Lately, after a glass of wine,
I've been getting reckless.
I'll call a woman up
say
Hi it's me
and
remember that time
and
when you did that
and finally
Why didn't we

and an hour later we hang up

Then there are the dreams of the road.
A soul of concrete, a diesel soul,
a twelve speed soul, that’s how I rolled.
I hate that it calls and I must
leave the call unanswered.
Ah, time.
You many miles.
I have the heart of a Troubadour,
the flesh of a stone.

A Christmas Card For My Family And Friends

I think most of us hoping for a miracle want one we can witness.
We can believe when we see. Lotteries and big payoffs.
A negative ( or positive ) on the pregnancy test, an "A" on a final.
If we have a wider view we can recognize that the meteor
that finished the Age Of The Dinosaurs was fortunate,
miraculous in long term.
Noah having an ark handy for the Flood...
luck or miracle, I'll take that.
For me, the miracle I celebrate might not even have happened.
Imagine that while God formed the formless into form,
maybe He sneezed, and while occupied with the sneeze
a comet strayed a bit from it's intended course and out of His intent,
flashed over an ancient desert world, answering an age old question:
Can one birth change what an off-course comet could not?
The margin between miracle and catastrophe,
between salvation and loss, between here and gone
is in the pause of a sneeze.
Merry Christmas everyone.

How 'bout this?

I don't want to be
the greatest living Poet.
Too much work,
not enough money.
But,
famous when I'm dead...
no pressure, no burn-out,
plenty of time to relax.

I am the poet
with a switchblade corkscrew.
I can type faster one-eyed
and one fingered than
I can read.
Can't write a rhymed poem
to save my loving soul,
but I know the blues
when I feel them.

Fame would just come
between me and the Word.
I can't spare time for anything else.
Call my agent after I depart,
I'll give you an interview.

Yeah

It is not a good idea
to drunk-text the President,
on face book.
He was selling a patriotic
coffee mug to support
his presidential habit
and I commented
Sir, its a nice mug,
but I think there are other things
that could use a little tending to.
I asked him to remember
the promises he made
and we believed.
And I said
give my love to the family.

We'll see how this one goes...

BYE


Those many times
when the thought of you
brightened my days...
So many years wasted,
waiting.
I hung on every word.
I knew the color of your eyes.
Well, hearts can be fooled,
yes and laughter can be lost,
but I can get past even this.
Loving you
was the holiest act
of my life.

What's left behind
when the City leaves?
If time is a thief
and tomorrow a treasure,
why is the past
still here?
The cat on top
of the book case
hunts in his sleep.
One paw stretches,
claws extend,
and some small
thing gets buried
in his fist.
I can hear the rumble
of his pleasure from here,
can almost taste the warm.
If time is a thief
I am a watchman
holding my light
against the night.

A note from a few babyboomers to OWS

We stand in silence
because this time speaks for itself.
We cannot give our small voice
to the shout of today.
As always the young are in front,
willing us to wakefulness.
We wish we could let them know
they will not fail.
We would tell them
we never gave up hope.