"navajo" poems
I tromped across North America a few years back
Following the Mayan Elders
Listening to the powerful Lakota Brothers sing songs of mourning and joy
Building community
I was following a White Cherokee
We created clan
I was motivated by the teachings of the Anishinaabe
And represented Thunderbird Clan
We stopped in sacred spaces such as Serpent's Mound
And Cahokia Mounds
We peered briefly through the veil; Samhain
I followed the red path and eventually found I had always been on it
I met Hopi and Navajo elder's
And my friend Sea, a pipe carrier brewed a special tea
I was gifted tobacco that had been grown from seeds
Recovered from an iceman's medicine bag
She transmuted the ancient tobacco into a tea
By folding it into a sweetgrass and cedar brew
Sea gave it to me in a basic stainless steel carafe
Every time we drained the carafe
I refilled it and the essence was just as powerful as the previous brew
When I finally caught up with the Lakota brother's in Sedona
Their voices were raw
We all were
I shared the tea with them
So much magic on that journey
The joy on those brothers faces as the tea reached their throats
I gave them the carafe and told them
It was the gift that keeps on giving
Their thankfulness has been the gift that keeps on giving
Oct 5, 2014
Oct 5, 2014 at 11:48 PM UTC
You, saying love
You, shaman's road
You, a bird
You, a yellow sun
You, Emperor
You, lovely door
You, my Walt Whitman
You, Neal
You, Sal Paradise
You, Pancho Villa
You, La Revolución Mexicana
You, navajo
You, the border
You, the river
You, chicana
You, Mafia
You, redemption
You, poetry
You, Salvador Dalí
You, Picasso
You, stereo
You, love
You, ***
You, youth
You, America
You, América
You, español
You, english
You, country side
You, cat
You, fire
You, books
You, E. E. Cummings
You, Bukowski
You, Octavio Paz
You, Coca-Cola
You, Coke
You, India
You, Mississippi
You, jazz
You, Miles
You, Davis
You, water
You, rain
You, lagoon
You, chest
You, car
You, road
You, reading
You, lines
You, Paris
You, Baudelaire
You, Poe
You, japanese
You, katana
You, Mishima
You, gun
You, rifle
You, cam
You, can
You, can't
You, Durango
You, Arizona
You, desert
You, gonzo
You, mezcal
You, alcohol
You, drive
You, crush
You, alive
You, again
Jun 3, 2013
Jun 3, 2013 at 3:16 PM UTC
I.
I wonder if you remember me.
You said, “Go out. Find me
that universe, and take these
with you.” Talismans.
Good luck charms like Mozart
and fifty-five ways to say hello.
Navajo night chant,
Peruvian wedding song,
diagrams of ribcages, gender,
bushmen and bones.
Gifts for a people you said
I may never meet.
It has been thirty-four years
and I wonder if you remember me.
II.
Less and less,
we call across the distance:
sixteen-point-twelve hours
between transmissions
and I wonder if you remember me.
I nearly kissed Jupiter for you,
nearly skimmed Saturn’s bright rings,
but you said, “Go out.
Find me that universe,”
so I sail out into the dark for you.
I keep a photo of you,
twenty years ancient,
to keep away the quiet
between your calls:
pale pixel, distant dot,
my origin receding,
I wonder if you remember me.
III.
I know now,
you never meant
to call me home.
Dutifully, I will go out,
but I wonder if you forget me.
I am still here, sailing.
Oct 18, 2011
Oct 18, 2011 at 6:23 PM UTC
MARS
The Shaman and the Planet Mars,
Gazing in wonder amid the stars,
Arms raised in worship,
The Universe the Navajo church,
Ancient marvels to behold,
The human race timeless and old,
From Mars to Earth,
Did spaceships give berth?
Ramses' face on Mars,
Pondering Ptolemies from afar,
The Shaman honour singing,
Future and past aligning,
Gazing in wonder amid the stars,
The Shaman and Planet Mars.
Jun 27, 2015
Jun 27, 2015 at 3:35 AM UTC
In the deep of time indigenous tribes
surfaced a red earth with protruding plateaus
and burnt canyons along the Cimarron River.
The ancient Anasazi settled
at the core of this mesa.
Scattered ponderosa pine.
Yet, their sudden demise echoed curiosity.
Navajo sensed a struggle of two infinite worlds,
a quivering inundation.
Circling its haunted ominous shape,
a skull with one eye, the apparition of light
rose into a blue desert sky.
Violent storms crackle hot lightning
strikes in a sulfurous summer-
an oracular hothouse.
Navajo talk of spirits or the gateway
to fire. Heaps of iron and lodestone
lodged in the cap. Only two
brazen, cat totem poles guarding its passage.
Standing among the mesa
to feel the verve of the earth.
A New Mexico sun beats down
burning the drowsed terrain.
To see the legendary shaman glow
in his ephemeral blue nimbus.
Bathed in gaudy turquoise.
Sensing the dark encroachment
of a ghost. Near the bony hills, soared
a turbulent black bird in full flight,
upward.
Apr 11, 2013
Apr 11, 2013 at 7:43 PM UTC
*it's not exactly Walt Whitman's o captain my captain in reference to Abraham Lincoln.*
to społeczeństwo jest gnój...
to społeczeństwo jest... szambo,
daj mi kandydata na prezydenta
z koła Navajo! dawaj kurwa!
bo tego nigra nie zdołam przetrawić
w ramach jego Nobla!
pierdolona kukła białasów!
o tak panie prezydencie, no tak
panie prezydencie... dziecko chcem
wysłać na Harvard... może pan pomoże
z wojęnką na bliskim wschodzie?
pięknie panie prezydencie,
dziękujemy za zbieranie włókna larw ciem.
ah panie prezydencie, jaka piękna sciema!
jaka piękna mgła! ah tak panie
prezydencie... kultura nie była asz tak
zgodnie zparowana z siłą! hip hop hooray
nad top z pana wagarami władzy
chodem po cmentarzu!
Apr 8, 2016
Apr 8, 2016 at 9:08 PM UTC
The slant-eyed
giant hunter
people of Tsul Kalu
came in peace
To become
the central universe
Cherokee white elders
hereditary priests
teaching peace
Winged rattlesnake
constellation
of time untime
Singing the death song
Sacred spirits
animal, plant, herb and tree
The wheel
what is, will be
(*The ancient Chinese were
the greatest astronomers.
Later in the 1400's their
massive treasure fleets
mapped the World
The Yuki, Navajo, Apache,
Yuchis, Ming ** Melungeons,
Shawnee (Oceanye ** Sioux,
Cree Ojibuwa and Moskoke
have Chinese ancestors
some claimed to be Chinese
European explorers told of
elders speaking Chinese
ancient Chinese artefacts
and wrecked junks seen
History as taught might
be but a fairytale*)
Aug 12, 2010
Aug 12, 2010 at 5:07 AM UTC
the pope asked me what i really belived in, behind the lies and masks and the effect of saten.
you know what i told him?
wanna know what i said on that dry summer evenin?
i said that my holy book is read by the perfact way your hair looks messy when you just get out of bed,
when you call me late at night because our songs stuck inside your head.
i worship the way you always say that i know just what you think,
ill pray to the way your voice goes low as hell when you talk about true love.
the way your eyes make stars appear in all that dreary darkness of...all the rhods we take and lines we cross just to hold echother near. and at the end of this congregation i promise ill see you soon my dear.
you give new colors to every flower. evey lemon, every tree. and the colors sparkle only when i hold you close to me,
on the red platos of navajo, honey bees makeing a song so much better than the radio, your voice the lead singer and my spirit feels the flow.
so yeah i know its a little bit melo-dramadic, a bit manic, co dependent on the way you look at me, whatever you see thats just what i wanna be. babe.
and so my soul is saved with every touch from you.
preach in the pew about all the times we had at midnight solitary dances running from our taxes living life and death theres nothin left
but all that holy love we share.
so i told the prest the, minister the bishop and the father and the son and evry single holy ghost who was there, that im in love with this girl and i dont give a **** what you think force me to drink that holy water to set me on that straigh and narrow bath, and i would laugh at all the **** that they belive will work on somone such as me.
and THATS how i got excommunicated
thankyou
Oct 10, 2020
Oct 10, 2020 at 2:06 PM UTC
for Thomas Raine Crowe
...These nights bring dreams of Cherokee shamans
whose names are bright verbs and impacted dark nouns,
whose memories are indictments of my pallid flesh...
and I hear, as from a great distance,
the cries tortured from their guileless lips, proclaiming
the nature of my mutation.
NOTE: My “mutation” is that my family appears to contain English, Scottish, German and Cherokee blood, meaning that my ancestors were probably at war with each other. Did my English ancestors force my Cherokee ancestors to walk the Trail of Tears?
I have recently created these new translations of Native American poems, proverbs and sayings ...
What is life?
The flash of a firefly.
The breath of a winter buffalo.
The shadow scooting across the grass that vanishes with sunset.
—Blackfoot saying, translation by Michael R. Burch
Speak less thunder, wield more lightning. — Apache proverb, translation by Michael R. Burch
The more we wonder, the more we understand. — Arapaho proverb, translation by Michael R. Burch
Adults talk, children whine. — Blackfoot proverb, translation by Michael R. Burch
Don’t be afraid to cry: it will lessen your sorrow. — Hopi proverb
One foot in the boat, one foot in the canoe, and you end up in the river. — Tuscarora proverb, translation by Michael R. Burch
Our enemy's weakness increases our strength. — Cherokee proverb, translation by Michael R. Burch
We will be remembered tomorrow by the tracks we leave today. — Dakota proverb, translation by Michael R. Burch
No sound's as eloquent as a rattlesnake's tail. — Navajo saying, translation by Michael R. Burch
The heart is our first teacher. — Cheyenne proverb, translation by Michael R. Burch
Dreams beget success. — Maricopa proverb, translation by Michael R. Burch
Knowledge interprets the past, wisdom foresees the future. — Lumbee proverb, translation by Michael R. Burch
The troublemaker's way is thorny. — Umpqua proverb, translation by Michael R. Burch
Feb 22, 2020
Feb 22, 2020 at 6:33 AM UTC
I dreamed a dream , inside the dream
It seemed to say , 1 more hit for one more day , heavenly maiden with devil like beauty , lay out your evil insnare the mind , so I can unleash the beast that sleeps inside , awake from this creative slumber to walk the hall and fantasize ****** , join my hand , witness the Christ the raptured being , from a golden cloud with life's hidden meaning , cancel my subscription to the resurrection , send my credentials to the house of detention , watch the alcoholic Navajo shaman fuel my soul , awake lizard king from your coffin of gold , Paris is where you lay while light my fire resounds on the surface above . My music lives on although I do not . Skin rots to wood , wood rots to earth , earth grows to trees , trees are cut to make the pencil , pencil writes these words taken directly from your creative soul , the lizard king is dead , so i am told
Oct 14, 2013
Oct 14, 2013 at 2:02 PM UTC
Ross was a fullblooded
bronze-skinned buddy
from the Navajo Nation.
He was a diehard Okie,
and a machine gunner,
carried the M-sixty
with twenty pounds
of extra belted-ammo.
He was a big guy,
had brown deep-set eyes,
high cheeks and
not a single hair
on his burly body,
but some high and tight
pitch bristles on his head.
He had a weakness.
Pure Straight Whiskey.
Whenever he had too much,
he was an F5 tornado,
a wild Tasmanian devil,
to be reckoned with.
I remember when he had
his front top teeth knocked out
by some civilian bouncers
at a local drinking establishment.
He kicked the **** out of
three huge muscle guys.
It was him versus them.
A regular melee.
Ross won.
Once on a Saturday night,
drunk as skunks,
we made an illegal turn
on the Interstate south of Denver.
We ended up flying down the highway
with four hundred feet of wire
attached to wooden poles,
sent sparks flying everywhere.
I never saw a guy laugh
so hard in all my life.
He ****** himself hysterically.
We gave Ross his first Native American name.
We were out in the field,
just hanging out
in battle gear,
shooting the ****
around our APC.
We called him Prancing Moose,
Moose for short.
He loved it when
we called him that,
gave us a toothless grin.
He was a warrior to us.
In another time and place,
he might have been a Chief.
He was courageous,
fearless and
a good friend
to have in your side.
From time to time,
I think about him,
and pray he's okay,
still alive.
He was our blood brother.
We were in hell together.
I miss him, too.
Jun 5, 2015
Jun 5, 2015 at 4:59 PM UTC
I used to live with these two friends—
A long-haired Navajo guy that was into Satan & Death Metal,
and an average white guy into Star Wars & Metallica.
This one night
we were going to see Danzig in concert.
Before we went to the show
we had to get a money order and mail it to our landlord
for rent.
The three of us went inside the Circle K,
got the money order, cigarettes, and some water.
On the way out,
back to the car,
there was an old, crusty, homeless Native guy
his neck draped in rosaries,
like Mr. T is in gold.
As we walked by, he said,
“Can you guys spare some change?”
“Sure,” my Navajo friend said, digging his pocket for change.
He was just about to drop a handful of coins
into the bum’s hand
when the old guy said,
“Oh thank you. God bless you …”
A smile came over my Navajo friend’s face
as he put the change back into his pocket.
“Nope. You shouldn’t have said that. You just HAD to bring God into it, didnt you?”
“Ohhh **** you,” the old guy yelled.
“Why don’t you ask God for some money then?"
We all laughed getting in the car.
The old *** kept talking.
“Just get outta here. Something bad is gonna happen to you boys. Go, get away from me. Something bad is gonna happen to you …”
My Navajo friend didn't miss a beat,
“Yeah? Well, if you don’t shut the **** up, something bad is gonna happen to YOU ************
The old man looked down to his rosaries and began to pray.
We drove across the street to the post office
to mail the money order for the rent.
The boys stayed in the car while I got out to mail it.
The post office was already closed
and all they had were those stubby little pencils.
It had to be signed in ink.
I went back outside
“You guys have a pen?”
“Nope.”
****
“Just ask somebody. And hurry up, we're gonna be late!”
Just then I saw a plump, middle-aged woman getting out of a minivan.
I approached her.
“Excuse me? Ma’am? Do you happen to have a pen I could use? I have to send off a money order for rent and I just realized I don’t have one …?
The lady sighed heavily, sounding annoyed, she turned back around
and began walking back to her minivan.
“I’m sorry to put you out, I just HAVE TO send this out…”
Getting into her van, she turned around and screamed at me,
“I don’t have any money for you to take from me. I WILL NOT BE ACCOSTED!”
She started the minivan and made a quick getaway.
“What the hell happened?”
“That crazy broad thought I was trying to rob her.”
We all laughed our ***** off at her choice of words:
ACCOSTED.
As we drove off, I remembered the old man’s words
“something bad is gonna happen.”
It coulda been worse.
So we said **** it and mailed it the next day.
The late fee was $15.00.
Dec 13, 2011
Dec 13, 2011 at 12:12 PM UTC
did you have a
good thanksgiving?
not to bring you down
but the people who
first helped the whites
are the poorest folk around.
the Nations of Lakota
the Navajo. the Sioux
they live their lives despairingly
not knowing what to do.
these people have rich heritage
some live off the land.
but the rez may not be able
to give them ground to stand.
what Caucasian people
gave the native folk
were the parts unwanted
a disgrace! a joke!
some put up casinos
to "help" them in their plight
but much of this income
is wrenched from them by the white!
drugs and "fire water"
are a great deal to blame
for destruction of a culture
which bears noble name!
I have read the stories
of Gallup New Mexico
of many deaths of citizens
of the nation Navajo
because intoxication
and the bitter cold
have them sleeping under cars
or so the stories told.
when the owner of the vehicle
gets in and drives away
they run over the poor drunkard
who dies where they lay.
other grave conditions
have these people fraught
they have no essentials
we don't give a thought.
don't want to be crass
don't want to be gross
but they have no toilet paper
use newspaper! or worse!
there are churches. charity
but the folk are proud
they have basic dignity
this is not allowed.
but you can help their Nations
by giving to THEM
the worthy tribal leaders
will help them once again.
I felt lead to write this
I am SO concerned
they are the source of inspiration
by a great respect
they've earned.
SoulSurvivor
(C) 11/27/2015
Nov 27, 2015
Nov 27, 2015 at 12:53 PM UTC
you who swayed on stoop-steps and picked bits of teeth
from your knuckles, your fantasies, your crouched in blood
giggles; monologues.
you who wrapped knives around tree hides and in carvings
found your way back to days of love
& dead wet leaves.
you who rattled in hate of sweaty girls but
smeared out on the boulevard for girls anyways
& made those girls sweat.
you who ****** in the snow and wrote out all the names
of your far-fallen friends and sisters in just one stream.
pacific coast highway.
you who soaked back in the trans-fat pools of employment
to grip at tips and taste at *****
in this fine phase we call fermentation.
you who came hurdling down from hills and hallways
with navajo sidekicks,
your battle-axes sweetened with sugar powder flecks; for flavor
while dying.
you who peeled skin from your fingertips in protest
of the war on whales, warping you irrevocably
down the path
of a whisky avocado diet.
Apr 5, 2014
Apr 5, 2014 at 6:23 AM UTC
We've seen lone souls walking desert highways of New Mexico, barefoot hitchhikers along burnt out main drags and closed down drive-ins.
We bought moonshine and turquoise on the Navajo Trail and drank in the dusty neon ghost towns of Route 66.
We went over the Rocky Mountains and found kids singing Woody Guthrie in old gold rush towns of Colorado.
We walked along railroad tracks in the shade of date palms, listened as westward bound freight trains rumbled into the red evenings. A country as mercurial as our very moods.
Nov 27, 2017
Nov 27, 2017 at 1:37 PM UTC
We've got sounds, we've got city.
It's really coming down but I can't see it.
Airplanes? Apollo or just another meteor?
Weekend Thunder Wind on Friday morning.
I can carry the thick. I can carry the idle.
But my sea legs don't kick in while I'm standing on dry soil.
If it's going to be Red Dawn, I'd like to at the very least
Have a chance to put my boots on. But if it's not Construction or the chill Of Winter, it might just be the Weekend Thunder Wind doing fly-bys on a Friday morning.
All night hungry burning sweet grass, California sage, and listening to the wind talks of the Navajo. She's asleep at my back, but the gusts are 21 miles per hour and chasing after all the gales. Another slamming, shaking crash from the Weekend Thunder Wind acting spoiled on a Friday morning.
Dogs they **** inside the house.
The shingles are getting gone.
The tuning of the A-string is brutally wrong and off.
I can hear T. Rex's dancing and having ******
Or maybe it's just the Weekend Thunder Wind waking up one day too early.
I've been haunted thrice and seen my guts ooze out
Its hellacious and abhorrent.
But there's 17 more hours to hang out with
The Weekend Thunder Wind while we get coffee and The Chicago Quarterly.
If the Spring weather will be arriving soon.
Let's wear our Ray Ban's and fly kites this afternoon.
Feb 19, 2016
Feb 19, 2016 at 8:09 AM UTC
The roof was moist,
As I lay there in a wet pool,
(A curse on thee, ye olde
Inventor of the New Mexico
Pueblo-style flat roof)
I was talking with angels,
Bouncing ideas off the firmament,
When she stepped through clouds,
Piercing the ebony solstice sky.
Stargazing is a full-time occupation;
The Navajo Nation sure is quiet tonight.
Jun 23, 2015
Jun 23, 2015 at 11:06 PM UTC
I found a cure for head lice and nits,
This'll really thrill you to bits,
Pour coca-cola on infested heads,
Happy hoppies shall soon be dead,
But don't give the cola to your kids,
They'll all get intestinal nits!
To all the parents and teachers of kids,
Happy hoppies cured, no more nits!
Now didn't that thrill you to bits?
A verse written by Navajo the Nit!
Sep 15, 2016
Sep 15, 2016 at 12:32 AM UTC
Oh Indian, Old Indian,
You Navajo talker
With your words unknown
A language lost to those pale ivory devils
With the coarse yellow manes
They came in believing they
Could tame your wild heart
Beating beyond ages and
Derailing decayed cities
Buildings burn by your name
And you go with the wind
Oh Indian, Old Indian
You have ghosts dancing in your eyes
Tracing trails of tears
Down your war-ravaged cheeks
Enchanting oracles and psychic chasms
Into smoke on the water
Caught on fire
Humming a lullaby about a wolf's lonesome cry
Frozen nights and woven dreams
Oh Indian, Old Indian
You carve hearts, revealing blood
Tasting of magic deaths
And one thousand lives silenced
With one war whoop
A river runs through you
It is and was again an eternal
Thing with a passion one
Could only imagine
Fly away by the feathers of your headdress
An ancient Icarus
Oh Indian, Old Indian
When will you return again?
Jun 19, 2012
Jun 19, 2012 at 12:35 AM UTC
always
poking
at the sky,
waiting for the signs,
to change,
crashed through a mile-
stone marker,
foolin' with life,
hands on the wheel of
what is broken down,
dark, dark, dark like area
fifty-one
grams are instant,
you might figure it out,
then again, whenever...
first heard of denver,
rhymes and reasons,
eagles and hawks,
music to my ears,
oh then came the tears,
Road Weary too early
in this Rotten World,
but rw came along,
and laughter filled
this heart,
to over flowing,
until tears
came from every laugh
and ... then...
only the tears.
A r m, there was no
harm, only a heart
for God,
step by step you
brought me closer,
if i stand,
brought
me to my knees,
understanding your love
for the Navajo
nation.
Too hard to be a bard,
all the waves that
sound like me
are hammered flat,
sharply.
Too soon.Wanted to grow
old with all of you
even though we share so little
phil-o-so-phically,
but here it is play
with words,
sun still rises
and watching flights
of birds and
dragonflies
make me pause;
from the shape of the sky
to a colour of the paint
that comes from the sun
in the clouds.
Then walking with ugly
toes with feet and
knees,
older than they should be,
seeing
people on the street,
who
love to hate,
hate to love,
each day is a wrestling
match in an atmospheric cage,
that puts ufc to shame,
seeing way more
than can be put on
parchment,
the will, be tried.
roof over my head
like a hat hanging
on an empty coat
hook
between the ribs
tearing at a heart
that refuses to
stop
beating while
being beat up by voices
that keep coming out
of the dark, dark, dark
shhhhhhhhh
whispers,
wisps
of hope
that knowing
as long as the
sounds of music
from many artists
find the ears
and,
able to feel,
lines of tears
and too
the laughter
echoes,
echoes in the
empty hallway
that swallows
red and white
and clear,
I live to write
another
day.
Take courage
to Play
the ukelele
if may I
by deSign.
Feb 17, 2015
Feb 17, 2015 at 4:58 PM UTC
Blackbrush -- Coleogyne ramosissima
the dominant understory shrub
in the pinyon-juniper canyons.
Mountain-mahogany -- Cercocarpus montanus and ledifolia.
Single-leaf ash -- Fraxinus anomalus
and possibly a western hophornbeam
by the small birch-like leaves
and the shredding bark
in a moist stretch of joint trail.
The joint-fir, green ephedra
looks like an ocean plant.
Could the wind or white water rivers alone
have shaped these sandstone, red rock forms?
Network of canyons, inverse of mountains.
It had to be ocean
ebbing and flowing, emotionally, like wind,
moving atmosphere, thicker
shaving, scraping, polishing, gouging, digging
fish canyons
then, shallower, dinosaur swamps
now, dry, rock gardens.
Explain the human history with water:
did the Anasazi visit neighbors
along the canyon rims and deep within,
combination caves and red-rock houses
small windows, doorways, just crawlways,
with corn gifts on summer evenings
when the canyon bottoms held permanent, not intermittent,
streams? After them
came the Ute and Navajo, Spanish and English.
Ravens dine on road ****
A few long red roads connect some canyons.
The unprotected flats are overgrazed, rabbitbrush.
It is interesting
that as I learn the woody and herbaceous plants,
walk the desert foothills, I too could stay.
Aug 9, 2015
Aug 9, 2015 at 2:19 PM UTC
“I met Elvis in Louisville,
He signed my record
And kissed my cheek.”
She pointed to
The framed vinyl
Hanging beside the old cross.
The man in the rocking chair
Coughed and bit into an apple.
The woman cut into a
Seven tier molasses cake.
The radio played the National Anthem,
And the old man twirled his fingers in the air,
Whistling as the wind came in through
The window.
I’m chasing after a man who looks like my Great Grandpa.
He was a **** with a salty side eye,
Blue pearls embedded in his
Masochistic, alcoholic head.
Oil! Coal!
Black lung!
Liquid gold off the brushes,
Mines are still
There but the town is sold.
Things that
Have played out long before I
Was born.
Freshly rolled cigarettes
By hand.
His lighter was Navajo blue
And his mustache was alright
He came from San Francisco
But he was born in Wheeling
“Come on in, Jim,
The *** is boiling.”
She said from behind
The screen door.
“Hold on,
I’m talking politics with
The youngin’.”
And as he said that,
He rolled his lips in
An O.
“Put it in your mouth.”
He said as he gave me
A cigarette.
He lit it up,
And told me to inhale.
I blew the smoke out of
My nose,
I didn’t cough
But my eyes watered.
He got up and left me
On the porch with
A rolled stogie
And playing cards with
Pretty women on top.
May 17, 2015
May 17, 2015 at 4:02 PM UTC
I was going downward
into the box canyon,
meandering
toward the ancient-ruins.
Floating along
in a dream-state,
I was lost in another world,
heading to a secret place
time had forgotten
when I passed her
scuttling upward,
carrying
a heavy basket
on her crooked back.
The grizzled lines
on her brown face
ran crisscross,
deep furrows of anguish
to match her
toothless-grimace.
They told me things
most people would
never understand.
Her angry eyes
were dark sparks,
they burned holes
into my heart
I will never forget.
Apr 9, 2014
Apr 9, 2014 at 5:56 AM UTC
A tranquil & serene sunny afternoon
Lying on the couch,
Watching the sun go down.
My black cat kneading,
Rhythmically pawing the
Front of my pants.
What’s going on here?
Some-sort of Animal Kingdom *** signal?
Some zoological parallel to ponder
Whenever one tries to
Make sense out of one’s own
Polymorphous perversity?
But I digress.
I listen to the M/C
Music Choice Channel
Which Comcast.com - Comcast®
Gives out free, from the Basic Tier on up.
Jazz, not Smooth Jazz,
And certainly not The Blues:
“I think I’ll give up livin’
I think I’ll go shopping instead.
Think I’ll give up livin’
Think I’ll go shopping instead.
Gonna buy myself a tombstone
And pronounce myself dead.”
Again, I digress.
Another sunny afternoon in Bernalillo;
Bernalillo, New Mexico:
Where Coronado bivouacked,
Prior to saddling up again
On his fabled quest, his search for
The 7 Golden Cities of Cibola.
It’s nice to be back.
Got in last Thursday evening,
After an 11-hour Honda Civic trip--
The coupe packed to the gills
With household items—
And 2 cats sharing a
1-cat cat-carrier.
(Sarcastic) Please.
Did somebody say, “Meow?”
Digress, I doodle-lee-do.
Kelly came over Friday night.
What a treat!
I cooked Italian.
Saturday night to the Tamaya Resort,
Specifically, The Corn Maiden,
Certainly new and un-starred as-yet,
By sane suave critics who decide
Such things;
Sautéed asparagus on
Sunday morning, and
Off she goes again to
Canyon de Chelly
(pronounced: DA-SHAY)
Arizona: one of the more
Cosmopolitan cities on the
Vast high mesa that is the
Navajo Reservation.
So what’s my point?
May 15, 2014
May 15, 2014 at 5:01 PM UTC