***** Joe's got a ways to go
before he can climb up
from beneath the bridge

He's not been the same
since after the rain
of rockets on Robert's Ridge

He stopped spending his days
living life in a haze
of a VA induced nirvana

He forgets he's a Vet
and the checks that he gets
goes to his sweet Suzana

He keeps his head clean
with a fifth of Jim Beam
and clears out the bile in his liver

Most days he can be found
with his head on the ground
and his thoughts out on the river.

It only takes one bullet to **** a king
But you can't **** a dream

The talk is talked
And the walk is walked today

It's a shame the bridge is named
for a hood who wore a hood

The good General turned grand
in the land and time of dragons

that feasted on Sundays
and still would
if we let them

Or maybe not

Maybe it's a fitting reminder
A bridge to a kinder
gentler place

Because we're better than that now
Aren't we

Would you have
     our stars not shine?
Would you have darkness
      be your shrine?

r ~ 5/5/14

With broken wing
She tried to fly
A broken wing
The ruse she tried
On broken wing
The sigh, it died
For broken wing
Her lover cried

r ~ 12Mar14

Love,  be gentle and kind,
take that rusty gun from under
my pillow and shoot me twice
in the heart so I can feel the hurt
from the first time and the pain
from the second again;
but don't bury me in the dirt
beneath your bare feet,
just burn me like the memory
of your brown soles I saw
running away, oh, so long
a time ago, I can't even remember.

I can feel the shift
into low now, one shot
one pill, one mile left
to go
I see a light on
up the hill
like most nights
trouble is
ain't nobody
home to talk to
I know
my bruh, Moon
he’s a lonely
old ****, too.

Sometimes at night

asleep by the firelight

I dream about them

how they died

some are singing

and others saying what

they no longer see

walking fencelines

limping as if in pain

some of them handsome

and some mysterious

silent but not

for long they tell you

men scarcely know

how beautiful fire is

and old stories

they can't remember

unless you can

still look them in the eye.

There’s a 55 gallon drum
in my yard beside the deck
half full of empty bottles
black ashes from burned poems
worthless words, regrets, bad
checks, the busted up scorched
bridge of Kurt Cobain’s Martin D-18E
half finished lyrics, melted Nirvana
vinyls, suicide notes charred and scared
every-bit as sincere as when written.

I listen to that great darkness
watching for burning ships
their bows bearing women
and the black prows are coming
plowing the mist into water
as the wind lifts up the bowsprits
leaving a wake I want to be
left alone with night after night
like a sleeping knife that runs
deep through the belly
between the thighs of dreams.

You know what I mean
that person who seems
to you in your dreams
a bit more than lust
but just shy of love
who can drive you mad
with only one glance
and I'm not talking about
getting into those pants
no, what I mean is
something beyond desire
more than a fire
but not quite the one
that would leave you broken
hearted and alone if she danced
with every man in the room
but, man, I sure do like the way
those butterflies in her *******
make me feel like a lepidopterist
rather than an archaeologist.

The waning hours
Asleep in time
A dream in rhyme
Desert sublime
So says the moon
So setting soon
Upon the dunes
Cactus flowers

r ~ 19Mar14

Lazy seems the sun today
helped aloft
by a flight of pelicans
in formation
like B-52s returning
to safe haven
after a sortie
Inland they go
with the gulls
during this calm
before the storm
The smell of a slowly swelling
angry sea awakened
drowning out the roses
by the garden path
soon to be scattered petals
across the village
The morning calm
belies the night
to come.

r ~ 7/3/14

light travels in straight lines

but truth often gets inverted

when worded through the pin-

holed window of closed minds

and blinds us with distracting

theories refracting on white walls

in a world of royals and riyals

and unnamed dark chambers.

My problem
isn't with the philo-
sophical side,
but lies more 
in the how
and the when and
the courage
required.

Sometimes just before dusk
after my black mutt’s been fed
I go down to the canebrake
and cut fishing poles for the dead
where the live oaks’ shade
is so thick it'll make you shiver
like a stonemason chiseling
dates in a graveyard by the river
before shadows of the wriggling
bait worms on rusty curved nails I
use for a hook and light in the eyes
of the fishermen begin dwindling.

I can’t rightly say
what’s gone wrong
when I try writing
on these long nights
my words all suffocate
like lightning bugs
in a moonshiner’s jug.

Caroline loves the ocean.  
Her soul sails on a Carolina breeze.
But her music's in the mountains,
and her heart's back home
where it needs to be.

I'm stuck here
in a Carolina wind,
wading in the ocean
with my heart in Tennessee,
and my mind on Caroline.

Carolina's got everything
a man could want.
Everything he needs.
It's got the mountains and the ocean.
It has a Carolina breeze.

He has everything but Caroline;
everything but Tennessee.

r ~ 6/22/14

My fingers trace
your contours
in my thoughts.
The highs and lows,
your inclines
rise and fall.
Spaces in between
grow distant
from ridge and valley
to coastal plain.

Through uncharted territory
I follow the beaten path
till trail turns to sand
and desert meets ocean.

Contours fade
and wash away.
You slide into
the deep blue
and cross the border.

r ~ 7/5/14

Echochochocho...


r ~ 5/23/14

Big Bear swims tonight-
    Stars reflecting on water
    Painted by van Gogh
    
r ~ 1Mar14

Guard's boots echo on stone floor
Crash of ocean pounding rocks
Roar of wind across the waves
Lost gull cries against the storm
Clang of iron door slamming shut
Key rattled lock clunking tight
Stifled whimper, slap of skin on skin
Maddening laugh follows screams
Psalms 23-4 whispered over and over
Sounds of hell slide through my bars
like wisps of black smoke in the night.

r ~ 6/15/14

Sometimes I think
not often, but enough
that if I had a shrink
(s)he would say
Neil Young is the one
that ****** you up
son, I mean, he didn’t
mean to, but
looking back like I am
apt to do too often
his music I have listened
to through the decades
made me who I am
today and yesterday
taking me so many places
where the pavement
turns to sand, like
on the beach, or down
by the river, or somewhere
on a desert highway
where I tend to see the sky
about to rain most days
and the ambiance of
ambulance blues
is so ******* beautifully
depressing that even
I can diagnose me
just knowing that rust
never sleeps, and a heart
of gold remains elusive.

;)

life is a chihuahua -

somedays it smiles
at you - stroking it's back

wondering when
it's gonna bite ya

- life is a chihuahua.

r ~ 10/26/14

Listening
to the news
is like dreaming
a bad dream
but I hear
it’s going to be
a banner year
for roses, lilies
chrysanthemums
and soybeans.

Sailing feathered clouds across the blue sky
Haloed sundogs clinging to white mares’ tails
Storied concentric glories way up high
I’ll leave a soft rainbow colored contrail

Sailing feathered clouds across the blue sky
Flying towards the sun’s healing golden crown
Come and sing when you see me sailing by
Let go the darkness and let light resound

Sailing feathered clouds across the blue sky
Shards of memories and rose colored ice
My love my love my love let go the sigh
Please remember me to the by and by

r ~ 3Mar14

She stopped at the light
outside the Double Drop D in Cortez
and looked me over

I was day dreaming about a girl
with finger cymbals
between shows

Her top was down
and I could hear Neil Young
singing Cinnamon Girl
on the radio

...*i could be happy
the rest of my life..

Out my window
the same world
different day, day after day

I want to grab my bolt bag
tie a red bandana
around my sweet mutt's neck
hop a train, act sane
for a change

Georgia's down the tracks a spell
and Birmingham's half-way to hell
New Orleans in September
sounds pretty good

Woof and me
living free
no cares to carry on our backs
singing clickety-clack, clickety-clack.

r ~ 8/13/14

your boot was turned the wrong way
on the post out by the highway
- sharp toe pointing to the south
away from where you've been

you're no stranger to the rangers
living dangerously on the edge
- sidewinders in the sagebrush
whispering to the wind

the anasazi built this home
stacking stone one by one
- far above the canyon
of petroglyphs and wrens

i knew i'd find you by the fire
talking to the ghosts of smoke and drum
- in the ruins above the dunes
reminiscing with your friends

- reminiscing, reminiscing
on the blue mesa.

r ~ 11/6/14

lonely moths -
black and white
and in-betweens

navigating
by the same light

  spiraling -
adapting
- changing

traits
moth-ers know

no need to race
- we are one.

r ~ 10/28/14

http://anthro.palomar.edu/vary/vary_2.htm

low, fast moving clouds
make me feel
like i'm standing
still on a mountain

wisps of cotton candy
and wind in my hair

there is a change in the air
a slower, colder
turning motion
all around me

my head in the sky
my feet in the sea.

The coldness of morning
penetrates in proportion
to the lonely nights before
and the winds that blow
in from the north
like sadness wrapped
all around me
a coat without pockets
no warmth for my hands
that once held yours
like ashes without fire
and there is ice on my lashes
that burns like the last words
I heard you say to my back
as I walked away out the door.

Cold Mountain's calling
Winter days die young
Cold rain is falling
Black cloak has been flung

Carve my face
upon Cold Mountain's ice.
Chisel a trace
of a smile around my eyes.
Cut hard lines
deeply soft beside my mouth.
Send my heart
on a slow boat headed south.

Cold Mountain beckons
I'll be there too soon
Cold river reckons
Cold rain hides the moon

r ~ 3Feb14

Deserts are the color of her hair
Gold and bronze her skin

Silver veined salty rains
Tears a color never named

The ocean tries to please her eyes
Reflecting blue onto the skies

Or grays as gray
As the coldest days

To ever grace my way.

April came with a sigh.

4/1/14

Come morning,
when darkness lifts
its veil of mourning,
the warm sun gifts
her day to praise
with sweet refrain
on a grassy grave
in the mountains.

r ~ 5/10/14

i met her at the crow bar -
a mescalero from amarillo
- her name was lily
and she was in from the field

wearing tiger stripe camos
cut short like i like 'em
and she liked to hike them
- all commando

she had a tattered boony hat -
a kevlar vest and a tat
that said - the wild, wild west -

her shoulder holsters
were packed with two .40s

- lordy, lordy -

she said they bolstered her
fire power


we were commando stylin'
...on the blue mesa.

12/5/14  
:)

Forgive me Father
For I have sinned
Has been 100 years since my
Last confession
And 10 seconds since my last sin.

r

I visualize you
who I will never know,
Constant Stranger
I call you, I imagine
you when I write
and to think, you
will never know me
like the few who
I am close to, those
who say: I don't
understand what you
are talking about,
but I know what you
mean...you know
there is no other poet
on earth like me
and I know there is
no other poem in the uni-
verse just like you
and every two folks
have there own way
of loving, the poet
and the poem know
what they like, like
the kind that takes us
into different and strange
countries until we realize
at midnight, we are alone,
you and I, Constant Stranger,
anonymous mates whose love
can never be consummated.

everyone's talking
about freedom of speech

as if it should come at no cost
like something you teach

it's never been that way
and it never will be

we need to be reminded
of what it means to be free.

I don't know the word
for this restless almost breathless
feeling  in my chest -

the opposite of a bluebird
- a ******* crow, at best

a last call cawing
or is it a raven's kraa-kraa

this feeling -
like a shadow in clothes
- a fly in the eye of those

who pray for repose
of my soul.

Sometimes you have to let the mare have her head.

r

All this sentimentality.
A sign I'm getting on?
Or have I always been that way?
Getting on, I mean.

I cursed like an old bar keep
when I was only five.
Killed my first bear
when I was only three.

Or so they tell me.
Seems even then my memory
wasn't what it used to be.
Excuse me my sentimentality.

r ~ 4/2/14

It's Sunday
past Saturday,
past Friday,
past another night,
a sigh,
my father up
in the sky,
the cold,
the question, the who,
the why,
the human blood,
that heavy load
and cold again,
and heaven
in full size,
the cross, the nails,
take care, first
take care
of your crave
and decorate
your room
like a tomb
with low light,
a spoon,
and a stone
with your name.

Arriving in the dark
like a listing ship
at your dock
my fingers skinned
all ****** at the knuckles
from christening your door
like a bottle on a prow
or a broken mirror
in the morning, caught
in the hurricane
of your crazy hair.

Spring grapes die on withered vine
Wine of wrath flows bitter red
Isis' son seeks Babylon
Avenge by death the deed of Set

Along Euphrates course they fled
From march of madmen to the throne
And wine of wrath flows bitter red
Eagles flock to hawk by drone

Hung within a garden high
Black masks the march of death
Give new life to Levant's lie
And wine of wrath flows bitter red.

r~ 6/17/14