The Golden Path

From the song I cover the waterfront a perfect place for a young man to blow his trumpet it has the
Power to blast or the sound that travels like a lone walker along the Warf his sight is fast and jumpy
This like working the trumpet buttons up and down with the blow reaching the end of the gold
Lacquered Bell giving it that soft essential quality a longer stream for when he looks away from the
Immediate Items that hang and pertain to activities of the interchange with the sea yes the blow that
Continues as his eyes looks Seward his emotions entangle themselves in the waves the large heavy body
At a Distance then short and fast as they race forward on the sand then crash and then recedes his
Thoughts Caught by the undertow out into deep waters my soul bring it out the depths that you know
Span the Waters make the arch touch San Francisco bay at this end and the other end touch Monterey
Bay let the Trumpeter pays homage to John Denver who died out in the waters out from Pacific Grove
His plane Went in let the horn catch the torches flame that is set burning at this the water’s edge let it
Show the Burning his voice touched and burned those sweet lyrics into our conscious memory how
Fitting the surf Rolls in his words flow into our heart the trumpet notes set the tone of his life it
Configures and shows in the ocean spray the gifts he shared he gave rocky mountain memories do they
Not rise as we continue our vigil where his earthy journey ended but in the endless waves he will always
Be singing his voice Follows the sunset into shadows of sleep with pleasure we attest to the melody that
His soul was conceived in far west on the Hawaiian sandy beaches you can hear the trumpet peeling so
Appealing As the island girls sway in unison with the palms the soul of Polynesia whispers just under the
Glint of That sweet mellow horn they tell of life lived in a natural paradise the horn reaches back to
Those glory days before cement made its hardness felt truly a little grass shack held some times that are
Lost now when you walk city sidewalks that used to be barefoot paths that you slipped down to tell in a
Setting of pineapples papayas coconuts and sea shells of the love you feel as you steal away under the
Prominent shadow of Diamond Head I pledge to you my love and may we always play and live in this
These sweetest strings of pearl islands that is our home that ole horn picks upon the words about home
So it is seen gleaming in the morning light of San Francisco bay it picks up that international flavor it
Seems to play it says come and ride the cable car listen to the ring of its bell feel it sway know the
Feeling of the steel wheels on those shinning rails catch the a fresh breath as the silk from the shops in
China Town listlessly rise and fall you will feel the tie that stretches unbroken all the way to back to
Ancient Cathy the mystery and wonder that holds a culture in a tight pack where ever the peoples may
Live their roots are deep the wisdom of the parables that are themselves as silk colorful meaningful and
Ever so practical the trumpeter catches that feeling in the chilly morning air when the night follows day
He can be found on the dinner boat that plies the bay you can see Ghirardelli square its height its white
Burning name is a must see and feel and then to go by the Golden Gate the pylons the amber lights the
Black Waters a mix of eerie magnificence pervades your mind as he lays deep on his horn the night
Deepens essential qualities that are uniquely California emerges as the sounds of his horn drifts away on
The waves in the golden state of many golden dreams and paths

It's hard  to change any cult
More so the jealous from the occult
Faculty of the melting mold of mind
Zealous of inflicting conflicts of all kind
To the just and graceful among mankind.

Brazenly different from vogue dears
conspires to inspire its rogue peers
To smear even slur on  godly seers.
Constantly configures to figure out,
Anything,  by any means to spy out
The faintest attribute of the virtuous
Contributes to trigger the rash jealous
To fling out and pierce the gall
to gush out to spread and stall
The arteries, nerves to blood-en
the face and the cheeks to redden
Nose and the chin to harden
Ear lobs to burn and burden.

The jealous is well known
Yet the cause is unknown
Why does it vent its ire
Dent and impair the fair 
Engage in freelance
To abuse in parlance
In parliaments of vanity fair

The evil avail many a company
Of gluttons, covetous avaricious
sloth, sensuous pride and many
Engage merely to rage in ferocious
Fire, the fuel of the evil in the savage dark ages
obsessed in rampage and carnage

All celebrations become  aberrations  
Of the essence of celestial  presence
The din dares to dampen the spiritual
Asphyx the specifics in fad rituals

It is difficult to change the cult
of the stinky melting mold
of the evil minds that find
new felony ways to inflict conflicts
To the just and graceful lives
of the peace loving among mankind.

Basements are often dark and cold. Seldom do we find one set with embroidery, cushions and warmth. No one ever really depicts a basement this way; as a room of comfort. So when I was little, I wouldn’t dare go down there alone. Oh, no. The cobwebs and creaking pipes within the silence were too much for these wobbling knees. While a sister stood watch, I turned on every light to make way for whatever it was I had gone in search of; tiptoeing quickly as if not to stir the monsters lurking within the bricks.
As I grow older, I learn to find comfort in knowing that everything I fear configures only behind the doors of my mind; where I have learned to laugh and poke at monsters created but never named. And silence is quite easy to fear; leaving room for nightmarish construction. Basements hold the space for such creations that bedrooms hold too much character to possess.
Remember now, a transformative possibility. Run your fingers over cement walls, breathe steady against the still. Make this quiet room a harbour if you find one no where else.