Pieces Of Resistance

There is this place or space that is stuck in time
Anachronistic reality off the beaten linear path,
An old water cooler hooked up to lead pipes
A septic tank that overflows every now and then,
Lights flicker around the porcelain insulators,
A fire ball shoots out of the hand-crank wall phone
Whenever there is a thunderstorm,
The place breathes with its own spirit
Expanding the crack in the wall in the summer
Closing it in winter,
When the windows fog over with condensation
Watery faces appear where there used to be a clear view
Into the courtyard below,
Dogs lie on the wooden porch stretched out in the sun
A rabbit hops silently behind them,
The apparition that appears from time to time
Speaks in a puffy voice trying to explain its shaven head,
A black cat sleeps in the bathroom sink,
Birds fly into the windows and die
In the English ivy that eats away at the clapboards,
Last night's empty wine bottle
Thinks about making its way to the ravine
To join all that rest in the charnel ground
Where water ravages away time
Washing the dead to the valley below,
A far-off train whistle blows a five note cacophony
The black death wing circles overhead,
A vulture of compassion waiting
To clean up the carrion of resistance,
Morsels of life chewed upon and spat out
Into the fray of hemorrhaging consciousness,
Caressed with the bilious analogy of death,
Kissed with lips of mediocrity,
Sewn together with the thread of decay
That bites into the flesh
Leaving teeth marks of rabid desire,
There is a longing for a return to that which once was
To that subtle humility of quiet repose
That pervades time and transposes lives
Into the inkling existence of metamorphosis,
The contemplative nature of humankind
Has passed this place by
Leaving it in the slipstream of the universe
Lost in the eddy of the backwater of temporal insanity
Adrift in the sea of tranquility
Swirling in the maelstrom of infinity
Until the sun and moon and stars are reset in the sky
And lost time restores the beauty of the world.

Maybe It's True

I got a letter in the post just the other day
Telling me all about your latest escapade
About how you and all your high priced friends
Ate up all the orange marmalade
How you went about your precious business
Convincing to everyone you knew
Well maybe it was all a lie
But then again, maybe it’s true

Maybe it’s true you still got me in your pocket
So mixed up that you don’t know what to do
Maybe that’s not me closed up inside your locket
It could be someone else but you don’t know who
This might sound so confusing
Like maybe I don't have a clue
You could pass this off as crazy rambling
But you never know, maybe it’s true

The elevator man said I couldn’t go upstairs
Even if I took off my wig
I stuck my ace of spades back up my sleeve
Thinking that this might be my last gig
I want so much to have you
Come over for an hour or two
But maybe I’m making this all up in my mind
I can’t really know for sure, so maybe it’s true

I guess I’ll travel on down the Eastern Seaboard
Stop in a roadside bar and have a drink or two
Try to figure out right from wrong
Try to figure out what I ought to do with you
Sign up for a sailing junket
Go out where the sea turns blue
Try to convince myself that I still love you
You know I could be wrong, but maybe it’s true.

Muddy River

A Song In A-E-D Style Probably Like Neil Young
Taken After Moody River A Song Of The 50’s.

I took a walk down to the river
Just to see what I could see
When I looked into the water
There was no one looking back at me
Muddy River you’re so deadly
Muddy River you’re so deadly

It was quiet down by the river
There was no one else around
Standing there next to the water
I found your glove lying on the ground
Muddy River didn’t make a sound
Muddy River didn’t make a sound

(Harmonica)

I slipped into the silent water
Let the current carry me along
I vowed to let that Muddy River
Make everything right that was so wrong
Muddy River what’s taking so long?
Muddy River what’s taking so long?

Turning Green Around The Gills

Sitting in front of the 119th Street Quicktrip
He finished off the six ounce can of tomato juice
Then headed for the airport and, ultimately, LA
His only carry-on the empty can,
Catching a cab and clutching the can
He directed the driver to the Kwik-E-Mart on La Cienega
He stood in line waiting his turn
“Just the tomato juice, sir?”
“Oh, no. I just need the nickel refund for the can.”
“Here’s your nickel, sir, was that all you came for?”
“Yep, we don’t get refunds for recycling in Kansas.”
He raced back to the waiting cab.
Landing at KCI he felt good being a contributor.
He bought another juice and looked at the top of the can
“Cash Refund, CA, HI, ME 5 ¢”
Next stop, Hawaii.

A Time Of Strange Poems

No need to call upon the babbling Rilke
No time for reading the pacific Lorca
No dull wit this
Just full frontal nudity in your face poetry
You got an axe to grind
It better be a real one and not some
Tenor totin’ Zoot Simmish equestrian ridin’
Cowboy poetica
Fictionalized
Marginalized
Sanitized
Fantisized
Vanitized
Urbane-ity gone insane-ity
Grab a hold of your poetry slam winner in-anity
And let it go man! Let it go!!

The Aliens

The lights flickered about nine o’clock
A sure sign of aliens
The dogs took to barking just after that
Then whimpered off into the pasture
A green shaft of light on the octagon deck
A long silver tube about twenty feet tall
Descended from the night sky

The electricity finally went off for good
The smoke alarms played a nervous trill
Only the cats are brave enough to explore
Getting up and walking around in the dark
The green glow from the deck
Filled the living room with nauseous light
Then a scratching sound at the back door
Footsteps outside the window
Crunching on the rock driveway
Stumbling on the raingutter downspout

Trying to let them in
Only scares them away
The silver tube rides up the green shaft
Out towards Al Nitak in the belt of Orion
They are gone until next time
About a month from now
When the electricity flickers and the lights go off.