Friday, December 26, 2008
the nothing we will come to be
when at last we all are free
to enjoy eternity.
Count the value of a word
nothing else is so absurd
forgotten soon as it is heard
is worth the trip
be with me
past the business season's peak,
Orthodox joined in devotion
celebrate a later week.
Then without commercial frenzy,
no distraction from The Word:
peace on Earth, mankind's salvation,
Christ is born is all that's heard.
Thursday, December 04, 2008
the saucer spins, I leap from bed,
the little green men float eerily,
I watch them waving, wearily.
It's always the same, they seem to say,
we're glad we came to Earth today;
but, don't you wonder, won't they stay?
They drift and tilt and go away.
It's always the same, they never speak:
I never hear a peep or a squeak.
Quietly staring, whatever they seek,
their alien eyes are always bleak.
It's always the same, I seem to dream,
like smoke that gleams in a fading beam,
their eyes aglow, like wisps of steam,
and time goes by like a stagnant stream.
Whistling languidly, singing goodbye,
I wish you a pleasant trip, I cry.
The little green men float eerily,
I watch them waving, wearily.
* ****** **** ******* *
saucers spinning overhead
draw me from a troubled bed
tossing turning aching dreaming
listen to the aliens screaming
see them fly above the town
get your rifle shoot them down
Monday, November 10, 2008
boogy with a lizard
but I could boogy down with you
and melt the coldest blizzard.
Country is as country does
and that's why God made honky-tonks.
They may be loud but the beer is cheap
and they're friendlier than policy wonks.
It's a new world, whatever that means.
So let's step out and cut a rug
and don't let voting bug ya,
it's time to party till the dawn,
and when we leave and say goodbye,
before I go, I'll hug ya.
Good night, Lizzie.
Wednesday, October 15, 2008
we leave an ephemeral trace;
then the wind blows our footprints away,
as if we never came to this place.
But those with whom we danced
will never forget their delight,
and when the day is ended,
will dance away the night.
Saturday, October 04, 2008
True in what I write to you
despite distractions in the night,
the fears that rise behind my eyes,
I love to read your words,
surprising me with joy of life,
confronting all the world's confounding strife
Alone in the dark
I look down on a burning planet.
Points of light that horrify a mind inclined to feel,
that now must reel to see
destruction fueled by power
better meant to build and grow
(earth at night)
But what do any of us know
when faced with this great age,
when human minds reshape the Earth
and space itself is bent to show us scenes
before our birth
beyond our death
beyond our depth.
Our refuge lies
within the eyes
of each we meet,
or stranger on the street:
as Auden cried,
We must love one another or die.
Friday, September 19, 2008
There is a distance which I cannot reach across.
Your words reach me distorted by time
and shapes and garments,
the Palestinian breeze,
have more meaning that the careening
words that crash on Galilee's shore: What did he mean by that?
Why did he choose those words?
that ring so harshly in a cooler clime,
past millennia of time,
as if they could not have changed their meaning
by the time they reach me?
On this distant shore, undreamt by those more present,
only the sense remains; assumptions washed away
by the moving time,
just the bare words remain,
and some of them misleading.
And yet that sense seems to contain
seamless robes, the glance of a dark eye,
a supple body moving down a road with
one backward glance that is made just for me:
As if you had the time and strength to turn back once each millennium
for each of the creatures that follow you, gasping –
and yet they say you do,
and I seem to see you down that road,
turning once for me, and I am not so great a fool
that I would not say "Yes," and grab for your hand once
and never let go.
There is no time or distance between us and what we love
whose every true expression is the same below among us as above
Whatever we remember of those days in Galilee is constantly repeated
which is why we still are free: select your path and choose your faith, or not
But God will still be waiting at the end
to laugh at us whatever we pretend
as if we couldn't know He always was our friend.
* ****** **** ****** *
It isn't always easy to be living in two worlds
To watch the groundhogs chewing on the grass
and doves aloft, wings flickering as they pass
We battle petty sins for the sake of truth and money
and forget the six days of the week are the same as every Sunday
To intermix the sacred and profane
to raise ourselves up instead of casting blame
You never have to drop it all to run and clasp His hand
just wave hello as He walks by each day. He'll understand.
Friday, August 22, 2008
vaguely remembering hunting long ago
racing over hillsides, splashing through the streams
running in the rain, plunging into snow
seizing prey in triumph as he hears their screams
never fighting nature, going with the flow
life no longer what it was, nothing left but dreams.
the trees below
the lake before them all
ignore the cars on roads just out of sight
and all this looks like earth before the fall
with grace the waterbirds arrive as fleets of them deploy to feed
ducks dabble as swans cruise by and geese glide beside every reed
studies the ancient life
science has found.
Nothing they find for us
still lives and breathes, because
* ****** **** ****** *
carried a slide trombone
up on his head.
I would invite him to
play on it now for you
but the poor dino is
so very dead.
close the store,
kill the lights,
lock the door.
The walls and floors all come alive
as mice and rats and roaches thrive,
hunting for a midnight snack,
knowing no one's coming back.
Running over shelf and table,
as only tiny feet are able,
sink and counter marked with tracks
as they leap from bakery racks.
In the morning, not a trace
of vermin all around the place.
If we're not here to see it;
What's precious in our eyes
Is not what makes it be it.
Is sophistry most cruel,
Of nature's Golden Rule:
We must cooperate, and compete,
Take what we need, and share;
And if we take more than we need,
When we need it, it won't be there.
And eating too much food;
America the bountiful,
from origins so rude,
Has grown to be so powerful,
Our children's toys are banks.
But we here will remember this,
As long as time remains,
Our families around us,
And all our rightful gains:
Feel sorry for the other folk,
Who think prosperity is just a joke.
Not for earth-shaking wars
Or satellites the globe around,
Our power's formed for only this:
My daughter's cheerful, loving kiss.
Stumbling in the cold and dark,
As the evening breezes freeze me,
Walking through the park at night;
I wonder how to reach the end
Of the road I walk in pain,
While the world whirls round beside me,
Like a fickle, flighty friend.
Leaning on my sole support,
Clicking slowly as we wander
Far from warmth and cheerful faces,
Cane-tip tapping, tapping on the ground.
Myriad motes descending from the sky,
Framing streetlights, an ever-changing frieze;
They chill the air, cover the ground, and I
Stand silent in the crisp cold haze, transfixed:
Adult, or child I was, emotions mixed.
Keeps us from running down folks all over town.
As the bus stops to pick up some more,
A shabby old bum stands in the door.
He smells and he yells, and he keeps us from moving.
He's got an idea that he thinks he is proving.
We sit and we listen and soon he steps down;
He mumbles and stumbles, and leaves with a frown.
It's hard to imagine he meant what he said;
He probably wanted some change, to get fed.
He put on quite a show as he stood and recited;
Though his poetry thundered, his performance was slighted.
That we will never know
About the way to end the strife and rage.
Let's give it one more try
Or else, before we die,
My guess is that our counsel wasn't sage.
Please stop the violins,
Let's hope whirled pease begins;
Easier said than done, I know.
A better way would be
To see charity and mercy
Evinced, instead of blood soaked into snow.
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
you should know by now you have no right to squawk.
would you rather fry an egg on the sidewalk in the morning?
bow down to the algore! this is just a warning!
keep on making fun of climate change and glowball warming.
see if mother gaia goes on lovingly ignoring
the devastation humans have imposed on planet earth.
destruction of the biosphere is no cause for mirth!
the day will come you'll wish you'd lived a greener life.
the end is near! our doom is clear! observe the growing strife!
Friday, July 18, 2008
the sun also falls
it rolls down in the west
that great blazing ball
and it's gone
the darkness surrounds us without a sound
all that once dazzled now under the ground
but the sun also rises as we will some day
in the fields of the lord where together we'll play
Thursday, July 10, 2008
but art can never say goodbye
the work will find another place
and inspiration once again
will reach out to us when
our minds expand to fill its space
so bring home every tube and brush
in art we trust; there is no rush
Saturday, July 05, 2008
and every tale has an end
as every life flickers out
years together gone
replaced by memories and emptiness
sara announces with regret and relief
the ascension of one more gentle soul
to eternal life
go in peace, gara
Saturday, June 14, 2008
on the sea of galilee
he sprinkled salt on what he caught
then sold them all to me
i took them to the shore and grilled them for the tourists there
we only had one loaf of bread but the tourists didn't care
oh margarita oh margarita
oh margarita i call your name
followed by "And having written ..."
And I'm back in the woods once again.
The moon is still shining too bright overhead
So they see me approaching
as i slip into the mist
and fade like memories of places they've never been
they watch the morning fog erase the path
to times that never were again
and sleep sleep sleep deepens in the quiet of a summer night
and even evening's darkness passes through us like a pain so slight
eternal rest grant us in tiny sparkling pieces
like heaven's midnight light
Friday, May 30, 2008
Hate Couture is all the homicidal RAGE,
With Keffiyahs on their heads, and weed stinking in their jaws,
It's Jihad these useful idiots help wage.
Symbol of bigotry, symbol of genocide and symbol of hatred,
Worn by peace militants and celebrities alike,
But don't point out their hypocrisy, killing Jews is sacred.
They say it's just a scarf like any other,
So chic, so modern, all the cool aid drinkers wear it.
Who do they think they're fooling, why do they even bother?
Offering more BANG for the buck than any other hate symbol could.
A symbol ounce for ounce more genocidal than a Che t-shirt,
A scarf that incites the zealots more than even a KKK hood.
Spurred on by an unholy mix of ignorance and ideology,
Liberals dancing to the beat of Islamic fascism.
And if you've seen a liberal protest, you know I'm not talking allegorically.
(Thanks to Michelle Malkin for the term "hate couture".)
what they can do for you and me
i'm sure they often wonder why
we wait so long before we die
preferring to remain in misery
but now that harvey's there to tell
the jokes they even love in hell
the angels may begin to guess
that laughter makes the pain hurt less
as even they will fall beneath his spell
Friday, May 02, 2008
where can i find art?
in my heart, a sky, a leaf,
through fresh opened eyes.
how can i find art through opened eyes
when i sleep away the daylight hours
once a defense against city cries
and dark and gloomy city towers
now in the suburbs i look for what
the concrete canyons haven't got
sunshine is always uplifting
gray skies sometimes get me down
still i don't know why i would find myself wilting
when even the rain can't make me frown
i should be enjoying the springtime sunny or not
before the deep summer really gets hot
so art is never in the trees
but only in the leaves on which we draw them
never in what he sees
but how the artist leads us toward them
tomorrow i'll go out again
and bring my notebook and my pen
Thursday, May 01, 2008
Wednesday, April 30, 2008
Even in the ancient dark of night,
they hum, or twitter, or throb,
boom and roar and growl unbidden
to sustain the civilized world,
(read: keep me warm, fed, entertained).
They mark time with my beating heart
as I go to sleep, singing a motorized lullaby
of wheels and wires, of sparks and plugs,
and comforting assurances. Overhead
“red-eye” flights cross the moon, waning
as they are absorbed into other stars.
Sad to say, in this inky April moment,
the owl who seeks his mate, the peepers
likewise searching, the wind and even rain,
are lost in
seeking the silence
I walk in the quiet woods
along the highway
window fan whirring
my refrigerator groans
I lie sleeplessly
the machines whisper
songs of noisy diligence
disturbing the peace
Sunday, April 27, 2008
scream you want to see me dead
peace is just a process, not
something we should think we've got
never happen, when a war
is what our "partners" all adore
fighting biting kicking scratching
the violence they've got is catching
Sunday, February 10, 2008
Roaring down the crevice
from the hilltop to the sea,
by way of several rivers,
my creek speeds to be free
turned into a dervish
of roiling winter rain,
it rises in an instant
over banks that can’t contain.
Thunder boomed the warning,
much too quick to heed,
scouring torrents rumbled
through rocks and soil and weeds.
Then just as fast, it quiets,
resumes its placid mask,
through brown December grass.
Ah, it was in the bleak December
that a storm came I remember
that flooded both our basement and our lawn.
The weather forecast guessed
that it might be for the best
if we headed for the hills before the dawn.
As we left the sodden town
we watched helpless chickens drown
as the neighbor's barnyard bubbled, and was gone.
Now the drought is really over
and the meadows are in clover,
but my neighbor's face is still so pale and drawn.
kiss the baby's little nose,
your love for baby really shows --
now chase him down -- there he goes!
Running around, so proud he's grown,
what's he done now? the parents moan.
That's all in the future, so they say.
Treasure your sleeping baby today.
Someone's got to get the credit!
Let the kids take all the blame.
Once you've raised them, you can't edit
what they do in search of fame.
Some day someone's sure to ask,
Weren't they a fearsome task?
Go ahead and let them know:
It was fun! Why, doesn't it show?
Monday, February 04, 2008
What cats won’t do.
Cats won’t beg woefully
to be loved. They will, though,
demand affection at a time and place
of their choosing, signalled by purring
as they crouch to attack a lap
or pillow upon which you sleep.
Cats won’t heel upon command,
nor endure a pet container.
They will chase a moving toy
until bored, batting it casually away
beyond human reach to age
in some dusty grave, along with mice
once the object of unflagging interest,
pursued with the ardor of a lover,
when dead, discarded and disdained.
must be a trove of tired toy
sand mice, decaying and graying,
that humans smell, but never find.
Cats will seemingly starve rather
than eat food that doesn’t appeal,
a new diet, or an old one
suddenly not favored. They will however,
eat a parlor palm down to the trunk.
Owners of white cats are unable to wear black
and black cats quickly show the folly of white.
Great balls of fur drift from them,
signs, no doubt, of their august presence.
All of that being said,
My reincarnation will be
as a house cat, spoiled and petted,
---when I choose.
"There are many intelligent species in the universe.
They are all owned by cats." --Anonymous
in the summer, in the dark,
in the alleys, in the park,
in my head
as I lie awake in bed.
Telling all their ancient stories
of their travels and their forays
out of Egypt in the past,
arriving in my home at last.
I will serve them without pause,
since I love them, just because.
Sunday, February 03, 2008
Lucy, Snoopy and Charlie Brown:
Life is better based on them,
Simply, softly done.
Lessons we all understand,
Picking up the shards
Of dignity, survival ,
Learned in friends’ back yards.
Hope and trust in footballs
Forever snatched away,
Believing as we lay in pain
We’ll get that ball one day.
Love (like Linus’ blanket)
Dreams (like Snoopy’s flights)
Faith (in the Great Pumpkin) ,
And individual rights.
Pigpen’s right to dust clouds,
Lucy’s nasty meaness,
And devious intents.
Schroeder’s right to genius
Though others don’t agree,
The world without grown people
Sounds pretty good to me.
Lucy, Snoopy and Charlie Brown,
Please, never disappear.
Your truths become more precious
With every passing year.
You're a good man, Charlie Brown
and I hate to get you down
but that Lucy's angry frown
is a sign she's up to trouble.
She treats you like a clown
but remember wisdom's crown:
that the sensible fish swims down,
and you'll never burst her bubble.
Ah, well, such is your renown
all around our little town,
if your sorrrow you would drown --
just give it to her double!
I love mankind;
it's people I can't stand. -- Linus
Saturday, February 02, 2008
signs of wealth somewhere:
more wives than teeth, both blessing and curse,
a rusty car, suffering now from sand that blows
night and day, scouring away the paint,
and destroying the cogs and tubes inside
rugs. on the bare earthen floors,
on walls,on couches and beds, covering the chairs,
forming warm windows where none can be
for fear of midnight or daylight attacks.opium,
by pounds and ounces waiting
for deep-pocketed men to thrust more wealth
into my luxurious life. Surely guns,
to fill with noise
the empty desert air when I can no longer stand
the women and the wind, they bark out power!
declaring all that I am not.
harshly as Kipling described
the virtues of the Afghan race
his descriptions belied
that virtue of which remains no trace
only anger and violence meeting
in the all encompassed feud
in a free translation of their ancient greeting:
we just don't like ya, dude!
In fact, it's my impression,
the more you do,
the more the depression will lessen.
So teaching, a noble profession,
will provide a lesson
not just for the students,
but also for the one who leads the session.
Saturday, January 26, 2008
For years, the trees crept in on me.
Then Mcmansions bloomed
Heat consuming, barn sized things
With way too many rooms.
And each of them laid waste the land,
Consumed the creeks and trees
Till all the hills are cold and bare
And birds and bunnies freeze.
There is a justice, though, sometimes.
Seems now they are foreclosed,
They tumble daily back to dust
For mortgages still owed.
We have them here.
They tucked a few along the slope
beside the highway.
So now the trucks spew fumes
into their yards, frustrating hope
as children play.
There is no reason to be of good cheer
when wealth brings bling to such a dope
to place his family as pollution's prey.
We drive the trees to their knees
and bushes blush to see the flowers fade
but that is mere hyperbole
compared to what they do to you and me.
Save the planet! Leave a space
for the hapless human race.
Friday, January 25, 2008
but you know it's all hype
if they weren't pleased
they'd be quick to leave
can you help me he whined
then my friend said no
but if you're inclined
we can tell you where to go
if you need a hand
it's at the end of your arm
you know you understand
work will do you no harm
i've met a few who had reason to cry
but they never contemplated lying down to die
they did what they could to make it through the day
working so hard they had no time to pray
Monday, January 21, 2008
the cold has killed off every mouse
but cold will never kill me too
buddhists know just what to do
write a haiku and declare
cold is really an illusion
absence of heat, not something there
shivering is only mental confusion
shivering in the cold night
but feeling nothing
turn the dial
rise to warm
my frozen feet
but my frozen feet don't care
cold is really 'nothing there'
Thursday, January 03, 2008
off massav fangz
az peepal skreemz
wyt tygar dreemz
av eezing hungur pangz
in narro alleez
hyd frum tha sun
tha tygar seez
tha hunt iz fun
az dayvee growz
hiz kat stayz smoll
but stil hi showz
tha fangz rat knoz
kan kill them oll
It is I, the great and glorious
Vampire Gerbil! -- at least
that's my story!
On the other side,
undead rodents take pride
in leaving pain behind.
Who needs it?
My family, my friends, my dogs --
I can't be serious!
Stacie, where are we now?
Tuesday, January 01, 2008
as anyone can see
is higher than anything you find
on anyone's tv
a play on words
is for the birds
as any twerp
can learn to chirp
but only those
who really know
can make a sound
that will astound
within the bounds
that I’ve found
a common pun
is merely fun
the rare one
that's well done
the nights are passing slowly
why i'm awake i do not know
to sleep well would be holy
damned to sit before the words
the world wide web provides
chirping like the heedless birds
beneath them all the cat still hides
off at three o'clock to walk
through empty streets and dark
only with myself to talk
not even dogs will bark.
it's damp and cool
not far to roam
where demons rule
glaring in my eyes
blinds me as I leave here
for my alien skies
nothing wrong with earthlife
that logic wouldn't cure
but mathematic certainty
they surely can't endure
without a dose of raw emotion
they'd still be fish beneath the ocean