Poem - 8.14.11

i dream of a big tree
one side of it is green
the other side of it is dead

but there is no tree
and no death, only gifts refused
and sentiment rejected

oh tree i sit below you
in the dream and i fail in
meditation even in dreams

oh hard luck fellow
weary traveler who has no need
to look and find

poor son of a bitch
selfish to a fault who prays
at the same time for all happiness

in the dream i pray
for new horizons seeing moon
and stars go up and fail

there is something
in the embrace of soft deep night
with new dew ticking away

just before dawn
i wake up & take courage
from what i have;

now
cannot be banished
or dreamed away


8.14.11

Poem - like the moon or the sun

i'm here
and everything gets done
because i stay out of the way
but everyone who is invested
can see and talk to me
as much as they want &
like to the moon or the sun

it isn't hard
to listen and then shine
light there or here or with
total nondiscrimination overall
& let the god in the viewer
ponder and sort it out after
i tried and now i listen

Poem - at the very/ last moment

your memory reminds me:
i am with the boat
there is nothing else
so don't be bothered

i can feel the wind
from the top of the mast
into the body of fiberglass
and through the keen fin
like flesh

the tiller
and the sweet spot
right before you luff
or bear away
through a cloud of birds
that scatter

at the very
last moment


-----

For Stephanie

Poem - but he can/ at everything

god can't hear me
with no ears

can't feel me
with no fingers or body

can't see me
there are no eyes

god does not admire
the dawn
the day
the night
the babies
the food
the wine
the trees
the leaves
the earth
the water
the nix
the nil
the etc

but he can
at everything

so i laugh

Poem - Birthday Poem

all these numbers
on my birthday
of 44
born at 4.44 in
the afternoon

7 - 11 - 11

308 in dog years
what does it mean
funny very funny
god windsup
the next pitch

go ahead
give me the fastball

Poem - Facebook Picture

her facebook picture suggests
we all jump into her roomy cleavage
but we bounce off her face

-------

Fer
Latif

Poem - watching the crescent moon

i saw the crescent moon over santa rosa
and san francisco
over san luis obispo
&
down back
to newport beach

it was flying
always flying on the right

it started out days ago
white & thin like a fingernail

but it gained
it was low and orange
over the madonna inn
shhhhhh!
the valley is dark

tomorrow you will awake
and see everything sans moon

Attack, Just Kidding, Eternal Fish

Danny plays with his trucks in an accelerated way. I listen carefully:

"We're FIGHTING!"

"You're POOR!"

"And I'm YOUR TRUCK, TOO!"

"What? AAAAAAAH!"

He pauses, and contentedly watches SpongeBob SquarePants. Sandy the Squirrel, and Patrick the Star Fish, are being attacked by a gorilla. I, on the other hand, am thinking on what I just listened to out of Danny's mouth.

The first thing that strikes me, is I was actually listening to his play-talk and not ignoring it. Before I can think on more serious repercussions, about myself and personal accountability -- morals and ethics -- Danny interrupts me.

"Knock Knock!" says Danny.

"Who's there?" I reply.

"I have a bloody nose!" yells Danny.

"You do?"

"Just kidding!" says Danny, and "Will you read me this book?"

He hands me a book about fish.

I read him the book. Now the Universe is but a serene place, full of fish. Some a red, some are blue, some are old, some new. The fish go on, forever and ever. I read the book to him many times.

What I Got When I Searched for You on Google

When I Google your name, the results is a picture of a woman dressed as a doctor, and it looks like one side of her face is paralyzed. She also looks old and crazy, with her hair in a ragged ponytail and one of her eyes is bigger than the other. The lady is smiling brightly, the noticeable eye is bulging; I feel like she's found a bar of solid gold. I want to ask you if this is a picture of someone you know, but I'm afraid to ask if it is your mother. Then I remember what I would tell my daughter Phoebe, when she asked me difficult questions, "All comments or questions must be submitted in writing, and can take up to 60 days to respond."

Poem - love is a freshening breeze

love is a freshening breeze
and you turn and see the field
is so green not bare

Digging to China

C: "Where are you going?"

D: "I'm digging a hole!"

C: "Are you digging to China?"

D: "What's China?"

C: "I'm glad you asked. It's a country on the other side of the world. This is why we say euphemistically, when someone is engaged in an excavation, and they are a notably smaller person, they are "Digging a Hole to China". The orgin of the phrase is uncertain, though the great American writer & philosopher Thoreau used this phrase in the 1850s about a hole his neighbors were digging --"

D: "WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? ARRRGH!"

C: "I'm sorry, would you like me to help?"

There's a Lot of Things I Can't do on Facebook

There's a lot of things I can't do on Facebook, I think I should be able to do. For example, I can't mark my birthday as being in the year 1807. I like the year 1807. I also like the year 1644, and I'd like to have a combined birthday of 1807 / 1644. And I'd like to have a little smiley faces beside it so it looks like this:

: - ) 1807 / 1644 : - )

Why can't I do this? It is this mean, narrow minded thinking that hems us all in.

In terms of my real age, like most folks over 25, I take a few years off of it. So if I'm 43, I tell people my age is 22 years old. And when I'm 55, I tell people I'm 22 years old. And when I'm 99 I tell people I'm 22 years old. You see how it goes. Now, if I made it to 200 years old, I'd tell people I was 43 years old. What the hell. When I'm that old, why not?

But Facebook won't account for this preference of mine. It should do this kind of age-adjusting automatically -- ask you what percent or year amount you'd like automatically subtracted (or added) from your real age. I'd call that the inflater/ deflater applet -- you could apply it freely to salary, weight, height, etc.

Oh well, I know that Facebook will be the perfect tool for when the time comes to round us all up and make us into Soylent Green, but I use Facebook anyways.

Climbing a Tree

Climbing the huge redwood tree, out of the forest, at 40 feet I found a section of fence imbedded in the bark. I made a mental note of this, and illogically expected to possibly find a yard, and the house that was with the fence 100 years ago, but to no avail. You will find, when climbing an extraordinarily tall tree, there will be an interesting period of time when there is nothing but tree above you, and tree below you. The green green world is all branches and springy twigs and needles, you cannot see out in any direction. Should I go up or down? Is it possible to get lost in a place like this? How could the world be only Tree? Invisible hands seemed to press on me, and it was hushed & spooky. Then I saw above a wrinkle of light, and I kept going. I broke out into sunshine, and I saw that I had snuck into a royal garden of giants, all gently swaying for miles as far as I could look. With no sense of frailty, or doom, the tenderest of shoots on the tips of branches glowed, no deer would ever eat them. My finger tips were dusted in golden pollen. An eagle passed by within arm-reach, and gave me one look. Voices of my friends below were utterly blocked out, I could only hear the wind blowing from the Ocean. After this, it took me 30 minutes to climb down, and when I was asked what it was like, or where I had been, I could not say. All one could do, was do it.

------

Summer
South Fork of the Eel River
Leggett, CA

Poem - Stuck

i get the lowdown on deadly snake charming
and all the tips and tricks for success
from the handy internet
but i have no way of ordering a cobra

Poem - During the Eclipse of the Moon

it seems insane at the darkest
reddest part of the lunar eclipse
under the moon birds are excited
and my blue truck stands out
especially around the wheels
powdered with white dust

------

6.15.11
01.04.48 PST

A Very Windy Afternoon

4.30.11

It is a very windy afternoon. I watch my son play in the playground, he is by far the loudest one there. I was the loudest kid in the playground when I was a kid. When I was 8 I yelled in my best friend's ear and hurt his eardrum.
.
.

Poem - Unlovely

cloudy in the morning
to some i am not a good friend
selfish even when i say i am not

i water the lawn
realizations like this
baffling & tiresome

i water like the lawn
like it has never been watered
then i think i am a liar
about my selfishness

i read on the news
how a WWII bomber just crashed
and burned in a wheatfield
i look and look on how little is left

i want another cigarette
but i just smoked one
& nobody loves a son-of-a-bitch

Shy About Travel

I'm shy for some reason, when it comes to telling people where I've traveled. Particularly when I get back from Europe. "Where ya been?" a coworker asks me. Even though I told them I was going to England for 10 days before I left. "Spelunking in Utah." I reply. "Was it fun?" they ask. "No." I say. "Why wasn't it fun?" they inquire. "Because the whole cave was chock full of the country of England. I couldn't spelunk at all." I say.

-------

Hibert Road
2005

Poem to the 'Most Peirced Woman' in the World

so to kiss her face
her lips feel like tiny shells
my tongue skates on

------

6.13.11

Poem - Seas

grey speckled seas
to bear me up or send me
onto killer rocks

moon on the bay
a calm summer night
dipping one horn then
the other into the deep

stars as many
as you could count

wind to blow
through a body clean

whore water
bitch stealer
boat breaker

tricky lover
mouth's soul
to the initiated

Poem - when i got the news/ this morning

the death of a small pet
trifling creature

in my buffoonery
ananda i shed a few tears

over a crossword puzzle
not a sutra that i picked up

when i got the news
this morning

i can think of so many

sufferings utterly eclipsing this

but still in my sillyheart

ananda i shed a few tears

-------

For Latif

Poem - Undream

There are places and memories that I am cognizant of
only when in dreams. They have no waking equivalents
and are as real and persuasive as anything in this
undream.

As seen last night; a vestibule stained a tan color
where weary travelers wear shades and rest in long
reclining chairs. All are dressed in antique suits
and we view a canyon where the road goes down
into fog.

I am afraid and relieved to see them, they are not
surprised at anything -- neither friendly nor unfriendly.
Such is the emotions of dreams, the scene is interrupted
when I wake. I find I am in a dark room, with gently
swaying shades.

Poem - the pot boils

the pot boils
i lit the fire under the pot

man was i satisfied
until the pot burned me

woe is me
goddamn the ugly pot

the fire
the spoiled happiness

Poem - turn from this and life is open

mysteries arise in the heart
some are horrible without consciousness

you could imagine a shining white mountain
that you will never reach

a view from the top
that will answer all the questions you ever wanted

turn from this and life is open
and it is 9 am with plenty of things to do

--------

Geheimnisse entstehen im Herzen,
das einige ohne Bewusstsein schrecklich sind.

Sie konnten einen glänzenden weißen Berg dich vorstellen,
den Sie nie erreichen.

Eine Ansicht von der Oberseite beantwortet alle Fragen,
die Sie überhaupt wünschten.

Umdrehung von diesem und vom Leben ist geöffnet
und es ist 9 morgens mit viel der Sachen, zum zu tun.

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

5.27.11

Monster Patrol

Daniel is 4 and has a plastic sword. It is 8.30 in the morning, and his big sister has gone to school. Danny tells me he is hiking around, looking for bad people to kill. We're in a small 1 bedroom apartment in Newport Beach, but for him, the location to patrol is 10,000 square miles of frozen wastelands, arid deserts, deep jungles, tombs, and insanely high mountains were monster snowmen live. Some of the snowmen are friendly, it should be noted -- they are his allies. After some adventures, Dan puts on his fluffy bath robe over his pajamas, gets his fire truck book and says, "This is just the perfect thing I need right now." "No more fighting?" I ask him. "No -- the monsters and I agreed to take a break for 7 days. Whew!" says Dan. "You can say that again!" I reply.

The Giant 300 Foot Tall Cat

"So before I fire you, why were you late for work this morning?" asks my boss. We're sitting in his office, as if I was not going to be fired, his feet on the desk.

"There was no way I could have made it to work on time this morning." I say truthfully, for the first time.

"And why is that?" asks my boss.

"Do you really want to know?"

"I might as well."

"The freeway was completely blocked at the exit to the office by a 300 foot tall cat."

"Jesus Christ!" explodes my boss. "Is that the best fucking excuse you can come up with?"

"It's true." I say. "Look out the window."

My boss disdainfully looks over his shoulder, sees the giant 300 foot tall cat in the park next to the hi-rise, and screams.

Cat

he cheerfully cracked the secret of the universe
and nobody believed him because he was
a cat

.

.
.

Which Reminds Me

Which reminds me of a dream I had last night. There was some kind of problem, and the solution for it was quite simple and sane:

1. Dress up like a banana
2. Eat bananas

If you have any problem you cannot solve, try those two steps.

Poem - Another Dawn

another dawn
peeks over the hill
and lays over the field

the details roughed out
every swoop of a bird
like an aria

Poem - Fine Golden Cotton Candy

--- for Shel Silverstein

the first place sunlight
touches in town
is an empty lot
with a freeway over it

boy i like that place
where the day is so new
it is supernatural

tomorrow i'll bring a pail
and catch the first rays

i bet you what i catch
will look like fine
golden cotton candy

Poem - Christs and Buddhas

I see Christs and Buddhas in the air. I was
not looking for them, and it should be a beatific
vision, right? But it is crowded in the yard,
like a happy gathering of linebackers in a too-small room.

With the heavies, I happen to be there, the runt,
just lucky to be here. Not a blade of grass
disturbed. Birds flew, the regal Black Phoebe
ate a fly.

-----

Dawn
Escondido

Poem - Damascus

in damascus the song rises up
several times a day
from old
stone walls pigeons all fly
at the same time
in a feathery rush

oh here i am
i wasn't thinking
i wasn't
even here
until i knew i wasn't

i know i'll forget
and remember again
and again
like a grain lost by god
between sun and stone

time will move on
these walls will tilt more
they will
be stained more black
the birds will soar
into the air with the song

as a new person stands here
i do not know

Poem - I water the Lawn and I go see

I water the Lawn and I see
seashells entwined with rays and lyrical
swaying curtains of kelp. A school of
sardine-fish trip me. I smile shyly
at a beautiful mermaid who has
gold flecks in her long hair.
What is the
problem with this, when my neighbors
imagine terrorists under
the bed or hicks
with cleavers in the garage?
The day sky is as blue
as a robin's egg, the light clear
as it is full of heat. I see in it the
walkable thin bridge between here
and Heaven, while
you may be convinced
a bomb will fall through it
like a whore off a diving board.

-----

50311
Sunset Heights
Escondido

Poem -- The phone does not ring. It means

Das Telefon klingelt nicht. Es bedeutet,
Ich bin nicht in Schwierigkeiten, und ich bin
nicht in der Liebe.

Warum muss es so sein? Andere sind bekannt
für ihre immense Eitelkeit zu
diese Dinge.

Oder ist es weil ich beschlossen haben
wie leben schwach liebenden
Sein, klapprigen & traplike.

Pfui. Wie miserabel und schlecht
wenn dieses zutreffend ist. Nach außen ein boyscout,
innerlich ein Räuber.

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

The phone does not ring. It means
I'm not in trouble and I'm
not in Love.

Why must it be so? Others are known
for their immense vanity towards
these things.

Or is it because I have decided
to live as a weakly loving
being, rickety & traplike.

Ugh. How miserable and evil
if this is true. Outwardly a boyscout,
inwardly a mugger.

Poem - Death Life Love / Tod Leben Liebe

i.

water
stomach
window
death

tree
mountain
water
shining
death

cafe
cup
money
death

night
star
wind
death

ii.

house
life

earth
life

friend
life

iii.

mother
love

father
love

silent

--------

i.

wasser
magen
fenster
tod

baum
berg
wasser
glänzend
tod

kaffeehaus
tasse
geld
tod

nacht
stern
wind
tod

ii.

haus
leben

erde
leben

freund
leben

iii.

mutter
liebe

vater
liebe

schweigen

Poem - To the New Spring Bride and Groom

we the couple after the rain
outside we walk
in the sweet petrichor
coffees-to-go snugly
zarfed

in the park a spot
of chanking offsets
the scroop of a bridal gown
for a picture w/ groom
backward armsayes*

but the knot is tied
and fingers are ringed
with the slimmest gold
glabellas (or not) to come
i wish them well

the woman sports a feat**
and the man takes badinage
but no roorback imminent

this union as sublime and
toylike as a nef
yet neither have taken to it lightly

and both are bold yet shy
brave yet hesitant
they will go home tonight
together
alone for the first time


-------

* armholes
** a loose lock of hair

Easter Afternoon Gypsy Proverb Dreams

I take a nap on Easter afternoon, and right before I'm all the way awake, I'm dreaming about 'gypsy proverbs' while looking at a grainy black & white television image of the tarmac of an airport somewhere in the former Soviet Union. A husky voice, with a strong accent says:

"A man will be known of how lovely he is to women, by the number of dogs they have given him as gifts of appreciation."

Poem - All of This

at the circus i burned
the apple cart

i kicked apples
in people's faces

i broke all the rules
and i missed the cart

the circus left without me
as i slept

i woke to empty streets
and i wept

i wandered interlocking fields
like vincent van gogh

at night a million stars
looked on silently

god should have admired
my bravado

but there is no escape
even in the attempt of escaping

(To hear the audio of this poem, click here.)

Poem - Colonel Whisper

shhhh shhhhhhhhhh
it is my friend colonel whisper
steely eye
no salute required

he stalks in and sums up
the clasp with one
imperious glance of 'not in charge
but should be'


-------

To ______________ __________
From ____________ ____________

Poem - Circling

serenaded by vivaldi
and glenn gould fugues

he lives on tomatoes
green tea and broccoli

and what he really wants
while meditating

is knowing how to live
without poverty of imagination

like being more than
and educated hamster cage

like entering the
human family

or a girlfriend w/ motorcycle
& coffee

*

alas he reads and dreams
of mystical emergencies

not being roused by phone
email or chat

Poem - Poem to Cat

the cat does not sing
he does not bark

he lays where
the cat nip was poured

,


he looks at me
with amber eyes

and waits for me
to stop typing


,


i ask him a question
but he still looks

there is absolute
looking here


----

10.29 AM
4.12.11

(For an audio recording of this poem, click here.)

Poem - Nap for Lunch

for lunch
i take a nap

i dream
i am a sailor
from the 1600s
on jeopardy
about to answer
a tricky question
from god almighty
about the nature
of the universe
while the set
is on fire &
the host of the show
converts to
a cannibalistic
sect of a cargo-
cult

i wake up
and i am not
amused

i check my
computer

it says i am
disconnected
so i re-
connect

Poem - In My Backyard in Escondido

torrid thoughts
and weeds run amok
all have their place
and naturally grow

each variety
run sinewy vines
and fine roots run deep
being patently buried

but the weed
is just a weed while
resentments are
ideas gone to seed

i'll grow trees or
a jungle in my mind
where well tended gardens
are jewels of the forest

(To listen to the audio of this, click here.)

Poetry - The Slug

at the end of a trail
to a hard black dart
baking in the sun

i have enough snot
for 10,000 slugs
i give him some

the spit and phlegm
a torrid melange of spice
pollen bacteria and enzymes
tobacco and oils

i watch and wait like god does

i look closely

i am too late
he is dead

Fun With Telegraphy: Poem - all is before 1st light

I've been taking a lot of heat from my freinds practicing Telegraphy that I have not been writing much material for Morse Code. So here is a poem I like that I've translated. Keep coming Back!

.. .----. ...- . -... . . -. - .- -.- .. -. --. .- .-.. --- - --- ..-. .... . .- - ..-. .-. --- -- -- -.-- ..-. .-. . .. -. -.. ... .--. .-. .- -.-. - .. -.-. .. -. --. - . .-.. . --. .-. .- .--. .... -.-- - .... .- - .. .... .- ...- . -. --- - -... . . -. .-- .-. .. - .. -. --. -- ..- -.-. .... -- .- - . .-. .. .- .-.. ..-. --- .-. -- --- .-. ... . -.-. --- -.. . .-.-.- ... --- .... . .-. . .. ... .- .--. --- . -- .. .-.. .. -.- . - .... .- - .. .----. ...- . - .-. .- -. ... .-.. .- - . -.. .-.-.- -.- . . .--. -.-. --- -- .. -. --. -... .- -.-. -.-

.--. --- . -- -....- .- .-.. .-.. .. ... -... . ..-. --- .-. . .---- ... - .-.. .. --. .... - -- .. ... - .... .- -. --. .. -. --. .-.. --- .-- -... .-.. ..- . --- ...- . .-. - .... . -... .- -.-. -.- -... .- -.-- --..-- .-.. .. --. .... - ... - .-- .. -. -.- .-.. . -.. ..-. .-. --- -- .- ..-. .- .-. --- ..-. ..-. -... .- .-. --. . --- ...- . .-. ... .. .-.. ...- . .-. .-- .- - . .-. .- .-.. .-.. .. ... -... . ..-. --- .-. . .---- ... - .-.. .. --. .... - ---... - .... . -... .- .-. --. . .-- .- ... -... .-.. .- -.-. -.- .- -. -.. --.- ..- . ... - .. --- -. ... -.. .. . -.. .- .-- .- -.-- --..-- - .... --- ..- --. .... - ... -.-. .- ..- --. .... - --- ..-. ..-. --. ..- .- .-. -.. .-- . .-. . .- -. -. .. .... .. .-.. .- - . -..

**

‎‎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

Poem - A Poem for Robert

as a young go-getter
killing myself for a hi-tech firm
i boarded at his house
in the upstairs room

he wrote constantly
at the desk in the living room
his poetry and his habit
of writing was soothing

it was strange to drop by
years later in a driving rain
and see the house dark
with an empty front room

like me he had moved on
and left no forwarding address
because few cared or bothered
and i know how that feels

we think we know which way
the wind will blow
or how seasons roll out
inevitable change

or at least i thought i did
when i thought a lot
with one opened beer after another
watching him from the kitchen

i remember a mellow light
surrounding me as i washed
my mismatched dishes
as his typewriter punched the page

and later as a drunk
that kind of light eluded me
though the dishes matched
in a distant perfect house

(To hear the audio recording of this poem, click here.)

Poem - there is enough

there is enough
life to quell
this fiery temper

enough solitude
to delude me
into thinking

time enough to
destroy every
beloved toy

..

if i rouse i
may find
nothing

i may find a
lost sparrow or
phoenix

there may be
only a flash
or cold ashes

..

i believe
there is
enough

leave the
comfortable
room

& the
panoramic
window

----

As always, for Latif

Poem - Beautiful Day

i worry sometimes when i'm writing
if the reader will get it

thinking this way means
i don't understand a damn thing

but i've been taught now
to stop investing in this

today is a beautiful blue day
and i'll stop considering the ruin of it

Poem - how wise i am to be this way

i hide a resentment in a complement

i forget water is boiling on the stove
till it is almost all bubbled away

i burn my index finger on
the pot on the stove

how wise i am to be this way

---

April 1

Poem - Night Swimming

midnight on fine summer nights i would secretly drink
& then skinny dip in the pool as if i was stealing from someone

but it was my pool in my silent dark backyard
under a million stars that were fixed and stared down at my white body
with a bit of that regrettable farmer's tan

i'd hear the water quietly moving as i moved
lapping on the aquamarine colored tiles
and i'd look up at the sky and see the night in the water
my shoulder would nudge the pole star out of the way for a ripple

i'd be afraid of the luminous bottom near the deep end
but then dive down to it through the blindness

i'd go to the bottom of the bottom to touch the cold surface
though fear was never solved nor would go away

------

For Stephanie

Poem - Together

as if we could keep the legs
by spreading them or the pages
by reading them

all this reaching and desire
like trying to save a day you loved
so you could have it anytime

there's no keeping
but don't be discouraged
we're together right now sitting here

the kitchen is bright and dishes
done

Poem - Guilty

not committing the sin of ingratitude
nor of arrogance

but guilty as always
of whatever i forgot by accident
or what i denied

------

For Billy Collins

Poem - The Angel of Constantanople

"One of the most magnificent shrines ever known (is) the old Constantinople Cathedral...restored by the Emperor Justinian in 568, after the plan, says tradition, of an angel who came to that monarch in a dream.

The angel is stated to have appeared a second time....to a boy who was guarding the tools of the masons, and ordered him to bring the workmen immediately, in order to hasten the building. As the boy refused, the gleaming (angel) swore by the Wisdom, i.e., by the Word of God, that he would not depart until the boy returned...

The emperor...in order that he might for ever keep his word as guardian of the temple, sent away the boy, laden with presents, to pass the rest of his life in the Cyclades..."

http://www.jjkent.com/articles/stones-constantinople-cathedral.htm


i have thought him so often
unlike the angel on a blue morning
who appeared in shining white
before a frightened boy
and inquired for the master mason
to hasten the raising of the sanctuary
then waited forever -- i would not remain

god is so much more wiser
and compassionate to me
this force that blesses all space with
innumerable beautiful things
and unraveled reflective riddles
that seem meaningless unless
all is accepted with the grace that made it

Poem - Suburban Poem

it is so quiet
i can hear the ringing in my ears
metallic shore of a tinfoil sea

it is so still
the houses in the street are bizarre
facades made of sugary marzipan

they live in their frosting
i live in mine while the gingerbread foundations
are eaten secretly by the tide

the only things that intrude
are cars and birds because people
do not equate on sidewalks of sugar

but let me not complain
of the places i choose to go and have built
however fantastic & unreal they become

-----

Sunset Heights
Escondido

Poem - Serenade

we sat by a screen of moonlit baffled trees
a serenade of phone-tones
not crickets called though the night

as if playing hide and seek
screens glowed and were extinguished
the conductor was late due to traffic

the only thing that seemed real
were your eyes that found mine
not in a person but in a silhouette

the stage footlights became brighter
as the celebrated man arrived & silently waved
then the music began normally

---

Hollywood
2011

Poem - robert redford's face is radioactive

robert redford's face is radioactive
he throws out the first pitch and the ball becomes contaminated
it arcs to the pitcher with a trailing
soft blue glow

there is a tavern under the street
where only newspeople meet, robert redford's face begins to go critical
reducing the front of it to a puddle of glorious
atomic slag

the bar vaporizes like tissue
nuclear material melts into the floor like butter being sucked into toast
with a massive burst of radiation
that tickles skin

the slag will congeal
but we will never go away after the slag congeals, topped by a magnificent
reinforced cement sarcophagus
complete with sensors

A Poem About Hummingbirds to Latif

latif when i think of you i stayed out of those dark rooms
the kind where you can stay quiet and write

instead i remembered the saying credo quia absurdum
as i looked for the hummingbird that is lightening blue

he's never far away and with the looptie-loop
banishes all thought of the dutiful waiting & the when

------

Newport Beach
Second Day of Spring, 2011

Poem - the eye/ can take it in/ not speak

it rains
the second day
of spring

three apples
in the fridge

crossword puzzle
paper sleep

at the table
i see how
some clouds

become stairs
into blue
lit with light

so high above
any mind
or pencil

the eye
can take it in
not speak

Poem - A Notion

\

poet halfheartedly looking through the poetry section
comes across a slim work by billy collins
poet laureate

reading a few of the poems an old feeling of excitement
springs up & certain amount of dread shame
of his own work

he realizes a raft of flimsy "on his way back to home
wouldn't you know a damned red light
and white clouds" line after line

as he thought billy collins billy collins
turning into the drive like the book he didn't intentionally buy
but the work totally owns him

.

when he's inside he sits down and tries to write a poem
it is like trying to construct what he was
or what he saw when it happened

but it is vanity so he thinks about billy collins
and of the book and how he might not be able to write
but everything is fine

he had been magically knocked off
and he can' quite do anything except a kind of
hurt joyful hopping

-----

To Billy Collins

The Rainbows

Just before waking this morning, I dream of several rainbows,
looping and curling, almost tied together like a knot.
There are three tiers of clouds behind them, going up,
just after a storm. A scattering of white birds shoot through,
near the edge of the World.

All distance becomes trivial, suffused with light. I stand on a high-rise,
with gold windows, behind me the abandoned office of a friend.

E Poe Raven Bruce

E Poe had this raven he'd write to. The raven's name was Bruce, who had been raised by Jesuits in Philadelphia. How Bruce ended up in Baltimore is a whole story that won't be told here. Bruce thought Poe was a likable nitwit. When Bruce wasn't tapping on the window for snacks, he'd fly to a church steeple and let the weather-vane point him in the direction the wind was blowing. On the wind the raven could smell the forest from across the river, the warm tiles of the rooftops, and the time of the day. Then Bruce would get hungry and fly down to look for a dead cat to eat the eyes out of, or for tidbits washed over by the drunk smelling funk of E Poe. Sometimes Poe would hide under his desk when Bruce arrived, especially at night. Then he'd recover, rub his eyes, wind a clock, or light a candle. The shaking would go away as he drank, and he was always writing. With bright black steely eyes -- the eyes of an unrelenting & uncompromising, yet sympathetic universe, Bruce watched. Bruce was logical and responsible, in his witnessing.

*

When spring came, Bruce fell in love and few away for several months. When he came back the building was empty, but in the cemetery there was a black casket with E POE written on the lid. Bruce landed and tapped on the lid, tearing up flakes of wood. He tapped again, no scratching came from within, E Poe was not there. Bruce knew he was somewhere. Puzzles, puzzles -- his little bird mind couldn't unloosen to know what he thought he could know.

*

At night the yellow moon reminded Bruce, slyly, to go one more time to E Poe's rooms. That was easy. Bruce winged up and saw from the skylight there was E Poe, shimmering in the darkness, no candles necessary now. Bruce swooped down to land on a shoulder, but there was only air, he cawed in reproach, but all was forgiven. Then Bruce saw a finger of moonlight touch the mantle, and there was a smaller E Poe, behind a flat square of glass! And Bruce was pleased, because the imperceptible E Poe assented to what Bruce saw, and Bruce knew it was E Poe's soul.

Knocking it down was easy enough, and broken covering, Bruce speared E Poe's spirit through the heart. Bruce showed E Poe the thing he had done, and Poe sat there and bowed his head with a smile. Into the card he climbed.

Through the skylight rose Bruce, with E Poe, over the town, past the steeple & weather-vane, they flew. Aside the moon, they glided, to the river high with tide. There avoiding the muck, Bruce let E Poe go with a flick of his dread beak, like a chip on the water. The moon was like a white light, reflected on E Poe's tiny face. It bumped and winked, and then was gone.

Barnes & Noble / The La Costa Express

In Orange County just after it started raining, the blacktop appearing as obsidian, I was perusing the books on sale at Barnes & Noble. Over in the periodical section, I'm surprised to see an old guy who goes to AA meetings where I live, in La Costa.

La Costa is 75 miles south of here. I also thought he was dead. Have you ever met someone like this? It happens more often than you'd think.

"Hi." I say.

"Hello." he replies.

"How's it going?" I ask.

"Fine." he says, a bit irritated that I'm still talking to him.

"What are you doing here?"

"What does it look like? I'm looking at books!"

"Oh."

"You don't think I'd be here looking at books!?"

"But you live in La Costa."

"Jesus Christ! Just because I live in La Costa, I can't show up here and be looking at books?"

"Hey -- no offense. I was surprised to see you."

"Offense taken!" He pushed up his glasses. "Any more questions you want to ask me, before I get back to enjoying myself alone?

"No -- no." I wanted to say "Hi"."

"OK -- "Hi". Now beat it!"

I leave him alone, but I can't help but seeing him in the corner of my eye -- he's dressed in a red flannel shirt and faded blue jeans -- like he always is. Meanwhile, the rain has let up.

*

A week later I go back to La Costa, and I attend the morning meeting. The chair where the guy always sat is empty. Plenty of people could sit in it, but the chair stays unoccupied.

I don't tell anyone about meeting the dead guy at Barnes & Noble, because I'm not sure he's really dead, but nobody is talking about him anymore so I don't bring it up.

*

The next time I go to Banes & Noble in Orange County, I guess I'm not surprised to see him in the bargain books section. He's wearing the same flannel shirt and jeans -- looking exactly like I saw him last time. Why not?

"Hi." I say.

"Oh sweet Jesus Christ! You again." he says sarcastically, with a short glance. "Why don't you fuck off?"

"Where have you been?"

"What are you, my fucking mother? Get away! Scram!"

I see a staff person frowning at me, so I leave him alone.

*

The next meeting, in La Costa, I see someone sitting in his chair who looks just like him. It is his brother. I go over an introduce myself, which makes him angry.

"How's _________?" I ask him.

"Whadda ya mean, how's __________?" he yells at me.

"Is he around?"

"Fuck you! He's not here!"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean what I fucking mean! He's not here!"

Now people in the meeting are looking at me with disgust. I excuse myself and sit down.

*

The next time I'm in Orange County when I go to a bookstore, I decide to go to a different one altogether.

Acceptance Letter

One day, just before spring, he got an acceptance letter. He was not anticipating an acceptance letter, from any publication -- let alone from a prestigious magazine. Because of this, at first he couldn't comprehend what the slip of paper said, because he assumed it was another rejection slip, but the form and the words were bizarre, they were wrong. It didn't read like anything at the mailbox. He got into the kitchen. When he realized that this was AN ACCEPTANCE LETTER, he laughed and slapped his left hand down on his lap so hard, he accidentally punched himself in the balls. That was unexpected too, and it really hurt. But he kept on laughing and waved at the mailman as he came back down the road from the big Commercial Dairy. He was so happy, he let the damn pony into the house & stand in the living room and stare out the picture window all afternoon. This was the first time the pony did this without breaking into the house when he was away for a few hours. Might as well let everyone enjoy themselves.

Poem - On Cruise to Catalina

nearing we watched the boat go up waves
until i felt blind because the sun was so strong

i looked away ashamed and sensed the rise
of mother sea under my feet

the disturbed try idle thoughts
i think about what i choose to see in front of me

catalina's scrub hardness had sheep and goats
the mining there played out badly

the romantic part of me wishes to identify
this place w/ past but honesty urged me to come clean

scars show on the cliffs over smashing waves
the island was indifferent at best and worse angry

like dreams the ocean rolls on forever but it lifts me
a great wind sends regrets away

**

nearing we watched
i felt blind because the sun was so strong

i looked away ashamed
sensed the mother sea under my feet

catalina's scrub hardness
anything taken to it played out badly

i wished to identify
but honesty urged me to come clean

cliffs over smashing waves
indifferent at best and worse angry

the ocean rolls on forever
a great wind sends regrets away

----------

Southern California
March 2011

Poem - Tears of a Cafe Window

*


*



*


*


*

*

*
*

just before it snows
on lake street
a garbage truck
runs over the tears
of a cafe window

no -- the tears
of condensation
on the cafe window
drilled through
the garbage truck
like diamond bullets
reducing the vehicle
to a flaming ruin

no

no

the truck is gone
& drops of water
keep sliding
silently
down

Poem - Lipstick on the Pig

you questioned everything
which was good practice at thinking

but this kind of thought does not solve reality
that was never to be solved

which is not saying nothing matters
because everything matters

choose the sane way
by giving more than you take

when you have something
tell and let it go without elaboration

all these essays and discussions
don't have to keep speaking

other people will be
wanting lipstick on the pig

surely through all of this sustaining
find the joyfulness of a child

Poem - The Pistol Tattoos

she has tattoos below her navel
2 colts single-action cocked & outlined in blue
drawn so as if she could pull them

her elvis smile rests lightly
thumbs hooked through the beltloops
with the faded blue jeans

-- - ------

2/14
Escondido

Poem - Google Translate

this star
this life
this place
reader is many places
all over the earth

the moon rises
a window lighted

.

gwiazdy
to życie
to miejsce
Czytnik jest wiele miejsc
całej ziemi

księżyc wschodzi
oświetlone okno

.

эта звезда
это жизнь
это место
Читатель многих местах
по всей земле

Восходит луна
освещенные окна

.

dieser Stern
dieses Leben
diesem Ort
Leser an vielen Stellen
überall auf der Erde

der Mond aufgeht
ein Fenster erleuchtet

.

aquesta estrella
aquesta vida
aquest lloc
lector és molts llocs
tota la terra

la lluna s'aixeca
una finestra il.luminada

Poem - The Ballad of the Narco Submarine

this is the ballad of the narco boat
fully submersible to 30 ft
air-conditioned for the long dark haul
pushed by fast diesels
across the death of the sea

departed at night with no stars seen
out from uncharted cliffs mud and mango trees
we stood out north northeast in the swell
at 3 am we hit an uncharted reef
and sank with 4 tons of cocaine

the designers were appalled
and so were the accountants and bosses
sealed in the deep our names won't be called
they said it would be a short trip
and the money would be paid cash on return

the sea moves and the distant shore waits
in the jungles new leaves grow
boxes and plastic bags are filled for the subs
farmers and poor boys in need line up
being made ready to go

the dock is rotten and the planks sigh
up the bundles go one by one
a child watches and is innocent enough to be afraid
afraid of the periscope and green fiberglass
afraid for the driver afraid of the sea

this is the ballad of the narco sub
across the death of the sea
mary mary mother of god pray for us
forever now we're under the water
la campana de la aldea se agrieta próxima
vez que suene

Poem - Prelude and Fuge No. 5 in D, by Bach / The Racing Course of a Life

the racing
course of
a life

middle age
resisting
being spent
by the
trajectory
set by youth

eyes tear
but you
promise yourself
you are
not crying

explain
it is only
the light
in that certain
part of day

at the wheel
of a shiny
automobile

impeccable
power suit
italian tie

behind you
a gulf blacker
than the road

in front a
dizzying peak
where dreams
can all die

the white
you will have
must have

you know

(To listen to the audio recording of this poem, click here.)

Mistakenly Finding Compassion for the Army of Egypt

Today, I thought I read "EGYPTIAN ARMY SHELTERS STRAY ANIMALS" and I was moved at the compassionate nature -- totally unexpected, of the Egyptian Army. What depth of wonder is related to the things happening in this world? Can you say for sure where it ends? What a fool was I to think otherwise, mired in negative reflexive thinking. I resolved, through this example, to be positive, for more positivity to manifest.

Then I re-read the headline, and it was "ALBANY POLICE SHELTER STRAY ANIMALS". Holding to my new resolve, no matter how misguided, I shall still reserve compassion for the Egyptian Army, and especially of the Police Department of Albany, NY.

Poem - all changed

the front
of this morning

inescapable
once faced

sun no challenge
air no challenge

time accepted

the room
my steady hands

same speech
same thoughts

same action
all changed

Poem - The Quest

porn star looks for
noah's ark
clued in by bible

finds it in turkey
no but meets a lieutenant
in the airforce

finds it in russia
no but meets an acrobat
with eyes like a gypsy

at the shores of
the caspian sea
or black stained oil malta

she says goodbye to
the motor launch

she says goodbye
to old thinking

she surrenders

ii.

in egypt

a man tries to sell her
a nail from the ark
wrapped in cotton

the box is small
and rectangular
and false

in israel

there is a rare photo
or map of the ark
much confused

shop closed
old german lady dead
window broken

she surrenders again

iii.

before you know it
she is back in LA

the only thing she
kept is a glass charm
for good luck from fez

noah's ark is everywhere
she will never drown

Poem - Snow Stop

southern california flawless
sunny day after day

i miss how the snow
stopped everything

you couldn't do a
thing only wait

envy even the smallest
bird who was still free

New Word - Dysons

Dysons

The peculiar squeaking noises a Dyson vacuum makes while sucking.

"As I vacuumed, the machine emitted a barrage of dysons, like sound effects reminiscent of a Woody Allen movie."

The Uncanny Valley

I think "The Uncanny Valley" relationship-phenominon to highly-lifelike appearing robots is a natural emotional reaction for normal people, because a robot will always be artificial on some level, and making technology appear natural is in contradiction to what technology is -- an invention of the will.

On the gross level, your human will feel like the scientist is trying to pull a fast one on him. On another level, the human being will feel like technology is trying to mimic him, as a replacement. Ultimately, technology can do neither, because it is the demonstration of the will.

Basically -- I think that "The Uncanny Valley" can be avoided if we relate to technology as Invented, and not as Life, and we resist the temptation to mimic through technology theories of the how and why we were created. Technology is an expression of the will, which is human expression, and has limitations. Ultimately, nature has no limitations, because it is natural.

Scientists will continue to grapple with the unlimited reality of reality.

Poem - imperial urges create

the curia in my heart
wanting to make simple wood into a cross

upright and straight
rather than level unadorned and plain

imperial urges create
golden cities and magnificent churches

but we create out of nothing
emptiness follows emptiness without excuse

Southern California Short Story

He read Candide, and laughed. People stared at him in the library. It was 10 AM. After having this, he walked to Pavilions and bought an expensive coffee, from a detoxed blond, and spilled it on the floor of his car. He drove through the shade of many palm trees. He drove past 3 tall modern buildings, in the restrained style of Miles van der Rohe, the color of bone.

A Spanish pirate was buried where he parked his car, near Back Bay. The dead man's name was José de Gálvez. He had been shot by an arrow in the thigh, and had bled to death. Up on the bluff, under a house foundation, was the remains of a cache of silver on the edge of an Indian burial ground. The ghost of the dead mariner haunted that part of the scrub, and the mud flats of Back Bay.

Sometimes, the ghost would stand on the road, and cause cars to go off the cliff. Teenagers were the best for this. The ghost of Gálvez also caused a small plane to be confused, when he made faint light. The pilot thought the mud flats was the end of a runway, and the pilot was too late to pull up and crashed and died.

The ghost of Gálvez looked at the writer, and wondered how he could hurt the gringo. It was too bad the light was so strong. Gálvez wanted to hurt the gringo who parked over his grave. Anyone who walked on his grave, he knew of it. Wherever he was, it brought him back. Gálvez was doomed to linger here forever. With his ghost eyes, he looked at the writer, and knew the writer would be that way too.