Poems

-->

Jill

She gives me her opinions.

I often disagree.

I want her true opinions

Of my poetry.

I'm baffled at the concepts

She applies to me.

I am quite alone.

Nobody but she,

George my only friend

And Charlie by the bay

Read much of my poesy

With anything to say.

Charlie's with the angels.

Possibly he's dead.

George sat with a manuscript

And very simply read.

She reads every poem

And comments on a lot.

The mortal inspiration

I've always lived without

Finally I've got.

I'm in a pit of doubt

Glutted by the sea.

She's a synonym

For poetry.

7-14-13

  -->

Inspiration

I feel the inspiration in my body.

It is a grip that squeezes phrases out,

A cloaca that opens with a gush

And words in right assembly rush to light,

Into lines that end and start again,

Seldom stepping back, but driving forward

Until a trickle dribbles off the end.

The song is done. A coda oft occurs,

Similar but not exactly right.

Excised ere the poem gets in print.

Gets in print! Like an inspiration!

I have sold 9 books. I've written dozens.

A computer programmed to write songs,

No byte to stop at unrequited verse.

7-14-13

-->

Looking Back

In English Proust is very stilted.

Is he so in French?

To Proust it was a memory.

To me it's just a book.

I can't look back at what is past.

My consciousness recoils

Into a crazy madness of

Anxiety and pain.

Except the playful sexy years

Of my adolescence

That I turned off when I was 29.

It had all grown sour, cold,

Stale and repetitious.

To live a life for this? To flop

Around in tangled blankets,

Deciding on the orifice

And who does what to whom?

Instead of gentle happiness

When everything was new.

I shall be a poet if I'm good,

But I'll be hated.

Every crutch that props the world

Is just a foolish lie.

7-14-13

  -->

A Jingle

I don't like his music

And I'd like to kill his friends.

I'm riding on a raft and dreading

Where the river bends.

We're living on a nickel

When we need a buck.

I'm gradually sinking

And almost out of luck.

Unable to be vicious

When mongrels grab the bone.

The weather's getting cooler

And I am not alone.

7-14-13

  -->

Charlie Love

Charlie Love was crazy

And he groveled at my feet -

Stalked the Frisco neighborhood,

Arrogant, elite.

Hustled off to Patton

Where he got his sanity -

Emotional. His bailiwick

Was now psychiatry.

A perfect roulette marble

Landed in the proper tray,

Which he'd never left,

But only slipped away.

In Denny's I sit drinking

From a broken cup.

To be loved without reproof

Or help to measure up.

But I have been so loved,

And that is why I cry.

I played with gentle people

Underneath an empty sky.

7-14-13

  -->

The Arms

There's nothing to see in Denny's -

Red and silver seats -

A happy tattooed eater -

Has he read much Keats?

Both his arms are painted.

I can see from here.

He waves them all about.

Perhaps he wants it clear.

He is very special,

And one among a crowd.

The place is nearly empty,

So it isn't loud.

7-14-13

  -->

Contracts

Cats do not form contracts

To save each other's feelings.

Their crafts on water blindly sail

Among the planet's dealings,

And yet aware, indifferent.

However, if they choose,

They'll react. To chase the strings

Loose on someone's shoes.

Did people who enjoy their lives

Indifferent to others'

Wishes have neglectful or

Have very doting mothers?

7-14-13

-