Thursday, April 30, 2009


It has all come to an end
with thirty days of bela lugosi
riding on a gothic streetcar
looking at madonna without her child
and superman in his agron suit
listening to kerouac play jazz
on his typewriter
reading about all the canneries closing
in the city that has too many cats
called fanny and freddy
then tripping over the junkie angels
down on wall street
with eight thousand illiterartes
and their mushrooming visions
searching for a cheap mortgage
before taking a barge across the river
towards some may earthquake
searching for more petrol
with an emppty gas can
applauding the poets

Wednesday, April 29, 2009


i don't think i can
become the buddha drinking my rum
i don't think i can
believe the dogma my cat purrs
i don't think i can
appologize for the pope
i don' t think i can
dry my lashes under water
i don't think i can
ever say everything is concrete
i don't think i can
swim when bound with duct tape
i don't think i can
write the suicide note for elvis
i don't think i can
replace my knee with her replacement
i don't think i can
believe the truths of the religions
i don't think i can
not become twenty four again
i don't think i can
remember nineteen sixty seven
i don't think i can
forget seeing janis at the pop machine
i don't think i can
experience becoming invalid
i don't think i can
not believe the dogma that the dog barked
i don't think i can
see the classic greek dog that didnt bark
i don't think i can
ever bark again with this sore throat
i don't think i can
write more
my head is a bowl of mush
i am that budhha
and need to just beeeeeeeeeeee

Tuesday, April 28, 2009


At the top of the stairway to heaven
there she was
standing in front of the stage
beside joltin joe dimaggio
listening to the band
richie valens
ray charles
johnny cash
the big bopper
buddy holly
hank williams
watching marilyn and james dean

now standing tall
no longer alone
the red iris from our abstract garden
was no longer singing the blues

Monday, April 27, 2009


The night was dark
she was a happy bubbly specimen
I waved to her
she smilled
I went up to her like a flood of jewels
told her all about my past
and about how noble the police were
about how I just returned from Russia
which was more enlightening than the church
and she listened attentively at my lunacy
as I told her no lie
she laughed
I laughed
will you kiss me?
no no no its impossible she said
my lips are cold
I have ice in my veins
and need another fix
as she hurried away

(using prompt words..specimen, lunacy, impossible, veins)

Sunday, April 26, 2009


Why don't I sit in the streets
with the homeless
why don't I sit around all day
laughing with all my friends
why do I sometimes feel
a divine lonliness
why doesn't my heart
do more
why do the nights
turn dark
why is there a bag lady
in every town
why am i not playing divine music
to the whole world
why is life too short
or too long
why do we need
fire air water
why am I often
why didn't my dad
give birth to a child
why do I always seem
why can't I live like
the bronze pigeon
why now that I'm old
I don't want to run the show
why is there a sacred
and a profane
why are there so many
self help wwriters
why can't I write poems like Cohen
or do I want to
why do I seek love
and not hate
why is my house cluttered
and not sparse
why do I keep adding
and not subtracting
why does my lover look at me
when I cry
why do I mask
my insecurity
why do i want to live
and not die
why don't I know that the universe
is inside me
why don't I appreciate
the small things
why was I more mature
when I was a child
why does god tempt us with
whiskey drugs and religion
why is the robe of a preacher
cleaner than a beggars' shirt
why are our hearts not
why is there obstruction
to the openness
why do I ask if I will
why don't I acknowledge
this moment is the best
why do I know
not knowing the answer
is the answer
as I dig deeper inside myself

Saturday, April 25, 2009


there was the time i wish i could croon

like frank sinatra in vegas

or leonard cohen in singer hall

moan like dylan at cafe wa

or sing like the great hank williams

belting song after song

drinking some old jack daniels

singing songs of love and pain

now mi sueno is to croon like ibrahim ferrer

soulful seductive and raw

giving a live performance in a smoky room

at la bodeguita in old havana

with bassist cachito lopez

pianist roberto fonseca

guitarist manuel galbon

and the old seductive diva omara porftuordo

cantante melodico (crooning)

su corazon engano (your cheatin heart)

mi sueno (my dream)

Friday, April 24, 2009


preacher roe who loved to talk
was worn like an old sack
so in solitude he flew off
to the place where planets collide
and eagles crash through the mud

searching to be unplugged
and find deep silence
where the road is too long
where the sky is too deep
where the horizon is too vast
where his mind will be emptied yet full
where the frogs hesitate to croak
he will stand naked and silent

with the blockage in his bowel
we wont have to listen
to his bull shit anymore
as preacher roe remains
silent and unplugged

Thursday, April 23, 2009


in the shadows of the cobalt hotel
obedient cars are lined up
sinking into the pot holes
from last winters freeze

being the lead man i exhale
clouds of frosty carbon dioxide
waving in the next car

my purple bald head hidden
beneath wool toque and soggy earmuffs
face covered with frozen beard

close by the the hose covered in ice
slippery and bleeding
from the broken water main

slowly drains
through the cigarette butts
and broken coffee cups

ankle deep in muddy water
i start hosing down the car
while singing your cheatin heart

looking forward to supper
and a bottle of red wine
no longer a starving artist
i now wash cars for a lving

Wednesday, April 22, 2009


you hitched a thousand miles
north from san francisco
looking for confessions between
the high winds and ten thousand things

growing older and blind
you rely on the darkness because
the night has a thousand eyes

wet and hungry you feel
the kleenex flavored snacks
dribble down your chin

looking gross feeling feeling depressed
heading for lotus land wondering if
what i have attained in buddhism is nothing

you remain a beggar
both lonely and happy while
im crying all the time

remembering that day i yelled at you
to get out of my way
i remain cold like an icy hydrant

in the shadow of that memory
i leave my silence to a co operative of poets
who have already bruised their mouths
against it

poem includes 6 lines from 6 poets

"you hitched a thousand miles north from san francisco" gary snyder from
august on sourdough a visit from dick brewer

"the night has a thousand eyes" robert creeley from chasing the bird

"kleenex flavored snacks dribble down my chin" amy chandler from travel log

"what i have attained in buddhism is nothing" jack kerouac from 190th chorus

"im crying all the time now" allen ginsberg from tears

"i leave my silence to a co operative of poets who have already bruised their mouths against it" leonard cohen from the pro (nashville notebooks of 1965)

Tuesday, April 21, 2009


down to the waterfront i went
searching for the sailor
who would lead me to the parlor

inside he asked me what i wanted
a phoenix i replied
red orange green and blue

then across my bones and under my flesh
he applied the colors
with his droning needle

red for my rage
pixeled and screaming
to mesmerize all

orange for my jealousy
bottled in my dreams
and hidden behind no smile

green and blue for my envy
sadness and fears
and all the tortured nights

all hidden hidden from all

with the shades between
to show the journey i will take
the fire of coals i will run from
carving the deep lines dark
not stopping if i flinch
as i am already established with pain

trace out the wings like flames
relasing me from the hole
and the cage that holds

i am not what they want me
your sweet child to hold
i am now seventeen and need to fly

with the phoenix
you tattoo on my arm
off i will fly i'm now of age

Monday, April 20, 2009


somewhere waiting to be found
rejected by the scholar
hungerying and waiting to be found
she sat confused in pigeon park

in the back alley of chinatown
a bohemian poet sat
chanting some zen mantra
and glaring at the red dress

he got up and approached her
with the lisp and laughter of a fairy
he asked what she was waiting for
will you marry me?

of course i will
so off they went
he in black she in red
looking for some bohemian preacher

Sunday, April 19, 2009


when everything is right

i don't ask why

as the friendship will be

and float like a butterfly

when things go wrong

no matter if it's her or me

the friendship will remain

though at times will sting like a bee

the friendship is special

like the rose that will bloom

as the bee and butterfly emerge

we will never cocoon

sharing the sunshine and storms

the warmth and the snow

standing with it and through it

as the hot and cold winds blow


nothing lasts forever

Saturday, April 18, 2009


the palms sway in the breeze

above the saffron pavement

all i can see beyond him is

the azure ripples

of the caribbean sea

the havana coastline retreats like a hem

from the patches of seaweed

i saw at first glance

jesus lying on the edge

of the seawall last nite

his latin shadow spilled across the ocean

and over the kids fishing on the rocks

below her bedroom window

covered in the cobwebs of the breeze

we slapped at the flies

as the havana tenements collapsed

enclosed in turqouise

he slept

the words i used from the 50 word salad.... patches..seaweed..slapped ..bedroom.. turquoise

Friday, April 17, 2009


forgetting you is easy

now that your gone

i feel so relieved

not having to pick up the pieces

and so treasure

the times you were lost

and didn't have to chase you

or find your owner

you simply gave nothing

so when they put you down

it was better than losing

my boot

my shirt

my hat

my leg

they amputated

Wednesday, April 15, 2009

Puting Off The Poem

today the clouds mumbled my thoughts

of azure blue and boredom

no sky after it disapeared

until i napped after noon

the cayenne didn't stay after i sneezed

and the pumpkin seeds lost their power

but still showed kindness

then holding the pickle jar with frog

hearing the chimes delight the breeze

i forged ahead of the birds and song

for their is no rest for the seasons

to look for the emory board of grit

searching for the edge of my nails

and repeating i shall not kill

shall not kill

shall not kill

until i write this poem

Tuesday, April 14, 2009

Road Trip Never Made

I went to cuba looking for minoso

but found che instead

i jumped into his prefect

for miles and miles we drove

searching for adventure not minnie

we talked about marti and poetry

baseball argentina and fidel

we stopped at the stadium in holguin

looking for the girl with the pearl earing

on the road again another story

he said when the first shot was heard

cuba woke up startled out of sleep

bringing land reform justice and bread

smoking cigars and drinking rum

the trip seemed boring now

until we reached santiago de cuba

driving up to the pink house

with minoso standing at the door


Monday, April 13, 2009

Dancing In The Pool

we sat outside the hotel room
watching the two dance in the pool
thrilled at their movements
in awe of their absolute singularity

the midget like the changeling in the fairytale
and the tall green mermaid showed a vivid contrast
to bring an acute balance as they danced
jubilant never to impugn each others movement

the prompt was using these words 10 words
acute, green, bring, room, pool, changeling, singularity, jubilant, impugn, hotel

Sunday, April 12, 2009

Hometown Hero

in my youth burnaby did not exist

so we invented it

second street was the forum

where the rocket scored all his goals

fourth street was the arena

where submarine joe lost our lacrosse balls

seventeenth avenue was municipal stadium

where willie made that great basket catch

eighteenth avenue was special the gardens

where my aunt and uncle lived

they had a hoop with outdoor lights

somedays i was over there at dawn

shooting hoops and dribbling till after dark

most days an older guy was there

he helped the high school team win title number one

bob was his name and played like cousy

he had the skills to make baskets from anywhere

nobody could ever guard him i wouldn't even dare

bob could hit a shot from the parking lot

and dribble behind his back and through his legs

i learned to shoot from every spot at the gardens

dribbled between all the cars at the gardens

dreaming of championship number two

the forum is no longer there

the arena has been paved

the stadium has condos

however the gardens are still there

not the one we invented

only the ones that grow down the boulevard

Saturday, April 11, 2009

Easy Rider

they sold the drugs to the connection

the rolls royce is the connection

then captain america and billy the kid

hit the road on their harleys

life is the neverending highway

roaring to the unknown

and the pot is neverending

the highway is life

as they look for the rainbow

travelling across america

and joined by a drunken lawyer

searching for the freedom that is life

showing him grass that is their joy

the neverending trip

to the cemetary with the hookers

without their rolls royce

still searching for freedom

the freedom that is life

the american dream

the market place

continuing along the highway

confronted by rednecks

who shoot captain america and billy

along the highway that is life

Friday, April 10, 2009

thrift store boots

i needed a pair of cowboy boots

not hard when you know where to go

off to the thrift store always a sale

to wear to the cement city cowboy show

sitting on the shelf hardly worn

as usual the price was low

they were near the floor

kinda hard to see you know

they were hand tooled with a carved eagle

so for a dollar i took them home with me

as a tribute to all the thrift stores

that gives you a bargain not quite free

combing my moustache and dressing with care

wearing my fine silk shirt and go to hell grin

i swaggered with my special boots

to hear the cement city cowboys and their songs of sin

Thursday, April 9, 2009


sometimes days seemed wasted

years in the cities

sometimes decaying

with and without talent

but always a direction

but not always connected

patient at times sometimes falling

sometimes broke but never complete

but it was always paradise

now older sometimes wiser

it still is paradise

maybe really truly paradise

when your seventy and healthy

wonderful daughters

four great beautiful grandchildren

a wonderful caring partner

sharing glorious moments in the mountains

and loving her

it's all paradise

old flame

grade nine purple sweater short black hair

knockout gorgeous and liked me

an ass was i and played the azz

either too shy or too stuck up

i never asked for a date

never forgot her face

where is she now does she care

Tuesday, April 7, 2009

wavy gravy

mine was frisco

his was wavy gravy much better

hugh romney

Monday, April 6, 2009

next destination

last nite i dreamt

of being at the pne on the wave swinger

lifting slowly from the platform

for a leisure ride of excitement

lights and unforgettable scenery

then i was on this narrow road in havana

that passed a night club la bodeguita

cobblestone street never paved

ankle deep in potholes

a curb ditch smelling like sewer

winding to nowhere

and behind in the alley

there drinking mojitos

smoking mellow cohibas

with fidel and umbrito

it is four in the morning

they ordered more chicken and rice

another round of rum

because the own la bodeguita

and all of the alley

saluting che

Sunday, April 5, 2009


there was the time I dreamt

I was the great buddha

siting on the great wall

dressed up in drag

rhinestone eyes and red lips

drinking from a paper bag

it dam near choked me

so i got up and sang elvis

songs of love and hate

and all my imperfections

cues and billard balls

and all my perfect reflections

then someone woke me up

unlocking the honesty within

asking the question..why me

and not understanding my own psyche

buddha, rhinestones, paper, bag, perfect, choke, dress (7 words I could remember)

Saturday, April 4, 2009


not in tubes but on my canvas

in the studio I see black crows

among a blast of poppies

mars black and cadmium red

better than grey plastic and pink elephants

used milk jugs and lipstick

coal in a hot fire

that glowed while I slept

I have no coal to paint

just my eyes to see them

fully focussed in the light

black crows on the fence

staring at the red poppy seeds

then the bored crows fly off

the poppies stand up straight

waving their red flags

Friday, April 3, 2009

Three in Row

first day of spring

three ducks in snow

coyotes dinner

Thursday, April 2, 2009

Spring Dreamer..........

excited like a kid with his bag full of marbles
willd passions for baseball and being free
nothing lost and full of innocence
not aware of time just to be

now seventy with still some of those marbles
with wild poems and grace
lost innocence and empty of nothing
with a few more lines on my face
spring training again

Wednesday, April 1, 2009


the winter snow is trying to melt

crocus trying to push through

they say spring is here

soon we will see the bloom

as the bulbs plow like the sea