JOHNNY THE WALKER

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 kitchen....my thoughts and love are with them...and HAPPY HOLIDAYS to all of the poets on the street and ALL OF YOU.....CHEERS...my poem is

JOHNNY THE WALKER.

I called him Johnny the walker

where the street was his home

the original dharma bum

lost

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

burn

burn
burn

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

yoga

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

lost

in his only words

harking at the barking angels

as they pass by him.