8 am
always @ 8

i leave it
in the other room

if i sleep by it
i dial people

in my sleep

Poem - still is/ still/ silent/ silent

i don't mean to be selfish
this is why i'm selfish

i don't intend to be angry
so i am mad

i have no wish to be a "me"
therefore i am a person

everything out of control
is out of control

anything maintains quiet
is quiet

still is
still

silent
silent

This Fact Is - or - That's Pretty Close

He heard someone say, "If you live like an animal, you're going to die like an animal. If you live like a criminal, you die like a criminal. If you have hate in your heart, you'll die holding onto that hate & it will follow you. Better to right now to live like a human being trying to be a kinder human being, and you can at least die like that. You may agree or disagree with me on this, but agreeing or disagreeing doesn't matter, in this regard. You may or may not take vows to practice like a human being trying to be a kinder human being. But the vows in themselves don't matter. This fact Is, just is."

Ching Tzu laughed. "That's pretty close. Close. You got the impersonality of the concept across, I think. But remember, to some people a Car is a Car, but to others there's a BIG difference in "Car", between a brand new bright red Lamborghini and an old 1967 Volkswagen Beetle."

Poem - lone sock/ no mate

i'm sweeping
picking up
vacuuming &
cleaning cleaning

while people
behind me
make new
messes

it is like
death and
taxes

inevitable
new disorder
is established

when does it
ever fucking
end

i find a
golf tee a
golf tee and
i don't play
golf

when did
i ever grab
a golf tee?

where does
all this fuzzy
filth come from
gathering
in every corner

& then the
rent is due
hows the rent
fine here is
your check

back to
the papers
the scattered
stray legos

orphaned
stranded
animal cookies

lone sock
no mate

Poem - from somewhere/ far away you/ recognize me

let it chomp
let it growl
let it cry

then let it go
let it run
let it fly

oh thing
how i love you
whatever you are

i cannot classify you
i cannot keep you
you here & gone

from somewhere
far away you
recognize me

Poem - Birthday Poem

we have a thomas
what will we do with THOMAS

where will you go
what dreams will you dream

boom!
cry wiggle and grow

drive mom & dad crazy
with your play

and some day we'll sit back
and say "THOMAS", he's the one

-----

Feb 02, 2010

Poem - no need to go on

dirty chili
virtual golf
broken manual typewriter
snow
a joke written in pencil

no need to go on

Fortune Cookie

Ordering chinese food, I got a fortune cookie, and this is what it said:

"The Paradox of any Loving Relationship is: If a Woman does not Hate her Man on a Certain Level, the Relationship will not Last. 10 22 33 45 68 21"

Poem - the faint star has set

the faint star has set
no

there it is
hidden in the branches
of a tree

i go inside
walk up the back stair

please
nobody hear me

nobody hear me

Poem - know everything is fine

i wake up in the middle of the night
stay up in the middle of the night

i watch my 3 year old son sleep in his cot
know everything is fine

outside it is velvet dark and cold
like an obsidian mask

-----

News - CM Evans Cartoons in Dear Sir, Opium .print 9 & McSweeney's "More Things Like This"

News, news, and more news -- belated news, but worth mentioning. I have a cartoon appearing in Dear Sir, a wonderful online lit-zine, edited by Sandra Huber. I also have cartoons in the McSweeney publication, "More Things Like This" -- a sweet coffee table 4 color hard-cover book that details and expands on the cartoon show "Lots of Things Like This" that was installed at apexart in New York City in April of 2008. And last, but not least, Opium Magazine was kind to include some of my cartoons in the "Mania Issue" of Opium Magazine .print, issue no. 9. Opium Magazine, online and in print and the LDM's, still going strong. Thanks to everyone who expressed interest & wanted to publish my work. I do appreciate it.

News - CM Evans Cartoons Being Updated Again

Here's some changes: After an unintended hiatus by being obsessed almost exclusively with writing, I'm updating CM Evans Cartoons again, a few times per week with new work. And I'm also updating my cartoon blog "HP Lovecraft Might be my Paperboy" that is associated with it. Drop by sometime.

Poem - 12/25/2010

i heard someone say today
they were happy
and there was no elaboration
on why or how or if it was
with this or that
i didn't ask because

they felt happy
everything else remained
beautifully unsaid & in fact
we are free to imagine
any kind of happiness
so free as that

it might be a new job
an old lover finding a friend
a day that started bad but
ended up good or
remembering a moment
that was thought lost

so precious is the state
when you realize you are happy
you might see
we're all happy all the time
but we can get distracted
and
think we're sad

Poem - materials

i.

when he takes a walk
he brings a pad of paper this time
because he knows he'll think of something
and to not have a pad of paper
is kinda like going to hell

he goes for his walk
sure enough he thinks of something
takes out the pad of paper
and has no pen to write with

ii.

when he takes a walk
he brings a dark felt tipped pen
the very kind of pen he likes the best to write
because having a pad of paper and no pen
when a thought comes up
is kinda like going to hell

he goes for a walk
sure enough he thinks of something
takes out the dark felt tipped pen
but has no paper to write with

iii.

the next time he leaves the house
to go out for any reason he brings pen and paper
to prove he can learn from his mistakes
and everything is fine
he's out there he's got his materials
he won't miss a thing this time

as he goes about ready to capture a thought
he has no thoughts at all
not one goddamn concept story or poem
not even a goddamn limerick

Poem - in my shoes

for my son, Daniel, 3

i have coins in my shoes
i have plastic farm animals in my shoes
i have dominos in my shoes
there are legos
oreo cookies
gum wrappers
hotwheels cars
toy robots
tv remotes
cheetos &
small rocks yes

all in my shoes

Poem - as useful as

i miss you
but i was to you

as useful as
a typewriter

Poem - and i have even more to learn now

why does disapproval last for so long
it seems stronger than everything in the world
even outlasting the capacity to love
only a fool would not give up

but the motion to love
so subtle and absolutely prevalent
cannot be argued against
cannot be quenched

ok then we'll go on down the road
i guess it ain't as bad as it seems
i've gotten to know all about love
and i have even more to learn now

plus there are dishes to be done
laundry begging to be folded
stories to be told & fond lies
to be said

--------

For Shel Silverstein

Poem - for 42 years old

my hands look old
and i observe the gray hairs
why do they only show on the left side
of my face?

dripping dripping as i hear
for a january thaw all sun out
tomorrow 40 degrees
for 42 years old.

-----------

Oak Park
Winter, 2010

Linji Bunny

In the backyard, I made an imprint of a Buddha in the snow today. When I walked inside and shut the door, I looked out and saw a bunny run through the yard and it decimated the imprint in a twinkle. Imagine that Linji, the bunny must have seen Buddha in the snowbank and ran & killed Buddha!

-----------

"Students today can't get anywhere: What ails you? Lack of faith in yourself is what ails you."

Rinzai Roku

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

Oak Park
January, 2010

Goodbye, John

During my trip to San Francisco, I found out that John McGuinness, a friend of mine whom I hadn't seen for a number of years, was killed riding his motorcycle. I met John while working as a counselor at a summer camp in Northern California. Then, as in the tributes I've read about him, he was smart, funny, generous, and caring. He had an irrepressible smile and was great with the kids he counseled -- I think John was one of the best summer camp counselors I ever worked with. Above all, he was a unique and wonderful person, he carried this through all the days of his life.

John died in early September -- September 11th precisely, riding to work. Like many motorcyclists, he was splitting lanes due to slow traffic -- in most states motorcyclists are allowed to do this because if you don't, the bike will overheat. It can be done safely, but there is a degree of chance. You're hoping the automobiles ahead of you are paying attention as you approach them, and they won't do anything crazy like pull towards you as you pass, or even throw a cup of coffee in your face because they're pissed you're on a motorcycle and somehow winning a contest on who can get through traffic faster. Eventually through riding and close calls, all motorcyclists get to know one certainty: anybody can crash. If you're lucky, you'll be around to crash more than once.

I had a motorcycle accident. Too much speed around a blind corner to find a tight turn ahead. My braking put the bike into a shimmy. I was thrown off the front like a spear, landed on my helmet, saw the asphalt grinding past my face shield inches from my eyes as I slid on my head. The motorcycle was damaged enough to be a total loss, I shattered my wrist. For quite awhile I longed to get another motorcycle -- motorcycles are as fun as they can be dangerous. But when I heard that John was killed -- John who has ridden motorcycles constantly his whole life -- I realized that I'm never going to ride again. If John can get killed on a bike, I don't stand a chance.

Living near Chicago, in Illinois, a state that doesn't have a helmet law, every time I see a motorcyclist out on the road without a helmet, in cut-off jeans, no jacket and flip-flops, I get a chill up my spine. This was before I knew about John's accident, John who rode smart and with the right gear and the proper helmet. Now when I see someone doing something stupid like this -- riding without any safety gear whatsoever, with no conception of what it would be like to fly off the bike and hit the asphalt at 50 miles per hour, I think I might cry.

But one of John's co-workers summed it up, saying, "I feel that John, with his energetic, forward-looking nature would not want us to brood too long, but to send him our most loving thoughts." So John McGuinness, I'll miss you, I send to you and your family all my love, and like the song goes:

We'll meet again
Don't know where
Don't know when
But I know we'll meet again
Some sunny day....

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

Dedicated to John Edward McGuinness
December 14, 1963 - September 11, 2008

Poem - and after that

for Paul Maddalena

-----

look over there
with me

look over
fields surrounded
by muted hillsides
when it rains
the church far away
normally a dusty
peach color

glows radiantly
bright pink
standing out
while about ready
to fly away
from such
drab
surroundings

i think
when it rains
god must go over there
and do something fun
like
to serve free ice cream

and after that
take a nice long
nap

Poem - in the end this journey

try to get it right
comes out mangled flat
lopsided

plan for all contingencies
something happens didn't
see it coming

like everyone else go through
a period of embarrassing
prolonged settling

get along down the road
down the path but it
never seems to make any
difference

but in the end this journey
is much more than we are
prepared to accept

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

for

Jim Sorrells
English 4A
May 26, 1987

In the Tenderloin

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Poem - all creation would know it

the book might be by the bed
you may read it from time to time
or it may have been discarded
it may be forgotten or simply shelved

i have no idea where my work goes
and what kinds of life it lives
i wish i could see one small part
of the stories sprung from my stories
alas i can't ever know

i wonder if this is how god feels
because after seeing a large part of the world
it is obvious to me god cannot see
everything that is happening
all things taking shape after
he started it all in motion

god must not be able to see everywhere
at all times like a santa clause
otherwise from my point of view
god would certainly cry & if god cried
all creation would know it

Poem - st. francis pray for us

st. francis pray for us
we are all sinners i think to you
you're the only one to understand

we went to detroit hung out
with strippers talked at the bar
until the night was worn out

about philosophy and
faith god and
read them our poetry

they were amazed and asked
where we came from and we told
but they still wondered

i saw a statue of you
in white marble in a church
in chicago a day ago

you were hidden in an alcove
up a few sets of stairs
by the main doors

Poem - to conclusion and a kind of absolution

to Gary Timmons

with about an hour
before i meet with my attorneys
i go to st. peter's church
on west madison street

after more than 15 years
i sit in on a mass & watch
the ceremony and remember back
on all those sundays in the past
always going to church
and saying prayers but really waiting
to get out & play the whole day

now i have all my responsibilities
being a reluctant grown up
so i'm not praying with the idea soon
the service will be done
like i always did before
i don't want it to end when it does

as the service lasts i look
in the varied crowd of worshippers
i see the pretty lady secretaries and attorneys
a few quite close to me and i wonder
how seeming now
pious meek and devout so still
what would it be like to meet someone
who goes to mass on their lunch break
just before christmas

there is no judgment here but
these girls are as amazing and exotic to me
as if they came from another world
when the eucharist is consecrated
and the people go up i quietly leave

i confess i wanted to be this devout
unselfish
not taken up by pretty things
i tried to be this way when i was younger
but it wouldn't last

the break the separation
it does not mean i do not love god
it does not confirm i have lack of faith

all my faith was like a guide
unto a whole wide world
conducting me out of braced morality
into the embrace of the almighty
blessings
beyond temporary earthy beings

some saints and believers understand
what i am talking about and i still
wonder
as the magic of the mass glides
to conclusion and a kind of absolution

My Personal "Coat of Arms"

dedicated to Evan

I have decided on what my personal "Coat of Arms" will be. This realization was unasked for, invested upon me spontaneously by the Fecundity of the Universe. Wow, thanks Universe!

On a shield, above, there is a starry sky. This signifies the endless possibilities available to all of us, if we want them. Combined with this and below it, is a lovely leafy tree, with a giant red cardinal bird in the center of the tree. The tree signifies both the Universal Tree of Wisdom that Gods hung from, and also signifying the Tree of Knowledge, or Death -- neither can be avoided. The cardinal bird is there because I like cardinal birds.

At the foot of the tree a blond virgin reclines -- with the Sun at her head, and the Moon at her feet. She cradles a skull in her lap. I'll tell you what the blond signifies and the Sun and Moon if yer too stupid to figure it out. Fairly steamy, productive, fun, hard work, etc.

There are a few sheets of paper, for writing, painting, and drawing by her side. Nearby, a few baubles and books as well, for the enjoyment of publishing and the gaining of knowledge.

Below this, my private motto -- EGO operor non exaggerate. Is est insolitus , quoniam is est verus. -- or -- "I do not lie. It is strange, because it is true."

Finally below all, the touch of an endless sea, just peeping with white froth. Because the adventure starts, and potentially never end, until the Sailor following the "Fixed Star" in the Heavens is satisfied & ready to be at Home.

George Washington, Revealed

Now, most people don't know George Washington, "The Father of Our Country", started out as a young time traveler -- frankly a bit of a scamp with loose ethics -- who thought it would be a Gas to set himself up for awhile in the late 1700s AD in Colonial America, Virginia. Should have been a cakewalk. But unfortunately, when George Washington got out of the machine, he put his goddamn knee straight through part of the mechanism that precisely aimed spatial telemetry on the front-end of the gravity surge, rendering his transport bust. Some would say "Pinner" to this. The breakage could have been avoided for about 5.22 USD, by G.W. installing a basic cage around the parts in question, but he was hasty and didn't think he needed something like that. For 5.22 USD, circa 1985. Oh, well.

Being stuck indefinitely like a freeking monkey in the zoo, and also being taller and obviously better bred & fed than all the weedy drunk insane podunks around him, it was unavoidable that he became entangled in the politics of the day. And due to his concealed superior knowledge of Modern Military Tactics, he found that he could deal with the British using the slender resources that would be provided by the stupid Continental Congress. But the Revolutionary War was a giant pain in the ass, and he was glad when the British gave up. Lafayette was nice at first, but later turned out to be a poncing pontificating Frenchman who never seemed to have mud or shit on him & never would shut up regarding opinions on things -- anything.

After some years had gone by, G.W. had to wrangle through being President all the goddamn time -- while George lost all his teeth. He did have a perfectly good set of modern dentures he manufactured, but preferred to not wear them out of "discomfort" of them being Wood. Not wearing dentures allowed him to become a formidable grumbler and mumbler, so he didn't have to figure out what to say to the ninnies and nincompoops that surrounded him with their ceaseless cajoling and need for sage advice when George Washington couldn't give a shit. Yes, being thought as a Great Hero and a Great Man certainly became quite tiring, especially if you had not been able to listen to the radio or 4D HHDD television for several decades.

Basically, it took George Washington, originally from Phoenix Arizona, circa 2022, about 30 years via the new United States of America to manufacture enough rarefied metals and minerals to fix the damage to his glazed reflecting/ recuperating hive-chambered multi-dimensional gun so he could get the Hell Outta There. I hear that he is recuperating in 2099 or 3122 AD, quite happily at Club Med Mars III.

If you bump into him, tell him I said "Hi". I don't know if he knows he ended up on the one dollar bill. Portrayed without his dentures. I'm sure he'd be thrilled to know how bad he looks.

Toydar!

There is Radar. I've been told about Gaydar. Daniel, 3 years old, has Toydar. When June thought Danny was distracted she tried hiding a Christmas Gift at the bottom of a box, with several things on top of it, hidden in a closet -- it took the kid about 10 minutes to find the toy. June has no idea how he could have found it out. Daniel has also found another possible Christmas Gift after June hid it behind the toybox in the living room, when Daniel was out of the room. It took Danny 5 minutes to find that one. And Dan's Toydar is just getting better and better, the more things are hidden from him. I'm imagining Danny Boy one day with x-rays shooing out of his eyes, effortlessly seeing though walls and packages -- on that day, to hide something from him, we'll have to shield it with lead. Viva la Toydar!

Poem - The Melt

at 32 degrees
it feels warm

no snow falling today
nor freezing cold

the whole world around me
changes as things melt

endless drip dripping
as ice disappears

showing black earth
peeping beneath it

Poem - and all the things you've seen

realize, still it is possible
for every dog has his day

and all the things you've seen
amazing! terrifying! ridiculous!

Poem - like a school of fish if you could imagine/ what that would be like

for Richard Brautigan

i remember you talking angrily to yourself
(or to people somewhere else)
in other rooms of the house
then after awhile all rooms of the house
were filled with your words
then after a time words literally
pushed me out the back door of the kitchen

following me in dark empty streets
to a car or bar or hotel room your words
endlessly repeating themselves here there
occasionally i could forget but mostly
the words worked around the room

like a school of fish if you could imagine
what that would be like with angry words

Poem - is it a car carrying/ a lost suitcase?

i have a boot heel
that squeaks like
a mouse

i waited between
4 PM and 8 PM for
lost luggage

the beer in the fridge
it was deceptive
it was empty

i can hear children
playing downstairs
to xmas music

here comes a car
going down the road

is it a car carrying
a lost suitcase?

Poem - tell me you love me

tell me you love me
even if it isn't true

tell me you love me
even if you're not certain

say it even if you
don't mean it

give this sucker for love
one more smile

Poem - that big holding me to it

she leaves her scent behind
like the pyramids of egypt
illogically i think but
that big holding me to it

Poem - they were invented for/ love

i think back about
how you are so beautiful
and you trust me

despite the fact
we met &
it ended with goodbye

we have jets and trains
bus and cars i think now
they were invented for
love

----

SF
December 10, 2009

Poem - holding the book in/ my hands

old poets read
then the young kids get up
they read
i sit & watch
holding the book in
my hands