Decision-Making

When my driver’s license
expired I drove to the post
office, applied in a hurry
for a new passport,

when my third wife left in
a scurry with the bald squat
neighbor at midnight I bought
a clawfoot bathtub, soaked
until prune skinned,

and when you gobbled my
slathered in gravy guinea
pig at Thanksgiving dinner
I sang with a big grin
“hallelujah! hallelujah!"

'scream

oh what I’d do for a true treat tonight, a bowl
heaping of paradise so sweet, sure as gelato is
not jello we do love our ice cream,

I’d run nude down the skinny black alley in
chilly night air, sing rowdy Autumn songs from
the thick depths of my long-hungry lungs, lift

you tottering in pure lusty triumph above the
chintzy 7-11 sign flashing while fire engines
across 25th start their wake up the dowdy
neighbors to scream in raucous language of siren,

then with frosty brown bag in cold hands we'd
skip down the sidewalk in late darkness towards
twin spoons of well-used cool silver which
nuzzle pillows of sticky caramel and hot
tempting rivers of soft lava fudge,

now, such plenty awaits our pink greedy
tongues, ready mouths water and smile
in feigned patience as you grinning shout
'go' and finally I dish up this treasure, as
we in full gladness thank the fat dessert gods
winking below.

hearing water

Streaming forth
from the center

of the center

of the center

is a clear
clean
spring

of spacious
silence,

it shimmers
in whispers.

Remember
to enter.

LISTEN

the day bumps
open, burps out
its simple name

but the wind,
the wind
is fresh

blows wild
and clean

in light so soft
and ample
it whispers

shhhhh….

Northwest November

long blessed days of bleated wintry rain:

saturate these plotted clods of soil,
rushing rivulets breach the old city’s
crumbling outer wall

as we stealthily take two pots of
Asian tea with our stale smokes and
swing out like happy apes onto the

glistening mossy porch to gaze
and laze within the whispering
wet, far flung meandering day.

FRISCO DUSK

The Friday evening drizzle,
such a soft misty tickler,

soaks pink thirsty tongues
and tan topcoats quickly,

as the long-drawn weary
work week's frazzle
wobbles and limps
without a whimper

then swiftly, us it licks,
while the day in drips

dropping, thankfully,

flickers.

plunk

plunk down

silence on
the park
bench

silence swells
leaves
thoughts

drifty still

breeze wells
eases under
desire

you might
settle

camp here
until for/
ever

ignites at
last

one blaze,

Silence's
final
fire.

now,light

now light leaves

the day behind

while the faint

smell of tobacco

lingers in this room

BENCH

the park bench beckons
tired bodies with stiff
sore shoulders

asks us to sit still in
dallying silence

and enjoy this spacious
simple time,

as we ease into a welcoming
of pleasure’s whispers

where the golden meadow
dances its daily magic

and towards us both
a smidgen of rarest light

like a poem fragment
found by chance in rain

delights and soothes the
gleaming once hidden
heart inside!

On the Road to Arroyo Grande

listen to the space within this silence
which lies underneath the high green
dome across the blooming field, it rises
out of the flatland like a prophet or an elder

and knows things we all need to know to
live and die and traverse the wooden bridge
which spans the flowing waters far far below,

as we traipse and gleam, shaking in its sway.