poem for the end

end of a season
end of a year
end of a life
nothing to fear

where do we go
what do you care
what do you know
until you're there

begin again or end it all
we'll find out when the shadows fall

home again

who displaced the native people
who have come back home again?

why should we be asked for reasons
renewing all our ancient seasons
as we celebrated them back then?

welcome nowhere else, we understand
we have always been the people of this land
we have this one place on earth at our command

those who claim by right of conquest
must acknowledge now we've won
their own logic says they're done

if they live in peace among us they will prosper
if they live in hate they'll have to leave

spring into war

when enemies surround us
and admit they mean to pound us
it makes no sense to pray they'll go away

it might be more efficient
to find out where they're deficient
and pound them there right now without delay

so if syria still has hopes
of descending golan slopes
then i know that they are dopes
who deserve whatever pain might come their way

raid map

the snakes are slithering out of their holes
they tunnel beneath the homes and roads
they live with the worms and bugs and moles
and swallow the rats and lizards and toads

they want a place to call their own
to hiss and bite in venomous glee
they hide inside an old dry bone

i want them far away from me

the bbc lies

From bad to worse, or from worse to bad?

the bbc lies gracefully
distorting news most tastefully
providing all the views we need
once thoughtfulness has gone to seed
and anti-semites denigrate us master-racefully

but al-jazeerah fills the gap
replacing insults with a slap
reminding us "i needed that!"
well, keep it underneath your hat
that all of them are full of crap

the dragon that lives in the sea

Be careful when you walk beside still waters;
You never know what lurks within the depths.
The snake that's swimming just below the surface
Is the unimportant offspring of the dragon in the sea.

As it rises to confront us, steaming, slashing
With the spines along its back at passing clouds,
Its jaws engulf the pier, the fishermen are splashing
Through the surging waves that drown the near-by crowds.

Now the shore is littered with the screaming, bleeding victims,
Who survived their wounds sustained in that first ravaging attack;
The dragon wasn't even trying to inflict them,
But he will when soon he rushes up the beaches, coming back!

But what churns the river's edge?
Black and white, it leaps and charges,
With the tall, thick dorsal fins proclaiming:

Killer whales approach!
The sight brings hope to puny humans,
Faced with nature's retribution for our sins!

As they chase away the reptilian interloper,
The saviors of our sea-front
Stop and smile in their own way,

And they promise to come back,
When we have seals to feed them,
In gratitude for how they saved the day!

resurrection

wickedly wickedly
slithering sideways
down the slope
the ragged old rattlesnake
shedding its skin
snakes live forever
didn't you know
when they get old and slow
tired and blind
they burst out in colors renewed
and leave the old life behind

fog

The fog comes in on panther’s paws,
Splashing through the puddles as it lopes into the town,
Its hot breath hissing as it suffocates the valleys,
Sinking teeth into the silence as it wraps around the moon.

Muffling the lights and snuffling incessantly,
The ghostly panther pants as morning breezes rise,
The sun comes up, and people stir, mists vanish;
The panther’s supple shape dissolves before our eyes.

cold

an early evening
sunset's rush to put an end
to ever-shorter days

a silent moan
a scarcely whispered sigh
suffering subsides

a cheerful flash
raw color splashed across
a chilling landscape

taking a chance

Rambling, gambling, taking a chance,
I wonder if I should ask her to dance.
This honky-tonk life is getting me down;
I think that's it's time to find a new town.

So it's back on the road
and stomp on the pedal.
I love all thy neighbors
but they do tend to meddle.

At least where I'm going,
they don't know my name.
I'll show them respect,
and hope for the same.

So it's goodbye forever,
and I wish you all well.
If that's not good enough,
you can all go to hell!

deep inside

Cars let us live
anywhere in the country;
airplanes, anywhere in the world.

Vacations can take us
to places outrageous,
beyond where the old explorers had sailed.

But however far
we go in a car,
or high, on our magic wings,

we never arrive,
however we strive,
at the source of meaningful things.

You cannot take a vacation
from yourself or the life you lead;
you only can slip away for awhile,
returning to watch yourself bleed.

You never eluded your aches and pains,
or found a place to hide,
because the place you really live
is buried, deep inside.

a soft summer afternoon

Sitting on a soft summer afternoon
on the hillside overlooking Turtle Pond,
the Delacorte Theatre underneath a daylit moon,
and a brightly colored kite, waving like a magic wand.

Days when we were still together,
days before we split apart,
days when there was nothing we couldn't weather,
days before your leaving broke my heart.

I'm glad that I've forgotten all those happy days;
and we can go in peace our separate ways.

wearily wondering

Wearily wondering, suddenly single,
not too perturbed but unwilling to mingle;
someday perhaps I won't be so alone,
but until then I'll go my own way.

Don't ask me why and don't say you're sorry,
it's my life and I don't want you to worry;
I haven't done wrong for which to atone,
and I haven't got anything more now to say.

I cannot imagine a worse kind of life
than living each day in domestic strife,
to stare back and forth with faces of stone,
and the best we can say is, Havva nice day.

wherever i stand

gritty gravel scruffy sand
shifting ground wherever i stand
garbage underfoot smog all around
highway growls a mournful sound

someday soon i’ll go away
to a place i’ll want to stay,
without the noise without the dirt
without disease where pain won’t hurt

if you can find me join me there
heaven’s big enough to share

the moon itself

the moon itself glows mottled blank
and never needs our words to thank
the lights that shine so bright at night
to guide our steps from wrong to right

but honeyed hunting harvest moons
in cold novembers steaming junes
are only in our minds as tunes
singing old delusional runes

when we look up and see it gleam
its meaning is only in our dream

hurry up & wait

the wind whistling wildly around us
we thought about raising a fuss
but the lights soon arrived
and we climbed up inside
and hurried off home on the bus