Reset to Simple

Stone walls breached by taunting chipmunk
A Whiskey yodel is our moat today
Fugue of sugar on cider donut
Coffee hot, chimney hotter
Today is Sunday, only words to carry
Hunker down, reset to simple.

Chardonnay on Carmine

The tipsy twosome pivots for the railing
Unbottled work day on sun-starched roof
A flaky iron graveyard of wine and daisies
Cab horn choir, the jackhammer fugue
Scores the cooler gossip from fact to myth
Corkscrew dreaming over scented concrete
Lifts the dull to the unwanting sky.

Puppet Judas

Fishing around apparitions
Half-drunk on failure
I'm still rinsing blood
from the back of my shirt
A career warped by wanton anticipation
Dark wishes of a turncoat youth
Your puppet army, feckless in felt
Disgraced two masters of heart
Lost to critics, scuppered by time
My pride remains tarnished.

Eggs Are Waiting.

We crashed your tawdry, borrowed hoe-down
Drinks for free, too strong the bait
In and out, round and down
Who leads the way calls the tune
Your dress is spent, it needs a rest
The boots are loose on cufflink cowboy
Sausage taskforce stuffed with hubris
Issues out the call for partners
High heels soar with clinging hem lines
DJ rub that magic lamp
Tomorrow wastes away, spent by rhythm
Cabbies idle, eggs are waiting.

Tidy Lines

Held to his grass
by gravity and gravitas
he orders nature weekly
with repeated steady passes
of riding mower paintbrush
Master Sergeant, greatest generation
tidy lawn, tidy soul
what blueprints do his thoughts now follow
line after line, week after week
underneath his battalion cap?

Parachute Pants

Shackled to Lloyd Dobler's boombox,
My generation gargles on geeky optimism
Where Ferris never gets caught
And Jake is real in the end
Is this produced vision rotting our souls?
Or can you will a fairy tale to life?
Left wanting on 80's entitlement, beware
the Stay-Puft Marshmallow Man.

The American Right

Batteries not included
In God we trusted
But where are the damn double As?
It is my right
Inalienable, yes.
Whatever the hell that means.
I am owed
I am entitled.
Batteries not included
Pursue my happiness for me
I am tired.

Mother Muse

Darkness is the mother of all muses
the fertile void where reason lives on the run
from marauding bands of imagination and desire
Without her, the stars are the sun's little bitches
their magic squelched by fire and science
Darkness fills the ink, she is the blood of ideas
carried from page to page, soul to soul
Without her, there is no illumination.

Not Tonight

Dawdling wordsmith, beset by scotch
leather and lightbulbs awaiting his gift
'Not tonight' he sighs
My verbs have been stolen by gnomes
my adjectives auctioned by pixies
and summer gnats seeking revenge
for tacking them clumsily
to the crumbling clapboard
with primer and bar-b-que sauce.

Photo of 'Friend'

You were always there
On the other end of the phone
I could hear your smile
Feel the dollar nudge
That no one ever saw.
Noxema and whiskey
Agents of memory
The football aloft between us
remains one of many
connections still there,
still missed.

Ode to My Air Compressor

You could be compared
to a storybook dragon.
Reconditioned, perhaps
But there you sit, unabashed
Unconditionally red
Master of air, the growling
Gives way to the hiss
The thin breath of vapor
Tinted to task
You change the world
before you.

Every Day

The waterfall
hasn't
a need
for epiphanies.
It is
a waterfall
every day.

Ribald Swell

Buoys of dirty old men bob and chortle,
the regular circles here, in Lauderdale swell
Pay little heed to new cold water
Of just passed storm, routine their time
Unobstructed, unwatched nattering
Like boardwalk seagulls on a lost french fry
Salt water hair slicks, frame stories ribald,
Boastful wishes of ass to slap.
Gold chains harbored on matted chest hair,
Fading gray over forgotten bypass
Unapologetic in aging speedo, shame
Has no place except in bets unwagered
Vulgar without repent or self-awareness
Yet true to course they live sincere
God, Mom, and legal tender reign unquestioned,
their lot secure in tailored track suit
Everyone else, an unclued fool.

Hablett Park

A distant playground guards my childhood
Two iron swingsets and a jungle gym
All we needed for an empire endless
A stadium, an audience of eucalyptus
Cricket pitch and wheelie conference
Skinned knees compared over smuggled Kool-Aid
Aussies, Yanks; it didn't matter
The sun shone hard on all of us.

Scope of Love

Lovestruck sniper plies his trade
In broken perches of former glories
The final sting of distant Congress
Lethal indifference pays his wage
Two thousand feet per second
Of Death by taxes
His sweetheart waits on Skype tonight.

Stalemate

Bobby Fischer died, discarded
American Hero
Turned rabid by genius
Sixty-four squares
The only boundary
Worthy of respect.

The Box

A box is just a box
or is it five pieces
of wood, bonded
together to serve
a greater purpose?

Whispered Lure

Words can be found
Skimming a wake of grass
From tangents of bark
The whispered lure
Of knowing the unknown
In a moment
Ephemeral yet certain
Brings us a path
Inside ourselves
As we have always known.

They Know Not

Simple America, so revered so reviled
dusty denim livin' no readin' necessary
Git her done, shoot first, question never
march before God, our omnipotent quarterback
He is never wrong, how can we?
Borders secure against our cousins
Screw you, we stole it first
Book of Peace used as weapon or a lawyer
For everything but the peace it holds
Christ's pleas drowned out by Holy Touchdown
Forgive them, they know not what they do.

Hash Browns

Eggs and bacon, keepers of normal
Blessed newsprint frames the day
Coffee sidekick carburetor on idle engine
Thank you Waverly, you are a friend.

Dunk Tank

Doubling down on a jester's wager
resolve reduced to chance, a giant moon
their only witness, spectral solace
to a smitten scoundrel, his wayward art
sold for change on a Sunday stoop.
Her lips the prize, a carnival of trust
the weighted balls of his past, a curse
another rigged game, a sleight of heart
His future fidgets upon the dunk tank
Awaiting her throw, the straight and faithful.

Flip Flop Algorithm

With blanks to fill, the free spirit in flip-flops
retreats to the study, finding faith in words
A google map of the soul, decisions predicted
In easy monthly installments by keyword and cookie
they follow and sort, easy templates of life
created by preacher and programmer alike
Which comes first, the wealth or the control?
We are the watched, we are the watchers.
Put down the remote and follow the wind.

Gate B22

Hungover at Gate B22, I stare with stale cheer
stowaway starlings flit before the wheelchair
stoically, heroically parked at vacant gate
it is quiet like a discarded newspaper
grey, flat eyeline broken by flight 87
knitting slowly across the tarmac
bound for Cheyenne, Spokane or maybe Flagstaff
tray tables locked in plastic conformity
tucked into sleep by the FAA, the TSA
A thousand rolling wheels that leave no mark
Ephemeral, transient paths set in motion
By distant business or familial obligation
Life reduced to gate-checked certainty
An economy seat to the American bland.
Bartender, another please.

Galoshes

Chafing at the clock, like lost seconds
Were picked from our pockets by its hands
We huddle in the drizzle of our discontent
Instead of splashing smitten in our grace.
Dreams minted with Hope's young ink
Can only be cashed from within
Memories bend and arch to give us lift
Stolid wings of committed being
Land again in life's galoshes.

The Drifting Need

Swashbuckler of faith, a life jacket of lead
He grieved for his fate and never believed
That Will, so light to our unknown winds
Howling before it, cannot be carried
On the doldrums of safety.

On Game

The ears of a hound, bent and alert
A varmint approaches, tasty unknown
Her nose set a' twitchin', tail to the sky
Paws on gravel, she waits in game.

Morse Code Romeo

Unholster your heart, fair damsel a word
My breath please return, the deposit is spent
I'm exhausted in chase, my cape has gone limp
No more guesses or ruses, just tender the truth
Do you favor my smile?
Do you adore or abhor, my gaze
So entranced, so lost to your cause
Do you dance to my name, or
Like a stale donut am I dunked
in your mug of contempt?
Morse had a code but I'm willing to bet
Where he dotted, she dashed
Leaving him broken and tapped.

Flying Vaccuum

Lo mein the brain, sleep is missing

Medulla beaten, lube the lobes

With spicy wine or mash distilled

She dreams of vacuums, my one true love

Row of ducks, Electrolux

We’re separated by train tracks passing

Shorter, shorter; Here I come.

Caveman Heist

Borrowed art from the caveman

Nothing new is ever new

We draw on walls, repeat the legends

A whale, a penis doesn’t matter

The story told is in the telling

Minstrels to metal, it strikes a chord

We’ve known the tune since Adam’s apple

Highs and lows dress the forte

Outline life, fill in the blanks

Lost Homework

Sweep the leg, you know you cheated

No one does their homework now

You’ll plagarize or cook the books

Jam a needle, pop a pill

Work, you know, is for the oaf class

Dessert is dinner, it’s all for pie.

The War Room

Loyal pixels, I do command you

March to eyeballs form your colors

Each alone inert, unbiased

Corralled together, you rule the world

Drunk on power, your fury twinkles

Fomenting change in every portal

Nodes of nothing, you’ve no idea

The world once fought with ink & arrows

Now its red, green, blue.

Of Loins and Outrage

Jaundiced sideshow of howling daydreams
hanging, kicking from the rafters
of my skull, on fraying sash cord
faded feelings hide in dented lockers
gossip ghouls cannot be sated
rummage, raiding, resurrecting
wadded lines of impure motives
teen demands of love and ass
All we had were loins and outrage
pimples, carpools still remain.

False Redeemers

Popcorn savior, grail of plastic
Whose Messiah shall we rent today?
Your bar code faith expired Sunday
Coupons clipped for discount dogma
Past due dates on dented pastors
Hark! A sale on Grace.
Your shopping cart is pushed by Satan
Junk food souls on TV trays
Bottles bought on cash deposit
Only they find real redemption.

Lefty Lament

Busted bongo, hippie silenced
His herbal welshing days are done
Tofu mouse maze ends in failure
Eulogies by wind chime, true
Birkenstocks smell of earnest
Lefty newsprint, left on porch
Peeling purple paint a landmark
Revolution to committee vote.

The Reapers Telegram

I sent my boredom a telegram
Composed of tequila and origami
Paper godzillas level my funk
The howitzers of adult responsibility
Lay dormant and cold, out of use
Pointless tasks call the reaper
Faster, faster my days are gone
My waterfall cares nothing ever
For daily whims and human woe
It simply moves the water
From mountain pack to distant sea.

Listing Lazy

Hunkered down in rainy day showers
Listing lazy with poetry and donuts
Would Bukowski find comfort in a brolly?
Doubtful.
Dusty pawn will not open today
A gentle snooze puts me in check
Camel saddle ottoman, viking blanket
Morris chair nest, my soul at ease.

The Godfather (pt.1)

Sequined spirit washed in spotlights
The funk, it trembles in his wake
Flashing teeth above twisted cape
Driving all the beats before him
Trombones lashed to mast of rhythm
He dares your feet to hold their grasp
We knew him then, we know him now
The Godfather, his Soul to keep.

Unlit

Under the lampshade, they cultivate failure
A thousand cigarettes lost to the match
Stories unveiled, memories to renovate
A legend passed to the last leaning stool
The untended jukebox panders for quarters
A linoleum sheriff is leaking with woe
Our glasses bubble among fibs and illusions
We gently construct a shadow for taming
A lost wish, it dangles limply on kite string
Drifting, murmuring; a night to forget

The Sentinel of Pacifica.

Customers with sandy feet
Place your order at the window
Taco Bell, the wooden sentinel
Neptune's drive-in
Soft tacos served with surf
The conquest is complete.

Pincers

These are the hot dog days,
natural, less studied
whose calculated misbehavior
is a picture of true boys
crowd into the back seats
feet that make toe-dancing
sleeping porches, scrambled eggs
pork chops and pincers,
a moat, a throne
gone to the circus
and certified the clowns.

Wanderings, Paths

opportunity of witnessing
eyes of faith
miracle of belief
fantastic world, sacred
filled with singular details
shrewd humor
the mysteries, so many touching.

Pan-Seared Mortar

though simple and artless,
correct and almost uncouth,
doubtless sought to imitate
notoriety, ordinary incidents
barbarous epochs, vague rumors.

Yellow Jersey of the Self

Once,
when I thought all was pointless
i was was passed
in the street
by a singing, one-legged
bike messenger

Sometimes,
you just need
to get on and
pedal.

Row Starts Here

Her partner in nature, a dusty pigeon
She waddles from safety, her row starts now
New formed feathers touch the water
A map behind, a map ahead.

Office Siege

Dented stapler on kinky phone cord
My desk requires siege be laid
Lost receipt we'll send a search party
Scotch tape marriage must delay.

©2011

2:18

Tender folds for an airborne missive
Back of class, we dream together
No thought now of bills past due,
House extensions or boilers broken
Our hearts are fixed on 3:05
Glances furtive, we ignore taught valence
Only ours today will matter
Giggles, smirking, eyes a-rolling
Courtin' language starts with flashcards
Age can wait a day or two.

©2011

Red Centre

Red ochre, red ochre call me home

Your quiet sings my chorus true

Gum tree by a sometimes river

Sways my heart and a cockatoo.

©2011

Popsicle Zombies

Ice cream trucks are a menace

Slow and sweet the siren jingle

Brings about popsicle zombies

Brain freeze halts a generation

Mothers, sitters chained to action

Follow, follow, almost there

Rocket pops or dripping soft serve

Watch it melt your cash away

Unwashed cretin lords his fiefdom

Your servitude to wicked sno-cone

His laugh, his justice for the minute

Just another summer day.

©2011

Soles to Stone

Dreams unhinged, our way is purpose

Soles to stone, no map bequeathed

Stepping, striding supplies will dwindle

Whose journey did we buy and why?

Yours or mine it hardly matters

Eye to sky, we seek an omen

Shelter, fire we'll take what's ours

Load up, walk on let's keep moving.

©2011.

StyleSight

Ladies yodel in the aisle

Sale on slender, the call it echoes

Cellphones, purses and high heels

Try it, charge it, bring it home

Bless the booty, wrap it tight

Dab the lipstick, hand on hip

Runways rollick, seams and spite

Toss the curls, we'll buy the senses

Vodka tonics, they fill the tank

Knock on wood, he's not a scarecrow

Stroke it, sell it, the game is on.

©2011

Shadow Boxing

A borrowed light bulb fights the room

The ghosts regret their call to linger

Heavy plants with too much water

Soil the air and beg for solace

Curtains pulled, I cannot whisper

Hear me bark with no answer

Bark, bark, pause, I give no quarter

Nevermind it's all I have

Drink a dram, the drops are ceaseless

Burn the cork, it is not needed

I'll swing at shadows long departed

Sting the air, a hollow victor.

©2011

For Jill

Sometimes, the tough heart isn’t hardened

From without, but cauterized from within

A fire there burning so hot, so madly

It simply crusts over, looking hard

To the impatient eye.

Yet for those willing to stand firm

Bound to the earth by faith in what

You know must be there, the reward,

Now uncontained, is a tender stampede

Of all you wished for.

©2010

38th Street

Smoldering coffee is my gift to me
Empty cup, the more I seek
A kimono blocks my way to work
Dash it, pass it, I find a way.

©2011

Thoughtful Splendor

Verse had come to grief ashore her mind
A fable taut with doubt and thunder
Words and wishes her heart did have
But less to action the soul would turn
Perhaps, she thought, I am defective
A doll incarnate, no path is mine
The others swim while I sit by
My wings reserved to bring me home
Trust is bought on faith and credit
Cancel all the hearts to date
None but yours to mine can smile
A bond within is shared by grace
God is here, no name is needed
A breath, a touch, a thought is given
To you I bring a laugh, a question
Save my story, the end is yours
The page is turned on thoughtful splendor
Blessings tallied, we are the winners
The lead horse, Doubt, he is driven
You and I, we have the reins.

© 2011.