Blesses Joni

among the greatest songwriters and voices

her words:

I came upon a child of God
He was walking along the road
And I asked him, where are you going
And this he told me...
I'm going on down to Yasgur's farm
I'm going to join in a rock 'n' roll band
I'm going to camp out on the land
I'm gonna try and get my soul free

We are stardust
We are golden
And we've got to get ourselves
Back to the garden

Then can I walk beside you
I have come here to lose the smog
And I feel to be a cog in something turning
Well maybe it is just the time of year
Or maybe it's the time of man
I don't know who l am
But ya know life is for learning

We are stardust
We are golden
And we've got to get ourselves
Back to the garden

By the time we got to Woodstock
We were half a million strong
And everywhere there was song and celebration
And I dreamed I saw the bombers
Riding shotgun in the sky
And they were turning into butterflies
Above our nation

We are stardust
Billion-year-old carbon
We are golden
Caught in the devil's bargain
And we've got to get ourselves
Back to the garden

miracles arouse desirous
the cave-men and women
like fire arose from flint
astound
from leaves
a roaring din
amongst the lull
of sunken caves in mountains
wombs
and we walked out
bare-knuckled
still
afire with desires
alit split upon
earthly need
like cavemen and women
still

below charms her arms crossed,
a mean, meaning mad, again
what it is i do not know
that brought her to
be so angry.

I sneakily disguise guise
warily trying to disarm
this cute stick of dynamite
so armed with something
I did but do I know?
What?

Approaching her warily
I brush against her side
then breathe a breath aimed
at her cheek , breathlessly,
I say' Honey,
remember last night?"

I then search for that spark
that means either all is all right,
or that that small pack of dynamite,
is
about to go off.

when I carriage returns too soon
and my fingers get numb   oh well
and I don't realize MY CAPS LOCK IS ON
or I try to figure my debts up and the num lock ain't on
or I tab when I should not indent
or mmy keyboard
the m locks up
cause I mmighta spilt beer on it again
and mmy mmouse goes crazy for another window
and I type half this there
I think
it might be timme for bed

who calls the dreams to play
which on her call
I strive to look inward at I

On the back of me eyelids
her visions play
I cry to see each night

her words captivating
entrance my days
encapsulate my nights

I interpretate her meanings
whittle statues to her
wisdoms cut myself doing

bleed to her wisdom die in
honor to my priestess
becoming dark in my vision

strive Still in night
her on a screen of pretending
I hear and feel her

near

for a ride home
to me downtown
from here on the river
where I dance alone

A taxi or my brother
passing by other
people may be watching
my feet tapping as I fall over

Between the two street lights
glaring what a sight
my drunk *** must be
tonight

swaying calling on poe
emerson thoreau
to stop and listen
I get it, i know

Rhythm and meter
are just for their
realms, Emily and Vicki
I just say I love both hers

when the spinning clay
shoots up
between my hands
I squeeze
her neck  up
today
to a svelte long
distance Egret like
Swan elegance
decorate her with fine
fine feathers
filigree
moist
living clay
and grasp her all
between
my
human hands
tenderly
I lost the connection
the feel the fire
but put her in
the kiln
anyways
hoping
to rekindle her memory
that is
after all
art

Take a thought
Long drawn out
Every detail nuance and particular
Write it out
Wander into every crevice corner
Orifice of it
Chew on the salty sweet detail
Talk in length about the atmosphere
How the sky was clear that day
Or how it was black as southern mud
Colorize it with the voices in your head write down what they said
The inner dialogue
Argue a point
With your ego
It doesn't matter which of you wins
Just paint it out spill
The angst in gallons of red spills
And splatters the anger
Throw black on the paper spit
Hit smack  your hand right fan on it mush it
Tangle get some virulent deep blue
And paint on paper the sky how it looked
And your eyes how wide they were
Spooked
Get lost misspell
Curse ******* demons
Who are you?
Who is anyone
Are we just blood and guts or
More

Feelings can get abstract and love can hurt poetry writing spilling paint crying
Are all we got.
Take a walk. Walk until dark.
Wake up the next day.

on my stoop thanking whatever the power is
(I call her my Fairy crack Mother)
for just the other night I had 200 superfluous dollars
(and a white wild hair up my ***, a demon from my past
calling, calling loud)
I called Rof, and Tyrone; J-rock, Sam, T-bone; Jeremy,
Cadillac, Tiger,
( no no one answered, I even drove to Tar-hill where all the time ,
three or four options are available and never before did I come home empty)  this night: I did!
I let the bitterness intrude as I slept instead of peeping out the window and hearing strange heart beat sounds thumping all night
( but...I slept uncomfortable and once or twice cursed, her (my fairy crack mother))
then today, like a plan had come for my two hundred dollars.
And I gave it to someone who needed it for food,
and surviving. And I got a high, so much more that I went out and
sat on my porch and watched the dark- the evening come-
and my fairy crack mother, I thanked- cried finally seeing,
She has always
taken care of me.
And gave me this chance to feel how it feels
to feel a good thing, for once.
I guess I do believe,
in Fairy Crack Mothers!

Positively, absolutely
sunshiny
delicious
a clean
conscience
is.
A dreamy
existence
free
in spirit
in
believing
I do
not have
to hide a
thing.
Or  lie
again-
just say
what's
on my mind-
never
remembering
a
thing.

songs will sing
of realism our
   song will rhyme
realistically
            time will
serenade us colliding
    moons align with
eclipses
        blessings
be given us
       really.

once seven pm
in this neck of the woods comes
'round
it's blues and gin time
a bit of eight ball
on the table
the dice in the corner
girls in short dresses
and perfume
Floyd Dixon making the women wet
a bonfire outside
a sip of moonshine
her looking
red lipped
licking
me trying to remember her name
beats turned up and the cue ball slams
into the rack and vicious
I stare seductive as ten grenadine bottles in the window
back at her svelte high hair  load of makeup
smiles tight assed hips posed just right there
hell its past 7 now
give yo a ride home Mabel?
she smiles

arises tones
of symphonies violins crying vapor rises
all around me in three dimensional
spaces up around and through me goes the
sound of fingers and bow on strings I taste
sweet bitter salt sugar in my  ears
cry with her
the violinist

is drug use, obsession with chemicals to
make you feel alive, depending
on a hit to feel better, wrapping
every waking minute around obtaining them

Dangerous is this, desire with metrical
counts internet hits, surrounding
yourself with those who feel likewise,
every finger typing non-stop hymns

Realizing your audience waned one night,
goodness is getting more  plusses or hearts,
forgetting to eat anything but words
making me us them unintentionally

victims of the same chemical imbalances
I have noticed in Crack heads, **** heads
speed freaks , addicts of all kinds.

So if you see anything worthy or
turned an eye inward, don't plus this
get outside now to fresh air
share a walk with a friend,
or pet a dog.

Or find your local
chapter of Poets Anonymous.

sheltered
     with no limits
or alternate
      portrayed never a false witness
to that which is truest.
        Nor, is love, fixed in some imaginary
realm out of reach to anyone.
              Love is limitless
without boundaries if it truly is
   what reddest lips and whispers mean
and all is not fate nor every day written yet.

through the paths of small animals
the clearings  the foxes and the deer use
she walks with her ivory harp
at times plays a flute
and closes the distances between the wild
animals
and the forests limbs
the undergrowth
her bed for a life
dedicated to
nature
she is a resolve
purity and truth
and no man has
touched her soul
yet

With the certainties put in my head
by prophets so knowing
that a heaven of eighteen virgins
awaits me
I am glad, and certain

To crash this Boeing 737
into your ******* head.

Dad was a cad
was my uncles brother
and not surprising was his
affinity for my mother.

It all came around full circle
when my dad quite apparently showed
affinity for my Aunt Martha.

They settled all of that quite
preposterously
by having a
family reunion on the
night before Thanksgiving.

I Imagine they all had fun.

I would a day of hardness cry
I did a night of dark  to die
I could survive the holocaust
I would like to be a knight on horseback
I need the strength of Hercules
it seems
only to survive
in a mind of doubt and weakness
so I will dream again rebirth myself
a better man not of this earthly plan
make me anew with  strength of will enduring pain
find again the righteousness men deserve
seek again a ****** will a strength of naivette
look at the sunrise as a chance to change be what I knew
I could

make me a poem make me eternal
call me a rose make me
alive like the strawberry sky you see
or meadow grasses softly blowing in the wind
make me that streetcar you caught in 69
down in Haight- Ashbury
or the words to a song sing me
delicately
just like Joni Mitchell would
call me out make me bleed
out
or just mention me once

sun and light like hope on
over hills so far away, yet yes,      
make me trudge again forwards,
try, try so hard to stay the course,
continue wanting to breathe,
seek the real world where  man
loves his self as much as his sister
or wife or mother, thinking maybe I
might find that world, here.

all of the favorites congregated around the altar
among them the lawyer, the car salesman,
the Preacher stood taller than the others
signifying if nothing else a good view of him
to all

there within this quorum of faithful men
among them  the banker, merchant, and undertaker,
the Preacher said "bow your heads"
and all did , along with those lower
ranked in the pews

And he incantated, or I seemed to hear
invoking a deity or superpower or god
might have been,  especially casting his
powers on those nearest
who, coincidentally had  begotten
the most money lately

from the gathering , the smoke
arose near and around , and the Preacher
rose his voice, the tension mounting
the cathedral held it's collective breath
the maiden hidden

behind the preacher in the Baptismal font,
awoke got up like life from death,
walked step by step to a box,
near about the Hypotenuse
of the arc of the cathedral

climbed in the box and her head
showed out one end her feet
the other, then the Preacher the
car salesman, and the Lawyer
took a long bow saw from the pulpit

handed it to the banker who in turn passed
it to the merchant who in turn passed it
to the undertaker who started to saw
right straight through the middle,
with eager thrusts, of that there box.

And when the show ended , after
all the gasps from the people in the pews,
had subsided, and the undertaker was greedily
covered in sweat, the girl got out of the box.

They declared it a miracle.

of a song that existed
was written
before we lived

a raspberry
butterfly
blue sky

out there
on a key of
nature fluttering

golden sung
snug in the fold
of composed

sunrises, setting glows
tall trees sway little
creatures

noble, so carrying
on the purpose,
without

worrying

T'was a night before christmas
and all through my heart
was a glistening
knowing I had done all
I could to brighten
one soul, maybe two
and slept peaceful.


Now it is Christmas,
the day of our saviors birth.
We have lights arranged to celebrate
and toys for every boy and girl
but, you are so far away, and
I would ask Santa for just one real kiss,
on Christmas, from Vicki, my only babay!

Merry Christmas, Babay!
I do love you!

'tween the writhing
desiring and feeling staying
in this realm I see
your body next to mine
and feel
like going totally emphatically
wild
its only love
doing its thing singing from
true nature promoting her desires
turn the heats up
as a new flame erupts
your smile turns me upside down
inside out
pheromones fill this scene
scents
burn like incense on winds
of Basque romance basking in darkness
wild and wrong its so right
reflecting in the shadows
beauty within us as we look
in this mirror
see if you know me
I am Aquarian.
you are Desamor.

Compare the Atom
   with the apple
drop it from
   missiles
paint all of us
   with Uranium
terminally impose
   because of
bad communication
   may it be
the purpose of
    this short
spasm, I see,
    The End.

tried to buy a little of  it
a new brain and new shoes
thought the name had meaning, like Good humor stood for
good treats my mamma never had a dollar for,
placed , after selecting a two dollar pair of Adidas and a fifty cents  pair of socks
on the counter, and a brain with street sense common, the
( tatooed brown girl, kinda hot)
smiling, chuckled when I tried to pay with my food stamps.

Where as I was serious she thought I was kidding as she said we don't take EBT's and I asked can I get you next week.
meaning, innocently , the balance.

She did give me her number,
but no credit. I walked out empty headed , handed,
skipping with a 555 ou812 written on my forehead.

to limit me
embarked on a quest
to mysteriously float above
what I and all was.

With stars as illuminance
as sharks swimming in the dark
I saw a new day
remade my bounds as limitless

and grew oblivious and shrunk me
and swelled all of man and kind and
spoke of difference,
to society, not of man but philosophy.

Almond colored
   not really
light, not really dark
salty slightly sweet.

sharp, cheddar
  soft, edible
pliant forgiving

Day into
  years

Tears remembered
shed
when you are far
away.

i wished for a
four octave voice
riches fame
abilities to make my
guitar cry and sing
the words to touch
the whole world
money and a beautiful wife

traded it for my happiness
so where the **** did I end up
on the end of a rubber noose
two ativan
in a
locked hotel bathroom
you never know

what you are trading your
soul for when you deal

with the devil

better check those
wishes

very

very

carefully

the bad *** words we saw
  the visions oasis brought to us
the concerts the highs
   blowing kisses and lighting matches
young and innocent
   the chords that said our souls
were lifted the song that united
   us against waste against inhumanity
that made the cosmos feel  
   and reach down to us and stroke us
that fed us like Jesus did
   all of us from one loaf
or one fish
   or made us laugh and hold each other
while listening to heaven wings
and angels here
on earth.

the glow of a firefly
reach into the vast darkness
pull her fire from the night
would I glory then
like a star plucked from her nest
as a starling babe
belonging there
what might I
do then?

It was on a quest we left Tupelo one night
about ten after midnight and made the coast of South Carolina
and her salty air at four carrying our backpacks loaded with Jack Daniels

We  shoveled with worried brows we were followed.We had honey hope and innocence and our quest would not be denied. We dug four million holes just in Alabama, no telling how many , as we slept many times in strange foreign lands and read of the locals and ate their bread with gladness.
Walked and swam in currents that pulled and tormented, as we continued following our heart and torment and a little harder we got and stronger in this deed until we discovered Atlantis.
A small way, or half between Spain and France and Alabama, we found her. Buried by Shakespeare and covered with the ***** words of humanity, we dug up and exposed, our muse. She was death , and bones and honored her. We spoke of her beauty, not once but now.
For she symbolized destiny and how nothing really matters.

She  
Stands for me!

Dressed up
All Pink and white
Glowing from tip to
Outspread reach

Hummingbird
Wings
Decorated

Both in sun in
Moon
A buzz

The chorus of nature
Majestic ingeniously
Being the freshest
Breath of
Spring

Of hope and
Beauty
Fair

purple path
commemorating an old foundation
long gone
wisteria and violet
aura hues
march steady grow
towards
concrete footings that once held
desire
like peat moss ripe
petal dew
before the
clots of madness  grew
unlike the dead in a vase.

enough would be for me to be
a dimple in the sand

or
a shell you put to your ears
then castaway

a rock resisting the crashing crest
a loam a bubble floating

up onto your rocky shores
bubbling and frothy

seeking all you are today.

Ebb and flowing to your rhythm
out and in flow gush and sing the seas song
harmonizing the vastness of the tides,

washing us into the sea.

No,
No ordinary cat
Was he,
No, fluffy ginger haired
Scruffy Maine **** uncut
Hitchhiking burrtailed
Loved to get cuddled
Disappear for two weeks
I almost give up
Always hungry
Purr at the drop
Of a hat
chase four legged
Females around
Call like his nuts
caught in a vise top
Of a cats lungs pierce
eardrums
Neighbors
Call 911
I told him to shut hell up
A thousand times
But he'd  'tween roaming
Eating calling
Climbing the oak for some
Winged thing or
Tormenting a ******
Helpless cricket
He'd  found on the weeds
Catch me asleep
On the couch passed
Totally out from
Drinking
And think
It's such a good night
What a great idea
Perfect time
To love on dad
All night.
Until my eyes opened
He'd lick my eyelids
Forehead
Ears my chin.
God ******* ****,
I miss him

I was just wondering , tell me the truth,
if you were not a poet might you still love
as deep?
If you did not feel the words sworn by
Dylan Thomas , or slobber when
E. E. Cummings comes  (hey)
or wonder how Emily kept all those
words in her breast all those years-
might you just be another drone gathering
real estate or gold?
I ask you now, might
you have been happier then ,
with a Mercedes Benz, as Janis,
tongue in cheek, asked God for?
and not feel just a little bit for Woodstock playing
memories on Youtube at six in the morning
drinking your last beer?

seems I must write of star beams
and moon glow
when i want to write
of your elbow
your nails
how feminine and gorgeous
the turn of your thigh inward to
the place the space sacred
our place
shared alone
your neck arched
your earlobe in  my mouth
my chest on your breast my hand upon your sigh
our arches met
with cries

The Way is long on winding trails
of bitter weeds and daffodils
through goldenrod and thistles sharp
with Devil's song and Angel's harp
on accompaniment by day,
and haunting through
the night.
Alone I travelled 'til the day
Your tender voice did I hear say
" Let bitter weeds and thistles sharp
and Devil's song perish with the dark
for forever more, hand in hand,
we travel in the light."

When that blood flowed green
And trees were red
Skin was bark all hard
weathered showing
The marks of hurricanes
The dearths of rain
Skies glowed orange in night
And gray each day
The lakes all turned inside
Out where blues were down
And brown silt atop
The roots of things grew up
And flowers down
Bodies dead were above ground
People like moles once did
When the sun was yellow
And not her now deathly gray
People went underground
To live
Where dirt was white and grass
Was the ceiling
And not a day was recorded since
The day the
Colours
Turned around.

That girl, just a tv show, a comment on equality,
Carol Burnett, slapstick extraordinaire,
JFK and MLK died so young but touched me,
Joe Dimaggio, I wanted to be as a kid,
smashing rocks tossed in the air
the last inning of the world series imagining,
the drama all in my head,
so little of the world did I know then,
Ghandhi should be my hero,
or Lincoln, but in my top ten,
are Marge, just a lady I know,
who loved animals and people,
Pops, my old friend, who has always been there when I needed
him,
Shakespeare , of course,
who I quote ,
"When a father gives to his son, both laugh; when a son gives to his father, both cry."
Albert Einstein
who once stated
"You can't blame gravity for falling in love."
Helen Keller, when I think of her I feel ashamed
for complaining,
and of course Jesus,
and Allah and Moses and Abraham and
Aphrodite;
Nature and Sky and Wind

Breathe, breathe in the air
Don't be afraid to care
Leave but don't leave me
Look around and choose your own ground

For long you live and high you fly
And smiles you'll give and tears you'll cry
And all you touch and all you see
Is all your life will ever be

Run, rabbit, run
Dig that hole, forget the sun,
And when at last the work is done
Don't sit down, it's time to dig another one

For long you live and high you fly
But only if you ride the tide
And balanced on the biggest wave
You race toward an early grave.

drinks and cusses like a sailor
holds her own with
spiders in the shower
makes her own breakfast
cleans the dishes she uses
spends her money at Dollar General
likes cats and dogs
drinks whiskey and smokes ***
so my beer and ******* are all mine
has a trimmed  heart above her *****
and only one tattoo
a heart on her left breast
no metal in her thing
a dad and mom that she still
talks to
an ex who pays child support
children who are almost
perfect little saints
who is not afraid to
put me in my place at times
likes Baseball
and once wrote a dissertation
for her PHD about the differences
between Socialism and liberalism
and drives a Vette.
A 1988 Chevette!
I knew her a
long time ago.

Sunday morn' caffeine buzzed
rushing
around from chores to my computer screen
scrolling
for rhymes whilst silverware and glasses soak
knowing
nothing is really getting done
except maybe my blood pressure
and the cats
wriggling tale!

Play god
with Barbie dolls
Matchbox cars
   popsicle sticks
make a game of it
  with your best friend
make a sidewalk creation.

the Northern girl who
is not afraid to wade into the shallow
end of the pond with turtles
fishes ***** and ****

who is she this red haired
laureate who writes unafraid
of spiderwebs adorning her head.

Who is she , tell me true,
is she the lichens of my memory
the moss of my fallen side?

Who may she write of,
when the wolves bay at night
and her silvery visions
overcome me.

ever is times go so fast
flies I swatted come back as mosquitos
Sly grins from cashiers. I think they shortchanged me.
All the small things live
in seconds of life
that add up to
picking the exact ***** out of the millions at
the hardware store.
Or the way I try to perfect a joint
like a diamond finish in sheetrock.
Or the way I get off hearing my saw buzz
through a two by four at dusk
on three hours sleep
with a hangover.

I can't afford  a doctor so
I put my tail between my legs
licked my *** and went to the vet.

She said,
I may have distemper.
I need my shots, I was vaccinated.

After the de-licing
they fed me a bowl of brown stuff,
Oh, I needed de-worming.
Not very de-licious, grrrlll.

When they were all done,
they put my collar back on,
Put me a red and white and blue bandana
on.

Petted me politely and said,
I was done. Glad, Thank God,
I was already neutered.

Crossroads, seem to come and go, yeah.
The gypsy flies from coast to coast

Knowing many, loving none,
Bearing sorrow havin' fun,
But back home he'll always run
To sweet Melissa... mmm...

Freight train, each car looks the same, all the same.
And no one knows the Gypsy's name

No one hears his lonely sighs,
There are no blankets where he lies.
In all his deepest dreams the Gypsy flies
with sweet Melissa... mmm...

Again the morning's come,
Again he's on the run,
Sunbeams shining through his hair,
Appearing not to have a care.
Well, pick up your gear and Gypsy roll on, roll on.

Crossroads, will you ever let him go? (Lord, Lord)
Will you hide the dead man's ghost,
Or will he lie, beneath the clay,
or will his spirit float away?

But I know that he won't stay without Melissa.

Yes I know that he won't stay without Melissa.