- Mood: cool
- Music: Season of the Witch
autumn regains composure,
smooths her rumpled skirts
and casts a sharp, cold glance
morning brings no offerings
to the lovers.
what lingers in their hair
what remains a fixture
when they part, is the silence
autumn crosses her legs
as i walk past her blue eyes
into noon. (my hands, white,
shake with a seasonal indifference)
the lovers, trembling with
an equal cold they have
prepared as excuse, lift
their hearts for one last
measure of rehearsed joy
muttering about the cost
of oil, i leave the furnace off
& autumn snickers.
she quotes the price for any
source of warmth this season
nothing is spared
in the silence.
all things, within reason,
go unspoken
as the lovers escape
their nightly promises
unscathed
although it is refuge
from this cold i seek,
autumn offers me her hand
& i take it, a gamble
i hadn't anticipated making
until considering that
no matter how many times she leaves
she will always be back
- Mood: energized
- Music: Doors - Soul Kitchen
summer excuses itself &
steps out onto the porch
for one last look
at the falling sun
before taking up with the fog
muttering something indecipherable
about the allure of mysterious women
in explanation
summer's child begins to suspect
this may have been her last season
of running in shorts through tall grass
wanting nothing more than to hold summer's hand
an eternity
feeling somewhat foolish
she lingers over a fashion magazine
studies eyeliner & rules
for white linen and labor day
as the fog leaves traces of its spoor
on the window sill
& she considers following it
to that place she has never seen
anyone return from
summer sends a postcard
with no return address
& she thinks she finds the point
in between the lines
where he hints at the reason
for seasons in the first place:
constant reminders
cycling in & out
to the rhythm of the sun
& the moon
because, sweet child
it really is all about change
after all . . .
- Mood:
- Music: Led Zeppelin Ramblin' On
the wind comes in for breakfast
& i will go out with it,
kicking up dust
& memories
the waitress closes the door
& the wind lights a cigarette.
i order fresh fruit & wheat toast
with no butter while the wind,
impatient, taps its foot
the wind comes in for breakfast
bringing decisions that
HAVE BEEN MADE
and there is little i can do
about it but drink my mint tea
and leave
the waitress brings the check
and there is that moment
of hesitation. . .
dutch treat? i ask the wind,
but it won't look me
in the eye
the wind comes in for breakfast
& leaving no tip, shows me
the road, saying
nothing
Lopez Island, Washington
1981
i walk the dog
before the curtain rises
on this inevitable dawn
as a flock of wild geese
passes overhead & i listen
through the fog to their report
on act one of this new season
a single goose has gone off course
his forlorn cry announcing
the arrival of a plot twist
i did not anticipate & the poem
takes an unexpected left turn
it doesn't matter who the bride is
in the cast of characters
we give our audience
when in the end, we are all
subject to veering off course in the fog,
crash landing in a snow bank
& walking barefoot through the drift
only the lucky will be able to say
they brought a tablecloth
with them from the reception
to cover their bare arms against the cold
it is clear to see that no matter
how many strangers fill the
reception hall, in the end
the clean up eventually
comes down to you alone
as the guests are far too
involved with collecting mementos
to be concerned with the laundry quarters
you end up carrying in your bag
and in the end the best any of us
can hope for is a graceful exit
with no call for an encore
& a safe flight home in the fog
for Charlie Kaufman
- Mood: curious
- Music: Where Do We Go From Here, Guns n' Roses
"i see that Banksy left a post-it note for Anonymous"
- They Might Be Giants
though i handed you the keys
i didn't expect you to read to me
from your manuscript
while you were driving
- not when i am lost
in the passenger seat
on this unknown highway
i have spent a lifetime protecting you
from the predatory practices
of elected servants & their handlers
armed with little more than the fact
that i'm tall and thin & carry
a ball point pen into battle
and am well aware that it's your life
to live on your own terms now
but will you please take your foot
off the accelerator long enough
to help me understand
what it is i'm seeing out the window?
you give me few clues other than to mention
art for art's sake and money for god's sake
leaving me wondering if i must resort
to writing my Lazarus poem without
Johnny Cash to guide me.
which would it be if not even Old Crow
showed up to watch over my shoulder: art
or mythology?
both, you answer cryptically
& put the pedal to the metal, it's
the only remedy for industrial disease
the skyline turns pink & i wonder
if we will make it safely
to the approaching dawn & whether
this twilight is only here to lead us
to a spray painted awakening that's been
stenciled on the horizon
in anticipation of our arrival
what if there are visionaries
who saw all of this coming?
you wonder back at me
what if they resorted to the mad genius
of graffiti art because Hansel & Gretel
got too greedy to share their breadcrumbs?
for Bonnie, my ball of light
- Mood: Liberated
- Music: Janice - Me & Bobby McGee
enjoy celebrating your freedom
beneath that canopy of fireworks
(invented by the chinese)
. . . don't waste
a single thought
on our debt to them
- just let yourself
stay distracted
by all the shiny things
(while you're at it
try not to think about
how cliche it has become
to celebrate freedom
by blowing things up)
- Mood: contemplative
- Music: Spirit in the Sky
the child looked forward
to the education
that she was told
would take her
to higher places
but she was surprised to find
the publishers of her textbooks
had poured their intellect
into a jesus-shaped
jello mold
her biology teacher
advised her to just memorize
what confused her
so she did her best:
Kingdom, Genus, Species
Leviticus, Numbers, Deuteronomy
. . . . a father's day poem
how many times
must i remind you
i am not defined by you,
i am defined
by these berries i pick
along this road
we both walk?
here i am becoming
intimate with my shadow
while releasing peter pan
from his eternal prison
of magical thinking
here i am walking backward
up a wooded hill
in island morning light
stopped only by the antlers
of the five point buck
who stands guard over all
the children of neverland
he sees me share these berries
with his fawns
watches me drop royal annes
down to them from this
cherry tree throne,
knows i've paid my tax
to the ruling class of the orchard
& in return
lets me pass
here i am continuing
on this road
with the only memory
that matters: that of a father
who taught the important lessons well
for Fox Island
- Mood: confident
- Music: John Fogerty - Center Field
spring has called a rain delay
but the light
oh the light
the way it lets in everything
whether i want it to or not,
how your music drifts with it
& i recognize the clarity
of your vision in the beat
am helpless to do anything
but return the notes you send
in love's impossible volley
trusting the sky to deliver
in the dugout
the boys of summer
are too eager
for their diamond dance
to live only for the moment
wanting only
to make it home
for the win
while i linger on this moment
certain i hear your voice
calling me in
from the field
confident
there is a win in these
soft intangibles, i rely on
the road map you guide me with
to lead me home,
a place made familiar
by simpler seasons
where you turned a phrase
as no other could
& in so doing turned the key
that unlocked my heart,
awakening me to the
earth sign's kiss.
for you i am doing the best
that i possibly can.
anything less would be
beneath you.
"You had your time, you had your power
you've yet to have your finest hour"
-Queen
Radio Ga Ga
in a world where
mythology creates itself
the gods we couldn't
bring ourselves to name even
noticed that we failed
to take ourselves seriously
so they gave us boys named George
in a members-only culture club
they gave us a lady named Gaga & other
plastic fantastic iconoclasts, they
let us choose our idols
while channel surfing,
infected us with Bieber fever
& left us with the video of it
going viral on the internet.
because the best place
to hide something
is in plain sight
and because reality
can make the difference
between meltdown and
profit margin in a game of
plausible deniability
they diminished the value
of reality altogether
by giving us fact-free America
on reality tv.
first they isolated us
with forced perspective
then they gave us
online social networking
where we could congregate
with others just like ourselves
along lines created for us
out of convenience
by advertisers &
intelligence analysts.
will we log on one day
to discover our friends
aren't imaginary, they're
just invisible, when
at any given moment
we are easily convinced
we cheated ourselves
(whether i kissed a girl
and liked it or not)
or is it only that this is water
in an industrial zone
after much seeking,
finally finding
its own level?
you could be Buddy Holly
and i could be Mary Tyler Moore
and it still wouldn't matter
because WE ARE ALL ON DRUGS, we
are told that dancing to the beat
can only result in smoke on the water
are told that our own voice can no longer
be submitted for consideration
unless it's auto tuned, are told
that nothing interesting comes
without plastic wrap, that
nothing of value is free, that
if it seems too good to be true
it probably cannot be returned
for a full refund.
yet we continue to make offerings
at the altar of these gods
of our own making, we
continue to count ourselves
among the tribes that have
been lost to them, we congregate
only when we are forced to
forage publicly among the
genetically modified ingredients
we take home & consume
while watching the food network.
there is little point in asking
if we are there yet
as we fight our way through
traffic congested symbols of
this Great Society, little point
in wondering what station the
radio is tuned to, since it all
comes over the speakers
preprogrammed, whether through
our own design or not, whether
through personal device or
Clear Channel, it is
abundantly clear
the last DJ signed off
before heading to the Mexican
radio and from there it is
much more than a long way
to the top if you want
to
rock
&
roll.
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