Sacred Mushroom

Long ago there was a coffee house that turned jazz bar on Saturday nights. This is a tribute to that wonderful place and to those that frequented the Sacred Mushroom.

there was just a night
under the light at the
bottom of the Sacred Mushroom
or many such that i recall

a place where every face
could music smell and taste
under dim lights on many nights
down stairs at the Mushroom

Warren tooled a Gretch
and cool Jimmie was there to fetch
whatever anyone was needing
beneath the street, the Mushroom

the sound was around the walls
and steady in jazz time
a lasting grace note falls
against this heart of mine

dark and turtlenecks prevailed
backed up by a drummer's beat
or trumpets sadly wailed
through the night, beneath the street

coming, going through the night
to play the king, or just a pawn
and Warren held them very tight
as oceans sang and night slipped on

when trombones went into a case
when piano became a yawn
i left the place, behind the bass
on foggy Sundays, right at dawn

continuing

in flashes of spaces i see
life continuing in a game on another level
sort of an eternal corporate promotion
into a mathematical position
with which we are not as yet familiar

the springer that sprung
need i say more
i just read a letter from my Auntie Dorthy
who mentioned Broken Arrow, Oklahoma
that's a little more immediate
at least i can get there from here

lonesome train

sorting from cardboard boxes
not much to pack
last look around, a check of the time
then closing the door
locking sadness within

going home before the weather changes
the fields . . . he liked the rain
there's time to reflect
while watching dark clouds out the window

heavy steel rolls hard and smooth
and before the long night is through
i may see the moon
glide over town, yes
soon, real soon

a guy with an apron, a little blue hat
and a smile comes pushing a cart
down the isle
selling coffee and water
the same guy a half hour ago
was selling sandwiches

roses bloom in the rain
love is the same
nothing ventured, nothing gained
you can say that again
watching it rain

i hear her sweet laugh
while handing me a photograph
the moon rising through the glass
reflects on her behalf

she's painted and she's pretty
pressed against the window pane
the lady from Kansas City
takes my mind off everything
she can ride with me any time
on any old lonesome train

a party

once we went to a party in Roma
a well to do neighborly affair
on a lovely terrace and view of the city
we met a young man there
just returned that day
from somewhere deep in Africa

he was a missionary and a hunter
on his way back to England
to raise money before going back
Hunting Rhinos for Christ
was what he called his campaign
and he was serious
i don't know how it came out
we never heard from him again

rain soaked and lovin' it

it was late afternoon
the tires screeched when i skipped to a stop.
rain soaked her wet as a rag as soon as she got out.
the second i felt the door slam and the car rock
she had already run to the office and disappeared
where it read "women's wellness center"

with the motor on and the heater purring like
a little kitten i was soon
nodding to the syncopation of the thunder with
the beat of the wipers kinda getting into this pitter-pat of the never ending rain
inside she was shaking him down," come on, candy man, i'm here
instead of getting my hair done so why don't you reach into that
bag of tricks and give me a sample of something to take the edge off."

five minutes later she was back in the car and told me, "let's go."
i edged out between headlights into the rainy night and headed toward the bridge
with a glance at her face in the rear view mirror i could see she had eased up a bit

just to be polite and make a little conversation i asked how it went
she gave one of those curled lip devil-may-care sneers, chuckled and then pointed with her chin, looking straight ahead
"step on it," she said

great blue heron - scout

a moment after dawn
out back in my laboratory
alongside the pond
i was examining four table legs

one was longer and needed to be trimmed, when
movement under the old sugar maple caught my attention
thirty feet away there in a crouch
the great blue heron stealthfully, slowly looked about

remaining still as the giant i watched through the glass
from behind closed door for nearly a minute
until he shuttered, spread his wings, rose in the air and fled the scene
with the only remaining disturbance being the knowledge of his presence

Note: The entire ten by fourteen foot pond has a "deer net" suspended two and a half feet over it and seems to protect the fish while allowing the frogs to come and go. On the posted picture of the heron from an earlier visit, notice the lily pads for size reference. They are about the size of pancakes. And when the heron lifts his head and stretches his neck he is about twice as tall.

be on the lookout
for this bird!

definitive relativity

i wondered aloud how those frogs
could be floating in the pond one moment
look up, and then instantly
leap atop a rock well above the water

hearing me,
in less than a heart beat
she gave the reply,
"they're superhuman"
and you know, she's right

so next time you're on your way
to the voting booth
consider the candidate's potential
and remember where we are
in the grand scheme of things

(vote green)

Design

Man is designed well.
Sleep and he is recharged.
Like dogs and cats
And doesn't have to be plugged in.
There are a few i'l like to.

frog news - newsroom update

for Tom C. and one or two other people in the world who are wondering.


FLASH: this just in from ohio

meri saw three small frogs
sitting in or around the pond
where we like to see 'em

all apparently happy
we're happy
are you happy?

a chance it may rain again tonight
we'll be watching the driveway
for runaways or new arrivals

b.c. and counting

a dozen years before Christ
what year did everyone think it was?
they didn't walk around saying it's twelve before zero
and they must have had a New Years
so what year did they celebrate?

in five b.c. if you told someone you'd pay them the money you owed in four b.c.
they'd squint, scratch, then club your head

what did they do when they had to fill out an official form
and write down the year of birth?
"you wrote you were born in minus 36
how did you figure that?
that'll cost you three shiny stones and a chunk of obsidian for being a wise ass"