SHEEPLES IN WOLVES CLOTHING

(some alternate lyrics for you. sing this to Procol Harums “Hamburg”)

you multitasking techno tools
have thrown your towels all in
filling hours with lectro movements
and screens with cursed art trends
the doorways too seldom pass you
thou prisoners of programs and walls
grounds wait for all our footsteps
skies unseen hold mute birdcalls

your socks are soiled and threadbare
as sandals ignored fill with dust
your hair’s some brand new color
‘cause your iron will’s full of rust
the digital clock hums on nightstand
makes no ticking as time flies
handless point to fleeting hours
while taxes pay for violent lies
believed by only those who uttered them
who take the toll and greed smooth cries
and the masses bleed to pay the piper
bleating softly through wolf guise

I’m Fading Footnotes (kids, don’t try this one at home)

long ago I was real
lost and damned
high somewhere
with the wolf on the mountain
near the heartbeat of river road

stumbling a bit and spilling moments
lawless monkey with
spurs on my back
trying for first place
in the drowning club

now and then foolishly aiming
some speeding moonlit chrome
through terrible thrill lottery
of unsuspecting others
on mothers twisted roads

it was rinzai rodeo on wild
wide centerlines and bucking rubbers
deep and down with
ma natures wrinkles
all hot and empty she was
with delicious random curves beckoning

she screamed in the corners
as I kissed them all
sliding through her
and through her
ravishing every wily weaving edge

we barely hung on as
we thrashed real good
back and forth in
sliding sideways time
roadside was blurred lines

from spaces of living breathing earth
to places of geometric and sequential
to manicured and captive lawns
bound and gagged with well intentioned concrete
and you know about intentions
clad with skid marked long linear straight jacket roadways

through crisscrossed and yellow striped
asphalt restraining belts
thrashing all unsacred and holy
to try and free us both somewhow
if but for a moment

my rebops were cool and
tapped roaring footnotes
all brash and slash
smoldering strokes of new age zen
in teckno glide calligraphy

on spinning squealing paintbrushes
backed by screaming eight
piece combo from detroit
the music is the machine
a real rapid dose of rigid alloys and dense steel

from rural to urban canvas
hard rocking lines in smoke
six grand plus spinning
beyond the beyond of
whatever the roadways wrote

searching those long moments
tangled with the wild and sideways
to chords of gear change after
gear change after gear change
a tune of mechanical notes

then
chasing fans under flashing ruby lights
came at me I think for maybe
autographs or more but couldn’t keep it up
I grinned real loud and gave them my best
just fading footnotes

now
the fool I was only is in poems
that spill me from my midage sack
to touch what’s gone
except in heart and verse
I don’t look back

she sang to his sunset

there they were
walking the concrete
ribbon down the rolling
hills to the ocean that spoke
in broken fields of light below

his arm cradled around her as they
moved beyond the last vestige of
the strand. he guided her
taking those smooth long
sand strides with her
softly in hand.

when they
reached the edge
of the great water
where surf and foam moved
in and out to greet them
and sun fell big and bright
all rosy peach; they took their
front row seats in still warm sand

he touched her fine slim neck gently
as she leaned back in his embrace
and joined the breeze in song
sweet as strings without strings

she sang until sun was
just an echo of light in clouds
above. he stood and swung her around
in circles and then with her under arum
walked through dusk until they were home again

once home he led her gently to her favorite chair
and thanked her for the sunset song and
touched her strings to bid adieu
until she called again

Silent Rackets

it’d been years since
gut stringed rackets
escaped from dust,
garage walls, bags,
shadows and frames.

they’d been await
with mold, dead balls, cobwebs,
headbands and rosin bag;
a broken baseball bat
or two as well between dark studs.

Taquah pointed his beer at them
and asked with wide smile,
“think you’ll do that anytime soon,
jimi ray?” I shhhhsssshed
and waved them goodbye grinning.

“we could use them like snowshoes”,
Taq laughed. I wondered what he meant
as he said, “heyo kid, bring one of those rackets
tomorrow to Sebastians cause I’m playing pool
til midnight and we could go fishing after at a secret spot.”

next night moon was smiling and Taq was winning
making the balls disappear like serial deja vu
with a rocky mountain soda held high in greeting,
“jimi ray did you bring that shoeshoe?””
as the eight ball went into hiding.

shook my head and waved at Joel and cocktail girl
and the rest of the room for good measure.
“Hey, do us a favor and get Taq outa here,
nobody else has a chance to win” as Taq tipped rockies dry.
“Ray, we’re burnin’ moon”, Taq said as he beckoned.

guerneville, monte rio, villa grande
then right on the road to cazadero
without a world until Taq said, “bats too “.
“I’ll show you how to get bats with ’em
next week, on the hill behind Walt’s barn.”

I didn’t have a clue, and wondered
about the too and what it meant
about tonight, but what the heck,
I liked surprizes.
we parked the willys on austin creek.

Taq walked with that sliding gait
an occassional burp was all, no footsteps
sounds just burps and chuckles.
we neared a place where creek got louder
carrying tennis racket and wonder.

the falls fell silver through
rocks as smooth as the night air;
as the first one jumped I did too.
Taq laughed and shook his head said,
“just steelies ray, and moon”.

“you only get one, so pick real good,
watch exactly what I do”. the second one
he served midflight into dark waiting ferns
more push than whallop with a laugh
as he followed through.

“now we ain’t got all night, so hurry up
I need another coors or two.”
So swung I at the third one with same swing
I’d seen. into burlap sack the rainbows went
after love tap and moonbeams. it felt like church.

“we used snowshoes in alaska, ray, but these
rackets do just fine”, as a new coors sighed.
“I’m outa mice, but my king eats bats,
he won’t mind; the thing about bats is
that you have’ta hit them from behind”.

he was right, a couple nights later
flying mice fell from strings
of silent rackets. they fell stunned
and then squeaked in burlap until
swallowed whole by slithering california king.

to haiku or not haiku (odds and ends 1988 – 2002)

bamboo whisperings
spin off falling leaf riddles
pile autumn puzzles

click paint dear moments
with seventeen syllables
strokes catch long gone times

when searching treasure
buried deep in all moments
know how not to look

beyond this canvas
your eyes are the other side
bridges spring through time

forests of dead trees
dismembered, reassembled
numb, leafless in paint

halfway through cartwheels
there’s a perspective new found
these feet deep in clouds

feathers cast adrift
smooth russian river mirror
full tilt cloudy sky

humming thing wavers
on fragile limb in wind moves
vibrant flash sunlight

not a star in sight
dark deep miles of endless wait
till favorite one

pine needles patterns
ferns waving to wildflowers
north coast forest floor

night blooms a beacon
brightest of desert flowers
sunrise rosey bloom

light slips from gold hills
roses twine wispy above
shadows race away

river reflections
full bright moon of falling leaves
adrift in your light

bent arms full of sky
bare naked reaching out loud
above leaves swirling

sea birds flew backwards
until we saw them clearly
soaring leaves in wind

manzanita moves
red boughs, green leaves and shadows
we can see the wind

bay of birds blown rough
until sunset mist smooth jade
bring on the foghorns

blooming pampas grass
in purple gone silver there
playing on the wind

what’s this drop of rain
without a cloud in the sky
weather to look through

pieces of winter
shuffle soft on my shoulders
dance around my feet

trickles and patters
down the windows, on the roof
trying to get in

empty branch reaching
into next season of leaves
tangled in wet sky

dancing on lands edge
clouds drifting o’er rain falling
winter coming down

standing peoples bones
proud and dripping with gold moon
frozen in their dance

the river’s pumpkin
dark month storm long on her way
paints winding for days

in shortest gray days
around here hills are bright green
while dull sea restless

here comes the flood down
in little tiny pieces
they join wild and rise

only darkened skies
keep company with rainbows
light dancing in tears

robin egg sky moves
winter lush hills surrounding
touched by lone thin cloud

rain flowing holy
water jewels spilling down
countless until one

silver ray through clouds
slanting to the sea below
winking on the waves

pampas grass and wind
waves racing across Drakes Bay
birds and Hitchcocks’ ghost

coots play daffy games
splashing in this west edge bay
they ripple sunset

sunset winking to
my feet walking in cool sparks
ablalone sand

dark gardens of stars
blooming all the way to me
falling in your eyes

found thinking of her
despite Dylans suggestion
and Lots example

once was your window
held sweet spring moon slipping slow
until these walls fell

you’ll forever be
found between my heartbeats and
these sterling temples

I lit you a candle
in my souls open window
we burn forever

palm leaves criss-crossing
green tangle of wild angles
bayless bay window

San Andreas sleeps
on bottom of Juans bay through
seagulls wake up songs

ALL TIMES AND SPACES
lead to and from all other
SPACES AND TIMES, ALL.

Wholly Star Collapse (or the receding dance upon itself of steller body)

a giant sun, not a white dwarf
is compressing into extreme density
to form an exitless depression
into the topographic fabric of time-space.

from awesome brightness
the shrinking thickening burningness
becomes dark infinitum
in the hole below the event horizon.

beyond the easily grasped continuum
is the endless and
the singularity

Watersong

I’ve seen it waving in the ocean,
wafting in the sky,
clinging to webs in dawn
and in your eyes.

I’ve felt it rushing up in tides,
its patters coming down,
suspent in air breathed
and least while almost drowned.

Been without it on a desert
and where it springs from underground,
in frozen drifts on mountains
and where it abandoned hills to gold and brown.

Heard its bassline in crashing surf,
felt percussion in pounding rain,
listened as silence echoed from clouds and fog,
remembered and forgotten while roaring river falls
splashed and sang a name.

drinking mount shasta

mount shasta in the clouds
was the way she peered as mists unwound
near fog tendriled river between floods.
that seemingly smiling snowy stone face with hidden frown
was without clue or hint of volcanic crown.

before she blew the last time
there were two peaks or so
until took off placid mask,
gnashed earth and let it go.
she lost her top in one big blow.

now through all time we’re bound.
that mountain is always around
for sunrise and sunset to paint.
it’s frozen reaches melt right down,
clear crystal geyser quench from roxanne town.

anadromous urges

from tides and oceans of life
waves of urges return
to glee pall mall and thrash and zoom
upstream back to where it all begins.

to pass on wild leaping life again
through rivers, creeks and streams,
flying up waterfalls in gleams
to spawn and cease to be.

(to all those steelhead, salmon, sturgeon, shad and the little whisps that come back of what we are)

My Favorite Star

arm up with cloak
the dark stranger came
to dull sweep the land.

with shadows wild racing,
her gloom reached out wide
to crush out the light.

in soot covered gloves 
she brushed horizons of gleam
right off the edge.

as moves large and silent
in unwrinkled coal velvet
danced in the dim,

the moth holes of heaven
trembled and waltzed
in slow vivid cape dance.

blazes danced endless
but nowhere in sight

my favorite star until

first morning light.