A voice comes on the radio
cutting off my music
screaming with self importance
I turn it off. My music keeps going
the fine art that is “Satisfaction”
keeps coming.

The dog walker to my right
briefly stumbles
and the dog sprints
off.
A moment later a squirrel is dead.
The poor owner looks
mortifies as he scolds the dog.
I turn away to watch a pigeon fly away
as a vulture comes in before he
slips something to the dog.
I start to wonder what that may
have been
until I remember the lyrics
of my song.

“Can’t be a man cause
he doesn’t smoke same cigarettes as me”
Amen. I hit the skip button
happy with how it even
in the 60’s people were
the same as they are now

An artist comes up to me
with a peculiar  painting
“hey” he says
“not interested” I retort
before I can convince myself
otherwise.

I always thought
orange moonlight
from the corner of an
apartment, painted white's,
window was the best kind
of beaming beauty.
spring colored, natural light,
nothing else. it's beauty I ruin
with my idle self,
for I'd love to be spread on
the trimmed, moist grass,
enjoying the smell of nature's cut.
rather I'm slummed alone
on this paperback writer,
the moon glowing,
the glass a fourth empty,
The Beatles playing,
and the peace I need.

Sometimes you must climb
Very far to see how far you’ve fallen
Don’t scream for your dreams
If you close your mouth, you’ll hear them callin’

Mankind in my mind
Is a loving thing with few exceptions
Each face is a place
Good or evil it’s just your perception

There is no rock worth living under
For the whole world is full of wonder
For those who want to live a life of gold
Time may pass by, we may be aging
This may all be a play we’re staging
We may turn gray, but we’ll never grow old

That love from above
May be real or not, but don’t **** for it
Don’t fight for the light
If you **** for love, then you abhor it

There is no rock worth living under
For the whole world is full of wonder
For those who want to live a life of gold
Time may pass by, we may be aging
This may all be a play we’re staging
We may turn gray, but we’ll never grow old

All you need is love
said John, or maybe Paul.
Argued I once
before I knew
what power love held
before I was enlightened.

Learned my lesson in your arms
became a believer when you smiled at me
and the world collapsed around you.
Love is all you need
said John, or maybe Paul
but definitely Hannah.
Love is all you need.

Liverpool on the Irish sea
Tuebrook, Toxteth and Wavertree
Home of the beatles and full Mersey beats
and yummy scouse is no mean feats
Baby beetroot served on top
and when it rains its no mean flop
you can visit museums or travel abroad
from railway or airport to the norwegian fjord
City of culture for two thousand and eight
why not have the day here or more with your mate
book on national express or take a fast train
and sing sounds of liverpool with a merry refrain
it's the home of 3 graces who welcome you home
and all will be proved with google chrome

I sit down
I put on headphones
I think about what they meant by "rubber soul"
My soul is not rubber

Rubber repels
Rubber rejects
Nothing sticks to rubber.
Things stick to my soul
People stick to my soul
Ideas stick to my soul
Places stick to my soul
And they change it
They shape it

Maybe my soul is clay
Moldable
Flexible
Soft yet sturdy
Sticky.

Clay

Writing
about writing
is pathetic,
so instead
I’ll write about that time
in March when we went
hiking along ridgetops and
firetrails, and the sun
baked the rocks hard and impassive
to our boots. The orange-and-white tracks
folded back upon
themselves and seemed
so illogical that we thought
somehow we were going
in circles
(round the Sun we missed
that one it felt like we
weren’t moving)

For lunch you had squished
peanut butter and
sardine sandwiches because
you’re odd and idiosyncratic
like that, and I had apples
and muesli bars because I’m
too lazy to make lunch
at 6 in the morning.
We ate on a huge rock
overlooking trees and Lucy
in the Sky with Diamonds was
playing on the radio.
It felt as if we were two
enclosed in a small
self-erected hazecloud
where birds and lizards
and just breeze mingles
surprisingly well with John Lennon’s
recollections.

I remember the sun-scored rocks
had stored up warmth
from years of Marchdays like
today, they stayed warm slightly
longer than the air did.
We tasted each other’s
post-lunch mouths (you were
sardine and kind of gross)
and pretended like
our hands were ants,
scuttling aimlessly
(we had an aim)

I liked to think my fingers
were all elegant and smooth
as the moon.
I love you and I want
to make you happy here,
I love you and I want you
to make me happy here,
i should sleep – you should sleep –
we should sleep together.

I still remember that Marchday
when we went hiking and I’ve
written about it
dozens of times before in different
modes with other characters
but
to be honest I
don’t want to write about
anything else.

Oh Abbey Road
who has walked your heart
singing from way back then
only the most famous of all
only to end with Let It Be
and please Just Imagine in 1969...

John, you wouldn't have many years left
your birthday came and we always loved
Paul, you will continue to sing your heart
and fly with Wings
Ringo, Sweet Sixteen, Your beautiful
and your mine
George singing to your SWEET LORD ...

We miss you John, its your birthday
your words are still magic, as we follow
you down Abbey Lane....although a bullet
took you away that FATEFUL day
December 8, 1980.

It left holes in our hearts
The torture, the publicity and Beatle mania'
took a toll, your life had an aura, you would come
on and perform a miracle just one last time
as we follow you down Abbey Lane and the Yoga
acid trip ...

Happy Birthday dear John
you are sooooo missed .

Debbie