I don’t write in a journal everyday, but I have accumulated many entries over the past 50+ years beginning in 1966. Some items evolved into longer works. Among the leftovers little pieces survived. I thought a collection of these with a piece culled from the same date in a past year would make an interesting yearbook. The consistencies and inconsistencies of mind, skipping back and forth across time, provide varied perspectives. It is difficult to remember the context of the past we’ve lived; we also make suppositions about times that predate ourselves.

The few alterations from original drafts were to improve clarity. The worst of my work is not included. There remains enough mediocrity and immaturity to make me feel humble and you feel smart. There are also moments of accidental insight and incidental humor.

Author Stephen Crane referred to his little pieces as pills…apparently they were small and somewhat hard to swallow, but good for you.


Comments Welcome!

Saturday, December 31, 2016

Spread Sheet


from this week in 2015  (I was 71)

                  Spread Sheet
The accountant sets the figures in rows and columns
The arrangement of these ranks and files
placed in particular order length and depth
determines the type and name of that chart
Within the sets of figures is a story to be understood
swift smooth forward movements of addition
Leaps of multiplication make future projections
Offsets are deficits backtracking subtractions
that tell a different tale tone and direction
revelations on the other side of the point
The accountant knows the fractions are where lives are lived
In the minutiae of the daily entry
that very human attempt to measure profit and loss
adds to the graph of the big picture
once confined to a cabinet now stored in a cloud

Friday, December 30, 2016

I think I’m getting another creeping case of existentialism


December 30, 1971  (I was 27)

I think I’m getting another creeping case of existentialism
right in the middle of my romantic transcendental period (or is it over) .
I don’t feel naturalistic because at the moment the environment seems
as impotent as myself.  I’ve just got the cosmic creep (sometimes
known as the cosmic cry of ecstasy).  If anything figures, it’s that all
must be one.  I guess that one, in the whole, could be as disintegrated
as it is in it’s parts.  All this, in that case, is some kind of come together
wet dream in the seventh day’s night, and tomorrow, baby, come the
Hard Eight.

Thursday, December 29, 2016

When what you’ve made has said goodbye


December 29, 2015  (I was 71)

When what you’ve made has said goodbye
be not assured that it is gone
It often returns unfinished it claims
with accusations you could have done more
and expectations that you will
When something you’ve made is actually gone
it rarely says goodbye leaving you
with the finishing touches still in hand

Wednesday, December 28, 2016

I don’t belong


from this week of December, 2008  (I was 64)

I don’t belong
on the electronic page
my bio don’t log
I don’t text
tweet blackberry
seeds stick in my teeth
require too much
attention
maintenance
I have clumsy thumb pads
digits not at all
digital
don’t engage e-page don’t
rage rave rag on nor riot
don’t even try it
I have not joined well
not well joined at all
it is hard to stomach
my dismal small talk
my pepto-dismal small talk
If at first you don’t ____
Become anonymous
Been most successful as
Anonymous
Juanannonymous
One suspects one
has dropped somewhat out
doesn’t belong
won’t belong

Tuesday, December 27, 2016

a convergin


from this week of December, 2008  (I was 64)

         a convergin
it was just a coupla nights ago
the rhythmic pluck of an ol banjo
comin outta the raydeeo
matched the scratch on the distant track
motion and notion ‘prochin nickedynack
banjo sang train sang and I sang back

Monday, December 26, 2016

The devalued photo


December 26, 2008  (I was 62)

The devalued photo
on the two inch screen
taken two seconds ago
shows a tropical butterfly
in a tropical forest exhibit
at the aquarium
The photo snapper
looks at the photo
a foot in front of their eyes
their finger still on the trigger
ready for another shot
while the butterfly
still jiggles like a puppet
in the leaves of the mangrove

Our photographs used to fit
in a single oversized family album
with an extravagant cover
deteriorating from useful love
across three generations
looked at studied
again and again
They were history
now we have blips on a chip
They never leave the camera
just a confirmation
that what we actually saw
is virtually still there
more proliferate images
than moments left in our lives

Sunday, December 25, 2016

I’ve ignored daily evidence


December 25, 1976  (I was 32)

I’ve ignored daily evidence
disregarded the point of each lesson
So now it is I’ve flunked visceral learning
I have not had the compassion
to massage my own neck
It ‘s not that I lacked the feeling
but settled for powder in the stomach
when I could have conjured organic bicarbonates
bubbles in the brain
Dilated pupils should not be overexposed to sunlight
elementary enough
but not more primary than good posture
nor more essential than breathing good air
It is a corruption of the knowledgeable
to believe occasional indiscretions will be overlooked
in the face of their general wisdom

Saturday, December 24, 2016

I would like to see something Joseph made of wood


December 24, 2012  (I was 68)

I would like to see something Joseph made of wood
something of substance to make him real as Mary
to see what part of brightness was he
the reflective part of the man
in the carpentry removed from divine notions
the working of utilitarian artistry
something manipulated by his tools
service consecrated to a patron devotee
or in a bartered rendering of equal value

Friday, December 23, 2016

Carl Sagan could interpret stellar photographs


from this week of December, 2013  (I was 69)

Carl Sagan could interpret stellar photographs
By the color of celestial objects
he could determine or at least speculate
upon their chemical composition
understand by their quivering
whether anything was orbiting them
how many million light years away they were
or even if they were mere ghost emanations
whose dead light was reaching us eons after
it had actually expired  I suspect
he totally admired the paintings of Jackson Pollock

Thursday, December 22, 2016

I had a job and finished it


December 22, 2012  (I was 68)

I had a job and finished it
seemed like it was taking forever
but forever isn’t really that long
I was sure I did it quite well
Now I’m sure others would disagree
but it’s over and I know it doesn’t matter
same as the stuff other folks did
To ascribe significance is a universal ignorance
ignoring what is obvious in any perception
To be sober is to be drunk
health but an illness of mind
talent a particular form of clumsiness
the humor of sorrow serious laughter
the peace of violence a silent explosion
Someone’s labor gets the ink off the paper
and back into the pen and the meaning
of that is inescapable

Wednesday, December 21, 2016

I remember when Disneyland was fun


December 21, 2012  (I was 68)

I remember when Disneyland was fun
a time when you would notice everyone
who was there and what did they wear
and where did they want to go first
I sat on a bench on a porch on Main Street
as if I were a resident of the town
Neighbors strolled by whom I would greet
with a nod or a smile and they would slow down
to respond before traveling to another land
And I was there again yesterday I think
along with everyone and their kitchen sink
The population explosion happened right there
much more crowded than ever in Times Square
To keep people moving took a squad of Marines
No Little Mermaids just Tiny Tot sardines
squeezed from no place to no place to go
Out the gate it finally felt great to forget
you had been taken

Tuesday, December 20, 2016

Heroes write in second person


December 20, 2010  (I was 65)

Heroes write in second person
so you can imagine you are they
and they can imagine they are humble

It also allows a little fudge on the truth
If there’s a bit of hyperbole here
and some ameliorating there

it was you who thought it
and you going through this who did it
I wrote it exactly as you said

it’s up to you to decide
whether it’s undeclared biography
or personification of the fictive truth

Monday, December 19, 2016

unsound expectation


from this week in 2005

         unsound expectation
I had expected the sounds from all below
to settle into the comfortable hum
within the sonic universality of aum
I’ve been accustomed to this perception
in the heightened awareness stimulated
by focused intent on the physical climb
But yesterday there was an unfamiliar whine
above the drone and apart from it
It was less plaintive than the squeals
of freeway semis more shrill than train wheels
fighting against the curving rails
a sound distinct from historic wails
of horror beyond humanity
that humanity so often creates
I know this subtlety relates
as all sounds from the common source
I just did not expect it in this state
I underestimated us of course

Sunday, December 18, 2016

The text in my mind this morning


December 18,2003  (I was 69)

The text in my mind this morning
was full of the assonance of O
I try to remember the words now
once occasion oppression overbearing
I don’t know now
but it had to do with us recognizing
the hour of America was over
We’ve immolated our witches
owned our slaves
bombed the biggest bombs
bombed cities bombed jungles
bombed deserts bombed mountains
of bombs drones of bombs
The world does not trust us
because we are not trustworthy
Our biggest citizens are corporations
Our little citizens are obsolete
Our biggest business is fighting fear
We make sure there is enough
to keep the economy going

Saturday, December 17, 2016

The man on PBS did a documentary


from this week of December, 2013  (I was 69)

The man on PBS did a documentary
to record the habits of happy people
and he determined through numerous interviews
the happiest people surround themselves
with family and friends a community of others
but he does not take account of those
who may have been very happy not
taking part in his little movie

Friday, December 16, 2016

A Throw


December 16, 1975  (I was 30)

         A Throw
Perceiving the impending fall,
the equestrian rises out of the saddle
clearing the mount, and extends
body lines along the lines of force.

Upon impact, the faller
absorbs the energy
rolling a line as long as possible
converting vertical motion to horizontal.

Whereupon assessing bodily damage
and usually finding none permanent,
the pedestrian retrieves his mount
and ignores tomorrow’s papers.

Thursday, December 15, 2016

Pilgrim Age


December 15, 2003  (I was 59)

         Pilgrim Age
This is a journey of some experience,
travelers who have packed some bags…
have dangled from hot high voltage wires
separated the Constitution from political desires
who at times have lived from hand to mouth
nursed their way from the deepest South
ran the field and have lain on the table
hung onto the shaken until they were stable
Travelers of fine craft and detailed décor
all haunted by journeys traveled before.
They know when to walk and when to run
travelers rewriting what they’ve already done.

Wednesday, December 14, 2016

Love the noun is an abstraction that


from this week of December, 2011  (I was 67)

Love the noun is an abstraction that
can only be indicated by love the verb.
Love, the verb, is better indicated in the less
overt, and sometimes superficial, typical
physical action (hug, kiss, hand over
heart).  More subtle indicators can be
emblematic or, more heavy handed,
symbolic.  It is not the enduring aspects
of love that are difficult to invoke;
it’s the fleeting, ephemeral, unstable
quality, even when it feels eternal.
To relate that is as elusive
as discovering the real thing. 
It should never be quite what you think it is.

Tuesday, December 13, 2016

This Fishing


from this week of December, 1979  (I was 35)

         This Fishing
I don’t fish
but I’d bet there are many fishermen
who’ve gone out for the day
with no intention of catching a thing
The idea is to throw the line in the water
recover and cast it out again

There are some people you must keep
from this kind of fishing
These people are serious fishermen
who have the true objective of catching fish in mind
They cannot appreciate ulterior motives
They do not understand a hook without bait

This fishing is done most effectively in solitaire
It is best to imitate the stillness of the water
and best to fish only upon still water
The target of the cast is the center ring
of the ripple it creates 
The act is the act  Reflection is distortion

Monday, December 12, 2016

Steam Heat


December 12, 1976  (I was 32)

         Steam Heat
First time I was stoned
it was on steam heat
Mad dog winter bite your ass off outside
me lying on the carpet
five year old face up against the register
hearing only the blower roaring
eyes closed against a desert wind.

Sunday, December 11, 2016

After the night rain


December 11, 2015  (I was 71)

After the night rain
pine needles on the park walk
Chinese characters

rain arranges needles
pines dropped on the walk
inscrutable characters

on pine stained walk
indecipherable
Asian script left unread

Saturday, December 10, 2016

The night Jesus played the music


December 10, 1999  (I was 55)

The night Jesus played the music
the fire continued burning
the low flames dancing over the embers
untended as if replenished
by harmonic sound wafting over them
The subtle rhythmic crackle kept the time
and the melody danced from sparks to desert stars
The strummed notes fell easily from his fingers
as his words that day had left his lips
patterned in such obvious nature
to lead us to believe we had always known them
like lyrics to a song we thought forgotten
first sung to us while we rested in our mother’s arms
and looked up through those stars
into the quiet comfort of the dark

Friday, December 9, 2016

Revenge is impotent following genuine tragedy


December 9, 2006  (I was 62)

Revenge is impotent following genuine tragedy
Moral devastation affects perpetrator and victim
The degradation debases all
Humanity is absent
Aggrandized thoughts of what we were vanish
like smoke constricted in the reality of cold air
Truth dissipates in the perfect distribution of chaos
Narrow focus explodes to widest angle
planets lost in galaxies lost as well
Mere justice and retribution seem
a preoccupation of  an insignificant number
in the population of one minor specie

Thursday, December 8, 2016

That man talking over his shoulder


from this week of December, 1979  (I was 35)

     That man talking over his shoulder
Do you feel the edge of the world?
Ever feel like you’ve crawled to the brink
fingers acute on the precipice
like you didn’t really choose to be there
moved along by the whack on your ass
the big broom and the sweep of time?

There you were crawling across the floor
moving from one bit of this to another
when you and the neighborhood
together were swept to the edge
Somewhere inside them
everybody knew about the big broom

Even your muscles knew
knew sooner or later hoping later
Then you were there
not expecting so many friends with you
and others calling back from over the edge
and you now with this new moment

Gonna let the next one catch you in the ass?

Wednesday, December 7, 2016

In Huck Finn like on the internet


December 7, 2013  (I was 69)

In Huck Finn like on the internet 
nobody tells the truth to another
Some because they don’t know it
Some because they fear it
And never does it seem to occur to one
to be the sensible dodge
upon first meeting a probable devil
or one of his improbable imps

Tuesday, December 6, 2016

I know people are afraid to speak


from this week in 2010  (I was 66)

I know people are afraid to speak
about the unspeakable and unmentionable
knowing it will put them on a list
that will impede or even restrict travel
To question makes them sympathizers
to associate makes them guilty
vulnerable to detachment
and government claims that they are one of them
or at least complicit dupes
Even to research or inquire rouses suspicion
It’s McCarthyism without a name
Categories of lists intersect electronically
I know people who won’t vote
afraid to mention suspected impropriety
places them on another list waiting to be counted
The government is only Little Brother
Secret Agencies Corporate Entities
International Banking Privatized Armies
Mythical Job Markets employing from lists
buy educated employees with pennies and threats
A class kept in poverty as a buffer
from the starving class they will be required to eradicate
While those whose job it is to deflect taxes
Wiki-leak their open admiration
for the Smartest Men In The Enron Room
whose only mistake was getting on a list

Monday, December 5, 2016

It is repetition that makes us believe


from this week in 2015  (I was 71)

It is repetition that makes us believe
the lord has something up his sleeve
Nothing like a natural scare
to prompt us into fervent prayer
Nice to have a verse in mind
when we find us in a bind
Recalling something plenary
from our childish memory
gives us the hopeless hope
we’ve not yet been given quite enough rope

Sunday, December 4, 2016

it is difficult to be stupid everyday


December 4, 2013  (I was 69)

it is difficult to be stupid everyday
I seem to forget how nearly every night
Just before I fall asleep I feel smartness creep in
I wake up clear-headed and practical
at times even ambitious and tolerant
perfectly willing to pass others with a smile
wishing them good morning as if it were mine to bestow
Soon I get to thinking change is possible
and encounter the complexity of inertia
a recollection of mindlessness at first
a low drone the scent of futility remembered
from history books and faded newspaper
the re-acquaintance with the shadow of doubt
who leans closer to whisper in the afternoon
to suggest it’s time to prepare a dinner of fatted sloth
and the recipe falls to mind step by step
beginning with a slow heat to render the fat
before stewing the meat in the amalgam of ingredients
that simmer into a singular tastelessness
I eat my fill directly from the pot in front of the TV
watching I think some game show where luck
decides whether someone wins or loses today

Saturday, December 3, 2016

idealistic advice


December 3, 1979  (I was 35)

         idealistic advice
In civil protest sit in silence
weep at the outrage of your indignity
weep at the violence done to your person
do not resist force
disperse when displaced
or proceed to prison calmly
If you are assured of a hearing voice
speak your cause clearly
If you are not heard
save your own life
get out of prison
and live where you can
as long as you can

Friday, December 2, 2016

the unfit


from this week in 2012  (I was 68)

       the unfit                 
They’d like to fit in
not be misfits or bad fits
but sure fits
wearing the shoe that fits
making no one fit to be tied
moving smooth with no fits and starts
If not physically fit nor a perfect fit
at least a comfortable fit
Fatigued from the effort
they fitfully sleep

Thursday, December 1, 2016

Not much into minor mammals


December 1, 2006  (I was 62)

Not much into minor mammals
I’ve little to say of reptiles
less of amphibians
naught of fish except as food preference
minute metaphors of insects maybe
a bit more of those that fly
And for extended thought birds only
captured by their fancy flights
in spite of their wretched appetites

Wednesday, November 30, 2016

Though I am a citizen and I live here


November 30, 2010  (I was 66)

Though I am a citizen and I live here
this is not my country
No matter that I always vote
and campaign for those who speak my voice
Our arrogant governance in the world
humiliates me
the autocratic savior complex
I am told and I know
what we do maintains the lifestyle I enjoy
But there are many lifestyles I can love
and the enjoyment of what I have
is relative to how many others have it too
and what we did to get it
So this is not my country yet

Tuesday, November 29, 2016

I’m not sure but I think there was a time


from November, 2013  (I was 68)

I’m not sure but I think there was a time
I should have downshifted and turned a corner
or maybe sped up in high to get somewhere fast
I could have sought advice or read some directions
I’m not even sure I didn’t do those things

There was a time the totality of life seemed easy
and only the insignificant particulars were difficult
The totality was in the hands and minds of others
adults who understood the situation I only perceived
a perception self-centered and foolish I knew

There was a time I could not give what I did not have
It was never correct to do that but it was a tradition
to tell the young to take care of the penny
and the dollars would take care of themselves
So now there’s a tarnished cent among the dirty dollars

I’ve never been anything if not presumptuous
thinking sooner or later to be of some worth
therefore worthy of tolerance until then
Now that I’ve not altered gear nor direction
everyday is too familiar to be somewhere else