Tuesday, July 21, 2009

When you step out your door

...you never know where the road will take you."

Bilbo Baggins, Bag- end, Shire.

I'm dusting off my walking stick.
I packed light because I don't know what I'll need.
I have poems, paper and pen.
Pictures of my small furry friends.
My father's pocket knife.
Mothers coin purse.
A bear claw, hawk feather,
and a Bic lighter.
This is all metaphor, of course.
For true, I'll leave with my pain
and hope to return with my life.

Weep not for me, chick pea.
I'm like a tree in the wind.
Thou art beautiful, oh my love.
Yea, you too Armand.
No, I ain't gonna kiss ya.
But I will see you soon.

Wednesday, July 15, 2009


Make no mistake,
say the noises in the night…
the only answer to dying
is living like you mean it.
And when you die,
try to make it personal.
This suicide by cop,
this gun in the mouth crap,
the dramatic pose in the front yard…
there is no bravery here, no bravura,
no guts, no glory.
Darkness has harsh words for those
who will not crawl into it and expire
in grace and silence and solitude.
Once you’re gone any need for attention
passes on to the ones left alive.
Make your life the spectacle,
says the night,
not your passing.

Tuesday, July 14, 2009

Mail Call

Got a picture of Jesus
in the mail today.
8 x 11 inch paper facsimile
of a prayer rug with
Jesus in His blondeness,
His California surfin’ dude beard.
I thought,
if You looked like this back then,
they would have killed You
in the cow shed when You were born.
But hey,
it makes us white folk feel better
about worshipping someone
from the Middle East.
Wouldn’t look good for Gods Son
to look like the fanatics we see every night
on the High Definition Televisions.
Turbaned, robed, angry.
Speaking against the soldiers of a foreign ruler,
wielding hate as a weapon of mass salvation.
Strange what you get in the mail nowadays.

Wednesday, July 8, 2009

July 8

On this day in 1976 I stood
on a rolling deck
on the starboard watch,
and saw Mt. Fuji's peak,
high above the clouds.

In '85 I huddled between two soda machines
alongside a gas station and watched a thunder storm
stampede across the Bad Lands.

In 96 my dad and I came upon
the Silver City Co-Op
on the continental divide
and talked our wounds away.

In 1981 I was sick behind a dumpster in
Baton Rouge, swatting rats off my legs,
trying to remember my name.

Tijuana, 77, Rosario.
Olah! She didn't need hands
to pull a cork!

92. Quit smoking.

I could go on and on.
What matters most, though,
is July 8, 2009.
Today was a good day.
That's enough to make it special.

Tuesday, July 7, 2009

Long ago, nights like this,
my poison was a shot of Jack Daniels, (which I HATED)
beer, (since replaced by wine)
and repeat.
Ten times or so.

I was young.
I was reckless.
I thought I was having fun.

I remember a poster
that used to hang in Tonnies
down in Menekaunee.
Old Popeye-looking dude
at a bar with a beer in front of him.
The caption was,
"We gets too soon olt,
"and too late schmart.
"Better we should haf another."
Bless you, old man.
And bless you too, Armand.
How 'bout one more for the road...

Sunday, July 5, 2009

From the Juke Box


My skin is sweet like chocolate
My voice is Barry White
I sleep the day away cause
I am up all night

Give me a ring
I'm your booty call
I'll give you lovin',babe
I can do it all.

I got slow moving hands
warm and strong
I'll lift you up
love you all night long


You'll be my little kitty
I'll be your scratching post
Tell me pretty baby
Who you love the most