Lasting Blues

Hell or high water,
both sound good to me.

This ain’t your normal blues,
this one’s not going away.

An existential kind,
you know? The blues that last.

Day it come,
night it pass,

and I ain’t afraid no more.

Never Undone

The wind died down, but you weren’t around to hear it.
You know the sound just the same.

The sun dropped down below the western horizon.
Like it does every day, but you didn’t call my name.

With you out east, I wasn’t all there.
Not all here now, not at all.
For what’s a coast with no ocean?
What’s grass with no ground?
Yet what’s sight without blindness?
What is silence without sound?

Rooster crowed up here atop the mountain.
Woke me at dawn but no one else.

Red-eyed & bleary, I come up with a theory
how diporias nestle and meld.

Past-Present-Future,
Old & Modern, Once.
Far away & closer still
two never undone.

Past-Present-Future,
Old & Modern, Once.
Far away & closer still
two never undone.

With you out east, I wasn’t all there.
Not all here now, not at all.
For what’s a coast with no ocean?
What’s grass with no ground?
Yet what’s sight without blindness?
What is silence without sound?

What’s a coast with no ocean?
What’s grass with no ground?
What’s sight without blindness?
What is silence without sound?

(6/27 & 6/29 – Adams Point, Oakland, California & Camp Panorama, Quincy, California)

The looser the hold, the longer the curve

It was a just-summer’s dusk at the shoreline park
where I set down my domineer’s cap
not yet knowing what was given up.

Sitting by a snailshell hanging on a blade of grass and bobbed by twilight eddy,
I start unstraigthening.

The matter of distance one sees is in the eye of the beholder.
The looser the hold,
the longer the curve,
yet nearer and nearer you become.

Then what first seemed a sacrifice
ripens as a star within a slowly emerging constellation.
A gently pulsing light-of-the-cosmos
signals in a universal morse code:

You don’t need to be there
to be there.

(6/3 & 6/15/2017 – Shoreline Park, Mountain View, California & Adams Point, Oakland, California)

Jokes Don’t Play Fair & Shackles Give Way

(co-written by Elder Wombat)

The mangy masters
hold forth bears,
haven’t inside jokes,

though someone trusted
has seen dancing
among highly strange folks

Mr. Oso Humor,
undisguised,
waltzing in a fur-lined suit & tie.

Winks at the masters,
no reply,
black cat on the left, blue cat on the right.

Tails mop the floor
just like mirth
at the birth
of time.

Married to the dirt
as they were
Earth gave worth
by grime.

Ground tremors, air thrums:
Whoosh, boom thrush.
Hushed hail, age &
a place of mind.

All of a sudden
bears’ shackles rust,
strange folks swallowed
by dust’s design.

Fertile void crops up,
menace-playful, divine.
Laughter spreads out to
open hearts & blinds.

[the mangy masters
missed the punchline,
the bears dive down into the void,
out of sight.

As for Mr. Oso Humor,
he stayed above & behind
to meet the masters
eye-for-an-eye.]

If this were a story,
there’d be an end
but jokes don’t play fair &
shackles give way, my friend.

(5/29-31/2017 – North Road, Blue Mounds, Wisconsin & Adams Point, Oakland, California)

Eucalyptus

Eucalyptus,
my hypnotist.

Daylight dimming,
hidden fires.
In the branches,
ghost moss mire.

Nocturnal
melody.
Bats & ravens
sing for me.

Eucalyptus,
my hypnotist.

What’s the number?
Out of town.
Hands move backward.
In the shade of doubt.

Black & white
spiral swirls.
From the treetop
Earth it turns.

Out of place & inside time.
Out of the way & into the blind-eyed
spiderweb of paradigms.
Eucalyptus, hold on tight.

Seize the moment.
Leave the ground.
Climb the sky.
Look on down.

Eucalyptus,
my hypnotist.

Eucalyptus,
my hypnotist.

Look on down.
Look on down.
Climb the sky.
Look on down.

(5/17 & 5/20/2017 – Adams Point, Oakland, California)