Saturday, December 31, 2011

cricket song

crickets chirp and chase
the other in the early evening
and wait for none but
callling, calling,
calling for procreation
calling for darwin notion
calling for li po
calling for basho
scrape and scratch
and whistle your noises
calling for heaven
calling for nirvana
calling for all humankind

a little slice of nirvana from jack kerouac

From Dharma Bums
Jack Kerouac

The boys was glad and rested up for more,
And Jack cooked mush in honor of the door,
The boys was sitting in a grove of trees,
Listening to Buddy explain the keys,
Boys, sez he, the Dharma is a door….

Let’s see….

Boys, I say the keys,
Cause there’s lotsa keys,
But there’s only one door,
One hive for the bees.

So listen to me,
 and I’ll try to tell all,
As I heard it long ago,
in the Pure Land Hall.
For you good boys,
with wine-soaked teeth,
That can’t understand
these words on a heath,
I’ll make it simpler,
like a bottle of wine,
And a good woodfire,
Uner stars divine.

Now listen to me, and when you have learned
The Dharma of the Buddhas of old and yearned,
To sit down with the truth,
Under a lonesome tree,
In Yuma Arizony, or anywhere you be,
Don’t thank me for tellin’,
What was told to me,
This is the wheel I’m a-turnin,
This is the reason I be:

Mind is the Maker, for no reason at all,
For all this creation,
Created to fall.

Thursday, December 22, 2011

On the Ward

There are no clocks
There are no calendars
Time is told only by
The calls from the nurses’ station

Hydration!

Medication!

Fresh air break!

Breakfast!

Vitals!

Hydration!

Fresh air break!

Lunch!

Vitals!

Hydration!

Fresh air break!

Hydration!

Dinner!

Until the end of the night

Dharma

The true meaning
A way of life

First-born life
Living in light

Cleric and priest
Preacher and father

Holy ones
Bodhisattvas

She saves my soul
Every day

She leads me on the path,
the light, the way

Wednesday, November 9, 2011

sometimes it hurts

like a stone bruise on your heel in hell's marathon

like two hands holding the bar across your chest

like a spear in the side of humanity's loss

Saturday, October 29, 2011

the record's clear

the heart tells a tale
as it clings to the vines
to remind you of the costs
what could be lost with the fall

when my old friend came
walking in through the
high doors
swung open by his cold wind

pour from the palms
and the soles of the feet
we all come to thoughts
in red ransom harvest

recorded in the book of eternity
writ in warm life
pricked finger only mine
pulsing out this boy

settle old accounts
dry up the rivers dammed
and lakes lolling in
their laziness

Sunday, October 16, 2011

Bonfires

Play and play and play some more
Scream out for encores in a beer stupor
Is it gonna be Skynyrd?
Is it gonna be MTB?

Bad Johnny and Willie
Played out of time and out of key
To make the Man In Black cry
And the Red-Headed Stranger weep

Captain Morgan save the night!

I'll just pack it up and go....

But not before I kick out some
Snare slap hi-hat hot foot bang bass drum
Pop stop boogie for the masses
With some psychos and a sing-song
Crooner

Saturday, October 15, 2011

Bring Forth the Living

Let the waters come together
Let the dry land appear
Let the seed bear fruit
As we all gather here

Let there be lights
In the dome of the sky
Let them rise, let them cry
And the tears call the night

Bring forth the living
Including the creeping
And the birds multiply
Before the sweet by and by

One day, two days
Three days and four
Five days, six days
And seven on the moors

Let’s rest

I Hate You Cause I Love You Too Much

Sitting here wondering where you are                       
Seedy hotel or smoke-filled bar
One minute you’re here and then you’re gone
My arms are empty but I wanna hold on

Is it courtesy or is it sympathy                       
Wound around your neck                              
Is it fixing to flee a little far from me             
And I hate you cause I love you too much     

Night grows long and still no sight of you     
Lights in the drive don’t know what to do
Key in the latch and the smell of cheap cologne
You’re in my arms but I’m all alone

Thanks April D. for the co-write

Thursday, October 13, 2011

We Don't Go Out Dancing Saturday Nights Anymore

The scrape of a chair and the light in your hair
As the band plays Sinatra again
That’s my tune I won’t carry or whistle
Rita Hayworth never looked as lovely as she did

 No time for romance as fine as a hat pin
 With your high heels dying by the door
 Can’t roll me out of bed
 Shave or wash or comb my hair
 When we don’t go out dancing on Saturday nights anymore

No waltzing disco divas, no rhumbas worth your dreaming
Paper plates and silly hats and waiting games
Plastic champagne bubbles can always lead to trouble
When you wish for violins and golden rings
Hallways look like freeways, yellow lines on broken highways
You can’t go anywhere without your teddy bear
Put your high heels on the shelf and keep the romance to yourself
Cause we don’t go out dancing on Saturday nights anymore

When did whimsical become a dirty word?

When did whimsical become a dirty word?

Without Walt Disney,
I would never have known
Beethoven’s 6th.

Bugs Bunny made
the Marriage of Figaro
interesting.

Tom and Jerry may have
been low-brow,
but it’s damn funny to me.

Serious stories
bring serious thinking,

but sometimes society
should understand

that a rabbit is just a rabbit
and a duck is just a duck.

cricket beside me

cricket beside me
soft song of mortality
patience of humans

Meeting Mr. May I

The first thing I remember him saying was,
"I don't write no stories about no damn cats."

But what struck me most was that he could get this out,
cigarette dangling from a lip corner
and a bottle of High Life plugged in the opposite.

"I told you I don't like cats, baby.
They just don't do it for me.

Gimme a dog anyday
with drooling jaws
and his teeth bared in a natural
reflex."

So I ran to the ABC for him
to pick up a bottle of Canadian Club.
And I ran to the Quick Stop for a case of Miller.

And he told me,
"Boy, you wanna be a writer,
get past the baby fuzz and let 'em drop, boy.
Let 'em drop."

The he picked up my guitar and played the
Malaguena
a little at a time.

I've still got the cigarette burns on the headstock.

they draw pictures

of mommy
of circles
of cinderella's dress
and happy sunflowers

of daddy
of nana & poppy
of mimi & poppi
and flowers of christ

she is three

he is two

multi-color abstract
feet and hands on
posterboard
follow broad brushstrokes
of thick acrylics

but crayons and markers
are best

Rolling Up A Shot of Whiskey

Rolling Up a Shot of Whiskey

light the smoke before it's empty
fill the glass with cigarettes
be the one is your best bet
the future ain't gonna matter yet

all night long and full of time
there's no reason, treason or rhyme
all will never sympathize
a dram, a pint—anesthetize

Dream Big Teeth

Dream Big Teeth

to eat the monsters hiding
in the corners

to take apart
the hearts left behind

eating up all those
old jobs

eating up all that
money you threw away

feeling good to
swallow the years