To Look Into The Past

“Alice's Restaurant”

“I like Bach, don't you?”
“No. I like music.”

Arlo in the hippie generation

Made a movie, natural and honest.

And at the end,

They stand around his father

With kazoos and gladly making music.

“Take me for a ride in your car-car.”

To Look Into The Past

Preachers, cops and therapists.

The world belongs to them.

And thugs outside of bus stops

Who beat the psychos blind.

So go the lonely crazies

Who never feel alone

Down alleyways and sidewalks.

They do not seek a thing.

Still they're always walking.

They have no where to go,

And no one there to meet them.

Then it starts to rain.

Jacqui had the answer.

Rip their minds to shreds

And then – well, what came after?
Distinct but in the distance,

Someone yelled, “Get out of Oakland!”
I left and I was driven.

Forty years ago.

She's dead. I won't go back.

Still terror comes upon me

To look into the past.

No one's going to help me -

No one ever did -

When I look into the past.

Though I look into the past,

And no one's there.

 

Discontent

I don't like that store. And for the reason

My sister does. I'm walking down the aisle,

Clerks step out and greet me with a smile,

Give me hugs and ask about the kids.

As phony as a seven dollar bill.

And higher priced than any other store.

I go because it's just around the corner.

She drives miles to get there. And her church,

“Where anyone is welcome” has big photos

Of happy Christians hugging. All are white.

Or I assume the pictures are of Christians.

Perhaps they're models working for a buck.

Lines

The least approach of living summons death,

Awareness in the offing not yet come -

Memento mori – confiscates my breath

For a moment – smaller than the sum.

Cliches – the bane of song – but Shakespeare wrought

His own cliches – originality

So comprehensive – every minor thought -

And made it seem that life is poesy.

3-15-14

 

Kitty

A brain extinguished and a person gone -

Another soul in heaven – summer flies

At the screen – buzzing to the light

In the darkness. When will god come home?

Some people go to war because they like it -

And wear a special hat when they retire.

I killed a cat by pushing him away.

Now he's sick. We give him medication.

“La Traviata”. He is very thin.

He lies upon the desk. I pet him gently.

He says “meow”. He barely moves at all.

This is what he wanted when I pushed him.

Even cats have feelings. When they die

They lie along the shoulder of the road.

Garrulous

I talk too much. Ah ha, yo ho!

Lots people have told me so.

Therapists wince and look away.

(My I have a lot to say.)

Mums and dad went round the bend.

Would this palaver ever end?
Robert Buck (my St. Bernard)
Had criticisms by the yard.

Even his girl, acerbic and wry,

Looked up and said, “Sweet Jesus, why?”

I was the death of Charlie Raub,

Emaciated pompous snob.

And every time I want to ask

What they hide behind their mask.

Grandpa & Grandma Fisher

Did Grandpa Fisher marry

A woman he could love,

Ready to accept it all,

Returning no affection?

He was warm and giving.

I can testify.

Also that I never saw her

Anything like warm,

Just demanding always

She be hugged goodbye.

She liked to cook a dinner.

She liked to make a bed.

Fat and vain, her father's child,

Amazed that she was old.

 

Some People

Some people have guts.

Some people have guns.

Some have a country.

Some have the runs.

Some people have god.

Some people have Man.

Some have convertibles.

Some a sedan.

Some have it all.

Some are just had.

Some can survive

Without going bad.

3-24-14

 

Some Observations & Pidgin French

Kids that scream in Denny's

At 9 o'clock at night

Should be locked in dungeons

With things that crawl and bite.

Women with long hair who sit booths

In Denny's where they run long fingers through

Their tresses, twist them, wind them, spread them, shake them,

And continue smiling while they do

With someone sitting eating right beside them,

And both continue talking and they smile.

Always smiling, everybody smiles

In Denny's, it's a place of happy humans.

Suis je pas la plus femme laid

Au Paris? Au monde, madame. - Monsieur,

Merci pour m'ecouter. Je suis beaucoup

Seul.