Enviro-Philistines

Those with folly fully harnessed
Have all God's creatures equally blest;
They climb high up in their liberal nests
And hire lawyers with our treasure chest
To beat back progress they will to instruct,
Leaving logging families to self-destruct.

The workman's bootlace they never tied.
The psuedo-science which tells their lies
Provides for awkward battle cries:
It's the Philistine army whine--
"Spike a tree" Save the pines.

Aborting the forest to blight awhile,
They turn their folly to the shopping aisle
Where caught-to-order canned goods rest.
When the army discovered they ate the best
Damned dolphin in Chicken of the Sea
They sunk some tuna boats off Hawaii.

So the silent majority (no relation to moral),
Now is found to have a major quarrel;
Accosted by lines outside grocery stores
Where armies will picket "'till they shut the doors"--
As if cashiers knew well the deeds
Of foreign fishers roaming open seas.

When they finish splashing their signs,
Into their beaten VW's they climb:
They choke and sputter and spew in the air
Noxious fumes the children breath there.
And tossing the tuna, with vegetarian vows,
They begin a new whine-- "Stop the cows!"

August 1992

Dream Of Pan

I.

I dream I dance with a Satyr
Out of a dark and frozen grotto;
One morning we dance for centuries;
I close my eyes to traditional thought,
And now we are one in eternity--
And wearing the pine needle garland,
Moral delirium, the demon, seizes me--
I feel dethroned in dreaming free,
I kiss the god upon the cheek.

II.

I dream I iceskate with a fairie,
Harmoniously on icy concrete;
I dream our affinity nearly complete--
Believe I am Sylvan with frozen feet,
I kiss the god upon the cheek.

III.

I dream I parade with a satyr
Down the violent streets,
I throw my arms about the graceful diety;
And bearing the bleeding man's goodly tree,
I kissed the god upon the cheek.

IV.

I dream I dine with a fairie,
Deicide with a mythical feast:
I drink and dance to woodwind beats,
And know we are all one in eternity--

V.

I long to return to Arcadia,
Not to groan and wander with the meek.
And trading my soul for the potter's field,
I wonder how revenge could feel so cheap,
I kiss the god upon the cheek!

October 1986

Driving Down 99

Raging against a howling wind,
Slicing the thick, hot, Vina zephyr
Trancing past parched plains
Jay commutes his kamekazi course.

What is it is what makes him reckless.
It rattles the cage of every bird.
Before burning this, his final bridge,
Daily driving with hawken skill--
Now his steel-blue frame accelerates,
Passing one hundred-twenty-- Nevermore
Will roads lead to life beyond Red Bluff.

Goodby my blue friend Jay, with wings
Clipped by angels. bitter bird! Cryptic
As his cousin Raven, curses birth
And Mother and all in one breath
Cackles and flips them all the middle feather.
Bring on the death no mortal understands!

(I stood beneath the Deer Creek Bridge
As witness to his plunging into the water
Bloody and mangled). Blink and shudder
And slam head-on into the truck of death.
Now his crippled carcass belongs to the creek.

All birdsong ceased a second,
So little cause for carolings....

So confident and so suddenly doomed.
He made his splash, he always did--
Daring-Darling-Flattering-Free-- Believed
It was better to be crashing mid-flight
Than to dishonor his essential nature;

The marrow of Jay floated on the waters
Under a violent blood-alley bridge.
This, the dead-end road of his life:
Meeting his destiny on a shattered windshield
Fate clutching his hard steel cage
Above the catch-phrase gray concrete bridge
Upon which prominently spraypainted is:
FUCK HUNTING

(May 1993)

Codalog: Morning On The Pacific Shore

I.
I never touched a bough or branch but once
I orbed the heart-shaped Trinity of sea-green leaves,
Fresh-born miracle rising on one elongated limb, a finger
Fragrancing steady as it swelled, flowering before my eyes--
Before all eyes this eternal nature, an eternity
For the dappled gray-brown hummingbird happing along this way,
His inconspicuous point prodding at the stamen, hurting my head with his beak.

II.
There is that which cannot be sensed on the cleanest of days, for the dust
Lessor animals cannot smell as well but care less.
All eyes are fixed on the ancient emotions of sea and land alike, where they meet
Taking in the full sun filtered through the dirty air, living on barren soil and rocks,
(The necessary rocks) Groping, sleeping in the hope, seeping through to maturity,
Going far to find the water right under their roots.
This is respect-- age as the shriveling of fresh cells, the yellowing leaves returning to the soil.
This is the built-in wisdom of august days, the difficulty of passing tides and swollen shores.

(August 1995)

Spanking The Laurels
For Kunitz and his wanna-be's

I read this man, this crank
Giving his laurels a spank,
For fourteen years he wailed
And still his study failed.
So he made it all one sentence
As if a period's penitence
Might be too much trouble.

So I encase him in a bauble
And I take a learned picture
and weld it as a fixture
On his sweating forehead.
When his mother's fully dead
Maybe blood will feed this prig.

The sirens dance their jig,
And Ulysses stands akimbo
when he hears the poetic bimbo
Is expecting sonorous gloats
across the stagnant, stenching moats
Far from the swelling Atlantic.

Greekness ripens the organic
Pounding blood of lust
(It's drier than the dust),
Juicier than a faithless wife
Smiling slyly as if to sanctify
The treachery of her life.

Above all he could syllabify;
Charging like a drunken bull
In the china closet of his skull.
For the laurel-haunted world
The tradition is contagious,
The vanity outrageous,
And there their blood's unfurled.

(August 1993)

On Divorce

I am plaintive man, therefore
I, a dispirited marionette
Handled by her wanton whims
And her courts decrees--
One day declared abuser
And the next a padded purse

That my children may learn
To loathe my gossiped guts
To seize my paltry assets--
My sides they cannot know,
But learn quarter-truths and
Hear three-quarter lies.

I handle my own strings now,
Beyond minutia and blinding
Mistrust my creased mind vows
Be free, create and recreate
And love in the face of hate
And celebrate this new fate.

January 2006

WHY MAYA?

I Know why the Killdeer cries
The same simple song, naked
And unbound by the wind. The wind.
Here the winds let go,
The winds take off her clothes.

You are here, you do not run away.
You answer to the late cry, cling
to me as though you are bitten.
Over our heads the universe owns
the stars burning like happy flowers

A savage soul sings with the bird
"I love it when you come with me
To places fragranced with cinnamon
and spring lighting the cherry tree."

Sing of place and be free, be in tune
Here when time unwinds, when we
meet shodowy leaves on limbs all new
Our hope for an eternal resurrection.

June 2006


Picture

I sat, pen in hand
Forcing myself to scrawl.
A picture emerged--
Alien woman, moon rising
Behind her fragrant hair
Wet and wild, I wonder why
I thought of hydrangeas

September, 2005

Hello, Mr. Blue sky?
She said, "come back"
and so she comes for you.

The shades blinked,
been blinking too long
we had to think her name

And call her goddess muse
a beam of brilliant light
blazing yellow against blue

(Work in progress....)

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