five pebbles
stacked on bottom step
circled with chalk of blue
culminating in an arrow
pointing toward the back yard

four pebbles stacked in the driveway
sitting on a piece of sandlewood
sharpened to a point
indicating a pathway to the back yard

at the corner of the house
three pebbles wrapped in wire
stung together, hanging off the
battered surfboard ...arced toward
the backyard

in the middle of the vege patch
a table upon which
two stacked pebbles sit
table set for breakfast
chairs with cushions
an invitation to sit

one god boy, coming with tray
from kitchen, ever so carefully
makes his way to the table
serves pancakes and syrup
juice and coffee, fruit salad
and gives his dad a single pebble
deep brown striped with white
and a small gold spot..polished to a shine,
with a hole drilled throughand leather loop

smiles, tears and bearhugs
father's day has begun...

perch on stools
too high for short legs
elbows resting askew on
sawn wood table top

the smell of dill pickles
pefumong the air
we wait for the bagels
to arrive......

heaped with pastrami and onion jam
crumbling half melted sharp cheddar
dill pickles sliced acroos the top
a mountain of foodlove
on an old china plate

old time root beer floats
and a mound of serviettes
let the **** begin....
as we snarf and scoff
our way down to china

don't forget to buy
some bagels for breakfast either

I just want to be the little secret
That never makes into your words,
But fills up your mind.

As the transient day slips by,
We work for our food and shelter.
We busy ourselves with toil
In a sultry, oppresive swelter.
This is the way of things, of course,
As we seek to survive the world’s hardships.
But we must not lose hope, so we keep words
Of encouragement on our lips.

But the day wanders late,
And we must prepare for
The perilous darkness…

Looking up, we saw the day’s diadem
Dropping and dwindling
Into an expanding distance.
A widening waste spreads,
Swallowing our hope and
Threatening our existence.
We kneeled to pray for protection
During this cold gloom of catharsis.
It seemed a ghostly mist approached,
As if from ancient Tarsus.

Suddenly, the warming orb shatters
Against the horizon,
Exploding with resplendent rubies,
Flying out from the surface!
Before this crystalline spectacle we are transfixed,
As our hearts discover a renewed purpose.

This shimmering treasure
Was then drawn up,
As the night’s shade descended,
To stand as a symbol
Of an eternal hope,
Just as God Intended.
To fill the sky with wonderful lights,
Creating a crown Of destiny.
We beheld its glory,
Within and without,
As our fears were transformed
Into ecstasy!

In that moment, we cried out,
“Come, O' Night! We reflect your beauty!
In this darkened aura,
We feel the embrace of an Arcadian love!
Night! Portent of our death and
Harbinger of our illumination,
We are kin with the stars!
We are citizens of the heavens above!”

penning a poem in his Oakland
flat, he was stuck at double nines
each of the lines was fueled
by a Winston, each stanza, cheap
red wine, and quiet desperation

outside, the beat of bongos, the pop
of zip guns and the wail of sirens; if
the summer of love was hot at Haight,
nobody told the Panthers who crashed
in the pad below his

he wanted to tell the world this,
epic style, an odyssey on asphalt
a choreography of elbows breaking glass,
and boys running fast, in 'hoods where
every mother's son died too young

but he couldn't weave the right words
to end a story that started with **** filled
hulls of ships, the crack of whips, a war
of bro against bro, and Jim Crow to keep
the nightmare alive in the light of day

now the "Man" snatched them up
with draft notices, turned boys into men
and men into monkeys to be mowed down
in jungles in a question mark on
a map most had never seen

stanza 99, where were the words?
another Winston, another swig of sweet
red wine, though nothing came, until he
heard it--a baby crying in the night
and he picked up his Bic and wrote:

Here you are, coal black child of a distant star
calling out in a language as old as time, "I am hungry!
Hungry for more! Fill my belly with mama's milk,
my lungs with god's free air, and let me grow strong,
straight and brave--brave enough to dream through
all this dreaded darkness."

Oakland, August, 1967