Running Dog

my dog that ran away knew what he was doing
that’s why i didn’t go after him.
the cats that stay know where the handouts are
and the birds sing, and the postman comes around.
Neighbor kids cross the front lawn to and
from school. small airplanes make noise
when they pass over. my yard is dry, needs rain
the house is quiet, and neat, with little in it
i have a plant room for quiet meditation
and a typewriter for verbal contemplation
the piano awaits my next touch.
no tv, and the radio isn’t used much.
the shelves are not stocked, i have running water,
a washer and dryer that work once a week,
and my garden that reluctantly surrenders vegetables.
some outdoor flowers, strawberries and a small lemon tree
wind chimes on the patio, empty chairs, space to be
and i’ll moan into yesterdays or tomorrow
i’ll tip wine sublime, and smoke in sorrow
my heart will leap, my head will spin
the phone will ring, again and again
i’ll read some of the letters but won’t write back
perhaps tomorrow, for now, let them stack
three shirts, three pants, some boots and shoes
the rest are rags, no good to use
i go out for work, and the money comes in
i’ve lost some weight, but still not thin

and the laughing brown dog knew what he was doing
he set out to be the best dog around
he left to clean the clock of every cat in town
he could jump the fence, bark the bird and lick the dish
four legs to run, ears to flap, eyes to see, tail to wag
and he chased his tail
right out the front door
right up the street
running for all he can get
running for his life

and i may type by an open window
but i never looked up for him again
not once did i wait
before he left he let me know what was up for him
and i let him know he could run
and i’ll wait inside typing, outside working
back and forth with cups of unsweetened tea
another shower, a song from the piano
something to hum and a searching, walking mantra
about “let’s see, let’s see” and i look for it
while this goes on, i hang out with it
i drink what’s going on, eating today, singing now
pulling it up, and laying it out there
putting it down into words, cleaning it up
tightening it up, cutting it short and letting it run
working it over, taking it in, seeing what goes on
then playing the rinky-tink roll on the pi-ano
hit it. let it flow and go and blow

and the faster i go, the slower it is
and the slower i am the more that gets here
and it keeps on coming out
more from the mailman, more on the phone
more at work and with friends
it keeps on and on a coming in the window
rising with the sun
setting on the end of my bed
playing with my head
and i stand up to fight with it
and we roll on the floor
i grab my chest and gasp last breath
then rise to heaven where saint peter
takes a swing at me and i knock him on his ass
and he tries to tell me to go to hell
so i push my way in and when god sees me
he isn’t pissed at all
we sit down over pizza and tell dirty jokes
mine are better than his, and he knows it!
he introduces me to his old lady
she’s ten million years old but still foxy
and she wants to ball me, but i’m chicken
god and i shake hands and i split
back to my window to see if he can make it rain

i don’t hold my breath
i make a sandwich and drink some wine

a lifetime forever

to live a lifetime forever
on a mountain under eternal noon sun
with sweet wine touching lips that touch mine

where the omnipresent fragrance of soft flowers
and gentle green
caress thoughts
and cradle in your mind mellow notions

the only sound being
two hearts playing
the softest lullaby in creation

self portraits

As you may know, if you click on my “profile” on this blog it will lead you to my art blog.

The purpose of this note is to clarify why artists do self portraits and so many of them. Artists do self portraits because a model in the mirror has more clarity, depth, and is a more life-like subject than working from a still photo. Photos, digitally, mechanically or chemically reproduced are essentially flat. While live models have true color and subtle light qualities, and even movement that make subtle gradations of shade and hue apparent, and there is the visible space around the model. The space around a subject sends signals to the artist. The background is not black, void of color, but a combination of grays that can be rendered to give depth.

There are great photos of people, and that is a wonderful art in itself, but for an artist who paints or draws, a live model is working from life itself, providing a wider range of opportunity for interpretation. Technically, mirrors have a slight cast of green or bluish-green color from the reflection in glass, but it is close enough for the artist to practice. And, a self portrait is, overall, practice.

The mirror is the quickest way for an artist to find a model when he’s ready to work, any hour, any time.

frogs got the change

a mild weather variance
on drifting wafts of breeze
stirring heavy warm air
like a long wooden paddle
in a cauldron of soup
enough so you notice

our frogs got the change
felt it before i did and took action
altered their habits
maybe one is gone
i'm still figuring it out
it could be the result of
the beginning of August

not sitting out like before
no croak when we come by
they're lying low,
we know,
but not why

Alexander Solzhenitsyn, the Nobel Prize-winning writer
has died at age 89. I enjoyed his book about life in a lousy, cold Soviet gulag - One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich. Friends had asked how I could possibly enjoy that story of misery and harsh deprivation. I replied that when I felt down I could always reread this book and remember how really sweet my life is.

A Change

don't know when
can't say how soon
signs are in the clouds
the cards, my dreams,
the wind

there's a taste
in the toast, the soup, the tea
it's coming
tell me, don't you feel it?
can you see?

prepare however you can
straighten the shelves
wash and iron your clothes
tidy up
secure your things

hug those you love
keep your head down
be aware, behave
for good or bad, for sure
a change is on the way

Pavarotti

It is a pleasure when life has its nearly magical moments, like a record setting sports event. I want to share this video with you. Luciano Pavarotti in New York, 1980. He's young, in form and everyone knows that this time he nails it.

Click on his name and watch the video.

the hundred facets

the hundred facets of us each
some we take and some we teach

all the talents, all the joys
all the girls and all the boys

are represented by just one
the hundred facets are the sum

and every jewel in every place
is seen in only partial face

and so we have our multi selves
changing always where one dwells

forming different combination
never reaching destination

and many of the gems we see
are, a little bit, like you and me

ike and amy

ike and amy
lived in the white house
next door

ike was a fair golfer
and amy kept her hair in curlers
until saturday night

when they played cards
at our house, then they
both would get inaugurated

the conductor

opening the door at the end of the car
the conductor who came in
wore a partially buttoned, baggy blue coat
with pocket flaps, a badge, official looking cap
that had air vents and a sticker on it,
he had a white beard,
his hands full, fiddling with things
stuffing bits of paper in his pouch

coming my way slowly, talking to passengers
as we thundered by snow capped shiny peaks, lakes and forests
he leaned over trying to adjust a window shade for some folks,
it looked like he broke it,
smiled at a full-breasted pretty girl in a
tight fitting t-shirt with a sports team's logo on it
chatted with her a while
maybe he knew her

finally got to me,
asked to see my ticket,
i got up to get my bag
as a happy man pushing a metal cart
clattered through singing,
selling coffee and sandwiches
with a metal change dispenser on his waist

we went around a corner and
everyone swayed left and hung on tighter,
a guy came down the isle talking kind of loudly
to someone six rows away,
a couple of large foreign looking people carrying
several worn cardboard boxes tied with string
were squeezing down the isle

i heard a guy ask what time we get to the next stop
and before i realized i turned to see the blue jacket
slip out the back door without ever checking my ticket,
this elderly, portly, wrinkled conductor on
my private train of thought

terminal velocity

scientifically speaking,
the slowest cycle
of the entire planet earth’s water movement
is called plate tectonics
unless you count grandpa taking a piss

but then, all the water of this planet
is already made
and then recycled
so tell grandpa to quit wasting his time
he’s not helping anybody

instead, this is about the nothing particle stuff
that gets sucked and sucked
up, up, upworthy into the sky
where it gets formed together and then
voila’!
is water again

okay, so,
then it comes down as rain
now do you know how far it falls?
a long, long, long, half a mile?
more?
it falls falling, falling
at terminal velocity when
the downward force of gravity
equals the upward force of drag

one drop rocketing directly into your eyeball
as you happen to look up,
well then, no wonder it makes you blink and sputter.
think about it!
and carry a damn umbrella, you knucklehead

Ron Paul

Ron Paul
just hearing his name
gets me thinking
and that's bad
these are not thinking times
just go along

boy, i say something
that doesn't conform
with the flow
and waves
hit the fan
don't you know?

B-Plus Morning

this fine summer morn
we stood by the pond
frog was there
waiting patiently and calm

we made his noise
i did and she did
we did it together
then frog turned toward us

he watched and puffed a bit
then began his song
we repeated when he stopped
back and forth we talked

after five minutes all had enough
and stopped at the same time,
we wondered what the neighbors thought
if they had heard us

i rated this morning B plus
it would have been an A
if at the end of the concert
we all shook hands

gradually

gradually i have seen
in my lifetime everything, including
our environment, has changed
as the great wheel turns

is it more pollution
or my time on the planet
that makes it evident?
for i am aware it is not the same

of course there is evolution,
coal and diamonds weren't created in the beginning
a half billion years and the world keeps changing
animal, mineral, vegetable
some come, some go, yet we're still here

shoving to get ahead of you
what the hell is going on?
you exhale when you push
and inhale to smell the flowers

the ultimate dilemma

the decisions of man are many
work to be done is plenty
we set off firm
and never yield
standing tall
for every cause
nothing, nothing
can give us pause

through every challenge
we'll bear the test
always upward
giving all our best

just one small thing
we'll never know
should we cut our hair
or let it grow?

template fix

hey, tom
and i know i'm talking to you
cause everyone else is on
computer unavailability

i did a devastating attack on my blog template
customized it to Lourdes and back
now the only blog hits i record are those
arriving by stagecoach or Harley

the rest refuse to take
their shoes off to gallop through
the metal detector, good thing
you still ride au natural

Bad Name

with a name repulsive enough
to cause grown men
to moan and turn away
poetry harbors grace and beauty

sometimes like tennis
there is a head nodding
back and forth
rhythmic iambic pentameter

unlike professional football or soccer
you generally won’t risk getting bruises
or breaking bones playing
poetry without a helmet

perhaps it would become more
appealing to the base masses
if only we called it
word slugging

Clean Water

dear people of the future
how are you, how’s it going?
look, i want to say
when i brush my teeth i think about
the people of the earth that live in areas
with a shortage of clean water to drink,

i worry about the clean water availability
not overly, but i am aware
of a potential problem of supply
so i turn the tap water volume down in the sink
when i don’t immediately need it

conservation has to matter,
look what happened to the buffalo
that once were bumper to bumper on the plains
and were shot for sport from passing trains

will water shortage be a problem for everyone
in a hundred years or twenty?
and while i am brushing i wonder who else
is thinking about water

water rights are being purchased
is that a “so what?” or not?
you could tell me
slip a note into my dream or something
can you do that?

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