What good’s a ceiling?

“When it rains, it pours,”
said the Captain as the water spilled over
what was left of the shore
for the fourth time in as many fortnights.

“When you’ve seen one storm
by golly, makes you want to see ten more.
All are particular,”
said our Captain to the unmanned oars.

“When hell freezes over
better hold on to your four-leaf clover.
So’s the life of a rover:
Make a sacrifice for a roll of the dice.”

“When my ship comes in
will it bring barnacles from all the places I been?
How will I know it?”
the Captain asked as the die was cast and the mast went down.

“When all is said and done,
let it be said: ‘This sailor’s life was hard won.
He went where the voyage was,
slept his nights beneath the stars
for what good’s a ceiling?’
What good’s a ceiling?”

(10/10/2018: Irish Acres, Mount Horeb, Wisconsin)

Happens To Be

I

A blind and unwise man
once told me:
It’s all a bunch of voodoo magic.
Happens to be
that voodoo magic’s
alright with me.

All I know is
I don’t know.
Answers wait at Raymer’s Cove
on Lake Mendota,
‘pon cliffs limestone.
How the water and wind erode.

Sun goes down
for you to find
traces of another time,
echoes of another life,
smoldering, silently
a silver stream, electra-lasting.

———————————–

II

I was
slain,
slain.
Slain by the moment,
slain by the events
I was
slain,
slain.
Slain by the moment,
slain by the events
I was
slain,
slain.
Slain by the moment,
slain by the events
I was…

———————————–

III

My fellow fellows:
What’s taking place?
What have we learned here,
if I may ask
at this juncture?

My fellow fellows:
What’s taking place?
What have we learned here,
if I may ask
at this juncture?

———————————–

IV

I don’t like being alone
for too long, for too long.
I don’t mind being alone
for too long. For too long.

I don’t mind being solo
for too long. For too long.
I don’t like being so low
for too long. For too long.

Solo
for too long.

So low
for too long.

Alone
for too long.

We’re not here
for too long.

———————————–

V

Happens to be
I was
slain, slain.
Slain by the moment,
slain by the events
at this juncture,
at this juncture.

Happens to be
we’re not here,
we’re not here,
for too long.
For too long.
For too long.

Happens to be.
Happens to be.

(9/27/2018: Irish Acres, Mount Horeb, Wisconsin)

Ages

It’s been ages since you came around.
How’s that west coast treating you,
now?

Been through stages you wouldn’t comprehend.
Let’s just say things are different.
How?

So you’re back in town? For how long?
For good like the rest of us?

Yes I’m back in town, just for now.
Ain’t no finer place to rust.

It’s been ages,
more than awhile.
Got a past and a future
to reconcile.
Trees are taller
or is it just me?
Kids are younger
or could it be
since I made my
last farewell
I wore myself in
some myself?

You look familiar. Tell me your last name.
Say hello to your folks
for me.

I’m unfamiliar with myself out here
on the front step of my home.
Strangely….

I scan the faces out on Main,
look down and pray to slip away
without a trace.

Do I know what I need?
People, purpose, a city?
Oh the waiting.

It’s been ages,
more than awhile.
Got a past and a future
to reconcile.
Trees are taller
or is it just me?
Kids are younger
or could it be
since I made my
last farewell
I wore myself in
some myself?

Re-make yourself at home.
Mirror, mirror, off the wall.

(8/20-8/26/2018: Irish Acres, Mount Horeb, Wisconsin)

Never Gets Old

So you want to know
how to be no one?
Shed your skin some?
It’s now or never, and it never gets old.

Calibrate your expectations:
things about to get real imperfect.
But it’s now or never. And it never gets old.

By hook or by crook
gotta level that head.
Must be present to win. Must be present to win.

Now or never never gets old

Easier said than done.
She said: Easy does it. Easy does it.
She said: Never get old.
This never gets old.

Now or never never gets old.
Won’t be around when it’s all told,
will we? Or will we? Will we?

(4/5, 4/10, & 4/14/2018 – Airplane in the southern USA skies & Adams Point, Oakland, California)

A Balanced Breakfast

Rye whiskey and Marlboro reds.
Part of a balanced breakfast I guess.
Aiming for another rebirth.
Today I’m gonna be on good behavior.
It’s just I’m easily tempted.
Call me a fan of the unexpected,
the unexpected.

Eggs and coffee. Jam and toast.
Part of a balanced breakfast I’m told.
Woke up dreaming, woke up hungry,
woke up thinking about the days I was younger.
Looking out my kitchen window.
Waiting ’round for lightning in a bottle,
lightning in a bottle.

Second guesses and recollections.
Part of a balanced breakfast again.
I’m an early bird,
but I’m slowing down, harder to catch a worm.
Lost my shirt, not gonna find it.
If life ain’t hard, well you ain’t trying,
well, you ain’t trying.

Blind faith and a rubber soul.
Part of a balanced breakfast, you know.
One with last.
One with the ashes.
One with the next.
One with less.
One-with-ness.
All a part of
a balanced breakfast.

(3/22, 3/27, & 4/2/2018 – Lake Merritt and Adams Point, Oakland, California)