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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!