loving a woman

loving a woman
for a man of errors
not big ones
not all of them
okay, some of them
yeah, a few

as a matter of fact
she divorced me
but we got married again
now our anniversary
is the 28th and 29th of July
now, that's a love story

Hollywood Times

large and colorful enough for a million poems
Vine down the street, the world of cinema on every corner
a palm treed cake walk everyday
nice cars, crazy people - dressed to prove it
the Labrea Tar Pits, museums, the beach
the Hollywood sign above on the hill
warm, dry wind and smog

everyone has star stories
they live and shop all around
walk the streets, some to be seen
those hills hide mansions
stand up comics pump gas
studios, writers, actors, technicians
and a whole lot of fans

locals remember earlier times
my friend played where they
later built the Hollywood Freeway
from the window where i worked on Sunset
i often saw Groucho taking is 9a.m. walk

an animal trainer friend used to stop at jimmy stewart's
house on Saturday for a chat as Jimmy washed his car

an impersonator i worked with did Peter Falk as Columbo
at the Hollywood Bowl, the audience thought
it was Peter Falk, there was a slip up and
the guy's name was never mentioned

and this nothing story is a drop in that Pacific Ocean

lights, cameras and
if that's not enough
they even put them in the sidewalk
more stars than the night

In the woods

All that time in the woods and not much was put to words. Not then. Not while we were repairing, building, creating, learning. Being survivors. We were an hour from the nearest store, isolated on a far off dirt road above the Mojave desert, beyond Jawbone Canyon, left where the Platts lived and thirty bumpy minutes up the winding dirt road to our ten acres in the woods, high on the mountain.

It took two years searching the Sunday L.A. Times classifieds until I found it, and knew that if this wasn’t it, then the guy who placed the ad knew what I wanted and where to find it. It sounded like a dream, and it was. Lonesome Al sold it to me and became our good friend.

So I sold my L. A. home and bought gold when it was less than two hundred dollars an ounce, rode it up, and then sold at nearly at eight hundred an ounce to support our new lifestyle.

We carried our water from the ranger station, used coal oil lamps and used wood to cook and heat. It makes me smile thinking about our old miner’s log and plank cabins, our creek where she bathed for our wedding, the graveyard, two fallen gold mines, the spot where the post office used to be. It was our ghost town. Maybe not the whole thing, but enough, ten pine and oak covered acres of it.

There were only four other people who lived on the mountain, so we thought of it as ours. We did have fun. Lived by the sun up and down. The moon marked time for us. One battery powered radio was our touch with the world.

All that time, two years in the woods, and the words became quiet, because above the trees the open sky was bigger than our thoughts. The stars demanded attention without words. We could keep a fire going with just the right wood at the right time. She learned to cook on a wood stove and I learned how to cut wood, as the trees talked together. In great rushes the wind stirred over there then would grow and come around and come by together in a rush. There are no words in that sound. The prevalent sound being the hum of the earth.

Perhaps if I were a better investor, and the silver market hadn’t crashed, we’d be there still. Now, she just slowly shook her head and said to me, “It was a good thing to do while we were young.” And that's how I know, life is but a dream.

faces

we knew these faces well
Carol, Toby, Phillip and others
classmates we grew up with
some lie face up
in the faraway fields under stone

while a few remain connected
others run apart, neglected
gone astray, to other places
what can you say?

we've had fine times and new friends
danced to the music
moved to the drum
loved in the sun
that's what we've done

through all it's seasons
we've seen what has become
laughed and we've cried
oh, so hard we tried

while wandering, wondering and discovering
we're watching the time
what work need we do
before we're through

here's a salute to everyone, that's for sure
the old friends, the new, the soon to be,
now, the rest of you, come along,
just keep moving along

train sounds

run to the stairs and hear the train
only softly it comes
a gentler horn sounds
softer than i have ever heard

it's like the Morse Code,
from the tapping of the horn
you can tell the nature
of the engineer

bees

jeeze, these big bees, boy
you should see them
buzz by
why they're big as my thumb
and don't even see me standing near
watching them gorge themselves
must get loaded on honey
when they stick their heads
in the flowers
for hours
jeeze oh pete

we lived on a boat

we lived on a boat
with our cat
and dreamed well
on gentle lapping water

smoothly rocking
to rhythms of the ripples
a boat passing in the channel
seagulls swoop and dive nearby

long rolling clouds and far stars
the moaning fog horn
then misty quiet dawn
softly beginning

so long bob evans

full of local folk
working hard to make some money
and stay ahead in the game
but, the Bobster is giving me
too much rock and roll for breakfast
keeping it loud, no matter how many times
i've asked him to turn it down

the manager likes it that way, you see
forty year old rock piped blasting
you have to speak up over breakfast
then chew weaving to the beat

run 'em in
run it out
eat it up
now run along

we ran along
to the older Star Diner,
they provide a media vacuum
no music or TV

the sounds you hear are customers talking
and theirs is local food
the way you'd do it
how we like it

now this morning, who did we see
eating at the next table
but Diana the sweet, elderly hostess from Bob Evan's
I said, hello Diana
and should have remembered to add
a paraphrase of her greeting
"Welcome to the Star Diner"

in wood times

in wood times i've spent walking
gathering colors, tasting sounds
by ferns, tall grass, and animals
under the forest canopy, making rounds

flushing pheasants as i go
they streak off in a line
then to stop, a place i know
amid green berries on the vine

wild white rolling clouds above
reflect the light, contrast the blue
in nature's time i touch the love
and symmetry by which things grew

the wind plays light and sweet
with mint and closer scents
honeysuckle and wildflower complete
the multicolored firmament

at a small creek bank i pause to drink
and there, witness life within
a small plant reaches water's brink
the shoots are young and thin

where hours pass i cannot say
the sun marks shadows on the land
little voices beg me to stay
i promise trees, i'll come again

a butter year's worth

with one pass
may as well run like a wagging dog
wild in joy in the wind
and do what you can
with what you've got

when i wrote songs
i spent too many hours repeating them
trying to hold all of them in my head
keeping the old ones familiar

getting poems right seems more to the point
i can work words back and forth
don't have to play them in a straight line
and when i'm done they stay there

then anyone can pick them up exactly
not like a song
that you have to play or listen to
beginning to end

words you can play with
then take them along in your head
that's packing light
even a whole butter year's worth

roots

a tai chi master said
he'd live well
in a small jail cell
with only a few feet of space
to exercise and be happy

good for him, if he gets arrested he can try
although i understand his intentions
it's not my slice of pie
but, there is a lesson in what he mentions

tai chi takes very little space
and is good exercise
head space is a comfort when filled
with tranquility, understanding and kindness

however, when i find mental peace
i can remain in that place
until i open this mouth on my face, then off i go
why can't i simplify my pace?

give it away to find peace
give all to love is the root

it is an effort to get to the roots
this is why you have to dig for them
not lie on the beach
and dust them off when you get up

21st Century Shopping

the superstore is a football field deep
and nearly as wide in the food department,
turning a corner to another aisle
i head him talking before i saw him
the man in the dark fine suit pants without jacket and tie
busily occupied and trying to look relaxed as he
fingered through cans of tomato sauce

he carried himself like a businessman who
regularly commanded authority,
on a cell phone asking questions,
getting instructions, searching

minutes later he passed hurriedly
and i heard the words "sour cream"
at the same time, behind me
a woman was rapidly talking into her cell phone
i knew they were not talking to each other

not to be outdone and remembering Dick Tracy
i bowed my head and spoke a few words into my sleeve
where my wristwatch would be
if i had one

half our brain

scientists say we're using half our brain
what half are you using?
the upper delta
or the lower mandella?

i wouldn't bet on it,
want to sleep on it?
oh, i made up that scientist part

now go drive in traffic
but watch out, will you!
a lot of them are riding on
the rims of their lower mandible

feeling down

yeah, okay so feeling down is depressing
but not so bad as repeated beanballs to the noggin,
when you realize we've all done it
up is the only way to go from there

you'll get by, this too shall pass
you won't make the record book
so turn the corner, get over it
hey, are these words of comfort, or what?

love in California

heart of steel
love is real
money in a vault
you know my ways
i love your ways

want to go
now you know
headlines all i read
you know my ways
i love your ways

one thing to warn you
there's love in California
oh, honey
you know my ways
and i love your ways

sand

elbows, butt and heels in the sand
neck bent upwards with face to the hazy sun
an occasional wave can reach me
my son in the sand can teach me
it's june and i'm having fun

birds picking trash in the wash
i'm following them walk the line the waves make
just watching in a half-cool light wind
as our sand castles crumble again
tuesday afternoon and there's nowhere i have to be

some other time, tomorrow and yesterday can't find me
i'm buried to my ankles in the sand
the waves repeat the ten thousand things
that, and the wind, makes my ers ring
jon is pointing, but i can't hear what he's saying

mowers of lawn

we drove south
saw long lawns and riding mowers
couldn't belive they don't plant
flowers and trees, make gathering areas

i use a Brill push mower
it's light and easy
what She doesn't plant
i mow quickly

no gas, no oil
start and stop when i want
take a break, work in pieces
i had a five dollar used push mower

but the gears wore out
fifty years will do it
wait and see, after fifty years
your gears will be worn

weed

i yanked a weed today
then She helped me

address the weed
become one with the weed

that's the only way you get them out of the ground
that was my lesson

in fifty thousand years the star people will say
She really knew how to do it

everything we are

as we read words of those gone,
now off in somewhere out of sight,
nothing is left of their times
only recorded shards remain

memories are slim fragments
that don't do justice to the fullness felt
when it was us, when we were then
all slips from present tense to nearly forgotten

history is nothing in this world
lessons standing only in the telling
anachronistic flickers
out of time, out of place

so as you move ahead each day
do pay attention to every moment
and do your best to make good ripples
in the changing seas of time

mini vacation

pack our wheels
got a map
all set now
hit the road

after some freeway
we're in the open
see the trees
barns, hills and fences

let's stop to eat
need gas, got to pee
there's a motel with a pool
this is far enough

sometimes just a
change of pasture
is all an animal needs
to be content