Letter to the Ravenwood King
Sometimes when
I drag out of bed,
Bracing myself for taxi cab tag
Lie urbanites do,
I can still hear the roaring flood
Of ripe Colorado Pine
Smearing sawdust in my ears,
Tearing lumber from the Rocky Mountain air.
And sometimes I despair
At the loss of my ticket to the mills,
The irresistible thickets of thrills
For a boy earnestly employed
In selecting
Only the finest bedding for our mares.
You must have known that my childish delight
Was feeling for the pulse of a rancher’s life.
And now
Twenty years later,
My wife stirs next to me.
Outside, winter slurs
Purrs over the lake, blurring the shore,
And the streets of Chicago
Sprawl helter-skelter, determined
To pick the choicest of shelters.
Just like you did
When civilization came peddling next door.
You packed up your family, divided your ranch
And crawled north to Montana ,
Settling on reservation land.
I wanted to give you a hand
But Africa was just too far away.
And did you ever understand
My lust for the dazzling array
Of sights around the world,
Or my taste of dismay with words
And how they sound to my ears?
So now I’m bound for life...
Bound for years to write
caress
and recite my poems,
Like a lover might.
Can you hear the call?
To me it’s deafening.
It echoes through the walls,
Threatening
constantly questioning
Shouting about the wooden chest
You made when I was five.
The one that’s alive
With the pictures I need
To remember my life.
Headphones
With the music
on
All electric bass n’
Grunting guitars n’
Standup boogie n’
Heart thumping
Foot stomping funk
I want to play you
Sing all sexy sultry
Like I’m relatively
Certain you do
The Fog
The fog has
cleared now.
It’s ambled off like a sleepy child
In search of a place to lie it’s head.
And I see the trail stretched before me
As though in a dream, something forgotten,
Laid out like the yellow brick road.
And I know this is the way I must go.
oh!
darling
make no
mistake
i am here to sway you
i am persistent
best prepare yourself
for a long drawn out
impassioned siege
The
Surprise
It could be;
anything,
a bug in the eye,
a pothole or
a speed bump,
a stop sign
upside down,
a period before.
it is realized
or an ant bite,
a mosquito,
one never knows
the perception of expectations.
It might be;
the woman
suddenly naked
in front of you,
black panties
on the floor
glib,
the sting of the zipper,
the whipped
cream pie all
over your face,
the dog
flatulent,
maybe
something
more subtle.
i want
you (she's so heavy)
sugar sugar
give me some candy
candy
morning
paper
perhaps today
were on the same page maybe
the same article maybe
the same picture or
two hanging in the air
every word
free as houdini come
read the headlines
forget the trivial trap
flapping in the breeze like
plastic wrap I see
grapenuts and blueberries
lemon rinds on the table
in the distance green
tea and honey it
makes me want to
pick up the telephone
good news
is hard to find
Mother
Has a Dream
That I’ll
return home unmistakably wiser
For the tests on the road I’ve taken,
That I’ll shake the dust from my shoes
And gladly hang them to rest nearby
Like a runner winded by the race.
She hopes that I’ll tell her I’ve learned
Lessons more important than hers,
That marriage has tamed me, and
I’ve the nerve to change my stubborn ways.
She has a dream...
Where I’m installed near at hand,
My family sprouting all around me
Like weeds shoving through the walk,
Eating apple pie and Chevrolets.
She see my wife sharing her coffee
A cup at a time each morning
As my son grows wild out back,
While I sit alone on the porch
Writing stories and happy poems
To quench my restless heart
And forget the trouble I’ve known.
maxwell's
silver hammer
hammer out
your differences
hammer in the morning
hammer after noon
hammer after dark
hammer out solutions
hammer hammer hammer
hammer out frustration
hammer with a vengeance
hammer out the fear
she came in through the bathroom window
someone should have told her
there's not a sliver of difference
between torment and love
someone should have seen
june
the snow is
melting in the high country
campers and hikers swarm up the canyon
little ants hauling their lives upstream
packed for every conceivable contingency
sometimes it is bitterly cold after dark
in the mountains better come prepared
to suffer indignities and accomplishments
of the sort that only lowlanders dream
i don't
want goodbyes anymore
i learned to
say goodbye so easy
from traveling all my life
from always packing my baggage
at night packing boxes
looking at maps
pitching my tent of a life near water
just a leaf kissed by whatever wind does prevail
across the planet i have reached
through the canopy of trees
peered over mountains and dived underwater
swimming through curiously
allowing goodbyes to stack up in my closet
little boxes of shoes never worn
ever again
next to
me
in the cafe a
man pours
his coffee onto his saucer he
slurps from it like a horse
greedily but slow
deliberate he
pulls a half-eaten bagel
from his tattered
yet magical paper bag
smears a psychedelic sort
of soft serve butter
with a flourish
across the top
and suddenly he
clucks
like a chicken/there it is
like a chicken
consumed
by the task at hand
