JUST LOOK UP !

Poetry Potluck

One Shot Wednesday

Somewhere there's a girl for me

MAYBE hanging out in a TREE

one day I'll just look up

and THERE she'll be...

And she will not be Miss America,

though she may be dedicated to world peace--

and she doesn't care for fancy cars,

or closing down the bars,

and she will have no scars,

though there may be a small tattoo

that isn't readily visible...

And she will not be Miss America,

though she may have a bikini wax--

and she will be outrageous,

but not contagious,

and she will dig Steely Dan

and love me for who I am...

And she will not be Miss America,

though she may have some type of marginal talent--

like tying a cherry stem into a knot with her tongue,

or spitting her gum farther than anyone.

And she will be hip and sassy

but not too classy

and her eyes will be a trap door you fall into

coming face to face with the Mad Hatter.

And she will say things like: "Did you ever find a penny

that came out of your dog's butt?"

(Hold onto that--it's a lucky one!)

And she will not be Miss America,

though she may be at her best being under dressed--

and she will be all natural up front

for even a little sag is better than the drag

of learning "first hand" that her statistics are inflated.

And she will eat finger food with a fork,

and fork food with her fingers,

how the scent of her lingers...

And she will not whack off

all of her hair on a whim,

thinking that she will look like Halle Berry--

when in truth, like most,

she would more closely resemble Mister Spock--

what a shock!

Oh, the girl for me is somewhere

maybe lost at sea...

how will she ever find me?

She's looking for a poet,

but doesn't know it--

a man with a kind heart,

kind of an old fart,

looking for a new start...

And she will not be Miss America,

but she will pray and she will weep for America--

now I lay me down to sleep in America,

where beauty's only skin deep in America,

and magazine smiles can't conceal

the bewilderment that we feel

at having tossed off one King George

only to be saddled with another--

then lo and behold...we got ourselves a BROTHER!

And the girl for me will see through all the lies, and alibis

for she will be wise, but won't show it,

and she will be beautiful, but won't know it,

and she's out there somewhere looking for a poet

who thinks he may have already blown it--for good.

Oh, the girl for me is somewhere....

maybe hanging out in a tree--

one day I'll just look up

and there she'll be...

Yeah, I think THAT will be the girl for me.

Poetry Potluck

Timoteo--age 6

In this season

So tender and mild

May you once again

See the world

Through the eyes

Of a child

One Shot Wednesday

DESTINATION MOON

Author note: WATER FOUND ON MOON (recent headline)

Previously, ice (probably massive amounts of it) was detected at the moon's poles.

One Shot Wednesday

When I was seven I sent in a coupon from the back page of a magazine.

It said SIGN UP NOW TO BE ABOARD THE FIRST ROCKET TO THE MOON.

They left without me in "69--an oversight for which I've forgiven them.

Now, they tell me there's ICE on the moon...

do you know what that means?

We'll establish colonies, shop in underground malls,

figure skate in the sea of tranquility.

Oh, can we go ma, huh mama, can we go?

When I was sixteen I was convinced I would solve the mystery

of the universe, as I cussed and manhandled the pinball machine

in the pool hall that was more home to me than home.

A brilliant lad was I,

the apple of my very own eye,

as I watched it winking back at me from the mirror.

Now, I behold that celestial sphere

and perceive the image of...what?

There's ice on the moon--

we must determine what this means for children of the ghetto

and poets who expire too soon.

We are the only species on a quest for meaning...

and when we find none we proclaim this lack of meaning

must be indicative of something!

I'm searching for my identity--

did you see it pass by?

I had it once upon a time--

butcher, baker, candlestick maker...

and I wonder why we're all so quick to identify

with something other than our common humanity.

And it must be a trick of the eye that from a vantage point on the moon

we can discern no countries...

yet here, even in Death Valley, we can see them all quite clearly.

And as we walk through the valley of the shadow of death

we will be like Evil Kneivel--

rocket jockeys shooting the gorge to glory!

And as the earth rises--an imposing blue pelota swimming in space--

will you sip from your can of Mountain Dew

and say, "Been there...done that?"

When I was twenty-three I saw my soul stripped naked

as the world of matter disintegrated around me

and I knew I was onto something...

but something still eludes me.

There's ice on the moon...

can we go ma, huh mama, can we go?

When the wild animals are gone can we go?

When the cities are ablaze can we go?

When the television watches YOU can we go?

And I wonder how life will be--

Sea of Tranquility or Ocean of Storms...

Lake of Dreams or Marsh of Decay?

There's ice on the moon

blood in the streets

tears in my eyes

salt in my tears...

a remnant of our life in the sea.

And where have our instincts gone?

We, the dinosaurs of devolution

sinking slowly back into the slime

and all the time asking "why?"

And what do you suppose predisposes us

to give or not give a damn?

There is a memory hidden deep in my mind...

an image of that first amphibian that washed onto dry land

and took its first halting stride--one small step for creature--

a giant leap for creature kind.

I was there when it gazed up at that incandescent orb

and wept at the wonder of the thing.

There's blood on the moon

ice in our veins

pain in our hearts--

and somewhere in the night the voice of Marvin Gaye still echoes:

What's Goin' On? What's Goin' On?

And the earth is asking one question:

Do we love her enough...to leave her?

And I think of how we demonized the Russians for decades, for their ideology.

The "Evil Empire."

Now we may cheer for them at skating competitions--

their ideology has spun closer to ours.

When we define evil as that with which we are in conflict

then how shall we speak of the conflict within ourselves?

A cat knows how to be a cat.

We must LEARN how to be human.

And it COULD be a trick of the eye

that we see a man in the moon...

or is it just that we recognize our own reflection...in everything?

ROMANCE IN ALL ITS GLORY

Poetry Potluck

HE SAID...

In retrospect, my life has been

a blue blur of contradiction

a rolling juggernaut of misjudgment

charging headlong through the rain

and pissing into the wind...

A constellation of calamity

chasing dust devil dreams

down a star speckled highway

in a last-ditch attempt

to catch the champagne

night flight to nirvana...

SHE SAID...

Well, HELL then...here's my phone number!

AZTEC DREAM

One Shot Wednesday

In an Aztec dream

we rode on a jungle wave,

did a double whammy

on a conga drum,

boomeranged to the boogie beat

of a hot marimba band

on a one night stand--

me and you

in the skunk funk

and the swamp goo.

In an Aztec dream

we climbed the Pyramid of the Moon,

you in your white negligee,

me with just a baseball cap

and my dangling

p

a

r

t

i

c

i

p

l

e

Ever the martyr,

you were offering yourself

to save the world

from massive drought

with that familiar pout.

In an Aztec dream

the wind was quiet

as the moon...

blue shadows fell

across your smile

as we ascended to the top

where the high priest waited--

his black eyes intent

upon some distant massacre.

(He was a postal worker

who only moonlighted as a high priest,

making his own supreme sacrifice

by working on Columbus day.)

In an Aztec dream

he took one look at you and said:

Sorry...we're only sacrificing VIRGINS today!

You caught me sniggering,

then slugged me in the gut,

and stormed down

those ancient steps

in that way

that you always do.

WALK IN THE PARK (for dog lovers everywhere!)

Poetry Potluck

Oh, we're walking in the park

cuz I promised not to bark

hi ho the merrio

we're walking in the park

Now she let go of the leash

so I can be released

hi ho the merrio

she let go of the leash

Oh we're having so much fun

cuz I just love to run

hi ho the merrio

we're having so much fun

Now I'm squatting in the grass

and it's tickling my ass

hi ho the merrio

I'm squatting in the grass

Now I'm pooping on the leash

and it's such a sweet release

hi ho the merrio

I'm pooping on the leash

Now she's coming from behind

and she don't know what she'll find

hi ho the merrio

she's coming from behind

Oh don't grab the leash right there

or you will get a scare

hi ho the merrio

don't grab the leash...right...THERE!

ONCE GOLDEN

One Shot Wednesday

Poor little phone book

lying unclaimed in the road

tossed from a moving truck

in the general direction of that mailbox

someone was supposed to pick you up

but they said it's just more clutter

and closed the shutter

You were assembled with care

and you had a PURPOSE

in the beginning...

didn't we all

Now

what's left to behold

but the remnants of a wasted life

a tree

needlessly sacrificed

Your pages

once golden

now covered with dust

prematurely yellowed

with age

subjected to the elements

and whipping in the wind

those of us with similar tire tracks

across our backs

can identify

Lying spread-eagled

like a fallen woman

displaying

(ironically)

the section

for escort services

most of us

wanton as we may be

would not prefer to advertise

in such a blatant manner

And I guess it's one thing

to be yellow

from the outset

(or should that be offset?)

but the insult to injury

must surely be

that my dog

has peed on you

numerous times

All of us created with

the best of intentions

and sometimes

the worst of fates

SAY THE WORDS

For One Shot Wednesday

All life is suffering...

the Buddhists say.

Now THERE'S a rosy forecast for ya.

Imagine your TV weatherman saying:

Partly cloudy tonight with a 10% chance of showers--

and the extended outlook:

MISERY THROUGHOUT ETERNITY!

All life is suffering...

And you say to yourself well surely that can't be--

and you try to think back to a time when you were truly happy,

lips fastened to your mother's breast,

until one day, quite by chance, you discover that dad

has been granted the same privileges.

And that is your first taste...

of betrayal.

Time passes...

And it's like a slap in the face the first time you realize

you're not the be all and end all of anybody's universe--

and that girl, that wonderful girl you think about every waking moment

of your day--wondering whether she's thinking of you--

while all the time she's ecstatic because she's planning

a two week trip to Mexico with some of her friends,

that she intends to tell you about the day before she leaves...

and you KNOW that someday she will give you an emotional kick

in the cojones--and you KNOW that it's coming,

and still you stand there with that stupid grin on your face.

All life is suffering...

And you find yourself a woman--a beautiful woman-

and she takes you to her bed and says:

Touch me here,

and ooh, touch me here,

and oh baby, touch me HERE!

And you are beaming in the afterglow

and you say, OH, please SHOW me who you are...

and she says: Don't touch me...THERE.

Time passes...

You trust no one, you believe in nothing,

and life becomes a nasty cycle of dump or be dumped--

and you begin to wonder just when it was that you became numb--

and still you have the unmitigated BALLS

to hope for a happy ending!

All life is suffering...

And soon you've forgotten why you get up in the morning--

you do it by rote, as if you'd be letting the world down if you weren't one

of the masses of asses sitting at the stoplight

trying to find something worthwhile on the radio--

a favorite song---anything to medicate the pain...

Medicate, masturbate, hibernate...

And you get up in the morning and go into work day after day

like a good dog, where the boss treats you like another piece of the furniture

and he almost sits on you and crushes you with his fat ass.

All life is suffering...

And you're convinced that the best thing to be in life

is a masochist--but that doesn't work either because

masochists must surely suffer when they're not in pain.

And if all life is suffering then the question is:

How then must we live?

How then must we live?

And until we find the answer,

this thing that we do--

this spilling of one's guts onto the page,

this POETRY,

becomes your only salvation...

and mine.

For I can take the pain--

work it, shape it, and transform it into a gift

that you will willingly accept

because you know that it's been there all along

like the refrain from a song

that you've heard a thousand times before

but somehow

it's different now...

and all I need to do is say the words.

FLASH FICTION (Tasty morsels of profundity!)

Women's Intuition

She said: "Who's that man with the whore?"

He said: "That's no whore...that's my wife!"

She said: "Then, who's that man with your wife?"

He said: "Why... that little whore!"

2010 ALL SOULS PROCESSION--TUCSON, AZ

The 21st annual All Souls Procession was held in Tucson on Sunday evening, November 7th. Inspired by Mexico's Dia De Los Muertos holiday, All Souls is a bit of Mardi Gras, New Orleans style jazz funeral, and Burning Man celebration rolled into one. It's a time of remembrance for departed loved ones, and a simultaneous celebration of life.

(I'm still learning the fine points of resizing my videos to meet Blogger's requirements, so double click on the the videos below for easier viewing.)

At the spectacular finale, members of the Tucson based troupe Flam Chen are lifted high into the air by a giant crane, performing their amazing aerobatics and derring-do without a net. Just below them, a giant urn filled with the names of departed loved ones is set afire. (The young woman twisting and twirling at the end of the silk in this video is a friend of mine!)


Bonus footage!

FLASH FICTION (tasty morsels of profundity)

The Ninety-Nine Cent Store was

doing a brisk business... until the

Ninety-Eight Cent Store moved

in across the street. The owner

hung his head and wept. "Why

didn't WE think of that?" he sobbed.

LIFE IN THE CITY

The last eligible Big Shot

quaffs his drink

and strolls from the piano bar

into the incandescent night.

Large folks

who are livin' large

linger at the all-you-can-eat buffet.

A brash lightweight boxer

jitterbugs with his girlfriend

who resembles Olive Oyl

and feels he is in a Popeye cartoon.

The last of the early evening joggers puffs by,

making sedentary bystanders feel like slackers.

She takes a break at the park

where young boys are laughing

and urinating in front of her.

She has lingering questions

about the human gene pool.

Not far away, burning the midnight oil in his office,

the devoted clerk dutifully cooks the books for the boss.

In a modest house in a middle-class neighborhood,

mom cooks macaroni and cheese again tonight,

cutting corners, though the family's income

is close to the median figure for the area.

 Next house over,

upstairs in her bed,

Janie dreams of her teenage lover

and draws pentagrams in her school notebook,

ignoring the history assignment for tomorrow.

The big shot, ensconced in his cozy pad,

calls his almost-ready-to-leave-him girlfriend

and makes an offer she cant refuse.

Tickets to an off-Broadway show

and a spacious hotel suite.

Though his hopes of buying her love for a lifetime are illusory, 

he is thick-skinned, and will play his hand.

Outside a convenience store

two clerks on break trade jokes.

Cigarette smoke hangs in the air

like an unanswered question.

They speculate about global warming and toxic sludge.

A customer approaches, intent on drawing himself a Slurpee.

Movie goers spill from the lobbies,

the soles of their shoes gummy with unknown substances,

the boxer and his beanpole among them.

Embellishing his record, he regales her

with tales of pugilistic prowess.

In a huge tent at the edge of town,

a "Man of God" spits stormy, incendiary words,

dogmatizing the meaning of life--

working his congregation into a frenzy

custom designed for those who would consign their minds.

Then, the laying on of hands,

with special attention awarded to teenage girls.

A gentle breeze passes

and the night settles 

into a respectful silence.

Alone in her apartment,

the jogger snacks on a rice cake.

Her biological clock is ticking,

and she feels 

that she is running

out of time.

The large folks who are livin' large

have torn themselves away

from the all-you-can-eat buffet,

driving away

in their Hummers and SUVs--

muttering about the price of gas.

The city encroaches daily

on all that grandpa held dear.

And somewhere in a ravine,

the last wolverine

dismembers the unsuspecting

plumbers helper,

while the man in the moon

looks down...

and smiles.

A SHORT POEM ABOUT THE SHORT LIFE OF AN OLD HIGH SCHOOL BUDDY NAMED "CASSO."

He met his maker

in a Studebaker

that crashed head-on

doing ninety

It was whispered

in the halls

that all they found of him

were his balls

The crash scene

reeked of booze

And I remembered his tattoo:

Born to lose

CAMPAIGN PROMISES

are like

Fruit Cocktail...

the pears

and

the grapes

and

the cherries

taste the same

because

they're drowning

in all that syrup

MATERIAL WITNESS

For One Shot Wednesday

I saw you again

at the last red light

the girl on the billboard

flagging a ride

to catch a flight

But all wings

to the City Of Angels

were grounded by fog

so we taxied around

until we found

a cheap room

There were clean sheets

but no Bible

You kissed me awake

with your haunted eyes

ran your hands

down my worn Levis

We poured the wine

and talked about how it feels

to

be

frozen

in

time

You said: How is it effected

this transformation

from image to cell?

I said: I learned it once

in a madhouse

just a place we called hell

and you're a material witness

With the dawn

a woman's voice

singing an ancient tune

Your picture in the paper

an apparent suicide

from the east side

of the river

The girl on the billboard

at the last red light

the fog had lifted

at last she made her flight

WE ARE ALL CHILEAN

Once

in a while

some scrappy sonzabitches

beat the odds

when they had no right

to expect it

And the rest of us

watch

fists pumping

cheering

our spirits bolstered

as we gamble

on our own tomorrows

THE LAST LAUGH

For One Shot Wednesday

You've come a long way

baby

from the bustle

to the thong

While you're thinking chic

we're thinking CHEEK

but what's been lost

is a certain mystique

that made grandpa

stay with grandma

for half a century

so entranced by finally laying

eyes upon that which had been concealed

for so long that he never got over it

But now

with nothing left to the imagination

could it be that men will find

that we are REALLY more attracted to your mind?

HEY INSOMNIACS !

SNORE Productions presents: BUZZKILLERS!

For the first time ever in one collection, here are twelve of the most insipid, inane, stupid, boring, draggy, guaranteed to put you to sleep songs ever to hit the pop charts!

They're all here! The songs that either bored you to tears or drove you to the brink of suicide, as they were played OVER and OVER and OVER again on the radio, or in places (like elevators) where there was no escape!

You might have to wait for hours to hear EACH of these BUZZKILLERS on the radio, and meanwhile, you'd still be wide awake. But not so with this amazing collection! Just slap on the CD and you're on your way to blissful, merciful sleep--knowing that it's your only escape!

YOU GET:

"Killing Me Softly" by Roberta Flack. What an apt title! One of the most exasperating songs ever written, as it seemingly never ends--going on and on without the slightest tempo change. And what the hell is strumming my pain supposed to mean anyway?

Plus, you get a BONUS song from Roberta Flack: "The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face."

Taken from the Clint Eastwood movie, Play Misty For Me--about a crazed, homicidal groupie who stalks this radio deejay. It seemed poignant in the movie, because it was attached to a steamy love scene-- but out of context, it's hands-down the slowest, draggiest, barely breathing song ever recorded, and any deejay who plays it deserves what he gets from that groupie!

James Taylor's "You've Got a Friend." James Taylor is THE MAN, but there was a period in his career when all he wanted to do was mournful tunes like this one. If you ARE my friend, James, how about some "Steamroller Blues"?

Hey, we're just getting started, folks! No one could forget Debbie Boone's "You Light Up My Life." Pat Boone's daughter--her only other claim to fame besides this song was an acne commercial! Never mind that she couldn't sing--this insipid tune has probably killed more relationships by being played on Valentines Day than any other!

And that brings us to Elvis Presley's "Love Me Tender." It got to the point where anything that had Elvis's voice on it was a guaranteed hit. Even this yawner, with nothing but an acoustic guitar accompaniment strumming like, three chords. As big as he was, you'd have thought they could have afforded some instrumentation.

Oh my God--it's Bobby Goldsboro's "Honey." Okay, she died. Do you have to bring the rest of us down to your level of abject grief, when all we're trying to do is get that report finished so we can hand it in to the boss? Go drink yourself to death and join her! The ultimate tearjerker...too bad if you were in a good mood today.

"Feelings" by Morris Albert. Feeeelings...whoa oh oh feeeelings...trying to forget my... feeeelings of love... We're trying to forget that we ever heard this song. It's not working...aaarrgghhhh...IT'S NOT WORKING!

Next, it's that Merilee Rush classic: "Angel Of The Morning." She shacked up with the guy and he kicked her out in the morning. Now she's claiming to be an angel. By that standard, Madonna is a saint! The beginning of this song sounds like it was lifted from a funeral dirge.

"Don't Give Up On Us Baby" by David Soul. So saccharin, there should be a warning label that says this song may be hazardous to your health. She dumped you already, dude. No amount of pleading is going to get her back--plus, she stole your TV. How did this guy have the nerve to use SOUL for his last name?

"You Don't Bring Me Flowers" from Barbara Streisand and Neil Diamond. No, you don't bring me flowers anymore. You won't even get up off your dead ass to bring me a beer. This is what relationships eventually fall into. It happens. But this song never should have...is it over yet?

Don't go away--there's more! Yes, it's Bette Midler's "Wind Beneath My Wings." You supported me...I took all the glory...and now I'm throwing you a bone by writing this song for you, my good friend. More like the wind beneath my BUNS--get it?

And last but certainly least, we have "Tie A Yellow Ribbon" by Tony Orlando. The only bouncy tune in this collection. It's cute, the first time you hear it--but by the 500th time, you want to smash your radio against the wall! And all those yellow ribbons people started desecrating the trees with...uh, pardon me, but you're trespassing on my property, JERK!

There you have it folks! Be one of the first one thousand people to order BUZZKILLERS and we'll throw in a FREE alarm clock to get you up in the morning after your restful sleep!

(WARNING: Avoid listening while driving--WILL cause drowsiness.)

I'M GONNA LOVE YOU

For One Shot Wednesday

I'm gonna love you till...

The stars fall from the skies

Till all the lakes and rivers run dry

Till the eyes roll back inside your head

Till all the Osmond Brothers are dead

I'm gonna love you till...

You're weak in the knees

Till Stephen King stops killing all the trees

Till Madonna bares nothing but her soul

Till Santa stops filling my stocking with coal

I'm gonna love you till...

Justin Bieber is an old fuddy-duddy

Till Dick Cheney stop shooting his hunting buddies

Till Ugly Betty takes off those stupid looking glasses

Till gas prices stop kicking our asses

I'm gonna love you till...

I eat some chocolate covered ants

Till Britney Spears puts on some pants

Till O.J. finds the real killer

Till I have a wet dream about Phyllis Diller

I'm gonna love you till...

All the Hummer owners put the earth ahead of their egos

Till all the guys with beer guts quit wearing speedos

Till Kathy Lee Gifford promises never to sing

Till Pee Wee Herman stops fooling with his thing

I'm gonna love you till...

All the CRAP that's made in China is safe again

Till they get those muhfugging snakes off this plane

Till the Grinch Who Stole Christmas is apprehended

Till all the holes in my BVDs are mended

I'm gonna love you till...

Sarah Palin wins another election

Till I figure out what to do with this four hour erection

Till I start up a band that's called "The Schmucks"

Till health care in America no longer sucks

I'm gonna love you till...

Hillary is back in the White House

Till you spay or neuter your spouse

Till The Blue Man Group looks pretty in pink

Till Glenn Beck stops raising such a stink

I'm gonna love you till...

Donald Trump lives in a one room shack

Till Kirstie Alley skips a snack

Till those greedy bastards extract the last drop of oil from the earth

Till the Octomom stops giving birth

I'm gonna love you till...

Pluto is reinstated as a planet

Till Jimmy Hoffa is found encased in granite

Till Ted Nugent becomes a vegetarian

Till Paris Hilton becomes a great humanitarian

I'm gonna love you till...

Lucy stops screwing with Charlie Brown's head

Till all the starving children are fed

Till The Ghost of Christmas Past comes to bite me on the ass

Till somebody explains to me what the appeal is of Rascal Flatts

I'm gonna love you till...

The men's crapper at the Denver Greyhound bus station gets the doors back on its stalls

Till Lindsay Lohan stops climbing the walls

Till Natalie Holloway is found

Till Simon and Garfunkel are homeward bound

I'm gonna love you till...

Someone decides what's wrong and what's right

Till I don't have to pee in the middle of the night

Till all the wars are fought by politicians

Till the children of the ghetto have decent living conditions

I'm gonna love you till...

We stop insulting seniors by calling them "Honey"

Till they find all of Bernie Madoff's money

Till we understand that borders are only in our minds

Till a man takes a stroll on Mars just to see what he finds

Till the nuclear missiles are removed from their pads

Till babies grow up again with DADS

Till every homeless person has a warm place to sleep

Till an eye-for-an-eye becomes turn the other cheek

Till mercy and justice prevail

Till I get my tax refund check in the mail

I'm gonna love you till I put out the dog and bring in the cat...

Do YOU wanna be loved like that?

FELINE FUNNIES # 3

THE WHITE HOTEL

Down in the canyon near the white hotel

there grows a flower whose spirit

belongs more to the sky than to the earth,

and if you listen closely when the wind is right

you can hear it singing "I Get The Blues When It Rains."

Inside the white hotel our eyes met with no formal introduction.

I was a writer who had run out of ink.

You were a fly-by-nighter trying to wangle a drink--

a nun on the run who no longer made a habit

out of seeing the world in black and white.

And me, just out of seminary school,

still wet behind the ears,

but ready to get my feet wet as well.

We were like wind chimes on the verandah--

when the wind sang we all chimed in,

anthem to a blue chrysanthemum

that grows in the winding Canyon Of Love.

When you sang, you thought you were Billie Holiday.

I thought I was Billy The Kid,

so I stuck my gun in your ribs

and said, "Your honey or your life!"

We were busy as bees after that,

holing up in our hive--

room eleven-oh-five--

listening to jive and getting a buzz on.

You moved like music

and you tried every number on me you knew.

All summer I roamed your hills and valleys

where orgasms in dark chasms

brought on the rain.

When the season ended you sent me packing,

lugging your baggage and mine...

you were traveling light.

Making a bee-line for the exit,

you trampled the blossom

that longed only for the same kind of freedom.

Now I'm standing here in these juicy shoes...

JUICY SHOES?

Oh Jesus, I've got to think about that one...

think about why I drank the dank skank of your love,

when all you ever said to me was, "HELLO, ROOM SERVICE?"

Down in the street a forlorn horn

laments what should have been a foregone conclusion

to one so prone to illusion,

as the mist forms upon my window

and I think about a flower

that sang, "I Get The Blues When It Rains."

FRIDGE POETRY # 7

Many thanks to Cindy at: cindybrown.blogspot.com

Protocol normally dictates that you pass the award on to others, but singling anyone out (and perhaps giving the impression of snubbing others) would be difficult for me-- so instead I will dedicate this award to all of the lovely folks in blog land I've come to know and appreciate for their wit, humor, passion, and dedication to craft.

YOU

For One Shot Wednesday

I first saw you pouting

in the magazine I hid in my bedroom

when I was twelve--

the year I resolved that breasts

were the coolest thing since Elvis Presley

I was looking for the secret in your eyes

but they never revealed it...

and I still don't know who you are

I was eighteen

a bit of a late bloomer

you already a faded rose

when you gave me that first driving lesson

in the front seat of my Chevy--

and though you'd been around the block

you failed to warn me that a steering wheel

lodged in one's butt crack on a deserted Missouri backroad

makes for an unsteady ride

Seventeen summers were yours

and I'd chalked up twenty-two

on the night of our first cautious caress

all the perfumed blossoms and you

sending me into sensory overload

I was getting good in the clinches

and there in your backyard you pleaded with me

to climb through your bedroom window

and go for the gusto

play it fast and loose while your parents--

too square to have a clue--

were zonked out down the hall

Discretion proved the better part of valor

until the night at Fat Bruce's house

where we made up for lost time--

sleepless in Cedar Rapids--

while he scoured the city for belladonna

or nutmeg

or anything that might give him some altitude

You left me high and dry in Key West

when you hit the road with my friend...

and I still don't know who you are

I met you again in the summer

in Panama

where you told me I must have had some upbringing

because I held my fork continental style

not realizing I was left-handed

and it just seemed a more natural way to maneuver

Back at the hotel we put the moves on each other--

every afternoon the rains came

and we followed suit

I screwed

my companions

and we headed north in your green Beetle

When we had used up all of Latin America

you dumped me at the Newport Beach bus station

with fifty bucks left in my pocket

trying to explain how you didn't like goodbyes...

and I still don't know who you are

Once I stole you away from my buddy

who had spent one night with you

and showed up at your room the next morning

to find us tangled among the sheets

You said you'd once worked as a courier

for certain underworld concerns

and the aura of intrigue

clung to you like cobweb

Trying to clear customs

from a three day sojourn to Curacao

we were invited into the back room

for an intimate inspection of our belongings...

and I still don't know who you are

One winter you took the elevator

up to the radio station in Penthouse One

I slapped on the long version of

"In--A-Gadda-Da-Vida"

and stood monitoring its progress

through the plate glass window

as you got into the groove

and did what you said you'd do over the phone--

on your knees there on the roof garden

the lights of San Juan shimmering around us

When your girlfriend came outside

I flinched

you didn't miss a beat...

and I still don't know who you are

I've seen you on the streets of

LA

New York

London

and Paris

brushing by me as you head in the opposite direction

and I study your face for the answer

You've dogged my tracks

and I've hounded your trail

through so many lifetimes

I've lost count

and still you return--

to a poetry gathering

where you try to be inconspicuous

but I know that you're here

for when I glanced around the room

our eyes locked for just a moment

then you looked away...

YOU know who you are