You can see a sophomore, You can see a senior, You can see a freshman Shoved through a door. Everyone is active, Happily attractive, Everyone is learning In a formal kind of way. The teachers are a' teachin', A learnin' and a reachin', The teachers are exploring In a new set of bounds. The students think they’re happy, Gone from mammy and a pappy, Doin' their own thing In their own sorta way. Then summer comes, that's cool, Foolin’ with no school, Foolin' round in summer days The summer’s just begun.
Snow Day
More colorful than I remember. Hardly any wooden sleds. Mostly plastics; of varying bright colors, myriad shapes. The din is the same; laughter infectious. "It wasn't even close!" "No, I won! I went all the way down!" A haystack affixed to a light pole. A mitten or two underneath, half covered Pieces of sleds, discarded "WATCHOUT!!!" A few more crashes. No one's hurt. "Have a nice snow day!"
She Slept
All night long she slept. We made love and she fell asleep in my arms. I tossed and turned till sunrise. Yet, she slept, like, well, like a baby. When the garbage trucks BEEPED & the crack heads YELLED & yuppies set off their car ALARMS, She slept. When I trembled, got up, washed my face and returned cleansed & un-sweaty, She slept. In the morning, with little sleep— when the toast was buttered, the coffee just about ready, the oatmeal just about perfect, she stirred in bed, smiled, then awoke.
Currents of Thought
I kneel before the child that I was, Amazed, I learned all one hundred seventy three lines in my fourth grade play. The child grew. The teen grew. The man grows. There are forces more powerful than I. Winds of change that ripple through my being, my soul. Electric currents of thought have entered my child-self To shock the man that I have become.
Nitty Gritty Mission City
Nitty Gritty Mission City, Late at night, sure is pretty. Tags on street, Benches fade right. Cops in cars and motor bikes, Señoritas with skirts and cigarettes that I like. Nitty Gritty Mission City, Late at night and it sure is pretty. Tags in black and brown and red, Tags in red and brown and black, The harder sounds keep coming back. Nitty Gritty Mission City, Metal gliding, graphic shitty. Starry eyed gals, they walkin' quickly, Pillows on sides, rubbers, sticky, Acid on glass, bars fade quickly, Cold metal strapped down, Green tile, red ground, Crackling cans beneath the sound... No parking, insurance sounds. Nitty Gritty Mission City Late at night, and it sure is pretty. Cop a feel, Hum a tune, Shoot it up towards the moon, I can see why Jerry wrote his song, Curse him loud, he got it wrong, Two story Victorians, turned to hotels, Smoke shop, bar, Bradies gone to hell, Red white and blue stork, Muriels. Purple tiles shine above, 10 percent off, some call it love, Club M-One Six, approach upon... Nitty Gritty Mission City Late at night, and it sure is pretty. Hum a tune, Carry a rift, Skater’s ash sparks the spliff, Newspaper windows that conceal, The angst that permanent ink reveals, Electric wire overhead, Square glass bottle on the side walk. A blue mural slows my fast artistic walk. Nitty Gritty Mission City, Late at night, sure is pretty.
Domino
Dominoes set them up Dominoes falling down That ocean it do hurtle That ocean knocks them down Domino stack them to the sky Airplane flying low Crop dusting on your green green peas The only thing you don't know When the spot’s going to flip When the bus going to skip you When the well running empty When that child slip from you Domino set them up Domino falling down The pattern fix on the double six Them black and whites to the sky Domino airplane fly Domino airplane fly Domino airplane fly
To File Away A Moment
To file away a moment. To keep within a jar. To hold on to forever. To have and not be far. To access it whenever, Wherever one may wish, Is akin to dying, A life based on a wish.
No Tidy Ending
In the happiest of moments the grain of sadness can be found Fifty-two wonderful years with my father. Undulation Jubilation Exaltation Dancing Roller Skating A 1980s memory from Dad’s apartment as path to healing... We haven't skated together in decades. Any hope of that too, ended a while ago. The dancing continues Memories are made and remade and reimagined and recasted Forecasted Stratocasted Strengh[ened] He loved that one— An eight letter word with only one vowel. No tidy ending No longer do I feel singular emotions like I was taught to feel as a child
Cornbread & Crack
Cornbread & Crack Passed out, passed by, passed up, Passed back a while ago. 911-cars driving slow. Wheel-Chaired folks going home. "Going, going, gone!" the auctioneer cries. On the sidewalk, dog-shit lies. Working women cry, "Please move down, For the children's sake." Teen boy wielding oxygen tank. Hardly a single tourist in sight. 3pm & already night. No one’s bright enough to see Themself passing themself on the street.
Agents of Hate
Aren't we lucky in this day and age? We have agents of hate who bottle our rage, Many to choose, the choice is ours, Many who'll justify our mistakes, our scars. We have folks we can hire who’ll vindicate our losses, Parades we can march in that’ll support our bosses, Books we can read, Pamphlets to quote, Links and podcasts to validate our vote. We needn't think a wisp, Needn't care at all, Personalities tell us who should rise, Who should fall. When we don't know the issues, Throw caution to the wind, Simply pick a side Let the insults begin. It doesn't matter when we don't have a clue, When our hatred takes control of what we do, When we scream with the many, Sacrificing the few, When others, not shouting, watch what we do, They won't care either about what we do.
ALIVE FOR LIFE (You Are The Collection)
Falling into the nether realm. Where one exists solely... Why go out and stay inside yourself? Go out, be out! Shout out? Fallout! Be... Alive for life... Alive for Universal truths. You are the collection. The beach with its countless pebbles. Merely one of a million in millions of millions. And you are the collection! The market, with fruit a plenty. Meat and fish, all a ready, barley, corn in a flash. Yours to ash. YOU ARE THE COLLECTION Buildings full of serpent workers, all a tryin' to be super. Wife's a men and children. All of you and all past due and yes, YOU ARE THE COLLECTION! ...And since you are what you are you could fly free so far! Ideals, scenes, truths, and luck, you could fly so free. To... Walk is to soar, or drift away. Into the twilight, of the day. & you could fly free so far... TODAY. Or... Get some cash, go around, valleys, rivers and the mounds. Explore, invite and be free. But remember: You still ain't he/she/they/it/we. Falling into the netherworld... Little boys, little girls... They Transcend Life like golden pearls... These little boys and little girls. Balls and bangles, clangs and jangles, crawling, crying too. Older they will bloom! Lest we give them room. Through acne, jeans, & jelly beans, through romper crayon tunes. So... We dance late at night. And time will move all right. THEY Will be part of all we see ALIVE FOR LIFE... You and Me!
My Father Passed Away
Do I say My father passed away When people say "hi"? Do I say I'm OK Then smile anyway? Or do I write My questions Then walk away? Or perhaps, “I’ve been better,” “My father just passed,” Then stay and accept What comes my way.
The Silent River
I'll take the path of the river over the clamor of the car... The silent hum of the bees' buzz moments before sunrise, moments after I awake. I'll let the California live oaks' sway set my mood and the rhythm of the day... Away from the fenced-in single-squared-in bent, shoddy twiggy trees... Away from the highs of commerce... Away from the depths of transportation... Yes, the rounded cobbles may watch as I arrange myself as the weather demands. My neighbors' silence is never so. My refrigerator reminds me the silent river, equally not, is.
The conglomerate
Almost everyone is normal, happy, and well-adjusted. People are having fun… Eyes filled with wonder & hope… Memories in the making. A chilly January breeze blows. A smiling crowd is alive and present— In my heart my hope warms me. "Look over there!" "Did you know...? There is no pot that's melting— That’s fusing people together. There's no single product being forged. A conglomeration exists. The conglomeration strengthens individuals, Builds a stronger vessel for transport, Strides upwards, forwards, onwards… Towards the unfathomable future. The conglomerate structure… The stacking, The combing— or pruning The layering— or quilting The individual/together Still unique, Still special, Unionized with the other. An exploration. A childhood of acceptance. An adolescence of faith. We wait. We build. We attack & apologize & blame & boast & scorn & travel And become... We drop the tribal belonging as sole marker of self and become part of... The conglomerate welcomes us as we welcome it. The conglomerate offers us freedom & safety. We follow its rules. We flaunt some. We Ignore others. We fear. We pray. The conglomerate is home. We are home.
The Boom Boom Room
Last Saturday, December 14th, 2024, I went to check on a wonderful up-n-coming band at the Boom Boom Room, DangerAte. The music was hopping, the scene was popping and the show was inspiring. I was inspired and so, last saturday, while DangerAte played, I wrote... Enjoy...
–LB 7:38 PM 12/20/2024
The Boom Boom Room
Phone vids drop. Feeling squeelers hop. A joint dancing; Early slop-droppers pop. Gals grabbing guys on the wooden floor. Street walkers shattered by music Escaping out the door. Locals never heard tunes like this before! Breakneck car chase. Zoom. Fly through gates; shatter wombs. Breasts dip; loins swoon. High as cats at the Boom Boom Room.
a city with
a city with bells a city with chirps a city with yelps with burps a city with chills a city with hills a city with the frilly frilly thrills a city width way from the ocean or the bay a city with sway from the hills a city with sparks this city's frilly larks keeps her swaying fraying braying in the dark a city whose faults built atop asphalt is nowhere more present than its bay a city with bells a city with chirps a city with yelps with burps a city width way from the ocean or the bay a city with sway from the hills
Hello Beautiful
Hello beautiful, I like your smile. Your sunshine's flowin' baby, Let's walk a mile... You're a beautiful flower & your hair is bright. Say, pretty angel, let's spend the night– Together at my place, Or perhaps at yours, Or if you’re a natural soul, Let’s sleep outdoors. Hello Beautiful, I like your smile. Your sunshine's flowin' baby, Let’s walk a mile... How's about seein' a movie or a local show? Or perhaps to a club– Watch them dancers go go go. Come with me to the Haight Let's drum in the park and play. Then to the sandy shores– Let the ocean do what it may. Let's start a journal together. Let's take a trip to Marin. This foggy life is wonderful But Marin's the place for sin. Hello beautiful, Your style I like. Sunshine’s pulsing through you You’re a beautiful site Hello Beautiful, I like your smile. Your sunshine's flowin' baby, Let’s walk a mile...
Freedom of the Road
The freedom in my eyes Comes from that highway ride. The freedom of the road is my prize. As I'm leaving town That sun is touching down. My four wheels rolling on Is my high. Oh, the mountains and the fir The needles and the grass Blue skies, white clouds— heavens in your eyes. Well the wood and paper burn The coffee in its urn The poles and tents and bags all set. All rise!
A Poem or Uncertain Prose
Bartenders beware Beggars barter too. Deliveries dancing Don delights. We exercise Our minds crawl. Consumers; caution! Containers collapse too. Everyone enjoying Empty events. We exercise Our minds crawl. Digging Dirt? Don't despise Forget fun first Forge forests We exercise Our minds create. We exercise Our minds create. We unlearn while we learn. Everyone wants to be a hero. Everyone prays to their god. People need to eat. People need to be heard. Some of us can fly, Some will sing, Some people are cows, bees, bumble— sheep. Others crumble as years roll on, Others keep keepin' on. Teeth rot. Sneakers wear. Halloweens come and go. Flags get left in the rain with no lights. Bags are packed. Some prepare for a journey, Others stay home, Others look for a home, Others other "home"— "Others" keeps inserting itself here. A powerless writer. A mission unclear. A poem or uncertain prose. Only god, godself knows. The obvious line The unfinished poem Or is it unfinished prose.
Stepping Out & Looking Around
After reading Corso & Ferlinghetti with Bradley & stepping out of City Lights Bookstore & smelling, then seeing fireworks & tasting golden garlic noodles & hearing a wild man yelling & witnessing cars cruising & having my hand freeze I search for inspiration & the next line to write.