Monday, April 4, 2011


riding a bus North of San Joaquin
on a lost dry highway
somewhere near nowhere
heading towards Dos Palos
searching for words off the beaten track
on the beatnik path
always finding the lost highway
missing the hidden metaphor cafe

stopping at the Backstreet Bar in Dos Palos
strapped for cash
we leave the bus
old men in their fedoras without feathers
young ladies in long dresses without stilettos
beat poets running towards the bar
for another poetry reading
more whiskey

Sunday, April 3, 2011


many thought it was happy nothing
empty children's morning television
Mr. Dressup at Buttercup Square
leading through series of songs
stories, arts, crafts
imagination games

with the help of his friends
Casey and Finnegan
a child and dog that lived in a tree house
occasional visitors Alligator Al and Aunt Bird
Chester the Crow and Truffles
Granny and Lorenzo the Raccoon

the famous segment featured his Tickle Trunk
where the costumes were stored
costumes to dress up for skits
playing a policeman a fireman an animal
sometimes tickling the lock
when the trunk wouldn't open

then it was over
no more tree house
no more Tickle Trunk
no more costumes
no more Casey and Finnegan
his last show in 1996

Saturday, April 2, 2011


dialing five numbers on the rotary phone
party lines for all to rubber
The Shadow and baseball on radio
with static
rabbit ears on black and white TV
clicking three channels with I Love Lucy
Underwood typewriter forgiving its mistakes
with carbon copy smudging the words
Saturday matinees with Roy and Gene
cruising Columbia Street in a 51 Ford
girls who made their dresses for the dance
zuit suits and duck tails for guys
crew cuts
when apple was a jam
blackberry a jelly
dreaming of martians with computers
the cold war
a phone call to the past
science fiction


feeling the fire under the wear
flames searching a button
rolling back the shirt unzippered
without words
with mystery
showing how the skin gathers
below the neck
how it slides into the embers
towards the melting candle
beneath an aria of light
humming a blue word
showing an opus of song
the shirt falls to the floor
between poems

Friday, April 1, 2011


standing on a broken balcony on Haida Gwaii
beside moss shrouded trees
overlooking Hecate Strait
a playground for orcas and humpbacks
arching out of the water above the forest floor
blowing jazz into the wind
a rich biological and cultural area
where there are no sermons in the waves

like securing a ringside seat at the dawn of time
when the raven coaxed the first man from a clam shell
living in harmony with other sub-species
of bird fish and mammals
we come to see the sea
to learn
to feel
to share

to learn from the whales
who majestically cruise the water
to feel the ravens' flight
gliding with the wind
to share it all
the sea the sky the forest floor
there's something special in this old place
he speaks in silence