Last Day of March Musing

Should I disturb
the numb slumbers of
wayward seasons, recollections
of a windy March Wednesday
channeling Winnie the Pooh.
So sad seeing
time walk backwards
in the backyard,
stray leaves tumbling
at my feet
slow motion,
I crochet a documentary
half in shadow
half in bright sunny light.
A moment free of
all worldly discomfiture,
alibis, denials.
No place to be
but in that moment
held forever
in that lovely
memory address.

Home is not just an Address

Is that Jesus, 
mid-picture, cloaked in red,
misty, yellow ball over heart,
arm half raised with big,
bruiser, butcher's hand
about to bestow
a blessing?

Is he Jesus
of the Streets,
eyes like Tyger Tyger in the night
pointed, piercing,
ready to pounce on
persona-non-grata,
who, in his own ignorance,
might tra-la-la,
tippy-toe away
indifferently,
forget 'ah, the humanity,'
the line of them
flowing back into foggy,
one-point
perspective?

Of course,
The Four Horsemen are
at the front. 
Keepers of the gate,
beaten, broken, busted to dust,
creating a moment
for all to see.
Is it grace, indifference, arrogance,
spite, Deus caritas est?
Men on four points of the compass.

Mr. West: orange, radiated face,
blissful look,
stares into midnight
remembering Moon Pies and
other delights.

Mr. South: white billed cap contrasts
burnt umber skin. His t-shirt
is the sea. He holds
an Eleanor Rigby expression
in his hand.
Everything else
is gone.

Mr. North is free.
The wind repeats
a childhood verse
sing-song
over and over
classical Crimson and Clover,
an ever forgetful
tape-loop, tin-whistle
symphony.
He wonders
what's for dinner.

Mr. East, burgundy jacket,
once thought John Lennon
was the answer. Life led him
on an Easter egg hunt
with no way home.
Eternally topped with 
scarlet ski-cap, he lapsed
in and out of rage,
cage to cage. Prozac sailed him
on another course,
or was it just
the tides of time
lapping against
the jagged shores
that turned the werewolf
into
the lamb?

The End is the Beginning

Like a woman in repose,
on display, dead, or at peace,
the mountain stretches over horizon,

shadow for hair,
girl's pinched nose of stone,
her breasts free clouds,

they rise smokey,
Marcus Aurelius mist,
stretched and pulled toward mystery,

see them go
like Mother's soul
up it went long ago

under cerulean skies
where yard met scrub,
she fretted her hours

upon a dull kitchen floor
slip-sliding away, daydreams,
mop in hand,

transistor radio sounds,
Marvin Gaye, Mo-Town bus ride
she waited to go

but he kept digging holes
many holes
drier and deeper

some water,
enough to tickle
a dying one's tongue,

but never enough to raise
crops or quench pride.
He rode the ghost horse,

black hatted, villainous,
Eli Wallach contra Eastwood,
man defeated, burned up in sunset

left his hatred
pulsing through me
like a gathering storm.

I carried it,
this thing, this wound,
drifting nomadic, lost,

close to my own end,
I dreamed of the mountain
again

in sepia silence
amidst Charlie Chaplin tears
in the theater of 10,000 awakenings

swallowed by shadow
vulnerable and small
I let him go

Frank O'Hara

How did you negotiate
strange new avenues
forbidden for use
by those trusted to live
an incorruptible youth?

Did dim beacons blink
codes behind twisted trees,
thick shrubbery?
Did aged-faced uncles
whisper invitations
through speak-easy doors,
painted green to camouflage,
blend in,
make it seem so?

Were these the saints,
who, listening to your discourse,
set you on a course,
by which you groped,
instinctual, by sun and stars,
toward unexplored worlds -
love, lust, and hope?

Or maybe you just knew
as you chuckled away convention
ensconced in Manhattan shadows
knowing life is a poem
of one's creation
neither completely dark
nor obscenely light.

One morning at work

I'm left in a low orbit
circling my life, a planet
so far away,
it escapes me.

Two days in Albuquerque (Found Poem - Creem Magazine)

And the walls are beginning to close in.

Still waiting for Jaffee to find out

if Roeg will talk to us.

Supposed to meet us in the bar at 9

last night to give us an answer

but he never showed.

Returning to the room at 11:30

we spent half the night trying to call him,

but apparently he was amorizing

in someone else's suite.

Impact cut to: medium shot of the door bursting open

and John rushing in.

"He's out there, I just saw him!"

"Let's go."

Cut to: tracking shot.

A figure in green jumpsuit walks down the dim corridor.

As he passes the glass doors leading outside,

a flood of evening light illuminates him.

The shock of red hair alone is enough to identify him as

David Bowie. His shoulders rock from side to side

and he has the springy step of one endowed with

an overabundance of energy, even though

he has just completed

a full day's shooting

in 90 degree heat.

Stopping in front of a room, he knocks

but gets no response.

As he turns to leave,

he meets the reporters who have trailed him

here and are ready to pounce

like diamond dogs.

My Life (at the moment)

Rejection seldom
gets to me.
Once, it did, but
that was then.
I'm a lion after
missing the kill,
left in the dust,
throat on fire,
sucking wind,
no regrets,
no remorse.
Hunger drives me on -
my life, my curse.
Staring off
into the distance,
death will come
one day.

Scary Monster Teenage Blues

Well, I walked in the pouring rain
Up in the tower they're watching me hoping I'm gonna die

Pretending it's a whiz kid world
Blindfolded, chains, and they stomped on us

No athletic program, no discipline, no book
One flash of light but no smoking pistol

Silhouettes and shadows watch the revolution
The vacuum created by the arrival of freedom

And no one will have seen
and no one will confess

Shout it while you're dancing
Another piece of teenage wildlife

Not Fade Away

Well the bitter comes out better on a stolen guitar
Layin' on 'electric dreams
We've got five years, what a surprise

Of the mountain To the rooftops
With God given ass
This mellow black chick just put my spine out of place

Let the children use it
I'm back from Suffragette City
Praying to the light machine

You better hang on to yourself
Five years, that's all we've got
A soldier with a broken arm, fixed his stare to the wheels of a Cadillac

Like some cat from Japan, he could lick 'em by smiling
Love is careless in its choosing
Oh don't lean on me man 'cause you ain't got time to check it

A brave son, who gave his life to see the slogan
I could make a transformation as a rock 'n' roll star
Then the loud sound did seem to fade

away

Hunky Dory Requiem

Look out you Rock 'n' rollers
You've left us up to our necks in it
Look out at your children

Like the grim face on the Cathedral floor
Things that happened in the past -
All nightmares came today

Homo Sapiens have outgrown their use
Andy Warhol looks a scream
Mickey Mouse has grown up a cow

In our wings that bark, sighing,
the swirl through the streets, ch-ch-changes
the writing's on the wall

Every time I though I'd got it made
Only happened in you mind
and my time was running wild

So I turned myself to face me
And of thoughts unkind
But I've never caught a glimpse

So I throw both bags down the hall
It don't feel like no bed at all
Is there life on Mars?

New Apartment

Your coordinates have changed.
Satellites twitch their antennas
confused by the new x and y.
After two more orbits
error messages cease.
They blink and purr
knowing
this is your
home.