A Notebook – Since 2007
the see-thru wire black cat
leans to the blue
porcelain pot
falls prey to squirrels
or a pair of bigger black
crows her back arched
tail curved ? happy
tells wants to interact
head turned to the front
porch for her portrait pose
to remember these
first days of summer
forgotten cold kittish days
of blows weathered thru
you as if you were made
of wire hollow and hungry
but today the leaves unfurl
the sun gentle rises
like a young man
getting dressed for work
The day after
the hottest day ever
snowfall covered
sunburned green fields.
Subterranean streams
flooded root cellars
and mothers combed
sediment from wet hair.
Ocean waves reached
the heartland
where the fathers
buried their weapons.
Honeysuckle blossomed
on trellises rising
out of snowdrifts
and by evening
of the second day
of the Age of Weather
digesting ducks turned
around and drove home.
and the balloon man
sd let there be light
but he forgot
to include the night
sun filled every
puddle with sand
that day the moon
failed to follow
the air smelled
of rum molasses
and beach tar stuck
to the swing seats
nowhere to hide not
an ice cream truck
in sight or sound
no marbles or skips
pirates stole
even the gloom
all the motel
rooms full
the only noise
the gasps
from the leaky
balloons
If a leaf trembles
birds like angels dart.
Sitting out with guitar
on couch in impromptu
outdoor green parlor
under the Japanese maple.
The air marine mid eve
drizzle drops like notes
in a slow waltz fall
through the leaves
into my dry curly hair
small droplets subtle
piecemeal for the birds
talking, "Wouldn't a Joe
pilus be nice for our nest."
Later a dark sleep rain
summer wide opened
window wet percussion on
the roof leaves and walk
a tale of early summer
warm wet mysterious night.
And in the morning door
opened with coffee
in hand awe greeted
by a sparrow building
nest in welcome wreath.
In the far backyard
a patch of wildflowers
spreads perennially –
Bellflowers, I think,
Peach-Leaved Fairy Bells
(I looked them up),
but they don’t come
when I call them in.
I suppose some scrub-jay
dropped them here
to bring me a bit of cheer
giving up beer beyond Lent.
The flowers don’t need me
to tend or water them,
in June, tall and prolific,
invulnerable. Late Fall,
they’ll droop adrunk,
in the pubside gutter.
Wilderness inspired,
I buy a big bag of seeds
at Bi-Mart in early Spring,
but of a google broadcast,
only a few sprouted,
and not as proudly
as the Petticoat Bellflowers.
Maybe the bluebirds
picked up those seeds,
and even now drop them,
one by one, somewhere
over a distant biege sea.
Summer creeps up
on us a dusty
horny toad
nowhere to go.
The squirrel
of spring pool
ball path
soon still.
The mellow hibiscus
the rose of Susan
afternoon cold tea
winter up in the air.
A California scrub
jay scolds a crow
as I put marigolds
out on the porch.
Kevin tinker off
and me hitchhiking
Vista del Mar home
from Junior Lifeguards.
At Refugio Beach
Bruce catching
lizards in the rocks
along the creek bed.
Seems odd to fall
asleep still light
out and wake up
still in light.
Soon too hot
to hold this
device for words
of summer morns.
Light illuminates nouns
brings persons places
and things into the field -
light is a verb that creates.
Too little light we see
ghosts waddling to and fro -
whole life on the sun
is a bath in orange juice.
Light her touch when she
lits down and makes light
work of your worries and woe -
light she comes light she goes.
From boutique of night
blooming flowers
warm vase water becalm
deep dank well
emerges the princess
of night pale white
speechless as the moon
rose petal full
Not alone her soul
attached to a host
epiphytic life dangling
from an oblong root
where the frog appears.
Several lines form,
one circles
round the roasted chickens,
always seems faster,
the line and the fowl.
A young woman juggles
a basket full:
apples, milk, Cheerios,
snacks, beer;
her kid giggles jiggling
the magazine rack:
Harry and Charles, UFO's,
AI, and Elvis alive
up in a penthouse in Las Vegas.
The unharried clerk
tells of his night
at the opera,
in no particular hurry.
It seems some nut
upstaged Rodolpho,
running down an aisle
reciting some politico
manifesto about
what who knew? I mean, I'm like,
the clerk says in a sing-song
falsetto,
Mimi, she's vulnerable,
augmenting
this last with musicality
with a grimace,
and this crazy cat wants
all the attention.
You know what I mean?
I mean, we're all wounded,
impuissant,
but this is Mimi's moment.
Know what I mean?
And all in his line nod yes.
Finally, something that seems to make sense,
a fan on a steaming simmering summer eve.
The end of poem taste is nigh as books go
bye-bye; words are for the ear, not the eye.
Something stinks under the high court cloak;
politics as usual, they say with a grimace,
In Hell, guests gather around a diamond
water chalice and pray to an abominable
snowman holding a bident for catching fish,
and talk about changes in the weather.
Umbrellas at the beach make sense, but
the wind sometimes turns them into kites.
The dissolution of cities and foot shopping,
uncollecting things, faster baseball games.
The idea of a university wants refreshing;
it was never all-for-one one-for-all anyway.
When your politicos, priests, and professors
are too full of horseradish and bullpucky,
time to restore the toolbox, relax, wait
out the set, and keep watch for the outsider.
Unplug the guitar, walk, skip the commercials.
Listen to the song sparrow building its nest.
Learn to note and trill and adapt at will,
take advice with a grain of salt, not a pill.
Life is not a brand played to a jingle;
it wants not bleach to wash, but a bit
of white vinegar, not to denature critters,
but let hair down and smell the oils.
But don't dichotomize or literary like
criticize. Be as natural as horseradish,
but learn to spot bullpuck before you
step into a pile of it.
occasionally counting daughters
before work in the basin,
new construction, often the sun
splinters boulevards - ocean
calming down
wave objects chess dadas
moving to and fro across
the orange continental divide
oakum cold drink drizzle
obloquy causes distress
a drooping doubt befalls
and he turns around-the-clock
to return repeatedly again
and also a loss alas against
all odds closed doors
outside claustrophobia dwells
went looking for him doodle
circled the divine deforestation
of the three carob trees
what opportunity California
5th Degree Knight
in his off hour dandy dress
origin of the ritual lost
on his sons
obviously the office cabana
dude suffered outrageous
cactus disconnect.
But it was Mother's Day
oasis came dear
angels sisters and mermaids
all paused as out comes Dad
bestowing flowers fruit
and yum tum hugs and kisses.
The Coming of the Toads 