Hey, Ain’t That Cool?


Slow atmospheric river rain
December dusk, Coltrane in the bay
Gospel jazz, a love supreme
Patters on the porch, slow sax poetry

Tyner’s touches drifting in
Candles modulatin’
along, flickering in song
Dreary, lingering rhythms,
darling contemplation,

that settling in through
the warm evening of a groove
Now ain’t that cool? Hey, ain’t that cool?

Robert (It’s Good to Be)


ready for the rain
Robert the elder sang
in a cool morning shade.

ambles down the hill
Robert’s spirit swam until
sunlights fill the stream side a little.

alive-along a blue bird
Robert rode the sky
flew back to the nest inside
a thick old Redwood rising high.

Back home,
it’s good to be,
sometimes you gotta let your spirit see
what it’s like to play in the water & the sky
& the creeks & the caves & the stars at night.

Greyhound Bus, Somewhere in the California Central Valley



How deep is the ocean?
How broad is the mind?
& how can we live
without trying to find
out? or in? I’m exploring the whys.

Before me, these Elysian fields
gently rolling through the dry countryside.
Ideas & questions so soft
I sleep with them & others by the by.

Pick up trucks caked with old mud,
peeled-paint houses in the morning sun.
Railroad tracks on a bad of gravel run
across this scorched American Hebron.

Amidst all this, I am here
in timeless awe as I try
to share & love & laugh with simpaticos,
searching for the ways these curiosities are tied.