Friday, December 25, 2009


RWP#106...prompt was "repeating or repeat"...sitting here in the Rockies...cold...but in brilliant sunshine..foot of snow on the ground with birds at the feeder...wood stove keeping us warm before going for some snow shoeing....after talking to family.....I REFLECT...REFLECT on some of our lovely people who live on the streets...trying to keep warm..and having supper at some soup thoughts and love are with them...and HAPPY HOLIDAYS to all of the poets on the street and ALL OF poem is


I called him Johnny the walker
where the street was his home
the original dharma bum
in his only words of
hello sir
I don't know her
the beat goes on
the poem he started
at Desolation Peak
in Kerouac's Cascades cabin
one hundred days of writing poetry
like Kerouac
the beat goes on
with the foggy days of a mad writer
high in the Cascade mountain wildernes
in the howling winds of Diablo Lake
tormenting his soul
too mad to live
too mad to be saved
too mad to talk
the beat goes on
writing about everything
saying nothing
all at once
exploding like snakes across the sky
as the world yawns
as the candles
Johnny walked all the way to Canada
writing his poem
with his toque on his head
bundle on his back
now homeless at christmas
on Hastings street
hark hark the angels bark
as they pass by him
to some sweet shop
in the red horizon desert
not looking for books of poetry
but books on vacations
budhhism and self defence
as the beat goes on
for Johnny the walker it's only
hello sir
I don't know her
the beat goes on
in his only words
harking at the barking angels
as they pass by him.

Saturday, December 19, 2009


RWP#105 using some of the prompt words
Legendary Stars and Old Cars
Somewhere East of Eden
deep in the Mojave desert
curled in the back seat
of my 52 Meteor convertible
under the moon and joshua trees
I awaken in some graveyard
of legendary stars and old cars
frozen tombs and zuit suits
a rusted Porsche
with James Dean at the wheel
still on speed
Marilyn in the backseat
searching for chloral hydrate
parked next to a rusted 51 Caddy
with Hank beatin on a jug of wine
hey good lookin
what ya got cookin
cook some up for me
subdued humans
legendary stars and old cars
in a desert graveyard
somewhere East of Eden
reading Steinback
searching for sureal poems
and lost peyote buttons.

Wednesday, December 9, 2009


RWP#104..this weeks prompt was something about sex
....this is a draft


At the centre of our unrequited love
holding nothing as an object
celebrating music and poems
of some distant mystic
identifying our bodies
as star covered lovers
flying in our fused thoughts
as our youth hides in a vase
beside Budhha
feeling the breeze of his magic touch
inside the museum of orange hues
staring at the constellations
as the earth shakes under our blazing dance
and thundering clouds
open to our lost memories of youth
with stirring newborn emotions
striking lost parts of our bodies
unknown in our youth
with visions of mounted horses
blowing up in some new found space
our flesh searching for hidden pleasures
and sweet songs never sung
blessed in our nakedness
intoxicated in our vintage wine of love
in our charm bracelet of sex.

Wednesday, December 2, 2009


RWP#103....the prompt this week was the pomegranate.


I met her on that night train

in Siberia

I didn't know her but I liked her

the legend amongst the crates

at the back of the dining car

beside two heavy set women

playing poker


I didn't know her but I liked her

sitting on a silver platter

beside a bowl of purple juice

hanging from some ancient garden

like some lost child in exhile

beside a huge machette knife


tring to escape death from the underworld

searching for the fog of unshed tears


from bombs

cold rain and cable TV

defering the rifts of time

holding on to her ancient seeds of truth

her tough skin

crimson pulp without fiction

her tart flavour

her colour

her poetic stories

of gone but not forgotten pomegranates

I didn'know her but I liked her.