Category: Poetry

  • This Bird has Flown

    Sung to the tune of Bob Dylan’s “All Along the Watchtower”

    Must be some way out of here,
    said the birdie to the fan.
    There’s too much collusion,
    I can’t get no peace.
    Tycoons pluck my feathers,
    bots bugger my burrows,
    and the policymakers know
    not what anything is worth.

    Now let’s not get uptight,
    the fan whispered in delight.
    The whole point of the site
    has always been an in-joke.
    What’s trending now changes
    peeply, and real Bluechecks
    don’t look or follow back.
    No one knows what time it is.

    All along the virtuality
    enabled users awoke.
    Social dullsville friends
    and fiends came and went.
    Outside in the distance
    a new reality did growl,
    two Martians were approaching,
    and the Earth began to howl.

  • And a Song of Despair

    And despair is to separate to break up
    to stop falling in love and hit bottom
    down from to hope and to be the despair
    of another now absent and in a state
    of disrepair collapse and abandonment
    like the house on a dead moon unplugged
    in the mist of space dust floating falling.

    To disengage throw away toss out fall
    back without limbs to swim or fins to flap
    the earnest muscles sore as a dam morn
    train slowly pulling out of a foggy station
    leaving your sad waves to platform alone
    waiting for the next train hands waving
    from disappearing windows brakes off.

    Dissed and pool pissed despondent one
    the heart crestfallen full of sorrow sick
    as a parrot unable to breathe or repeat
    how hap hap happy we were when we
    happily eschewed commas and went non
    stop without regard for clarity to others
    or any kind of on time railroad timetable.

    From pillow to pillow I missed you
    but love is on the dot not wanting
    a life of one’s own but a share
    of the Earth a clear spot to bed
    down without fear of knowing
    what can never be fully known
    or understood the random odds

    and ends the noise some call music
    others say poppycock and applesauce
    I wash my eyes out with vinegar
    and oil my hair for the dark night
    of the soul is here drumming door
    rhythms untuned sonic booms
    as I fall through the night gloom

    destined to wreck on the jetty pokes
    into the ocean waves oh Lord please
    let me be misunderstood disregarded
    by anyone but with her I cannot be
    seen this drowning in words won’t
    work then or now what silence wanted
    was for me to go up into love the altar

    boy who understood but a few words
    of Latin and even then daydreamed
    through the mass of the sea and waves
    fell asleep on the altar but awoke quick
    and jangled the bells upsetting sisters
    yes an old story now how then he met
    the girl of not dreams but awakening.

    What is sundered cannot be surrendered
    alone now at the end of the voyage one
    sees coming through the morning ocean
    fog your bright sun of yellow hair your sky
    of blue eyes your cotton candy cheeks
    of dunes freckled with tiny sad flowers
    your strong legs soft hands your sand

    highs and little lows your kisses full
    of compassion your fall frowns your
    annoying finger in my yawns your grab
    pulling the rear view mirror off its mount
    laughing tussled hair your silence in my
    despair your stubborn insistence we
    make a life together out of despair.

  • Twenty Love Poems: 20

    Mornings stolen cold dirty socks on damp
    feet slushed street Bathsheba and the kids
    sleep past the cryptic graffiti on the corner
    phone booth an annunciation to be glad
    to rejoice as we once recess Angelus rings
    asked joy in backyard bestowed with sun.

    Between no yes we stopped and I touched
    the fruit of your wamb womb cherry bomb
    compassionately swallowed your freckled
    cheeks whole like the great horned owl
    absorbs the snouty mouse grace flavored
    rain blurred eyes wiper smeared drive.

    Byssus threaded hand in hand hip to hip
    we survived ice storms attached to rocks
    blessed grace full I kissed your salt but
    now thin and weak bland unpalatable
    the beach is closed to surfers who pray
    for waves gone by sucked into sand.

    Our songs drift into space beyond sound
    what cannot be seen or measured is love
    yeah we rocked and rolled and jazzed it
    up but in the end we are just a folk duo
    doomed to sing our same old love song
    oldie of oldies on infinite scratched repeat.

    Soma of couple submerged together sing
    a sleeping song awake these hundreds
    of years adoring each breast to breast
    and now my heart before need of repair
    asks to roll up what sweetness remains
    into one last rollicking bollocking ball.

  • Twenty Love Poems: 19

    We had the sun on the run for a time
    but today he’s nearly caught up with us
    just hard-on hearing now all my whats
    what randy birds of prey coxy claptrap
    peck pecking at your resealed window
    I didn’t hear shut nor your breathing
    whispers rain after a long hot summer
    husky hairs rubbing between fingers
    an avian hymn to a lost limb a bird
    building a nest in the old oak crotch.

    Not what to put in but what to leave
    out diaper pins before disposables
    green canvas chairs on a tan lawn
    Mozart and dogs singing on moonlit
    nights across the lake venial sins
    misdemeanors of youth parking
    tickets not wounds but urge itches
    a scratch wanting a few stitches
    a weekend pass from the place
    of thunder so far away and quiet.

  • Twenty Love Poems: 18

    The hot toddy, hip bits and bobs, the rot bow
    for your wrench on a whet night the power out.
    Isso cold bed down against the outside of you
    without your very verbs and nautical nouns.
    I am bicker to discuss my loss: what you lose
    on the swings you gain on the roundabouts.
    Lute the highty-tighty bowl shaped body out
    its floor length flannel down nighty be plucked
    and ducked sucked and mucked for the rose
    puddles open comes morning and sun’s river
    of bees and wasps and grounding of coffee
    and cake eggs and rashers for we’ll be hungry
    a gain after snatch a madcap night of be hinds
    spur of the moment tis issues what it hisses.

  • Twenty Love Poems: 17

    How do I love thee? Let’s not count the ways and days.
    To the bottom of the blue ocean where the octopus lies
    in purple wait to perpetuate the mythical form below.
    The soul’s something to do with it – what I don’t know.
    Actually, now I think about it, things don’t divide evenly,
    and days after days pass like the beach tides loose over
    the rocky pools, sandbars now seen now drowned deep.
    That’s how love is: under water, how the starfish spreads
    wings, and how the sea anemones attach and attract
    moist quiet almost silent prey. Not to be flippant, but
    to lie in wait seems unengaged in this era of existential
    pandering, but I don’t know of what use passion when
    the tide goes out and all my bugs exposed. Men strive
    for one thing, and that’s not right while you go for free
    or broke time after time, for romance beats the mundane.
    Consider the saints who crazy with love sacrifice all even
    their love for something abstract we can never count on.
    Carry on, my love, blitz me with your supine indifference.

  • Twenty Love Poems: 16

    Shall I compare thee to a foggy day
    Thou art not a forecaster’s point
    You were ambiguous and I inchoate
    Rough boys asked to light their joint
    Heaven neither had eyes for us
    The floor of his gaze too hot to strut
    But barefoot kids we built our truss
    While blue nuns in unison sang tut-tut
    So random freely did you move in
    With me your sworn enmity
    And together we lived in green sin
    In the hollow of the forbidden tree
    And there we drew first breaths
    Deaf to our own noisy passing.

  • Twenty Love Poems: 15

    Now the East Wind in the dark
    pools the sadness of fish firs
    following one another in trills
    nature an opaque amber
    lamppost in the old town
    lighting the tavern door.

    The Tangerine Tiki Lounge
    filled with refinery workers
    stained men hearing whistles
    without comment or pokes
    they understand the lack
    of likes and mean teases.

    They are silent and still
    the wives kneeling pewed
    palm readers in crushed
    pork pie hats or doily
    napkins held in place
    with black bobby pins.

    But not hatted enough
    to protect against love
    awake the night long
    moonlight floods back
    yards creeping across
    the neighbor walls.

    Into the pearl surf foam
    of salt and fat kitchen
    back doors garbage cans
    neon fog noir cigarette
    smoke pile of alley puke
    seagulls peck and lap.

    A tiny tinny radio plays
    oldies the men no longer
    hear the women tap
    their feet to the beat
    the smells of rubbers
    oils gases tubes smokes.

    Over the steam plant a jet
    cruises up Vista del Mar
    an Olds convertible
    sirens stop at Local Liquor
    red lights from a balcony
    above Vapor Trails.

    Near railroad tracks and water
    trains no longer carried people
    truth made poor copy goods
    confused sounds operas oranges
    sugar beets in open cars north
    to the old cold country.

  • Twenty Love Poems: 14

    In the garden of love they’ll find
    two hearts in the compost pile
    yours and mine entwined in trust
    tattered threads of truce
    and an ancient calloused shell
    from which slip cynical slugs
    of smug self-satisfaction.

    Good tho to hear from you
    proud of your retirement
    package that left you free to
    travel world round and round
    dressed in tutu and tulle
    we can’t stop for death here
    the corrosive calls of life

    cloned days drown even your
    braggart arguments snobbish
    burlesque lycanthropy under
    the moon’s smog we must
    move on ahead of the wolf
    not of metaphor but the one
    in our own backyard garden.

  • Twenty Love Poems: 13

    Love so embarrassing
    so cliche so cornball
    until we learn to wear
    circus clown makeup
    to weather the stares.

    One happier skips wow
    the other sad trips ough
    one now the other trade
    places slouched hopped
    funny honey and lonely.

    Only the sophisticated
    survive the scour of war
    hot and cold sweets
    sweat and sour clowns
    look back give and take.

    The fool fools around
    plays the fool joins
    the idiomatic circus
    come to town edge
    to collect the shunned.

    Under the big top
    in love’s pitched tent
    fools dress in windbags
    ride wobbly surfboards
    hang ten on highwires

    address the audience
    the folly of a crowd
    give the schmucks
    their head amid
    claps and laughs.

  • Twenty Love Poems: 12

    at sunset suddenly dawns on us
    we might toss our favorite images
    into moon river and lucky old sun
    is so lonesome he could cry

    peacocks strut round the curves
    of Sunset Strip up on iridescent
    displays of monolithic cardboard
    billboards crackling in summer

    1968 and I’m late to the summer
    of love on the Peace Truck radio
    from the beach cities up to your
    place in Los Feliz not to make

    love or blow a number and go see
    2001: A Space Odyssey at Pacific
    or to protest a war or hear Johnny
    Rivers at the Whiskey but to visit

    the Children’s Hospital on Sunset
    at sunset the shifts changing
    the night coming on like a drug
    a dire psychedelic experience

    but nothing expands in fact
    we shrink into a dim distant
    past when our own singularities
    merge to form a celestial duo

    of one we don’t know what
    happened before that nor
    what comes next we have
    one memory and each other

    shivering great balls of grief
    we drive up to the park
    walk around the observatory
    the city of wilderness below

    ostrich features of orange
    gold drift across the basin
    and I whisper I will turn
    stones into bread for you