"Beck"oning

Shadow replaces light
slowly for some
more rapidly for others.
Each breath taken
contains floating fragments
of hate and hypocrisy
embedding in the lungs
of those too mentally
and spiritually weak
to expunge their noxious effects.
Altruism and Egalitarianism
twin brothers
under attack
by "pious patriots"
dig in ever deepening
pits of sand
with shriveling fingers
the flayed skins
on their collective backs,
pocketed by charlatans
consumed in their
eventual burial.
Mass Media sings along
to the jingle, jangle
of "chump" change
as we bleed out
into an amorphous glob
of witless consumers
texting "wuz up"
as the shadows
make their inexorable march
across our collective psyches.
'Tis the "dark ages"
renewed for mass
customer appeal.
Flags flap "faithfully"
ethnic wedges are
strategically placed
by experts
and a "cancer"
known as avarice
infects and disables
what we we once
proudly pointed to
as "humanity."
Climb to a mountain top,
stand atop a rocky knoll
near an ocean
and breathe in
a last gasp of fresh air.

Shower Saver

Fourteen dead oaks
stood at splintered attention.
Overlooking
A dry, twisting creek bed
Home to 37
Insect varieties
None palatable
to human tongues.
In the nearby town of Trid
(Dirt spelled backwards
Across the rear-view mirror
Of a 2022 Electric Chevy)
Frank Spangler licked his lips,
Astonished, he’d die
His body consisting of
93%....water

Parking Lot Blot

Eleven cotton mouthed, emaciated Crows
Their bulging eyes blinking
Blanking, in bone dry sockets
Perused the days accumulated litter
On Stockton’s latest testaments
To historical preservation
Bricks had been banished
Asphalt had replaced Architecture
Weeds had replaced windows
And horizontal white lines
Clearly delineated the contempt
Man had, both for his past
And his future

Peopleution

“More stars up in the heavens than there are
Grains of sand upon every beach on Earth.”

I heard that once and I’ve never forgot
An image in my head, a permanent spot
I tried to comprehend the enormity, the implications
As I watch in dismay the collapse of our nation

It all boils down to an insignificant piece of sand
Adrift in the cosmos surrounded by dark matter
Go out to a beach and hold that tiny granule in your hand
Then contemplate the former before turning to the latter

A grain of sand can get stuck on the underside of shoe
Or can be part of a castle with a moat full of water
That infinitesimal particle is cast adrift carrying you
And I suspect the experiment’s failed and we’re merely cosmic fodder

Could it be that such a dot, call it a speck on the horizon
Has been overtly “overlooked” for an eternity or two
If it hasn’t and we’ve been watched then truly the surprise then
Is why we still exist, after all, our comeuppance is long overdue

It’s not the flora or the fauna or the Earth itself I blame
They existed long before man debauched his only home
And it’s my guess that their duress will abet when man’s aflame
For the rise and fall of man will encompass all not just Rome

What had been a chain of balance succinctly plotted, implemented
Turned to chaos when intervened a biped being bred on ambition
Early on with cunning skill they learned to swindle and then to kill
And then the art of the faux pas was covered with crafty contrition

Evolution, we’ve been taught, is the evolvement of the species
Yet the process would seem to be in a permanent stagnation
For we often consider others of our kind in terms of feces
A malodorous reminder of the shame of generations

Sit down, some afternoon with a good book on world history
And re-trace the violent steps of oft cupidic humanity
It won’t take long to understand that there really is no mystery
People, from the beginning, truly define insanity

Does a wolf or a bear, kill and maim for sake of malice?
Has a sparrow or a cardinal conspired to commit acts of war?
Will a rodent or a dog enslave his brethren in the bowels of his palace?
When examining the Earth’s destruction who but man has done more?

Without man’s presence, that sense of balance and symmetry will return
And the Earth will start to heal from her massive, invasive wounds
Yet, before that day arrives, millions will die and bodies burn
Leaving a planet, on cusp of re-birth, a monumental encasing tomb

Then slowly, oh so slowly, forests will spring up and species rebound
Water’s polluted and once fouled now once again will run pure
The magic and chemistry that was so special will be re-found
For without man and his machines the Earth indeed can now be cured

And so I sit on crowded beach and examine one grain of sand
When a smile makes its way across the chapped lips on my face
That pebble glows and the future is exposed in my right hand
A future filled with many wonders and with beauty sans human race

Are there more stars in space than grains of sand on every beach?
The answer may lie between a visionary fingers reach.

Hung Out To Dry

Eight hours of blue neon reflecting off empty whiskey bottle
Seven days of hell, the heebie-jeebies come calling
Six days of “thirsting”, gin mill hooch fantasies
Five days counting cigarette burns on table
Four days reading one days newspaper
Three days planning necktie party
Two days acquiring nerve
One day, noosed
Sober……………………………………………...Slabbed

Airtime

Always within reach
A fingertips touch
Never… alone?
Electronic crutch
Fast becoming apoplectic?
Texting, Facebook, always hectic?
Drive some night
Step from car
Chuck that I-Phone
Real Far
Gaze at moon, feet on sod
Stomp the bejeezus
Out of your I-Pod
Head on home
Do not grieve
Just lie back
Hear yourself…breathe

Zero Plus Zero

“Ground Zero” they call it
Yet, what does that mean?
Can “zero” be felt?
Can “zero” be seen?
Throngs say its “hallowed ground”
Where many lives were lost
When towers crashed down
I remember that day
The images…the sounds
But can someone tell me
Where on this earth
Blood can’t be found?
Where is this spot
So pure and so clean
Where men acted nobly
Never killed or demeaned
It’s surely not America
This much I say
Hatred and intolerance
Surf amber waves of grain
Between purple mountains
And their majesty
Lie greed and deception
With systemic bigotry
America the beautiful
America the brave
Once home to separate drinking fountains
Once built on backs of slaves
Where kind people are mocked
And others fiddle like Nero
Where the compassionate are shocked
To see the avaricious…our national hero
Now, in a gesture of hope and uniting
A Mosque, although of peace
Is branded evil…guilty of fighting
On Hallowed Ground…at Ground Zero
Those of good will are in the lurch
For a Mosque, in repugnant minds
Will never ever…be a Church
At Ground Zero an apt name
A sum summation of the cost
Where many died…and many never
Will understand…what they lost

Experiment #1

A harmonica played
Notes carried on sulfurous
Winds of despair
A dog chewed his tether
Of leather and lace
Edged curtains hung
Down across musty
Windows of mourning
Comes early to those
On the gray edges
Of the dulled razor blade
Cutting across soft skins
Adorned to pasty practitioners
Lost amidst Flags
Flapping in flames

Cloud Thirst

Watched an old movie last night
Young lovers, star crossed, yet determined
Rowed a canoe across a lake, under shimmering moonlight
The camera panned skyward exposing one luminous
Yet somehow disturbing, white billowing cloud
I pushed pause on the tape player and stepped outside
Hanging, seemingly within the reach of my arm
Was a cloud, glowing white, it looked suspiciously….familiar
I ran back inside now standing before yesteryear’s images
The black and white luminosity reflecting off my face
I was sure of it….it was the same cloud, the same cloud…
That now, at this very instant, hung over my home
I retreated once again outside and reached up with trembling fingers
Take me with you I begged; don’t leave me in this cyber infected
Techno-madness that now seems to seems to engulf my very soul
Absorb my earthly body and transport me back…back

To a time when floorboards creaked and barrooms “speaked”
When pajamas were worn to bed, not to go shopping instead
I want to “spoon” in a rumble seat… with the “cat’s meow”
Oh! What a treat. Where hard boiled tough guys wore fedora hats
And gangsters rode in Packards wearing suspendered, tethered spats
When Cagney pushed grapefruits and Coop’ stood so lanky
The dames dolled up spiffy and hotels were swanky
And as I stretched out for that cloud, I heard many voices
Others were clamoring for alternate choices. My eyelids flickered, my fingers too
The voices were a chorus…take me, take me, take me… with you
As I regained my full eyesight, and looked up into that mystical night
I touched the sky, then touched my face, and wiped the tears
Then said with grace, Oh God on the day that I die
Please find a particular cloud in sky, then deposit me there
So I can be, for the first time in my life… truly happy

Dream Hand

I run…he chases
I see…old faces
I go…familiar places
I follow…dream paces
I tie…worn laces
I ponder…last traces
I touch…all bases
I open…cold cases
I create…a fracas
I conjure…dark spaces
I scream…breaking vases
I submit…good graces
I pray…take us
My play… Aces

Poe-sitive Advice

Whilst I was soundly napping
I heard a gentle tapping
Rapping on my bedroom door
Dickinson wore a bonnet
Shakespeare spoke a sonnet
Wordsworth wrote upon it
A scrap of paper four by four
It spoke of love and woe
And was voiced by he called Poe
He said, “‘Tis not the time
For dreary, nor somber, sad
and teary. Sleep on tired soul
in your humble home. For beauty
doth lie in the joy…of a poem."

Inscrutamutable

The Struggle…friends…has ended
Depravity… wooed, sequestered
proliferating. Has triumphed.
The boorish voice of the injudicious
The shadow of the gullible
Sweeps the land, of truth and compassion
Leaving shredded remnants of civility
And emaciated fingers of altruism… clinging
To the withered, vanishing vines
That once…oh so briefly
Bore the flower…of Humanity

Kal-Kannonfodder

Saw Gumby in Times Square
Pink, like a worn out eraser
“Where’s Pokey, dude?”
He held a dog food can
“Bummer”…”Yeah,” he said
There was ticking in his backpack
Mentioned something ‘bout losing his green card
I was already running
He exploded into 647 pieces
They quickly congealed
Ain’t buying can dog food again

The Girl Can't Help It

Bumped into Mamie Van Doren
On the Strip
She talked twenty, looked sixty
Drooled eighty
“It’s cool, it’s crazy, it’s fantabulous”
“Dennis Hopper’s dead,” I deadpanned
She looked down
“Seen Dick Clark?”
“He’s splitsville” doll
“What year is this, sweetie?”
She was…sincere
“The last one baby”
“Bye Honey, call me sometime?”
“Sure…Baby, sure.”

Backyard Buddy

He was raised in a backyard
And that’s where he stayed
Through scorching summer heat
Wet and freezing days
About forty feet by forty feet
Is what I would guess
He ate there and slept there
In perpetuity so “blessed”
Although “quarters” were provided
His bed stayed unlaid
He dug holes in the winter
In summer sought out shade
For seven years and odd days
I entered his “realm”
To find one wagging tail
And love overwhelmed
I fed and set out water
Then provided that which he lacked
As we contemplated a cruel world
Through gentle grunts and scratched back
On two separate occasions he took very ill
With love and with stew meat
He recuperated stronger still
This dog stuck in exile
Had a huge barrel chest
And when he died I realized
It was I who was blessed
We were friends in a world
Where true friendship is rare
And a piece of my heart’s in that backyard
Wishing he was still there
Now my twice a week visits
Are no longer required
But a pall hangs above me
And in mourning I am mired
Like a man beaten down
Who still has to get up
I must rise yet once again
But this time without…Pup

Midnight Crossing

Her white, aged, sun spotted hands were shaking
His black, young, ring laden fingers were baking
She had stopped to get gas and the clock had struck midnight
He had stopped to get gas and was headed to “set things right”
She tried not to make eye contact as he walked by holding up his pants
He smiled and thought about the 38 he’d use to “bring some music to the dance”
She did her best to ignore the thunderous beat, the vile lyrics emanating from his car
He didn’t know, as he walked on by her, that they both shared horrendous scars
Her father had been an alcoholic, a sadistic bastard who beat her and her mother
His Mother had been a junkie whore whose boyfriends stubbed cigarettes on him and his brother
She shot that Bastard long, long ago, yet she still remembered well
He decided not so long ago just how he’d deal with his past hell
One, knowing nothing of the other, under moonless midnight, rushed to take flight
Two, separated by time and circumstance, embraced a bullet to cure a barbarous plight
She only put in half a tank, jumped in her car and caught her breath
He only put in half a tank, then checked his gun before his rendezvous with death
Her hands had stopped shaking in the fifteen minutes that it took to reach her drive
His fingers had stopped baking in the fifteen minutes for the simple reason he was no longer alive
Her white, aged, sun spotted hands were slightly shaking with the morning paper read
His black, young, ring laden fingers were no longer baking as he lay on a slab, eight hours dead
In a world inhabited by over six billion souls, their paths had crossed on a single night
She’d lived, though old, to see the sunrise…He’d died, though young, just after midnight

Keyed-Up

He was a two-bit piano player
Who called himself Rock Moninoff
He ate granola bars, was a novice sooth-sayer
And drank enormous amounts of Smirnoff
They found him one day at the bench
Where he often sat in semi-stuporous pride
Dead as a doornail with a suicide note
Lying on the stool by his side
It read; I never was a religious man
So God I won’t belittle
But why do the big keys have to be White
and the Black ones always little?

Hope Eclipsed

Central California…foul bowl
Stagnant…fevered…deadly
I burn my soles
On ice cold souls
Mockingbirds moan
Wing tips singed
A spider clasps eight hands
Sirens pass over a graveyard
I hear a train’s midnight sonorous blast
Heading somewhere…anywhere
And I look up…terrified…relieved
As the sun burns a hole
Through the moon

Betcha Can't Eat Just One

At the end…the very end
Humanity, on raw knees,
Layers of corpulent
Skin dragging in the desecrated dust
Discovered… at long last
the answer. The antediluvian
Question concerning the
Innate desire…To embrace vice.
It was… so simple
The cookie jar
Someone, long, long ago
Forgot to put the lid
Back… on the Cookie Jar

Hosfatality

In a coma, at a secret lab, since ‘47
But now he was sitting and wide awake
And for the first time in over sixty years
He was shaking the cobwebs and taking a break
Bid some tearful goodbyes and a final farewell
Then packed up his satchel and trekked off to Arizona
It didn’t take him long to discover after he left Roswell
To figure out he’d pulled a monumental boner
Folks pointed fingers, he had anti-grav boots on
They said he surely was a sight to be seen
And on the day when he up and landed in Tucson
They couldn’t help noticin’ the little feller was green
An illegal alien that’s what they said
And his big saucer eyes got moistened with fear
“Either send him back breathing or send him back dead
It’s the white folks that’s indigenous to these parts around here”
Why would they do this, what had he done?
Besides make the folks back in Roswell a pot full of loot
Now he’d been cast out from the land of the sun
Exploited for decades and now given the boot
His former friends back at Roswell had once named him Comet
On account of his skin the likes they never had seen
But he was so scared now that he thought he might vomit
And when a Martian does that it ain’t colored green!
So they put him on an old bus with some folks shaded brown
Then warned him to never come back to this land
But he escaped in the hot desert one hundred miles from a town
And then waited till midnight and held up his hand
His fingertips glowed and so did his eyes
When there came from the sky a deafening crack
And as he disappeared into that blackened split sky
He whispered, “ To the people of the earth, with my friends
I’ll be back”

Prop 8 Date

Love just won a battle
But there’s many more to come
Hate is re-mobilizing its forces
With vows it won’t be overcome
Love has always had a brother
A sadistic evil twin
Hate has always had a brother
Who he hated to see win
Love is a cool cup of water
To a parched and lonely soul
Hate is sharpened box of thumbtacks
Embedded in the sole
Love has always been the stronger
It’s a basic human need
Hate has a chip on his shoulder
He likes to see things bleed
If Love is to win the final battle
Then Hate will rue the day
A judge who lived in California
Sent a rose to those who are gay

Tug-of-War

Optimism…Pessimism
They sleep in the same bed
One greets the new day smiling
The other just nods a head
The Optimist he sees the
Brighter side of life
The Pessimist she warns
Of suffering and strife
I wake up in the morning
Optimism’s in the lead
I go to bed in mourning
Pessimism’s an addictive creed
The world has many roses
Yet roses do have thorns
Humanity consists of sheep
And legion have sharp horns
Optimism…Pessimism
Conflicting and what’s more
Doesn’t it seem quite fitting?
To call it Tug-of-…War