The thumping and darkness in the bowels of Irene
sit lugubriously on the edge of serenity
the pounding and the tears through all these years
languishing in turpitude and solace from her knowledge
unceremoniously, recklessly and without feeling
while listening to her tongue lashing and
harshness of her venomous and thoughtless words
cracking like a whip, “do you think I’m an idiot”
Not once but twice while searching through black clouds
of disappointment and destitution … no rhyme…no reason.

All due to confusing north from south and east from west
reality from fantasy as we all feel the sound of her thunder
Irene crashes on and above the banks of New Haven,
Guilford, Fairfield and the Housatonic
lapping and licking at the shores while throwing
her magnificent weight in her favor, and the swells explode
the question, “how can she possibly know the children”
Even though downgraded and ebbing
the uneven strength and fortitude asks the question
and all my determination fades in the wind.

Trees weakened as we begin to dig out and explore
power lines and internet down, hampering communication
flooded streets and nervous bridges impeached
yet Irene serves notice with an ace of her own
dressed in her sheer-like vest and turquoise ring
her hazel eye filled with scorn and distain
while brightness and candor follow her path
with her feline temperament scratched and clawed
the tears begin to taper amidst her howling breath.
Irene begins to move northward stoically away from me.

I’m not a victim so I pick what remains of my heart
and begin to reattach my churning stomach
with the threads of her words of disbelief
bringing the force she was most capable of exerting
as the storm continues her long, unforgiven journey
hatred and disdain replaced by disinterest and apathy
as the breath disappears, the light becomes brighter
and Hurricane Irene decides to leave Connecticut
impact in place, on the broken bows of the sturdy trees
perhaps she was right, after all was said and done.

…and who knows
better than I
the ways of a night owl
or for that matter
the hour of the cat
maybe a cathouse
or simply a bar
take the Texas for instance
cavorting women (or girls)
who for 500 pesetas
plus 100 for room
and 20 minutes
out of one’s life
release your tensions
or maybe more
who knows the reason why
(and who really cares)
for 20 minutes
of uncertainty
you can pretend you’re
a man
and imagine she’s a lady
all for 500 pesetas
plus 100 for room
and 20 minutes
out of your life…



Friday, March 9, 1973 (Barcelona, Spain)

Tonight is the night we all dread and fear,
     because of the tensions arisen by them.
Who will be next and who will see me in the
the mirror of the dungeon...
Who breaks it down and rebuilds
       when it ends with the sound of a clatter?
We speak of the danger and peril of fate to
decide on life.  Who wants to know the
meaning  of sounds, the
meaning of love, the
meaning of hate.
Who can pretend to know;
when pretending ends with a clatter...
     Send the village a card addressed to Bill.
He knows the feeling I speak of.
The peace in my mind,
the love in my heart
the spirituality that,
         ends with a clatter...
No one can tell a person in distress;
one who feels with emotion and
confusion.
Confusion of what?
I wish and oppose to know.
I want and I fear the knowledge.
I receive and I squander the thought of love.
But as always fate shows the upper hand;
and by the fury of all mankind,
ends with a clatter....

Make that putt
he yelled
from the
jalousie window
above.
Make that putt .
I may have
given it
to you
but your
opponents
obviously
know you well.
You missed
a foot
going
what makes
you think
you’ll make it
coming back.
Make that putt.
Don’t pick it up.
I haven’t
given it
to you.
Make that putt.
Earn the right
to pick
the ball up
on a gimme.
Does the rest
of your game
****, too?
Make that
****
putt, will ya!!

Enlighten those who seek to know.
Enrich those who are poorer.
Discover life is just a bow,
and you, the timeless archer.

Anatomically sound, befitting a king

swaying alertly in the waves, I sing.

Hearts, at sea, floundering and pounding

against the cavity of my chest, astounding.



V-Day arriving, and leaving without me

swimming with shellfish and sharks at sea.

Satisfying love’s unique quality,

and breathlessly waiting for me to be we.



Tortuously lying in the keel’s utter mist

waves exploding above, below and amidst.

contemplating all that I ever wished,

remembering when, at first we last kissed.



V-Day, a special enchanting display,

lovingly speeding, though slightly astray.

Wishing you love in a happiness way,

throughout a belated Valentine’s Day.

Concrete minds, abstract lives,
master of your fate.
The tired man at last arrives,
while you just sit and wait.

Enlighten those who seek to know.
Enrich those who are poorer.
Discover life is just a bow,
and you, the timeless archer.

Make that putt
he yelled
from the
jalousie window
above.
Make that putt .
I may have
given it
to you
but your
opponents
obviously
know you well.
You missed
a foot
going
what makes
you think
you’ll make it
coming back.
Make that putt.
Don’t pick it up.
I haven’t
given it
to you.
Make that putt.
Earn the right
to pick
the ball up
on a gimme.
Does the rest
of your game
****, too?
Make that
****
putt, will ya!!

If I could figure out the snit that I’m in now,
and understand the state, and how I got there
then perhaps I’ll get a sense of where I’m heading,
or at least from where I started this long journey.

My mind is shackled like a prisoner on the lam
and crashing out for freedom’s choice or bust.
I must admit I’m crazy from the fever,
and searching for the answers never found.

There was Martin, and John and Gandhi too
teaching love ins, peace and happiness.
We wrote and sang and made love in bushes
While celebrating Woodstock Nation.

But, we  had Tricky **** and Kissinger
insisting on a war that no one wanted.
The killing fields stretched cross the ocean
to my backyard and yours, remember?

So choose my brethren, choose between
a war of blood, dismay and  torture
or of peace and love and happiness,
and a place called Woodstock Nation.

Two love sick birds high above
unconscious of the cold,
male cooing his words of love
female like a marigold.

Perched on a branch which overhung
the stillness of a river,
they played for me a sad song
which brought to mind a lover.

They nestled there, side by side
as loving birds are peaceful.
I watched with awesome pride
those birds with love so full.

Then startled by a noise they rose
and flew off through the forest.
I sit here now and just suppose
that they, like all the rest,  find something to protest.

This peace which was injected
through my troubled heart today,
rested in its fervent bed
while waiting for a display.

Our leaders though so unkind,
usher in twelve months of hate.
And ev-er-y-one seems so purblind
except that male and his mate.

Now the silence of their absence
and love lessons we can learn,
unaware of our own presence,
and lust desires which we yearn.

Those two white birds were so alone
in their union and their bond,
they wanted  people all to see
the rising of the sun, the coming of the dawn...

It isn’t funny I have no money,
but it gives me a chance to make romance,
since I am here and you are there,
I must let it be through my poetry...

                   One good thing about a poem
                   we surely must admit,
                   is I can change the format
                   whenever I see fit...

This little card has come to bring
a very merry Christmas cheer,
and all the peace and joyful things
throughout the coming year...

Whenever life seems such a mess
and you feel only strife,
look on the love and happiness
you’ve met throughout your life...

I so much wish to see you
before the first arrives,
if only not for other plans
I’m sure this would come true...

Remember this, my final thought.
Your happiness stands well above.
No one else can give to you
my undivided love......

when love, like a rocket
         explodes in the empty space
of eternal’s final abyss
or in the early mist of
morning’s arrival
i think only one thought
& feel the throbbing of
only
one
      heart

and when peace echoes
in the bottomless pit of my soul
in the twilight of my years
i picture only one face
& I seem to reason
only
through
haste

then memories of my fleeting
yet full filled past
remind me of loves, long lost   and yet
i only seek one hand
to place upon it
a precious band

when fear engulfs my body
or anger leads to wrath
i only, without pause
call for sandi
to speak the words
i need.

Soft and tender lips
providing lasting comfort;
complex as it is.

Magical moments
on soft spun sandy beaches;
alone and in love

Apparently,
I thump my thighs
missing a beat
left by my side
in the argument
of confusion...

Apparently,
I look the fool
aimlessly adrift
forlorn in my
abstract direction
looking for keys...

Apparently,
I’m not the boy
playing baseball
in back my house
the weakest one
doing his best
to succeed, not to fail...

Apparently,
I fantasize, still do at 52
‘bout being the best
standing straight
and *****
at five feet two
It’s always been...it always will...

Apparently,
my dormant tracks
came fool circle
with endless
Cheshire cat-like grins
pretending I’m in
but I’m not...

Apparently,
and eventually
the laughter subsides
and the hurt
hides inside
while the clown reappears
or the drum rat-a-tats
and the pain still remains...

Apparently,
I died a million times
I’ve sailed
the dreaded seas
near and far
upon the ship
taking one last trip...

Actually,
I’ve learned to cope
to deal with the disease
and live the life
and the hand
I’ve been dealt...

Silly games we play
on the game board
of life…
under the pretense
of irritable hushes….
and the stubborn
disingenuous excuses.
The games we play
as if we were twelve
remain with us and
cost us precious time
that neither of us
have to waste…
We move like pieces
and buy hotels or
rent rooms for the night
and play the games
only to hurt from
the loneliness,
self pity and confusion.
The games we play
are not as fun
as they used to be
when we were young,
because there’s so little time
left to enjoy them.
The games we play
are not games at all
but rather
the lives we
choose to live.

Set sail for an unknown voyage,
Deep, deep, deep within my mind.
A book without a written page.
An actor without the Broadway stage.

Drift, drift, drift, for thirty score.
Forget all life; forget mankind.
Delve, indagate, search and explore,
the coming of peace and the end of war.

Enter now, what will be the end.
Only the cruel are left behind.
Trapped in a world that will transcend,
With phonies and liars, too hard to mend.

We’ll set sail for that mystical place,
Where never a word is said unkind.
Gaze, gaze, gaze without a trace
Upon war and hate and pure disgrace.

To enter my mind, I will admit
Is like entering the sea totally blind.
Sink, sink, sink within the travelled pit.
No one knows how you’ll benefit.

Rest, rest, rest in that silken bed.
The trip you’re on is hard to define.
You’re aware of your trunk, your limbs, your head.
Hey passengers, guess what? You’re dead.

Your mind attached
right now..
to things we used
to know
wrapped around the cortex
refuse to slip away...

The life we used to live
a distant thought before
has reemerged with vigor
dusting brains
for colored prints and more...

My mind connects
to thoughts
of memories’ inner space.
The reason for it all,
I used to wonder why..
it vanished with the days...

We held within our minds
the age of reason’s way.
Reminders of what used to be.
The life we used to live,
is all I know today.

Anatomically sound, befitting a king
swaying alertly in the waves, I sing.
Hearts, at sea, floundering and pounding
against the cavity of my chest, astounding.

V-Day arriving, and leaving without me
swimming with shellfish and sharks at sea.
Satisfying love’s unique quality,
and breathlessly waiting for me to be we.

Tortuously lying in the keel’s utter mist
waves exploding above, below and amidst.
contemplating all that I ever wished,
remembering when, at first we last kissed.

V-Day, a special enchanting display,
lovingly speeding, though slightly astray.
Wishing you love in a happiness way,
throughout a belated Valentine’s Day.

what a way to end a year
nothing in the way but cheer
but then a few... words of doubt
just to check my feelings out...

how could things become so wrong
left me loving here so long
those words of doubt were only me
learning how to be a we...

and now you’re gone, left for good
in my head... I thought you should
though my heart would disagree
and wish your eyes could really see...

the pain I suffer everyday
wishing you would come my way
holding hands and making love
God is watching from above...

walking on the rooted path
lying in our steamy bath
kissing lips that feel so fresh
In the room our bodies mesh...

My every thought... is of you
oneness turning into two
I cried this day about our fate
and pray dear lord it’s not too late...

She disappeared
     what seems like eons;
I miss her everyday.
     Carefree... flamboyant
      reckless and tortured.
She grasped for solitude.

She disappeared
     for who knows how long;
but time is running out.
     Each day grows shorter,
      and I’m no smarter.
I wait for her return.

She disappeared
     from body and soul;
for no apparent reason.
      She flew up...grew up
       and found her airway.
She left me in her wake.

She disappeared
      I wailed and puled;
hey wait, it’s me you flee.
       But the look of her pain
   and the shame in my heart
were really both the same.

She left
and disappeared from sight;
her name scrolled in the sand.
       She disappeared
    and won’t come home,
til carefree days are here.

November 10, 1969                             (Revised) June 15, 2009

Catch the sun in your hands                Catch the rays of sun
throw it upwards                                 in your hands, throw it upward;
and love for eternity.                             and love for eternity!

November 10, 1969                 (Revised) June 15, 2009

Time should fill your            Time should fill your life;
life up to the ultimate             upon the ultimate peak
Peak of love                              find love and beauty.
and beauty.

Scorching day of ninety-two,
nothing left for me to do.
Sitting like a rock so hard,
feeling like a tub of lard.

Young girls walking on the trails.
Sweet blown hair form lofty sails.
Thunder in the mountains echo.
time for everything to grow.

Minds and trees and wishful thoughts,
all at such a priceless cost.
Very hard to set it down,
with nothing left inside my crown...