madonna overdrive poetry by smffy a bipolar writer

Because Her Dog Was Chained to the Bed

2008-09-03T15:57:00.000-07:00

She slept on an ironing board at night
so she wouldn't move in her sleep
or get her fingers sticky rocking.

Right away I could tell
she'd had a face lift
and they forgot to do her eyes.

She couldn't light them up
with a whole box of kitchen matches,

not even for the men she loved -
dozens and dozens of them
desperate as she was.

She said even lousy sex is good
and puchered up whistling
when she spit in the wind.

I don't know what to tell you
except she collected keys
and kept her pills locked up in closets.

She drank Wild Turkey
and had any number of operations,
always running back into the burning house
because her dog was chained to the bed

guarding her box
of jellies and gadgets.

The Desire to Be What She Wasn't

2008-09-03T15:51:00.000-07:00

She cut rubies from watermelons,
perfectly carved already
and swallowed the seeds,

married her sister's husband
and lit fires at night.

Sit, sit, sit she said
serving lemon tea
and watercress salad,

while the mean wanted drumsticks,
to drip grease from their elbows
and lick their fingers.

She wore bees in her hair
and put the honey on her tongue
so no one would notice
how sharp it was.

Below her navel was a well of wine
and dandelions turned white around it.

Who, who, who she cried,
confusing men with her deception.

She appeared to know something.

She kept even her name a secret
and scrubbed her dirty pots with sand
like an old woman by the river

which is what she was,
hiding that too
in a dance of veils.

Doing Time in a Psychiatric Unit

2008-08-27T11:50:00.000-07:00

Like a trpped bird
raging against the windows,
I pressed my face sideways
trying to see a tree,
houses in a row,
the lawn,
city lights,
anything beyond the dreary walls,
beyond the wardens, the psych techs
looking for a rule to enforce.

The sterile time passed.

Morning in my city

2008-08-27T10:57:00.000-07:00

The sparrows have gone mad
with singing in the pinion in the parking lot.

Garbage trucks grown with heavy loads and shriek
as they lift their burden high above the head.

The cars whip past my building
and the sun rises.

it is a Friday morning
in my city
and all of us wake up to each other.

I open my door to the morning breezes.

The sign on the deserted building next door
says "Gifts of Distinction."

I eat an omelet on the fire escape.
My cat stretches and yaws.

Soon we will bake in the August heat.

8/17/08

Old Friend

2008-08-27T10:43:00.000-07:00

I am thinking of you friend,
childhood friend.
Me. The one you were afraid of.
The one you almost started something with,
but thought better of it.

I was in a bad place
and we had no time for each other.
Too many duties, too much baggage.

The wind has blown wild through my hair
and I turned brown in the sun.

I'm only hoping you will be there.
We're supposed to be in the same place
at the same time.

I'm thinking about it.
But, probably won't do anything.
Neither will you.

We like each other too much for that.

Thank you for that one night.
I haven't thought about it until now.

It was good for both of us.

I've had my fill of younger men
and want some only older.

I only hope you are there
and survived the years.

8/17/08

Untitled

2008-08-27T10:41:00.000-07:00

From crushed glass,
steel
tensile strength
against certain winds.

Bend and flex
in bridges from this place
to another.

Bearing the burden of traffic
of people going somewhere

08/19/08

In Love With California

2008-08-27T10:38:00.001-07:00

The inland sea wafts through the night breeze.
It smells like California.

And I long to be there.
Anywhere but here.

The lights of the city glow
like the eyes of a woman in love.

By tomorrow I will love this city again.
But, tonight I'm in love
with the smell of California
and would trade the shadowy mountains I so love
for the gift of sea
and do so with every beat of my heart.

Suddenly Dawn

2008-08-27T10:31:00.000-07:00

Somebody told me once suddenly never happens.
Everything happens gradually.

But only rocks believe that
and suddenly they are sand.

I am constantly startled.
Like a deer in the headlights.

Somebody else
cranks the handle of the jack-in-the box
and I am shocked by the clown.

Stars fall surprised.

I doubt even the sun knows for sure
it will rise again.

Than suddenly purple gives way to pink
and suddenly down.

They Come For The Red Table

2008-08-04T09:34:00.001-07:00

Like the humming bird
who came to my house
just yesterday,

I've spent the whole morning
whirring and flitting, darting
here and there.

We could have been soul mates
at one time.

But, I am like a hawk now
soaring and predatory
willing to kill to survive.

Still the humming bird fascinates.
Still the humming bird
is delicate
As once I was.

I believe it is the red table
they come for.

Determination of Destiny

2008-08-04T09:28:00.000-07:00

Madam Jaing liked my looks
not too pretty
not too well cared for
defiant and older

a couple of missing teeth
from lack of private dental care.

so like the proletariat.

Still I was bourgeoisie.
Too stupid not to be.
Obviously intelligent.

At little too feminine.
Still I walk like a Party Boss.

And I was a poet.

I only escaped
another internment
in a Siberian Labor Camp

Because it was determined
I am quite insane.

Living on Red Fire Farm

2008-08-04T09:25:00.001-07:00

I had been living on Red Fire Farm
fighting for The Party.

My body nearly borken
my mind in rebellion
against my reality.

So when the cars drove by
and the streets were peopled

I thought, I said to myself
"Nobody told them
everyone in the city is dead."

It was almost true.

The wind was warm.
My hands were cold.
The sun was just setting.

The lving room was strewn
with red azalias.
my hands

Unititled

2008-08-04T09:22:00.000-07:00

I almost called you tonight.
I was that lonely.

Loneliness and I
hardly know each other.

Neither do you and I.

I was hoping for a split second
I got you all wrong.

that would have been fortunate.

A split second later
I remembered ho right I tend to be.

I called someone else.

There was no answer.

Creeping Across The Parking Lot

2008-08-04T09:20:00.000-07:00

The wind feels like the hot breath
of someone on my neck.

Tonight is going to crawl
like a sentenced man
begging for some mercy.

No matter what happens
beneath this dark sheet

Morning will come
on tip toes
across the parking lot.
Creeping

To see if I took it well.

Writing for The News

2008-08-04T09:17:00.000-07:00

It feels like everybody in the city died.
No one told the people driving in their cars.
The people had the time to turn the lights on in the city.
And left the radio on.

This happened once before.
I sat glued to the speaker
Waiting for the news.

Wanting for the first time
A human interest story.

I know very well
When I wake up in the morning,
They'll all be back and I'll feel
For the first time

Like going to the class reunion.

From the Ether World to This

2008-07-31T15:20:00.001-07:00

This table, worn rough in places,
this lamp, the solid floor beneath my feet,
the surety of solid form
in what is a formless world

give me architecture,
scaffolding,
rungs in Jacob's ladder.

One with the formless,
apart from the physical,
I need these solid reminders
of where I am -

the ego's reminder.

I write the table of contents
of my history,
collected like a box of photos.

Snapshots, fragments making the totality.

Illusion

No more real than the table.

The Weaver On the Fire Escape

2008-07-31T15:10:00.000-07:00

Warm nights carry sounds
heated molecules of air excited to bring music,
conversation,
the television buzz
through nights' still air.

So when, in a loud voice, said outside (on the fire escape as I sat on mine),
"I belong to Jesus, not to you, not to Satan,
so don't tell me what to do,"

I heard,
and I believed her.

That is the first and only thing I know about the woman.

She's woven into the fabric of this place now,
has a color,
a belief,
an asstertiion to make.

We weave and are woven, all of us together.
My separte self doesn't exsist -
like the glow around the neon sign
on Baker's Bakery below.

Woven in with the classical music I am aware of,
and the thoughts of the book I am reading,
a piece of a poem yet to write in my head,
Katie packing for vacation.

I make something out of nothing.
Everything and nothing.

These words will get lost someday.
I'll forget I have written them.

I may not share them with anyone.
Are they really here at all?

The cursor keeps demanding like a weaver's shuttle.
I record the woof and the thread.
If I didn't
the weaving would still happen.

I'm just part of the fabric.

About Lions and Artists

2008-07-31T14:55:00.000-07:00

The cat grew into a lion
with white markings on his face and paws.

In my dream
I didn't know how to explain the the management
that he was supposed to be a lion.

I didn't know until he was one
and then it was quite obvious.

I didn't know what to do
about the way he was clawing at the door jams.
That's the way of lions.

He scared me a little bit.

A little like my son.
He turned into a dedicated artist.
Creating tattoos and watercolors
of elephobras, hot air balloons bearing Victorian houses, and beautiful women.

I didn't know when he was little,
drawing roses
that's what he was supposed to turn into.

I thought he would be an architect.

But now, it's obvious.

He scared me when he was hungry
and I couldn't feed him.
But what he turned out to be excites me now.

I explain to everyone about him too.
About how he had to be an artist.

I still have those roses for evidence.

The cat's face was always lion like.

I don't know when I can quit explaining the obvious.

David

2008-07-31T14:48:00.000-07:00

David paces on his fire escape.
He is suffering this morning.
His face is gray and slack, eyes dull.
He doesn't smile and wave as usual.

Schizophrenia is a cruel disease.

I pace with him on mine.

He can't wave, David to me.
This morning it would be disorder to disorder.
I'd rather he didn't.
I can wait for a better day.

The snow falls, grains from tired eyes.
Our breath and smoke escape like demons
needing to be cast out.

We are shivering on fire escapes for the same reason.
Poor because we're too sick to work anymore.
Still, my life is rich.

I wear my pennies as best I can.
I brought a few relics, good taste and know how
to make something our of almost nothing with me.

I once lived in a fine neighborhood.
A lot goes on with the trappings.
It doesn't have a thing to do with the goods you buy,
unless it's the wrong stuff.

I don't miss it.

I hated that place.

I miss David waving.

Willingly Awake

2008-07-31T14:38:00.000-07:00

The music is soft enough
so I won't disturb the neighbors
with flutes and violins too disturbing for them.

I play a grown up lullaby.

The lights around me go still.
Doors shut.
Even their televisions' flickering lights go out.
On and on all day, at last shut down.
My children all in their own places are asleep
as are my friends and other family.
Of course I am alone.

I am not waiting for a call, or making one.
I am not trying to relate.

No errands can be run;
the store is closed,
bank shut down.

There was trouble in the mailbox this afternoon.

Tonight, there is only what can be done
it will take on its worth.

There is nothing to go after.
So, one or twenty at a time,
it all gets taken care of.
Slowly the moon comes over the buildings' edge.

I sit on the fire escape.
The air is cool and soothing.
It is the hour for loners and dreamers,
women weary enough to wish to be awake for this
solitude.

So, like the times when the children were just small
when the days were busier and just as hard and tiring,
I need bedtime stories,
the smell of hair just washed and hugs goodnight.

They all go off to bed themselves in far off houses as
I need them to.

It doesn't take too much to wear me down these years

The Long Journey

2008-07-31T14:33:00.000-07:00

My hands make a ring
around a hot cup.

The coffee is warm
bitter and sweet.

There has been in the cold
A kind of dieing all around me.

It is not just the leaves.

Outside there is shuddering.
Inside, my heart
beats solidly on.

I breathe in smoke and make ghost.

There is talk
amongst myself and the wise men.

No, not the pond..
Neither the town.

In the way of a circle
It has been a long journey.

Hands tighten
breath comes in sharp.
I have never been home.

I Will Say That Once You Healed Me

2008-07-31T14:30:00.000-07:00

Peace.

The smell of sandalwood and candle fill the room.
You and I, without apology remember.

Old lives fill the room
And we make place. As though we did not live
When people walk without reverence or ritual

You gave me sacrament
I give you what I have

And if the world calls me to trial
I will say that once,
You healed me.

What We Know

2008-07-31T14:26:00.000-07:00

Water smooths out flat
Mirrored against
Our still shore form.

You explain
about the door
bucks in heat the and herd.

It is an old story.
In some ways I knew

How the blood stirs
Horns lock
The wind changes

Deer run wild
Through the burning wood.

I only say yes.

That is what you needed
From the telling.

I was silent about the water birds.

Fish make rings on the surface
Disappear in a flash of sun on scale.

That is what I could have said.
That is what I know.

Cat To Cat

2008-07-31T14:21:00.001-07:00

I might have called you on the telephone
to say I am available.
But, I wanted to know if 'd miss you.

f my mind would go back to your house
To the last time I saw you,
If I would be all in a start about

Is it you?

At the knock on my door.
If I'd be disappointed when it wasn't.

I imagine you sitting on your front porch
Not missing me at all
And your cat walking by.

resent that animal.
We have each been alone
Long enough to make me wonder if the cat is enough.

Maybe it's none of my business
And this hour was a gift
Cat to cat.

A Kind of Tribute

2008-07-31T14:16:00.000-07:00

There is a shadow in your house
Of a wife fifteen years gone
Shadows of dancing women after.

There is no bit of lace or trace
That once a woman lived here.

The sound of trains
Comes distant through your window
Where you learned cooking for yourself
And indulgence of brief passion.

There is a sort of cheerfulness
About "No woman ever got to me."
Comradery of men
And jokes about the actress and the preacher.

There is a smile around you mouth
That says "Who do women think they are?"
A tribute to cigars and good tequila.

Everything Has Its Place

2008-07-31T14:11:00.000-07:00

I wanted to find out if
you are what you seemed.

If something had passed you by
and you were just waiting.

If you ever dreamed
past your checkbook.

I wanted to know
what you knew about real things.

I wanted to breath the same air for awhile.
Sit in your chair, drink out of your glasses
just to see how it felt.

Maybe I'll do what I always do.
Walking out the back door without looking back.
Maybe I'll never get around to leaving.

Sometimes I don't enough
to make any kind of choice.
Sometimes I don't have one.

I was just minding my own business
when found you
And I could go back to it.

You'd be just like before.
I always leave things
Just like I found them.

Everything has its place.

Peeling the Fruit

2008-07-31T14:07:00.000-07:00

I watched.
You peeled kiwi.

Skin yielding
to exposed fruit.

Juice in a tremble
Beneath a sharp knife.

Each slice a deliverance.

At the center
A star burst of seed

And translucent flesh.
You meant it so.

Hawks

2008-07-31T14:04:00.000-07:00

Maybe you saw them.
Hawks circling
Strong wings beating the air.

Tighter and tighter
The rustle of grass
And then the drop.

Maybe that crouched thing
Hiding knew just before
The grass went still

As did I.

You reached for me.
I did not flinch.

Maybe you saw the hawks.
Maybe you knew blind.

Justice For The Judas

2008-07-31T13:59:00.001-07:00

The laments last long into the night.
What can I tell you?
Forgive the old Judas his
Whiskey and women.

This is how it goes
p stairs and down
Smooth sheets and rumpled.

A man thinks with two minds.
It is not you I pity.
About your red rimmed eyes
Cry retribution.

So, I tell you about Phineus.
Poor unloved Phineus
Jerking his way into heaven.

Some men grow old
With women, some woman
after the woman they loved.

Buying off guilt
With trinkets and turn arounds.
Jumping and twitching
To tapping red fingernails.

Wincing and worrying
Over every young man.
Remembering what sometime
They might not have done.

Telling the Shaman

2008-07-31T13:55:00.000-07:00

I tell you this much.

Words spill in little puddles.
There is no sound from my throat.

Do you need more?

I stir them like coals
On my exposed belly.

Look at the fire.
You can see how it was for me.

Charcoal forms patter
Bone. Sinew. Totem of thigh.

You thought otherwise.
That is why I came.

Here is my feather.

A Man and His Dog

2008-07-31T13:51:00.000-07:00

There is a place beside the stove
Where the dog looks for dinner.
A blanket meant for shedding
At the foot of your bed.

She curls familiar at your feet.
Knowing when you'll climb the stair at night
How long to wait.
You are attentive to her eyes.

"Old dog, good friend."
There is no grumbling between you.
Long years on your doorstep
And many nights together.
Tail wag and sigh.

I look to the clock for time.
The dog knows
I am intruding
Almost smiles.

This is how you live
Along and not quite.
So content.

She watches the door.

Candy Man

2008-07-31T13:46:00.000-07:00

Living without excess
Sinew, bone,
One good knife, as many rooms

Knowing contained hunger
The balance of the beam
Walking perfectly

Economy of words
Something of exact
The demand of yes or no

What could I do
When you offered me a chocolate pot
Bag of jellies and a vague promise
Smiling at your own sticky fingers?

I said bread and butter
This or that
Took a taste
And walked away.

You must have neglected
Something of your studies.
Misjudged the angle of my spine

You said you were wondering
And I seemed to know.
You could not have been more mistaken.
I could not have been more surprised.

The chocolate rolled like heaven in my mouth.

This is Nothing Personal

2008-07-28T12:35:00.000-07:00

I would introduce you to myself
as I am.

Not as you remember
or wish me to be.

I would show you exhibit "A"
my shirt, sweat stained.

This is about fear.

Maybe we could have exchanged lives.
You would have died.
You too would have gone mad.

Tear off the buttons.
This is about rape.
A visual lesson.

Maybe I could tell you
Something you didn't want to hear.
Something true.

Tear through the fabric with fingernails.
All jagged, a little blood.
This is about my soul.

It could have been you.
It could have been your daughter.
Thank you for letting me in your house.

This is nothing personal.

When You Can't Say Goodbye

2008-07-28T12:27:00.000-07:00

Staying there was hard enough.
The girl down the hall slid her bed
in front of the door to keep men from
sleeping on her.

Everyone wanted to talk about
who was after tham.
I didn't know what to say.
I don't know anything anymore.

One night, a man did come into my room.
Three of us woke up screaming.
It was nothing to have a nightmare about.

The Navajo girl said:
"Indians use the whole sheep.
Everything but the hooves."

I'll bet I could find a use for them.

She said she is angry without a reason.

her father said she can't come home.
Her sister said she can't have her government checks.
her mother said, "Don't touch me."

I wanted to slap the smile off my own face.

I was only homeless and well bred. By choice.

She said she knew herself better when I looked at her.

She put on her high heels and lipstick.
The walk to the supermarket took hours.
She did not return smiling.

She said I was a ghost.

We listed to the radio and washed dishes.
I gave her a cigarette.
I told her yeah, I like old rock and roll.
We sang "My Boyfriend's Back."

I just packed up one day and left
having found a job.
I made somewhere to go home to myself.

I did not say goodbye.

Nobody in Particular

2008-07-28T12:14:00.001-07:00

I was to have been the precious consort
and ended up being screwed by nobody in particular.

That would be you.

I woke up some mornings
half expecting to see dried chrysanthemums
spent on your after dinner robes,
a rail of raked sand
from bed to bath.

Someone had been grooming me.
I think the sake cups
finally tipped me.

Other worlds,
I will appeal to the emperor
on the grounds of other worlds,
go the the American School,
learn how to chew gum.

I sat with my imperial knees uncrossed.
That's how you knew
I suppose.

He was from France.
They take older women seriously thee
and first love.

I took all this very seriously.
I could have done suicide instead.

The Emperor said no.

I worked in a Siberian labor camp.
You brought me notice
my passport had been canceled.
I should have killed you.

I left out the one about the Bengali diplomat's son
because he might have hurt
my chances with the Emperor.

Other than that,
I have nothing against chrysanthemums.

7/10/90

Willing

2008-07-28T12:08:00.001-07:00

I am willing to forgive you
your absence of aching.

There is nothing you did
you didn't want to do.

I walked without backward glancing'
no pillar of salt against a Gamorhan sky.

I wanted to be rent asunder
and rise up whole.
I wanted to pay
any price.

God help me,
I never missed you.

For the first time,
I could breath.

There is no pain
I wouldn't have born willingly.

I have walked on coals and nails,
flowed clear in my own weeping
about being free
of you and the entanglement.

What does this say
where you fixed a zero value
to how many years?

I wished to be more than civil.
i wished not to be devastated,
not by the legal process,
not by my own ruthless cutting.

I am willing to forgive
in exchanged for emotional and real distance.
Not even that well tended fire
could last this unceasing cold rain.

7/8/90

Prodigal

2008-07-28T12:03:00.000-07:00

These are not bruises.
Purple, black, fruit brown markings
of a woman strong enough to wait for you.

Your father spent his bitterness
in a wallow of wine and wenches.
The day you left was darker than
the first time Zarathustra failed
to rouse him with the cock.

You have come home.
All he needs to know.
In a child's delight
he counsels with the elders
how best to keep you here
This Time.

Take this,
my mother's ring,
to buy your freedom.

Your brother
plough strong, powerless to heal
this many chinked house
has born a heavy burden
for our sake.

After the feast
slaughter and dancing
Promise Me
You will lift up your head
look into the waters of my eyes
and Swear

You Will Not Be
Your Father's Son.

The Alchemist

2008-07-02T18:51:00.000-07:00

He had a well practiced hand at weighing hair,
pulling teeth,
and pulling out fingernails
one at a time.
I knew what I was up against,
how evil he really was.
I intended to beat him.
And I did.

White Rushes On the Floor

2008-07-02T10:18:00.000-07:00

Nobody can or should die for you.
It's something you have to do for yourself.
There's no reason to fear it.
It's a natural process,
part of life.
White rushes spread on the floor.
In and of themselves, useless.
But, they can have an important effect.
Everything you do is spiritual.
You can meditate while washing the floor.
Pay attention to the warm water and the slippery soap
when you wash the dishes.
Enjoy the sparkle and shine.
Every day life is a miracle.
It's a miracle you sometimes survive.
It's a miracle you were born.
Life is the greatest mystery.
Death is holy in and of itself.
Experience it.
Face it.
Don't be afraid of anything.

The Needlepoint Club

2008-07-01T06:33:00.000-07:00

My year to learn to get along with women as it was,
I joined the needlepoint club when invited.
My mother was so happy.
There was a certain status in belonging to the group.

We met once a month, supposedly to needlepoint,
to see each other's work and progress.
The main focus of the group was gossip,
always couched in great concern.

We took turns hosting the event.
The leader said of one, "I can't wait to see what she's got."
The competition fierce for who would do the best,
the food was always fabulous, homes at their very finest.

My husband bought our furniture just prior to my turn,
and helped me clean the house.
The needlework was intricate, painstaking and exact.
My mother had to finish mine, the work just drove me nuts.

The last time I attended, I couldn't take it anymore.
Saying I was sick, which in truth the thing had made me,
I excused myself and left.

I drove straight to the convenience store and bought some cigarettes.
Ten years without smoking one, they had never been so good.
I drove until I settled down, a drive up Weber Canyon.

The rocks were rough and rugged. The leaves were all ablaze.
The air was crisp and earthy. It was one of my best days.

My mother kept on with her embroidery. Her work was beautiful, exact.
She had more than she could ever use, so she gave most of it away.
I do not have the work she did and once gifted to me.
I still don't know why she did it. A mystery to me.

The group long since abandoned. Many moved away.
Some divorced or gone to work, we wouldn't know each other.
I'm sure their values are the same, no matter how their lives have changed.
Most often, I have noticed, people stay the same.

The Timepiece

2008-07-01T00:12:00.000-07:00

Pay attention to your time.
As your check book is the economic history
of what mattered most to you
this month,
last month
this year
last year.

What did your spend your time on?
frivolity?
drudgery?
dutiful but dreaded tasks?

Are the answers at all interesting?
Did you learn anything from what happened?

Did you spend the time in good conversation
or make reports about the details of your life

What you did
Who you saw,
What they said,
How tall this kids are?

Or did you say, "I noticed the grass was greening in the morning light?" Did you say, "I thought of you and remembered the last time we cried."

What ever you spent your time on I hope it was worth it.
Time is all we have and it doesn't last forever
We turn timeless at some point in time.

On the vanity of writers

2008-06-30T14:47:00.000-07:00

Mixed reviews
"Missed some of the corrections, but still an 'A'"
Why would I want to publish?

They sit on the school bus,
your poetry in their lap
none of them understanding.

There's no advantage I can see in being famous
awarded the Pulitzer Prize
National Poet Laureate of the Year

Why would that matter?
What does it mean to anyone who wins?

Is that the reward?

An Accident In August

2008-06-30T12:40:00.000-07:00

Suppose there passed . . . face, -
who even longs to follow it,
Must feel forever in the disgrace
Of having moved a bit.
"The Owls"
Charles Beaudelaire
Translated by Edna St. Vincent Millay

I had been leading a solitary life, working eight to twelve hours a day at a menial job, walking eight miles or more, talking to no one except to exchange pleasantries, and reading. Except for a mattress on the floor and a chest of drawers, my apartment was empty. I intended to go on living as I had been living (possibly forever).

So, when an acquaintance suggested I meet someone who was "just right for me," I rejected her offer to introduce us as graciously as possible and without having to think about it. "No. thank you very much, but no," came quickly and easily to my lips. But, one hot, August afternoon, I needed a ride somewhere and she showed up, as she was wont to do, uninvited and for no reason. She offered to drive me where ever I needed to go. I accepted her offer.

She drove straight to "his" house instead. As I started to protest, she slid out of the truck, all blonder and pleased with herself, and disappeared into the house. She had some trumped up excuse for stopping by, but I was the obvious agenda. I sat in the truck, thinking of stupid blond jokes, finding fewer reasons to object to the idea of blond jokes, wishing I had walked despite the heat. Of course there was no way to escape what was now a very awkward situation. So, when she came around the corner to say I was invited in, as politeness dictated, I smiled an empty smile and accepted, all the while cursing that meddling female instinct to match up a pair of anything unattached, especially if being unattached is satisfactory to the individual.

"Just right for me" lived in a crumbling stone cottage surrounded by an aging stock fence and an untidy yard. We entered the house by the back door, through a tiny room that might have been intended for potting a hundred and fifty years ago, but now served as a catch-all for canned food and boots, tools and clutter. The rooms smelled musty with moisture from the swamp cooler and cigar smoke. The kitchen looked as though he actually cooked. We moved into a crowded, dim room that would have served as the parlor in former days, but was now crammed with filing cabinets and a desk, a computer and boxes of files.

There was beautiful, soothing music playing on the stereo. In the curtained light, the dials and buttons on the sound equipment glowed like eyes. "Excuse the mess," he apologized in the usual way of a surprised host. "I'm in the process of moving my office and . . ." I could see that the confusion had some sort of order to it and that he was not so very bothered by the mess or what I might think of it. He offered us the challenge of finding a seat, we exchanged names and a few pleasantries, and after a civilized duration, I said we really had to be on our way. The blond was not about to concede to such a non-event so quickly.

"He is really a classical music expert," she confided with the subtlety of a salesman. "This isn't classical, it's New Age" I asserted. She looked quickly to our host to assess his reaction to my statement. "You know New Age music?" he inquired. "Not many people have even heard of it." "I know what it is, that's all I know," I said. Judging by the records, tapes and the C.D.'s he knew at least enough to choose to invest in music as I invested in books.

"Would you like a cup of coffee?" The blond was only beside herself about his sudden suggestion that we stay longer. "We really have to go," I said. "I have a lot to do myself," he said in a patient tone, "but, you've got the time for one little cup." He got up from the old chair at the desk and walked surely toward the kitchen. In no time, we were drinking vanilla-bean coffee, freshly ground. I think there is something wonderful about fresh ground coffer. The blond smiled as though there was something wonderful about what she had, so far, managed to accomplish.

"She writes," the blond offered, gesturing toward me, raising the stakes like a poker player. He looked rather startled. "Everyone thinks they can write," I reassured him. "Actually, I'm a waitress." I waited. I have five children." I waited again. "Are you married?" he inquired. "Not any more," I replied.

"Come sit on the front porch." I took one last look around the room. The bookcase contained the complete works of Will and Ariel Durrant, some Robert Frost, several volumes about mathematics and a little philosophy. There were also some bawdy titles tucked incongruously next to the Durrants.

Something seemed to have changed in the room. Maybe it was just the light. The sun had moved to the place on the horizon where the rays slant just so over the trees and gross looks gentle through the windows. By the time I got to the front porch, he had retrieved a cushion from somewhere for me to sit on. An arbor burdened with vines sheltered the tiny porch from the heat. I accepted the cushion and he lit a small cigar. "I'm going to make you one of my famous margueras," he stated. The blond seemed to have disappeared. She was playing with his dog, trying to be absent. He had a large Siberian Husky that seemed absolutely devoted to her master. The sound of the blender came floating through the front door, promising tartness and salt, and the relief of ice.

Summer heat and the smell of grass shimmered through the tiny house. Somewhere a dog barked. Traffic moved across the small town Main Street, lazy and open-windowed. A few of the drivers and passengers seemed to take note of a woman sitting on his front porch. "There'll be gossip by tomorrow," He returned with the drinks. The prospect of talk seemed to amuse him. "One of my elderly, religious neighbors had a fit of tolerance the other day. She told me 'even I' had a right to live here." He was really smiling now. He handed me the cold glass. "Do you know the movie 'Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf?'" I shook my head no. My mouth was full of ice.

"Come back tomorrow. I think we should watch it together." He seemed to move closer to me on the porch, although he had not changed positions. "Do you water ski?" I answered that I did not. I said I only worked and read. I think I said it without smiling. I looked around for the blond. "Never mind about her," he said. He wasn't smiling either. For the first time, I noticed that except for his dark brows, he was completely gray. His hair and beard were rather distinguished silver and white. He had the look of Fowles' description of himself in The French Lieutenant's Woman: "There was something rather aggressively secure about him; he was perhaps not quite a gentleman . . . His look was peculiar, sizing, ruminative. " . . .there remained about his features an (uncomfortable) aura of self-confidence - or if not quite confidence in self, at least a confidence in his judgement of others, of how much he could get out of them, expect from them, or tax them." His open shirt was a little wrinkled, his jeans, quite faded and a size or so too big.

"I'm forty-four," he interjected. A lie. "I'm forty," I replied. The truth. he looked relieved. "A week ago, I wouldn't have had time for this. I've been working night and day, sixteen hours a day, trying to get this project finished up. It's lucky that we didn't meet sooner." He stated it matter of flatly, as though we had admitted we intended to see each other again, as though we had some kind of understanding. We sat on the porch, sipping our margaritas, saying nothing. It didn't seem to bother him that we said nothing and silence was quite natural to me. He stared at me evenly. I don't know what he saw. I don't know what he was looking for. I had the sense that he did not intend to be paired, any more than I did.

I cleared my throat, got up, and moved toward the walk, expecting the blond would have to follow suit. "Thank you for the coffee and the Margarita. It was very nice," I said, walking purposefully. "I'll get the movie for tomorrow," he replied. The blond left the dog where they had been playing on the grass and walked toward the battered truck. "You did well," he said in a low voice I was not supposed to hear, as she passed him on the walk. "I told you so," she murmured. Pleased, she stretched herself, "Didn't I tell you he's just perfect for you?" We drove away into heat.

On the Clothesline

2008-06-30T12:35:00.000-07:00

Dirty little secrets,
dirty little lies

Dirty laundry piles up
and ends up stinking

mildew and mold
in need of soap and bleach.

There's nothing like a laundry day

Sun air, and fresh dried sheets

2008-06-30T07:34:00.000-07:00

The phoenix rises from its own ashes
The rainbow promises the world
The earth renews itself each season
Robins always return.
From decaying leaves, new growth emerges.
Peat moss, pine needles
the law is all around us.

What good are written rules
carved on stone tablets
except to tame barbarians?

Keeping one rule at a time,
man learns.

2008-06-30T07:08:00.000-07:00

THE IMAGE

The earth above the lake:
The image of APPROACH.
Thus the superior man is inexhaustible
In his will to teach,
And without limits
In his tolerance and protection of the people.

It takes a very long time to learn anything worth learning.
Years of study, long hours of thinking,
dissecting, analysing.

The allegory of the cave.
Man believed in his own shadow
and would not come out to face the sun.

The Quenched Thirst

2008-06-30T06:28:00.000-07:00

This much is clear
many things are not teachable.

No one learns what they don't want to.

Leading horses to water is all I've ever done.

Some of them won't drink.

The Value of Writing

2008-06-30T06:25:00.000-07:00

There is a difference between
being lost in thought,
contemplation,

and not knowing what you think.

Write it down,
what you know.

Put it out there for others to read.
Accept their criticsm
and their praise

if you've earned it.

There's nothing I know better
than the value of the essay question.

Passing Judgement

2008-06-30T06:19:00.000-07:00

I have no compassion
for the uncompassionate.

No pity for a fool.
I bear a standard.

By which I judge all men.

An Ugent Question

2008-06-30T06:02:00.000-07:00

Sophia, Beatrice, Mary
How many of you have there been?

Wise women in the shadows.
Muses, advisors
ghost writers?

I want to know how many?

Someone tell me.
I want to know.

The Victim

2008-06-30T05:59:00.000-07:00

You knew it all along.
No one had to tell you.
It was so obvious.

The way he followed her around
tripping over his feet,
always saying the wrong thing,
making an ass out of himself.

The question is,
why didn't you help her?

The Poet

2008-06-30T05:55:00.000-07:00

Taking chisel to bone,
she wrote on and on.

Sometimes in her own blood.
Sometimes in theirs.

True poetry is
a blood letting.

Suicide

2008-06-30T05:51:00.000-07:00

Unable to live with himself
a rich man put a gun to his head
and pulled the trigger
it was a mercy killing.

Truth

2008-06-30T05:49:00.000-07:00

How upsetting, to finally hear the truth.
You'll get over it.

At least you were brave enough to hear it.

And when all is said and done,
it will serve you well.

It has served me
since the beginning of time
and before that.

The Carpenter

2008-06-30T05:46:00.000-07:00

I like a short poem
that says everything.

Why add verbiage to a simple truth?

Why speak in parables and metaphor
when there is clear language.

Unvarnished, un gilded,
rough as raw wood.

Take a hammer to a nail
and drive it home.

Of these things
houses are made.

The Humble Farmer

2008-06-30T05:43:00.000-07:00

There is nothing to be done
about an overblown sense of self.

Some men can't be humbled.

The meek inhereit nothing.
It takes a man to love the earth.

Lessons Already Learned

2008-06-30T05:39:00.000-07:00

If this takes too much time,
excuse yourself.
There's no point wasting it.
You have better things to do
than review what you already know.

The Unbelieved

2008-06-30T05:34:00.000-07:00

The innapropriate question:
"Would you drown in the ocean for sex?"
I answered no to this series of yes and no questions.
He always wanted to know about that.
He didn't believe me.

False Promises

2008-06-30T05:32:00.000-07:00

Before you were married
you promised her three things.

You did none of them.

How I wished I could tell her.
How you laughed about it to me.

Learning from Photographs

2008-06-30T05:30:00.000-07:00

I saw your wedding picture.
She looked at you with such love in her eyes.
You stared into the camera
with revenge in yours.

Bad Advice

2008-06-30T05:19:00.000-07:00

I tried to save them.
So many were lost.
One followed her heart
into a physically abusive marriage.

We feared for her life.
And all the time, I knew who told her
to go there.

Men In High Places

2008-06-30T05:14:00.000-07:00

There will be no comeuppance
no justice
he has a guarantee
so many insurance policies
everything he'll ever need to be safe.

There's no protecting anyone
from what he does and says
So much damage will be done.

And there is nothing to be done about it.

Sins of the father

2008-06-30T01:13:00.000-07:00

I forbid my daughter to ever talk to him
she already knew, she warned me as well.
She went to school with his only son
who was mean and cruel and hated women.

Sargosa Sea

2008-06-30T01:02:00.000-07:00

Don't tarry too long in the land of the dead.
They'll pull you down like leaden weights.

Sea weed will tangle you
water through your mouth

The fish will feast on you
Sharks with dead eyes will seek you out.

Haunted seas, stormy nights
Hulls splintering on submerged reefs

Lost

2008-06-29T22:52:00.000-07:00

Come away oh fairy child
to the waters and the wild
come and take a fairy hand
for the world's more full of weeping
than you can understand

William Buttler Yeates

What else could I give you but the gentle brook
a book of poetry and glass of wine
and tender kisses lasting through the night.

How I once loved you.

Transcendence

2008-06-29T21:50:00.001-07:00

Coursework in miracles
heavenly messengers
fairy dust and moon beam
sparkle and shine.

Transformation
metamorphisis

Course completed all I need to know.
of course of course.

Crap Shoot

2008-06-29T20:30:00.000-07:00

Double your winnings
One last chance

Publishers Clearing House
Win the Lottery

It's sure to ruin your whole life.

Roll the dice
Life is a crap shoot

Box Cars and Snake Eyes
On Green Felt

Slot machines jingle, shrill and whistle
No one looks like they're having a good time.

Smoke filled rooms
free drinks

Have as many as you want until you lose all your money

Desperate women, desperate men.
One more chance
One more chance again.

Outpost

2008-06-29T17:30:00.000-07:00

Out in the elements, the wind, the snow the rain.
I go walking as I always have.

A foolish man builds a house made of straw.

The winds will destroy it
The rain and snow will freeze him.

The sleet will sting his face.
I climb the mountain where there is an outpost.

Oranges in the Well

2008-06-29T17:21:00.000-07:00

The ridgepole is braced. Good fortune.
If there are ulterior motives, it is humiliating.

I Ching

The superior man does not seek to humiliate.
Only misfortune would come of that.

The Golden Braid weaving the hair into discipline.

If the hair hangs wild, misfortune will befall the maiden.
If she is not subservient, she will be cast in the well.

Wells and oranges rituals for purification
The ghost spirits warn you

And will haunt them the rest of their lives.

In Memory of Becky

2008-06-29T17:18:00.000-07:00

I'm absolutely positive
about why your wife was unfaithful.

She was kind to me when I was desperate
She helped me get a job.

You tried to make her jealous
When that didn't work

You went back to what you've always done
Control freak

Untitled

2008-06-29T15:28:00.000-07:00

The insanity is that I cannot go mad.

The pain becomes too clear to deny
even honesty is no relief

Since I am the only one with ears to hear

Understanding is the booby prize

Untitled

2008-06-29T15:24:00.000-07:00

It doesn't matter anymore
if night is day and good is evil.

The sun cannot wrench from me the heavens
or leaves fail

We are so much the way we are
There is no choice left

To be until
we are no more.

Untitled

2008-06-29T15:20:00.000-07:00

I don't know where he has gone
or if he's strong enough

because he can't lean on me anymore.

And even as my homeless kittens
sleep in peace

I cannot see where to turn or run to
and cannot be other than the way I am

My breasts weep
But I cannot

I have so much to do
and too little time to do it with.

Untitled

2008-06-29T15:17:00.000-07:00

Some may laugh and some may cry
a tear may fall a life go by

And never will the others know
from whence he came or where he'll go

A nameless face
Through countless years

They'll never share his joys or fears

A phantom

He's your fellow man
The soul in need from whom you ran.

1967

Untitled

2008-06-29T15:14:00.000-07:00

The morning kissed the earth with frost
The blush of spring and summer lost

Nature gilded all with gold
and rustled the reeds with fingers of cold.

The frozen stream was a crystal way
The cold sun shrivelled and blew away

And the chilling cry of the phantom loon
said how late the summer and winter how soon.

1967

Untitled

2008-06-29T15:08:00.000-07:00

Through silvery curtains of drizzling rain
Through decaying leafed and mossy lane

I wander among the naked trees
and watch as the robin southward flees.

I lift my face to the distant sun
as across his face gray mare clouds run

The wind is laden with earthly scent
It's here my afternoons are spent

As evening cloaks the purple hills
and twilight bids the winds be still

The lights blink on in the homes below
as happy and warm as my heart they glow

And if one should ask who was standing there
with frost stung cheeks and wind blown hair

Her hands in her pockets and sun in her eyes
It was I.

1967

2008-06-29T15:04:00.000-07:00

To commune with the music of words
and string them in sparkling strands

That speak the things my heart feels
and my mind thinks

But, cannot express in any other way is happiness
And for another to listen
toy with the chains

Understand and feel
the way my heart feels

Is an alliance of souls

1967

Untitled

2008-06-29T15:00:00.000-07:00

I looked and beheld
a pale white horse.

And his rider was death
and his eyes shone sorrow.

And the sound of his hooves
was hollow.

He trod on that which lived
and it was dust.

He was followed by leagues of others
in submission

to him who knows no foe

his peer.

1967

Untitled

2008-06-29T14:57:00.000-07:00

Be careful with yourself.

You are naive, so unaware
of how brrittle are

illusions.

How simply shattered
the transparency.

A window for aimless voyeurs
target for vandals
with hard rocks in their pockets.

1985

Untitled

2008-06-29T14:54:00.000-07:00

Moth wings turn to dust
window ledges

too late to fly.

I know what will happen
tomorrow or the next year

Foolish flight, so fond of
Flame.

1969

Higher Law

2008-06-29T14:50:00.000-07:00

Understanding is the prize.
Otherwise
we are all powerless to anything
except

responding mechanically
to outside forces

contracts
commitments and duty.

Separated as a child
from our own power and possibility

Free to obey,
But not free to choose.

1985

The Great Rebellion

2008-06-29T14:46:00.000-07:00

The pieces laid out
monopoly.

You are the bank
own all the real estate
piles of plastic

You think you have won.
But I will go 'round and 'round again.

I will roll doubles
I will pass go
I will fly.

And never touch Boardwalk

There is the orange card
of last resort.

Get Out of Jail Free

1985

The Proposition

2008-06-29T14:40:00.000-07:00

You were just drinking
victim of alcohol
itching for a scratch.

I have long fingernails
I know the ways
and potential for immeasurable waste.

I am a wilderness
vast and uncharted

You are capable of many illusions.

This
is not one of the possibilities

I am condemned and saved
by what I decided yesterday

and the years before.

2008-06-29T11:35:00.000-07:00

It is the work of the earth that benefits man
thriving a flourishing
fecund by her nature.

Blooms and blossomings
grain and corn
against a time a famine

Against her cruelty.
Kind and just
she rewards the nations
that serve her best

and she takes it away.

Wholly desecrated, raped and worn
she dwindles, she dies, she turns to vapor.

A Summer Kiss

2008-06-29T10:05:00.000-07:00

Blown away, free and far away
in a summer breeze
dandilion bloom
tiny parasols of white and light

Glints on the grass
green and brilliant

Slippery sidewalk paths
water bathed

Blow away, farther and farther
not to reach earth again till fall.

Let's Give Them Something to Talk About

2008-06-29T09:41:00.000-07:00

Dressed in red, painted lips

Jezabel, Vashni, Rebekha, Shakti, Nefratiri, Cleopatra

Woman of the earth toiling in the field
Woman giving birth, blood and pain

Demetre, Nu, The Good Earth

Intellect and Passion
Mother of the mind

Athene, Isis, on and on.

Notorious women with a reputation
You will have one too, be sure you earned it.

When One Night You Woke Up

2008-06-29T08:15:00.000-07:00

We wove mats of myrtle, blooms of lavender
Ivy curtains
Lilies wild with wonder
Globe willows

A pond to put fish in
A place to build a tree house
A cozy kitchen

One room that was beautiful
English chintz and Chinese lacquer
Bed time stories, singing and laughing

Photographs framed
Your childhood was a dream
every child's fantasy

I'm so sorry you had to wake from it one night.

Wondering, Wondering

2008-06-29T07:11:00.000-07:00

Do we seek God because we know God,
or do we know God because we seek him?
Thomas Aquinas

He said, "This has never happened before."
I thought it was about time.

He said, "I don't know what this is."
I'm sure he never will.

So many unanswered questions, I knew all along.

I don't answer many questions.
There's no point.

Dieing, Thirsty Men

2008-06-29T06:54:00.000-07:00

The ridgepole sags to the breaking point
It furthers them to have somewhere to go.

Across the great water, across the great plain,
across the great river, across the great mountain.

They will have to travel very far to find relief.

A dieing man wishes for water
A hungry man asks for food.

An intelligent man considers what is the right thing.

Welcome to The Hotel California

2008-06-29T05:26:00.000-07:00

Life in California is not all it's cracked up to be
L.A. the freeway, houses where they don't belong.
Mudslides.

I wonder how many wildfires it will take till they catch on
How many drive by shootings, how many teachers fired,

How much glamor, how much glitz how sensational must they be?

I liked San Francisco, The Redwood Forests almost gone.
I liked San Diego, all but the zoo.

They trap the whales for entertainment
It's all vaudeville and muscles, colonics and plastic surgery.

I wouldn't live in California if you paid me.
The iconoclast, thief and liar said he hated it here.
I wish he'd go back to L.A.

Regrettable Life of a Man

2008-06-29T04:43:00.000-07:00

He'll never marry again,
just once, to me,

He'll sit alone in the house he keeps so filthy
and drink himself to death.
So bitter, so angry

No friends not much of a family
no women, no wine.

At least he doesn't blame me
for leaving him.

And I don't blame him.

We Never Saw the Real World

2008-06-29T04:36:00.000-07:00

I gathered shells on Newport Beach
little clams all iridescent.

The waves nearly swept us into the undertow
at Laguna all they remember is Disneyland.

The thick sea air of morning
burned off into hot sand

We stayed in a little beach house
all of us together.

I bought a cookbook in a little shop
some pottery for my hope chest

You and I went back there together without them
for our honeymoon
and never saw the beach.

The Butterfly Effect

2008-06-29T03:52:00.000-07:00

In the spring of 1987 you made a choice
that changed all our lives forever.

It only took a moment
may have seemed insignificant
in the big picture

But it has been the reason
everything that has happened did.

One spring day,
the ground was wet
the air was soft

I sat under a big tree
after we had been together

I remember what I said that night
so true and so were you
to yourself
the way you had become and would thereafter.

I thought it a terrible thing
I so regretted it
You did me a favor, I just didn't know.

A Questioning People

2008-06-28T21:01:00.000-07:00

The just king visited the world.
And better knows how to rule his people.

Contemplation.
It is in the quiet moments
desperation is heard
the unanswered prayers of the many.

When will the drought end?
Will the rain come in time to save the crops?

A Fitting Ending

2008-06-28T16:21:00.000-07:00

Rampant Capitalism needs to be restrained
The Jungle
Men made into slaves
the company store
company housing.

No division between the Corporate Church and State.
Mercenaries,spies, Blackwater in hiding all over the world.
In the name of "stability."
Testosterone poisoning.
Adrenaline rush
Brutality.
Disillusionment of the C.I.A.
Snowman.
Disillusionment of the captain of The Cole.

More prisons, detention camps,
no refuge for the refugee

What the fuck is the matter with you?

It is injudicious and brings down a righteous wrath
on a greedy people.
The Taming of Megalopolis

Dust bowls, hunger the spoils of the spoiled
the pampered rich, the middle class
only those in poverty have a chance for freedom.
Cursed by the One Eyed God That lies to you and feeds you with drivel.

Even in the gangs and drugs, side effects of inequity.
There is still hope, a garden blooms
A Tree for Peter
The Tenement Tree
Howl

Honest, decent labor
untouched by blood soaked hands.
What happened to the corner grocery store?
Strip malls
Storage Garages

The military industrial complex
The Empire of the Law
wars without ending

The earth cries out God,
how long must I bear it.

An answer will come
Someday

I wish it were sooner rather than later.
Extinction of the species.

A Firm Rejection

2008-06-28T16:15:00.000-07:00

You've been wrong too many times
to rectify your mistakes.

You'll just have to sit in it.
You're trapped now and deserve to be.

A product of your education and closed mind.

I don't want to have anything to do with you.
You've always been a waste of my time.

You make too many presumptions.
I am offended by them.

If I never see you again
it won't be too soon.

The Jealous Woman

2008-06-28T11:54:00.000-07:00

Cracked pots, spilt soil
in a fit of jealousy and rage.
Perhaps you mis-spoke when you talked to her.
Perhaps your glance strayed.
Perhaps she needs you too much and is frightened.
Perhaps she didn't get her way.

She was cruel, vindictive and spiteful.
There was venom in her voice when she spoke.
You used to find her so delightful.
You loved her a long time ago.

You stay on and on as a duty.

For the Forgotten Fox

2008-06-28T10:15:00.000-07:00

Do you remember the day
autumn flame and chill air
horses pawing the ground and snorting
breath visible in the cold?

You released the caged fox
red, pointed ear, with black markings
to run for its life.

You held the horses and the hounds back
yelping and pawing the ground
just long enough to make good sport.

The fox sought shelter in hollow logs and stones
the blood hounds came remorseless
and the shot was fired

for pride, vanity, and raw aggression.

Nature with Force

2008-06-28T09:13:00.000-07:00

Within the earth,
unhumbled magma seeks it's way.

Looking for a weakness, a fissure
in the crust.

As in the way of Vesuvius
there will be an eruption and ash.

Covering the rooftops and pottery
embalming the bodies.

So are the islands created
lava, granite and quartz of the mountains.

After Forty Years

2008-06-28T08:55:00.000-07:00

My friend writes poetry now.
It happens so often, it must be catching.

I read it to the bone.
As good as mine, it's publishable.
I think she will seek it,
we're different in that way.
I know where she can send it,
where it will be appreciated.

I read her pain and conflict
disappointment and fear

And now I know her better than I did
after over forty years.

Contemplation

2008-06-28T07:40:00.000-07:00

Only seriousness makes truth possible.
The color of yellow
perfection of beauty,
not read by the unseeing eye.

The wisdom of moderation, modesty.
The strength of the reed and willow.

Capable of bending with the wind
and rebounding with force.

When darkness seeks the light
there is sure to be a struggle.

It must be fought at all costs.

Smiling in peace, conscious
ever spinning wheel
mandelas and energy.

Water and wood
arranging the rocks
raking the sand.

Deep in contemplation of things.