from this week in November, 2017 (I was 73)
A half century is a blink of an eye
same old catcher in the same old rye
shots still fired in downtown Dallas
same old hatred same old malice
Took a road less traveled and forsaken
wish it had been the one not taken
the one called Hope to a land called Promised
to lay by still waters where breezes are warmest
but we rode the bullets down the cross-haired sight
to end somewhere else than we thought we might
November 19, 2017 (I was 73)
Robert Zimmerman and Me
I was in a brick school building seven miles
from the brick school building he was in
and that was further away than Hollywood
He was closer to NYC than anywhere near me
From our common geographic start
we grew up a few years and a country apart
Somehow he knew he had something to sell
while I thought maybe I could learn how to spell
November 7, 2017 (I was 72)
Later that year he died but before that
he had designed and made a model house
of balsa frame and beams an accomplishment
a step up for a draftsman’s dream of architecture
I didn’t know he’d done it nor the hours it took
too young to have an understanding of any of it
From the backseat of the car I watched
He carried it out the door of the office in the rain
both arms under it as if he held the earth beneath
I’m sure I saw him smile coming through the wet until
I saw him slip and toss it airborne for ghastly seconds
before it shattered and splintered between us
October 18, 2017 (I was 72)
If you work hard at having a peaceful life
work through conflict with compromise
sell at a fair price and buy at the same
give away knowledge for friendship
praise skill wherever you encounter it
try to find comfort in humility
recognize the grief in others’ loss
share what you have before it spoils
make no commitments you cannot keep
fulfill promises with dedicated effort
your life will lack the drama people read about
and you’ll be granted the joys of anonymity
by other anonymous persons
From this week in October 2017 (I was 72)
A lecturing professor of sensory perception
mentioned parenthetically he experienced
a synesthetic response to the scent of eucalyptus
associating it with a meditative state of relaxation
I feel a kinship to that recognition
Today I began my walk under eucalyptus trees
broke an oily leaf to release the scent
reaffirming the mind-settling impression
further awakening other olfactory sensations
present in each breath as I strolled near other trees
mown grass musky bark and moldy ground cover
Crisp breeze pulled clouds over East Bay hills
smelling like October
9/30/17 (I was 72)
Back in the day
when I’d write late at night
I thought it would awaken insight
to the noire side its atmosphere and feeling
melancholic melodies played solo
depressive cigarettes and whiskey
to capture an uncertain mood
encountering more than doubt
maelstroms of swirling discontent
with light at a table a roof overhead
and a bed to sleep it off
It was an imagined venture
back when I knew I’d awaken young
energized by the unreality of it all
August 13, 2017 (I was 72)
Hard to have a small meal when you’re hungry
still hungry after the meal and blaming the one
who gave you a small meal when you were hungry
and both knowing they had more to give
After they were not hungry they had leftovers
which they kept for themselves while you were still hungry
Those who gave you none lost to your thoughts
while the ones who gave you some seem somehow
the ones who created your hunger
from this week in July, 2017 (I was 72)
I've been back maybe six times in 50 years
Family buildings changed hands
The one owned by my grandparents torn down
replaced with an empty lot
No relatives live there
None there likely to remember me
Totally forgotten history leaves no mystery
Petty distinctions that separated the citizens
accompanied them into extinction
Not even the prominent ghosts leave the cemetery
Five hundrded feet of snow has melted through their souls
The place I refer to as my hometown
is a mere skeleton of the one I occupied
from this week in July, 2017 (I was 72)
Bob Dylan has bad breath
used to be fresh as a new thought
now as stale as any old man in the park
Quite some time ago he wrote his mother
to say he still brushed his teeth
Now she’s gone and he may have stopped
The newspaper on the bench has an ad for dental implants
Every old item could use an extraction
stuffed with a wad of newsprint to stop the bleeding
before another toothless song mumbles out
from this week in July, 2017 (I was 72)
Do first time smokers still laugh
uncontrollably at the absurdity
the shock of recognizing
preposterous perceptions commonly held
in every philosophical aspect of life
the hypocrisies ethical lapses
need for absolutes and absolution
so suddenly revealed in shameless nakedness
Back in the day that initial burst of laughter
was first the relief of wondering
am I about to do something stupid
replaced by its opposite and wonderment
that you waited this long to try it
The laughter of creative possibilities
billowing before us in aspects of artistry
insistent upon our attention
July 18, 2017 (I was 72)
On the forested trail of a moonless night
cautiously ushered by dim flashlight
to emerge under the overwhelming dome of stars
on the open precipice of Halemaumau crater
where fuming pillars of volcanic smoke
rise a thousand feet in fiery spectral colors
and shapes to illustrate any imagined epic
Down deep in the firepit caldera
demon monkeys leap over bubbling lava
and a distant hiss is part of the silence
The spirits of many writers here in the past
still sizzle and their accounts spiral again
Though he may not have thought it
it may be Ferlinghetti’s rebirth of wonder
from this week in 2017 (I was 72)
Hollywood home of mythology
is how you answer the phone
How can I direct you is what you say next
Every moment there was a memory
I have tampered with ever since
re-lit the sets so to speak
remade the scary moments into spectacles
How can I direct you is what you say next
There is a department for everything
It is important to get everyone where they need to be
I didn’t know where I needed to be
a dilemma often encountered in a particular type of myth
and Hollywood had a home for it
From this week in May, 2017 (I was 72)
I’ve played in the realms of altered perceptions
most of the years of my life
crossing the seams of seems to escape
until I no longer need radical means
There are many internal avenues of departure
obvious and subtle and easily ignored
by our fascination with the exotic
when every room is a different library
and every scene a new environ to inhabit
In mechanical sense when the equipment differs
an altered product is produced
Minor movement changes point of view
Reaching an age where shadow monkeys shared
might raise suspicion of diminished capacities
rather than a vision of all that’s there
From this week in May, 2017 (I was 72)
Blue sky and distinct shade made it clear
the expected shadow monkeys did appear
How small they are this time of year
Look for their postures and poses
stretching between adjacent branches
They are given away by their motions
How amused we are to be so clever
recognizing their actions in silhouette
a stretch for fruit a scratch between limbs
seated for meditation
inquisitive head turns tail
from which to dangle and bounce
From this week in 2017 (I was 72)
Life ran away from me
can’t honestly say
I tried to keep up
couldn’t do what it asked
to get what I wanted
not even sure what that was
I never got a good look
I’ve been out distanced
It’s not that I did nothing
but I didn’t do something
someone would know about
The generosity of the poor
generally goes unnoticed
even by the recipient of the gift
from this week in 2017 (I was 72)
Field Guide to Birds of North America
Copyright 1966 in Racine Wisconsin
owned by Francie Austen Yoshinoga
Camden Maine 1974 Sold to me
by Kona Bay Bookstore in Hawaii 2014
and transported to Pleasanton California
It’s pages have a lot of wings
Commonly known as a Golden Press Paperback
with identifications of sky blue breast markings
a belly of variegated blues with touches of red and white
It’s back is unmarked and entirely beige
Judging its compact sturdy structure
I would not doubt the possibility of long life
with further extended flights
February 9, 2017 (I was 72)
It’ s nowing out
The freezing cold of night continues into day
wind spreads icy pellets across the ground
then the calm drift of downy flakes
as you’ve read of before but truer now
larger more dense and substantial
in their cumulative ability to alter the environ
a comprehensive whitening of everything
re-establishing the concept of total change
but in actuality a temporary cover up
for ideas preserved beneath a blank beauty
From this week in 2017 (I was 72)
Why I Don’t Have
I do not like the smell of wet dog
I have no interest in discussing breeds nor feeds
I can imagine picking up warm shit to bag it
I won’t imagine picking up wet shit in the rain
I can’t do dog talk like owners do in the park
I dislike the incessant barking of my absent neighbor’s dog
I have places to put money other than vet bills
I find the concept of leashes disheartening and necessary
I do not want a dog in the house garage or yard
I don’t want to wash food and water bowls nor it
I don’t want it at my feet in my bed or on my chair
I don’t want to watch it drool nor smell its breath
I don’t like dog names
I do not think it funny when they chase squirrels
I do not want to watch it pee on a tree
I don’t want to spay it nor attend it birthing
I am annoyed at the preponderance of doggie toys
I do not want it to pull my sled or bite a leg
I do not like dogs paraded at every civic event in town
I do not want to sit next to a dog on an airplane
I do not want a dog in a grocery or restaurant
I do not want to say Don’t worry he’s friendly
I think more people have died trying to rescue dogs
than have been rescued by dogs
from this week in 2017 (I was 71)
They went to war by choice
to vent and give voice to rant
from pent violence
They learned to kill
as a matter of will
Here’s your boots and how
your weapon shoots
You go to the desert
you dress like dirt
They take what they need to succeed
cover their bros’ backs even
when they seldom relax
deployed rather than employed
never entreated utilized til depleted
Things blew up to techno bits
In their minds fuses were lit
They took what they needed to survive
skills of the will and pills for the pains
Whatever they took they took home
re: May 30, 1951 (I was 6)
written November 7, 2017 (I was 72)
Later that year he died but before that
he had designed and made a model house
of balsa frame and beams an accomplishment
a step up for a draftsman’s dream of architecture
I didn’t know he’d done it nor the hours it took
too young to have an understanding of any of it
From the backseat of the car I watched
He carried it out the door of the office in the rain
both arms under it as if he held the earth beneath
I’m sure I saw him smile coming through the wet until
I saw him slip and toss it airborne for ghastly seconds
before it shattered and splintered between us
