Thursday, June 25, 2009

"Blood of the Lamb"

you try to sleep while i type
you say you can hear me making sounds
in the night
the click of the keys the computer brain
working working overtime.
all the non-stop time
you are my lady, my sleeping beauty
my soul kiss

my heart hears mind music in the night,
when it is quiet and everyone
is wherever they go when they sleep.
outside the daily pains.
away to that place of peace
never worry, my love.
i will always come back to you.
where i never left

the piano of the keys beneath
me writing sounds in my head
so many running there.

swirling sad silly sentences
in the china dark.
sometimes i wake you with my noises
(i forget how loud i play the music)

go back to sleep.
i'll be there soon, and we'll go together
to our dream place.
our special private

that dimension on the other side.
of this side
or inside
get a little on the side
side of mayo
side of fries
california mudside

we have been youth,
and we have made it
so much farther
than the police said i would.
i owe you, for not just shaking you head
and walking away

i shake you head
but you don't walk away.
you just pull the covers up
and patiently

i'll be there soon
because i love you,

you sweet,
hard lovin belly rubbin',
foxed out madwoman,


Tuesday, June 23, 2009

I go to bed to sleep, perchance to dream
Ah, but therin lies the rub.
To dream of you so far away.. makes my melancholy heart
Begin to beat faster at the thought
Of you inside my arms.
Your eyes sweet light to rest on mine..
Your soul shining through that pastel blue.
God worked such kindness in your face.
Sweetness there for all to see.
But there is only one who sees the all of you.
That one, sweet love, is me.
Not long, not long, my precious one,
The space between us will be gone .
We'll hold each other in the night
And smile until the dawn.
We'll love so hard and laugh so loud
That God Himself will smile
To see the beauty of his gift.
the Vegas Moon that shines on both of us this night
makes souls like ours embrace each other.
May you sleep the gentle sleep of lovers..
and know your heart is safe.
I love you.
Truly,.. madly..deeply.. and always...

Monday, June 22, 2009

Never miss a chance to keep your mouth shut.

-Robert Newton Peck

If the only prayer you ever say in your entire life is thank you, it will be enough.

-Meister Eckhart

Sunday, June 21, 2009

New Hope, Pennsylvania

Once upon a time there was a little town in a nice green valley where a river ran clean and cool and some farmers raised their families and crops. Everyone was very happy and content with things and went about their daily lives with serenity and grace.
Then there was an awful war and some of the farmers and their sons were killed but when the war was over the ones who hadn't died came back to the valley and life returned to normal. You see, farmers live with lie and death every day and know that sometimes the crop is good and sometimes it is not. They accept the things they cannot change and do not think about them much.
But in other places in the land there were creators of things or "artists" as they are sometimes called and they were unhappy with the way things were, what with people fighting wars and all. They wanted to know why things happened like they did, and they thought all the time about questions that have no answers and where a straight line goes to and noticed things like dewdrops and wrinkled faces or the shape of shadows.
Some of the unhappy artists went looking for a place where they could be creative as they called it and where it would be quiet so they could think and where there were not so many people to remind them of how many questions they hadn't answered yet.
Now the artists found the little town in the green valley by the river and they liked it very much because they could be themselves and even if they did things very differently the only people watching were he farmers and they would only shrug their shoulders and go about their business.
Well, the artists told all their artist friends about this new and wondrous place and pretty soon there were quite a few of them, painting and writing and sculpting and singing and photographing and they would get together on winter nights to laugh about how poor they were, and share the warmth of friendship.
Then one day some people were out for a drive in the country and they saw an artist sitting outside painting and they stopped and looked at the picture and liked it very much so they asked the man if they could buy the painting. Now, the artist did not know what to say, because he had just been painting a picture of a question that had no answer, and did not know what kind of price to put on that, as he had made it out of love. But, the people seemed quite nice and he was a little hungry so he named a sum of money.
Well, the people thought the price was very fair for they they could see the man had made the picture out of love, so they quickly paid the artist and drove back to the city, telling all their friends how lucky they had been to acquire the piece of art and the artist told all his friends how lucky he had been to sell the piece of art to people who hadn't even asked him to answer any questions.
Pretty soon a lot of people were driving to the little town in the hope of seeing an artist working and all the artists were very busy selling their work and they weren't so hungry anymore. Things went fine for awhile until so many people wanted things that the artists did not have time to think anymore so they started creating anything and they found the people bought it anyway because it was very crowded and they, too, didn't have time to think.
You can easily see how confusing things got, for pretty soon lots and lots of people were coming to the little town without knowing why, and lots and lots of artists were creating things without knowing why.
The farmers by this time were beginning to move away because there were so many people around that it frightened them. You see, they didn't understand why all these people come to town and paid money for things that had only made the farmers shrug their shoulders. and anyway, their cows would not give milk with all the noise on weekends.
Now that was sad enough, but then one day a businessman from the city noticed that the little town had no place for people to eat so he opened a restaurant and pretty soon he did so well he left the city and stayed in the little town. In not much time at all there were lots of business people who opened more places for people to eat, and places that sold souvenirs so that the people who could not afford to buy the artists work could still prove to their friends that they had been to the little town and walked around.
Now the town was crowded all the time with people buying souvenirs and grabbing bites to eat, and going back home without knowing why they came, and the artists were all very busy selling things that didn't ask a question any more.
Finally, the little town had an "Arts Festival" and, although thousands of people came, there weren't any artists left who cared about where a straight line goes to, or noticed things like dewdrops and wrinkled or the shape of shadows or making things with love.
So the businessmen started selling hot dogs and soft pretzels from rolling carts and paved the farmers fields and shuttled the people back and forth in little buses pointing out the places where the artists used to sit and work.
You see, the artists had become unhappy with the way things were and started yearning for a place where it would be quiet so they could think and where there were not so many people to remind them of how many questions they hadn't answered yet. And they found a little town in a nice green valley where a river runs clear and cool, and some farmers raise their families and crops. And they get together on winter nights and laugh about how poor they are and share the warmth of friendship.
But, I'm not allowed to tell you where it is.

Saturday, June 20, 2009

The Walrus

"The time has come,
"the walrus said,"
to speak of many things.
Of sealing wax and sailing ships,
of cabbages and kings."

"The time has come," she said to me,
"to speak of going home.
Of packing up and letting go,
and leaving me alone."

"The time has gone,"
she sadly said,
"when songs were always sung.
And words were true, and eyes
were kind,
and you and i were young."

"O.K.," i said, "It's no big deal.
We've already said goodbye.
Our lips don't kiss, your eyes are cold,
and you never even cry."

She said,
"You know, i guess you're right,"
and just hung up the phone.
The walrus never had the answers,
i'm in Wonderland alone.

Chicago Cold

She had never been so cold.
She remembered when she was a little girl in Kansas. The time when the bus let her off and she had walked the mile home only to find that Mom was not home yet and the door locked.
She had been cold all day. Her hands had begun to hurt and her breath was frozen to the wool cap she had pulled down over her face, waiting. When Mom finally came home, she was very glad to see her and get inside the warm house and into her mother's warm arms.
It didn't seem to be as cold as it was over 75 years ago and her memory wasn't so good. The television had talked about how the city was frozen in the January sun and she remembered feeling sorry for the poor men who had to go out in this weather to fix things like electric lines and to clear the streets. She wondered if their families sat at home like she was, just waiting for things to get better.
That was two days ago, but the TV had quit working not long after that last weather report, and then the lights had dimmed and finally gone dark. She would be all right, she told herself, but she did wish she had a phone. It had seemed sensible to let the bill go unpaid until they finally turned it off. After all, there was no one to call and since old Mr. Ramson had died, there was no one who might call her either. That extra money every month bought food and she had to make her money last.
She sat on the edge of the bed for a moment. "If I just concentrate, I can get warmer. It's just mind over matter." She had always had a strong mind, and now was no time to be weak just over a little cold. She concentrated on the warmth of summer. She told herself that it was just around the corner and then remembered the best summer of her life. She had been 16 years old and her boyfriend's parents had invited her to the Jersey shore for two weeks. He - (she lost his name for just an instant) of course, Gene. They had laughed, laid in the warm soothing sun and played on the beach. She laughed at herself for forgetting his name, because she had loved him so.
She thought of the necklace he had given her. It was a gold chain with half of a heart inscribed, "May the Lord watch between thee and me, while we are absent, one from the other." He wore a necklace with the other half and they would walk out on the jetties and sit on the beach while the tide was out and nestle just where the ocean gently broke against the rocks. He would take the two halves of the heart and put them together and tell her he loved her and they would make plans and laugh and kiss for the longest time. He had made her warm. She wished he were here now to hold her. Her hand reached up and touched her throat where the necklace had laid warm in the sun, but now she only felt the emptiness and how cold she was. She really was very cold.
"Maybe if I eat a little something," she said, and slowly got off the bed and made her way across the room and went into the kitchen. She walked to the sink and even though she knew nothing would happen, she turned the faucets as she had done for the last three days. Sighing, she sat at the table to gain her strength and wondered if she could make the trip down all those stairs, but she knew she couldn't. She rubbed her legs absently while she was thinking of the stairs and how hard they had become these last few years. When she had found the apartment five years ago they hadn't seemed so steep. She had to stop on each landing and catch her breath, but it had been her "exercise" and she had even felt proud of herself every time she had conquered them. She hadn't felt that way in a long time, not any more, and especially not now. She was too tired, and she was cold, so cold. There were times, like this, when she would feel angry at nothing in particular because her legs were no good, and she couldn't do things like stairs anymore. She knew that ninety years was a very long time for your legs to work but it still made her mad that their strength had deserted her, along with the world in general. Her legs had been so strong. "The rest of me wasn't too shabby either," she smiled at the thought. Her mind rambled for a while, now visiting familiar memories and faces, sometimes hesitating on the details of a special moment or whether it was she or a girlfriend who had done such and so. Mostly she remembered warm sunny days of summertime, the barbecues, and how warm someone's hands had felt. Her eyes closed and for a time and she let herself drift through springtimes of sun. She was cold, so very cold.
"Eat!" "I need to eat." She got up, but to do so she had to lean so that most of her weight was over the table, and then push up with her arms to help her legs. She got to her feet and slid each foot forward a few inches, not really even a shuffle, more like an inchworm drawing her whole being up before making another five inches of progress toward the cabinet. It took her seven minutes to go the four feet from the table to the counter beneath the cabinet. She paused and realized she was suddenly exhausted from the effort.
"I really do need to eat," she persisted and reached up and opened the cupboard. There in front of her were two cans of Sunkist tuna she had found on sale, one can of Campbell's Tomato Soup (her favorite), and three cans of Nine Lives Liver and Kidney, but they were only good heated up.
She reached for the can of soup at the same instant that she said, "Damn!" No power. No. No electricity. Electric can opener. There was just a dot of time, a frozen second, when she thought that if she just put the can in and pushed down on the handle that it WOULD WORK! The instant passed and she stood for a long time, trying to deal with this. She knew that she did not have the strength to open the cans with the regular can opener (if she could even find it). She knew she was getting weaker and very hungry and she was cold, so cold. Her mind seemed to splinter.
"Silly," she thought, "after all these years"' A thousand emergencies, and she had handled it all. Now, she was just empty, and it didn't seem to matter. She realized she was in trouble of some sort but she wasn't sure what the trouble was. She thought of the neighbors down the hall but immediately thought better of it. They had trouble of their own and besides, it was such a long way down the hall, she didn't think she'd make it.
She leaned on the counter for what seemed like a very long time, not having the strength or the inclination to return to the table. Her eyes began to film, the light inside them fading, settling softer, like a kerosene lantern being turned down ever so slowly.
She suddenly turned toward the bedroom. Knowing what she needed to do stirred her consciousness. Once again she made the great effort to move. It was much harder now as the cold weighted her limbs. But she struggled on, determined (she had always been determined) to get to the bedroom. She leaned against the wall and watched a mist of breath stream from her mouth. She tasted something warm and realized that in her exertion she had bitten her tongue. Somewhere in the back of her mind like a faint little song she heard her mother's voice: "Bite your tongue, young lady." She started to smile but her lips cracked and with the quietest of moans she resumed her journey.
She felt a tinge of fear go through her as she approached the door to the bedroom and realized as she turned into the room that it was getting dark. With no lights inside or out she knew the dark would fall quickly. But she was almost there, so she just hunched her shoulders and hugged herself, inching the last three feet to the bed. She tried to move herself to sit on the edge of the bed but this last effort, 90 years, and all that cold finally defeated her and she felt her legs slowly give way.
They mired her down to the floor, where she knelt beside the bed. "That's okay, old girl," she whispered into the covers. "You did good. You made it." She lay her head on the blanket to rest for just a moment.
When she became aware again, she noticed that the moonlight coming in the window was sparkling on ice crystals that had formed on the floor and the corners of the windows, and the edges of her robe. When she tried to move her legs and realized she couldn't, she took an incredibly deep breath, raised her head, entwined her fingers, and gently laid her head down on her folded hands. Softly the words came. "Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep. If I should die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take." As she repeated the prayed over and over, slowly slipping away, she realized she wasn't cold anymore.
She was sixteen, the sun was deliciously warm, and someone loved her.

Friday, June 19, 2009

the moment

the moment

if that's what you want to call it ...

is so fleeting that i barely remember what or if it is.

the time it takes to realize that the moments are gone is the moment it took

stangely but true, but this sound of birds and rain are so smoothing that i can almost feel her kiss.

just out of reach like a shadow in fog

misty moving melancholy mornings

my mouth melting

lips are the gentlest body part the tongue is always moist always in the mood always waiting just out of sight so kissing is the gentlest art the kindest art the most intimate act

the most human.

i put your lips to mine and all the words go away for that moment just watching from the inside. there will always be more words but kissing slows them down enought to keep us from hurting all the time.

hookers don't kiss

which is why hookers don't take the pain away. they take the urge not the pain.

a man doesn't know how to say "would you be my girlfriend for today" and even if he did she'd just say no.

women have the urge they have the pain but not the lust the pain needs kisses hugs and holding

the urge needs disembodiment

fingers vibrators hands motorcycles porn flicks

fucking .

the lust needs power

taking owning being more than man being god

the lust is the twisting of man and beast

the lust needs feeding

the lust is alive inside a man raw savage cruel

the part most men deny and lock inside.

the part that women never ever ever understand.

the part that always frightens and excites them rapists never kiss

they put their victims mouths in theirs to eat their screams nothing that could be called a kiss kissing is why people fall in love kissing is where love happens with the gentlest part. the part where

"i love you"

comes from the sweet soft

oh god so soft

feel of lips touching... parting.. my breath in you... your breath in me.. exchanging life

taking away the pain of being human

Thursday, June 18, 2009

The Letter

He very slowly took the three pages of the letter, and folded it in exact thirds, then ran the back of his thumbnail along the crease, over and over, until the three pages lay as flat and as evenly as one. He picked up the letter as if it was gossamer and slipped it into the envelope.

He opened the desk drawer and picked up a pen, put it down, picked up a second, put it down, then stared into the drawer blankly for a full minute. His voice said aloud, "Jesus, asshole! What's the difference?" He grabbed one but his hand still found it necessary to explore the feel of three more before it became satisfied with the balance, or whatever it was that had made the choice so difficult to begin with.

He proceeded to carefully address the letter, printing with precise, exact strokes of the pen. Twenty minutes passed as he named the letter's destination. The slightest of smirks came to his face as the habit of placing a return address moved his hand toward the upper left hand corner of the envelope. He hesitated, then shrugged and took another ten minutes to complete that, as precisely as he had done the address.

Finally done, he turned the letter over and dipped his index finger in the glass of Jack Daniels that sat beside him. As if finger-painting, he drew the shiny digit along the glue of the envelope to moisten it, then carefully folded the flap ever and sealed the letter. He rubbed the seal absentmindedly for several minutes, his eyes unfocused and staring, then slowly drew up in his chair, took an incredibly deep breath and blew the air out in a barely audible stream like a long soft whisper.

He again opened the desk drawer and took a small packet of stamps from the interior. He separated one from the others, passed it lightly across the tip of his tongue and placed it exactly in the upper right hand corner of the letter. He rubbed his thumb in a tiny circle on the face of the stamp and, as he did, he thought of his childhood stamp collection and the happy hours he had spent with his father as they had carefully placed new issues into their proper places in the "Stamps of the World' book. He smiled at the attack of nostalgia, abruptly pushed his chair back and stood up.

He interlaced his fingers and stretched his arms overhead, palms up and straining toward the ceiling, which brought about a deep and extremely satisfying yawn. He dropped his arms to his side, cracked his neck from side to side, then spoke. " Done." was all he said, and placed the letter into his shirt pocket, being careful not to bend the corners of it as it slid firmly into place.

He briefly considered the jeep, then walked over to the corral and whistled for his horse. He threw a halter on him, grabbed a handful of mane, and jumped on. The air was hot Colorado July as he headed the gelding down the mountain. Slowly, the horse and he moved the three miles toward the road.

At the mailbox, he almost primly slid the letter out of his pocket and placed it so that it rested at a 45 degree angle against the inside of the lid, then gently closed it securely, and with the utmost deliberation, raised the red flag.

He got back on the horse, sat for a moment, then in a sudden violent fury, he yanked the horse around, dug his heels in the bay's sides and bolted up the hill. Dodging branches, racing, scrambling, sweating, they tore back to the house. He jumped off, opened the corral, took the halter off, slapped the horse's rump and hollered, "Walk yourself dry!"

Breathing in gasps, he walked into the house, went to the refrigerator and grabbed a can of beer. Popped the top and sent the contents down his throat in long deep swallows. His mouth overflowed, sending streams of foam cascading down his chin and onto the floor. He paused in the middle of the room, then went back to the refrigerator, and grabbed the remaining four cans by the plastic ring holder and hauled them out. He pried another can out of its place, opened it and drank it as he walked, the last three cans swaying from the tip of his finger, gently banging his lower thigh as he entered the living room.

After a pause he said, "Think I'll build a fire. It's too hot, but so what?" He sat down in front of the freshly started blaze, removed his boots, socks, and shirt and threw them carelessly across the room. He stood, unfastened his levis, and let them drop to the floor. He then slid his underwear down his legs and stepped on the cuff of the jeans and pulled one foot out, then repeated the operation with the other so that he now stood naked. He looked around the room, then down at the puddle of clothes at his feet, then at the fire. He shook his head slowly, giggled, and sat back down.

Two hours he spent, staring at the flames, watching the heat eat away the logs until they were a pile of orange-red chunks glowing so hard they made his eyes hurt, even in the daylight.

Now very slowly, he drained the last, long warm, swallow of beer that remained in the can he had been holding. He unfolded out of the chair and walked to his desk where he filled the glass sitting there with Jack Daniels. He stood now, his naked body wet with the heat of the fire and drank in stages, letting each mouthful roll on his tongue till it burned and then closing his eyes as it seared down his throat into his belly. "Best god-damned whisky in the world."

He turned like a ballet dancer on one foot, took two steps to the cabinet, then walked outside. The sun was beginning to throw shadows across the valley. He watched a squirrel run for cover as he looked out over his mountains.

Then he raised the J.C. Higgins - Model 12. "Good gun," he said. "Too bad they don't make 'em anymore," and blew his brains all over the sky.

Creative Commons License
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NoDerivs 2.5 License.

Oh Sweet Rock and Roll

is unplugged.

eric makes me remember
and dream
and care
and wonder
and what
the hell
i am

or ever

way back before there was a time
i could count
that lasted more than a kiss
and a quick
see 'ya

I used to be unplugged
and i would sit
and rock
while she rolled
me around
in her mouth

oh sweet rock and roll

there was a jetty in
cape may

everyone would leave
Gloria's bar
at dawn
and go down
to watch
the dolphins
bring us the

god the music
we made
in the gable
hot sweaty
no air
smoke everywhere
cold beer
hot love
sweet rock and roll

the notes came so easy
and words
were always
just right

i'm sure
eric was
having fun then

so were we
and everyone
and everyone
and everyone

except of course the dying

but we somehow didn't notice them
we were too busy
with the music
and the dolphins
oh sweet rock and roll

now eric knows death
and so do i
and now umplugged
means becoming
d i s c o n n e c t e d

life has happened to us
while we were busy
doing other things

the music was our
young hearts
and our
it was your smile
and the wink in
my eye

now the music
is the only thing
some days
that keeps me
from walking
in front of a train



Years From Now

Years from now,
When you like in another's bed,
And bear your childrn for him.
Be very careful when your little boy
comes in the door,
with his hair all in his face,
and dirt beneath his fingernails from
building cities;
walking like a cowboy;
That you don't start to cry
becuase you see me
inside his eyes

Wednesday, June 17, 2009

The Homeless

The Black Caucus is having an event for the 27th which is Obama's National Day Of Service. They are focusing on healthcare & distributing donations on Foremaster St. here in Las Vegas, where we feed them every Sunday. Nice to get the extra support. Should be a great day. It's gettin' hot here. From now till September they need water more than anything else. And I wish they made Fabreze or Dial in a giant truck size sprayer, especially when everybody wants to hug us. :-) Always make me grateful I have a shower to go home to.
Publish Post

If you want to be involved let me know. There is always room for one more volunteer.

And if you do something for the homeless where you are, let us know what it is.

Portrait of Dr Martin Luther King

Dr. Martin Luther King
30" x 36" Acrylic on Canvas
Permanent Collection of Martin Luther King Center
Las Vegas, NV

See Ya

You know, sometimes you have to
go backwards
in order to advance.
You left me - but before you wandered off
you took me back to where
I had forgotten I could be.
And now I can move forward in a
way that slipped my mind
some years ago.
Maybe, as I pass by your way once more
you'll be able to stay
with me.
Or, then again, as I pass by,
I might be so busy looking ahead
I won't even notice you.

~ Meher Baba

Start learning to love God by loving those whom you cannot love. The more you remember others with kindness and generosity, the more you forget yourself, and when you completely forget yourself, you find God.

Tuesday, June 16, 2009

Sinclair Lewis

... "he found that whisky relieved him from the frenzy of his work, from the terror of loneliness - then betrayed him and left him the more weary, the more lonely."

From Arrowsmith, 1925

F. Scott Fitzgerald

" It's a great advantage not to drink among hard-drinking people. You can hold your tongue, and, moreover, you can time any little irregularity on your own so that everybody else is so blind that they don't see or care. "

The Great Gatsby

J.R.R. Tolkien

"All we have to do is decide what to do with the time that is given us."

Gandolf -" The Lord of the Rings"

F. Scott Fitzgerald

"He knew that when he kissed this girl, and forever wed his unutterable visions to her perishable breath, his mind would never romp again like the mind of God. So he waited, listening for a moment longer to the tuning-fork that had been struck upon a star. Then he kissed her. At his lips' touch she blossomed for him like a flower and the incarnation was complete."
from The Great Gatsby


Go placidly amid the noise and haste, and remember what peace there may be in silence. As far as possible, without surrender, be on good terms with all persons.Speak your truth quietly and clearly; and listen to others, even the dull and ignorant; they too have their story. Avoid loud and aggressive persons; they are vexatious to the spirit.If you compare yourself with others, you may become vain and bitter, for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself. Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans.Keep interested in your career, however humble; it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time. Exercise caution in your business affairs, for the world is full of trickery.But let this not blind you to what virtue there is; many persons strive for high ideals, and everywhere life is full of heroism. Be yourself. Especially do not feign affection.Neither be cynical about love; for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment, it is as perennial as the grass. Take kindly the counsel of the years, gracefully surrendering the things of youth.Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune. But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings. Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.Beyond a wholesome discipline, be gentle with yourself. you are a child of the universe no less than the trees and the stars; you have a right to be here. And whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.Therefore, be at peace with God, whatever you conceive him to be. And whatever your labors and aspirations, in the noisy confusion of life, keep peace in your soul. With all its sham, drudgery and broken dreams, it is still a beautiful world. Be cheerful. Strive to be happy.
Start learning to love God by loving those whom you cannot love. The more you remember others with kindness and generosity, the more you forget yourself, and when you completely forget yourself, you find God. ~ Meher Baba