Sunday, January 31, 2016

He likes to sleep with the tv on.
She likes to sleep with it off.
And so, voila, there you have it--
Irreconcilable differences.

He could come in and visit her,
Or she could go and visit him,
But what's the point?
They've contributed their 2.2 children.
What more does society want?

And of course the children have the gene!
It must be the dominant,
For they go to sleep in their little beds
With their tv's all on.

She shakes her head and tells herself
That though her gene is recessive,
It would prove fittest in the survival,
In case of cataclysm,

And there was no more electricity,
No more sport scores scrolling,
No more canned laughter,
To insult the intelligence of humanity
And dull them off to sleep.

You know the big city's just like the small town.
You don't ever run into anyone at the grocery store
When you're all dolled up and smelling good,
But just head to Walmart when you ain't showered
And your hair is a mess.
That's a guaranteed formula
For running into everyone and their dog.

But it doesn't matter whether you're in the big city,
The small town, or the country,
Whether you got all gussied up,
Or got there in your jammies,
Because when you finally stumble up to the cash register,
You're going to have to pay for it
One way or another.


Saturday, January 30, 2016

The train is passing slow today.
In all four directions, traffic stopped.
Life sits still at the intersection
Except for that train passing by.
And slowly, the man on the radio
Sings about some of the people you never get to love.
I stare into the sun.
I never see it move,
But it goes somewhere.

And love has swelled in me, today,
Until it seeps out of my eyes.
I cry for you,
And hope the day stays slow.
And when I look again,
The sun has moved,
And I'm still here,
Waiting on a train.


Friday, January 29, 2016

I'm turning over a new leaf.
I'm going to get up with the wrens,
Peck those early worms outta their holes
And peck em back in again.
Then I'll fly the northern hemisphere
Like a narrow minded drone,
Spy out all the stunning facts
And report it to my clone,
Who will in turn fly worse north
While I fly directly south,
And while he answers to Oden
I'll shove cherries in my mouth
And search for corn that's been laid by
And barley that didn't fit the combines teeth.
And if they never find me,
I'll consider what the sparrows heard
And hop a train for Charlottesville.
This life is for the birds.

And then tomorrow,
I'll really get after it.


Sunday, January 24, 2016

I write all my songs to myself
(and to you)---
The Love Songs because I love myself,
(and I love you),
The Hate You Songs because
I hate myself, and
I hate you---sooooo much,
The Goodbye Songs---because sometimes,
I have to let myself go
So I can say hello
To some new part of me.

The deep philosophies that churn within
Always dredge up something hitherto unseen,
Or something seen and not til this minute
So very understood.

I sing all my songs to myself
(and to you)
So I can surely come to see
All these truths,
And maybe,
You will, too.


Saturday, January 23, 2016


This is The Day
Brought By The Sun.
This is the miracle
Of Life Living.
This is Christmas
This is Time--
Present Giving.
And I will unwrap you
And look in wonder
At the present-giving you,
At the deep eternal flame
That burns within,
And cherish you,
That is you, Today.

And I will never speak
Of some unknown form,
Some blasphemous Tomorrow
That may or may not ever come,
And I would never dare to stick you
Back into Tomorrow's box,
And try to re-gift, re- use, re-wrap you,
Or try to alter you
With propaganda talk,
Or even my wishes for you,
And so I promise not to pray,
But only to Love you
As you are,
To love you every night
And Every Day---
Every Day Brought By The Sun.


Tuesday, January 19, 2016

I rode in a car that the Consensus of Everyone Else drove once.
It went too fast on rails I could barely see.
I tried to mind the GPS,
For I was supposed to navigate.
"There's the airport," I said.
Too late.
We had nearly crashed into a Boeing.
We swerved in time to see the others
Disappear into a tunnel,
And we got to the mouth of it and stopped.

"Does this car drive itself, then?"
I demanded of the Consensus.
"It's a 'self' car. So, yes, as long as there are rails."
I tried to get her to go off road,
But when she finally pulled in
To the covered entrance,
I was wishing that I had just walked,
And I wasn't sure where we were going,
Or why we were in such a rush to get there.

I put on my slinky dress and frock
And met him at the door with a smile.
Anita Ward crooned from my radio.
We had dated happily for seventeen years,
But that was all over!
One wedding ceremony
And that fateful supper---
Salmon croquettes and peas!


Sunday, January 17, 2016

It's not wise to put words
In other people's mouths
Or to assume the ideas in their hearts.
Why not simply give them room
And hear them out?
A caged bird will never sing
Her true song,
Just a blue song,
Wishing to be free.
An animal trapped in a corner
Will lie, and die, and chew its own paw off,
Before it pounces, or attacks,
To get away.

But listen,
There were other words
To this anthem.
I've forgotten them,
Lost in the liberating joy
Of love
And intoxicating freedom.


Sunday, January 10, 2016

Fill yourself on goodness
Beyond compare,
So that non will ever dare
To question you.
But if they do,
You won't even feel an urge
To answer,
But will continue to dance
In the knowledge
Of who you are,
And who you aren't.

Oh my Darlin,
You make me wish my name
Were Dinah,
And you could be my
Someone in the kitchen,
Feeee fi fiddleee-i-o-in
With meeee.
You make me wish my name were
And I would wear boxes without topses
For you.
Or if I were Sweet Betsy from Pike,
Then I would wish you were my Ike,
Or I could be your Susie,
And you could come
And walk and talk with me.

For someone should write songs
About us.
Songs that would inspire the young
Never to settle for less
Than the truest Love.
For life is short,
But Love is Long.


Saturday, January 9, 2016

If sublimation can occur at room temperature,
Imagine what could happen
If I touched you
With my magic staff
And recall the holy nomenclature
That rolls back rocks from tombs?

Or maybe you could just give me a hug,
Touch me on the hand,
And cause the worlds inside of me
To all dissolve again?

There's a place in a deep valley
Where the sun shines only at noon.
And then, only for 72 minutes.
It lights the darkest slots of the vale,
And then the sunlight sprawls up
And across the side of the other mountain.
It stumbles sometimes as it goes,
Like a bumblebee,
Who's championed the flower,
Inebriated from its fevered hope and nectar.
It sweats and collapses at the top
From the archetypal thoughts
That this time perhaps it's penetrated the black widow,
That this last effort will be its mating call to death.
But as he slumbers there on top,
He dreams of spring,
When lilies bloom,
And sees himself bounding forth victoriously
From his honeymoon suite.

Sure enough tomorrow comes,
And he stays in the valley
Called "Wanting You,"
For 73 minutes,
And says, "The best is yet to come."


Wednesday, January 6, 2016

This is how people act
In the face of Love,
When they cry and pout
And cuss cause they
Didn't get enough,
When they can't admit
That they got
A lot more than they could handle.
And Love says, "Poo,"
And rolls her eyes,
And gives herself to
Other guys
Who know how to
Be sweeet,
And strong, and man enough
To handle Love,
Who realize
Just how much Love
A love chucker could chuck,
If a Lovechuck could chuck Love.


I've gone to Middlesex twice today
And once to Birmingham,
And ran around the world
For you.
But if Scarlet couldn't get
Rhett to give a damn,
Then what could I possibly
Hope for you to do.

But if there's a difference
Between chocolate
And hot chocolate,
And here and reality,
I'll have mine with big
Jumbo marshmallows,
S'il vous plait.


I changed my oil today,
And now I want to change
My Mitochondrial DNA.
I want to be rhesus monkey
Or else I want to go all the way
And be full blood hominid,
Whatever type combined
To make this hybrid,
Because the war within
Is too great for me
To begin to tell you,
And I prefer
To defer further judgement
And to deter further incrimination
On either side.
For my parts that don't connect
Are all within me,
Warring members,
When I just want to transcend,
And I feel I will have to leave them all behind
If I can't find a better way
For them all to get along


A chain of mothers
Out of link
Plead for their daughters,
And here am I,
Out of sync
And unable to attend,
For I have come
From a land where only sons are born,
And the language of mystique
Has been torn from my heart
And I don't know it anymore.

But where am I
In this hapless band,
And who am I
To say
That some faceless authority
Has the right to tell me
That I can't bring my grandmother a Pepsi today,
If that is her only dying wish.

And when I lay dying,
And cry out, wanting
What I want,
Will you please bring it to me,
No matter what?


Monday, January 4, 2016

He caught me on a good day,
Or a bad one, I don't know which.
I was standing on the corner
At the intersection of I Don't Know
And My Beliefs at rush hour.
And I was the ever elusive carrot
That dangled from a fishing line,
Just out of reach and a little
Over his head.

But it was raining, and I needed a cab,
Or a train, a truck, or an eighteen wheeler,
Or anything, or somehow, nothing at all.
And in the blur, when he slowed down,
I mistook him for someone else.
So when the big door opened,
I gladly hopped on in.

And though the windshield wipers clacked,
They never did clear the clutter I found
On the inside, there, in the front seat of the cabin.
But when the fog finally lifted,
And I could see the road ahead, I knew,
It was the wrong one,
And a very long one,
But, maybe it's alright.

For anywhere that I was born,
And anywhere that I will die
Will be somewhere in the galaxy
That this old world will take me,
And I've only hitched this ride on earth
A thousand times,
And maybe a thousand more will get me
Where I want to be,
Out there a little farther in the universe
With you.


Rain can kill you
If you're a fly.
It can blind you in your eye.
It can keep you from getting out of bed
If it drops it's drops upon your head,
And that's why bj thomas wrote that song.

So do your talking to the sun,
But when the everlovin day is done
And you need to scream
Because tears and rain come down in streams upon your pane,
Do your screamin to the rain.

Because it is the nature of water to absorb,
And to absolve.