FREDDIE HUBBARD

Especially portent since he was from my home town, Indianapolis. It seems it's a good time to die.

Odetta, Eartha Kitt, and Freddie.

SMILE IN THE SKY

I saw the soft moon rise
I saw it set
Venus,
its companion for the night
gave cold comfort
As astrals fly
so do lives

Headlong into the headlights
Triumphant elephants trumpet
Whimpering and withering,
stumble
We carve ourselves out of the clay

ODETTA

Odetta was an icon. Inspired generations, from the 50's to the present. Influenced me and among others;Janis Joplin, Bob Dylan, Joan Baez,Bonnie Raitt, Bruce Springsteen, even Elvis Presley. Toured as recently as this year, and in 2006 opened for Madeleine Peyroux.
She performed at the Martin Luther King Jr. "I have a dream" March on Washington, 1963.
She was scheduled to perform at President-elect Barack Obama's inauguration.
She died on Tuesday, December 2nd at age 77.

AN OLD MAN'S DREAM

Woke up from the couch
looked out my window
Against an azure sky
a red-haired girl
moved down the walk
I opened the door
She walked in
as if she knew me
Her hair too red
nose too big

May I stay?
What is your name?
She became indignant
hurt, turned to leave
I reached out my hand
She grabbed it and held on

I'll be back in an hour.

I woke up again
same couch

Sarah!

FREEDOM

It was an early December morning

driving down US 40

past empty snow swept cornfields

I spotted a red-tail hawk circling a red barn

searching for rodent tracks no doubt

I pulled to the side, no one on the road

The red-tail hawk spiraled down

landed on the fence next to me

We looked at each other for a while

As if to say, I'm here too

ARMADILLOS

Crows rise, another grey dawn
Riders enter the welcome warmth
Huddle together in corners
Curl up in their amadillo skin
Parkas and leather boots

Randomness
this wanton force
beyond comprension
Meaningless
that it exists at all

Caterpillars crawl across the sunset
A song is not a song
until it soothes the soul
so sing along

Skill and luck
White butterflies
say goodbye
Dawn to dusk

VACATION ODYSSEY

On an Argos of the soul
through the pillars of Hercules
hell of a spot
Tugged on the shoulder of God
replied in silence
admissable evidence

Morning blushes
as if the sun were embarrased
to warm such an ingracious planet
Pink then peach
Mauve greys, November dawn

Sat in the bar
watched the multi-colored bottles
reflect in the mirrored lights
Friends, or reflections of friends
around me
I slipped out the side door

Cold now, clear
Phase of the moon, half crest
Streets are littered
Trees stark, skeletal
Met my door half way

EARTH'S LAMENTATION

THE VIEW FROM
THE DOG TOWER

"…three German shepherd puppies wandered away from
their home up near the County line."

--North County Journal
Serving Northern Santa Cruz County

I have been thinking about this little item that I read in the
North County Journal for a couple of months now. It contains the
boundaries of a small tragedy. I know we are surrounded by so
much blossoming horror in the world (Vietnam, starvation, rioting,
living in hopeless fear, etc.) that three puppies wandering off isn't
very much, but I worry about it and see this simple event as the
possible telescope for a larger agony.

"...three German shepherd puppies wandered away from
their home up near the County line." It sounds like something
from a Bob Dylan song.

Perhaps they vanished playing, barking and chasing each
other, into the woods where lost they are to this very day, cringing
around like scraps of dogs, looking for any small thing to eat,

intellectually unable to comprehend what has happened to them
because their brains are welded to their stomachs.
Their voices are used now to cry out in fear and hunger,
and all their playing days are over, those days of careless pleasure

that led them into the terrible woods.

I fear that these poor lost dogs may be the shadow of a future
journey if we don't watch out.


Richard Brautigan
Revenge of the Lawn

This is for Stan, who gave me this book. In order to write you have to read. Brautigan and Bukowski are a couple of my favorites, renegade California poets of the sixties and seventies, now both dead.
This hit me like a ton of bricks this morning, which will kill you, but come to think of it, we are all hit by a ton of bricks over a lifetime and it does kill us.

LOVE SONG

I am an interloper in your world
Old and wrinkled and white
No disgrace, just time written
Deserts and mountains and seas
But thee art treasure
Fountain of my youth
Body and soul, mysteries unfold
Revealed, veil upon shroud
A few houses down
A thousand miles away
Lay with me on my bed of nails

RANCH HAND

Shivered in the morning to the static of the radio we left on all night

Took turns grabbing the log we'd stoke in the stove

Film of ice covering the bucket we used to wash up

Still an hour till dawn

Breakfast waiting at the house

Shared the cigarette we rolled on our walk up

Warm inside, busy smells of pancakes and bacon

Yesterday's paper

Talk of the day ahead

Coffee? Yes

James, check the tractor and fill it up

Steve, grab that extra hook in the barn

We'll pull that trailer today

Mike, come with me

Rosy east greets us

Spreads crimson across the fields

CHRYSALIS

There is danger in writing

of the misty past

Distorted, blurred images

but the power lasts

Coos Bay in the midnight rain

Six hundred miles in one day

Pacific alone

Not far from Lewis and George

One light on main

Strange wooden bench

Jack Daniels in my fist

Toasting freedom and the road

POSSUM

Summer has morphed to fall
not rudely
as butterflies are thrown
or puberty takes hold
but softly as leaves decay

Neighborhoods I used to roam
perched on chrome fenders above
Mickey Mantle chattering in the spokes
Now I ride alone, old

Streaming videos

Face the future as something else
I do not know
mediocrity,
I muddle through

LARK SPUR

Wonder what does it matter
When all comes to the same
Struggle to survive, struggle to maintain
Driven to continue, driven to remain

She curls around your conscience
Siren of the dark
Holds out the illusion
Curls around your heart

Enigma of existence
Crucial to the truth
I don't know the answer
I cannot hear the lark

WELCOME ABOARD

Public passengership
Assess people by their shoes
Mine are old and brown
Seen better days
Across the aisle
Construction worker
Hard hat and boots
Beside a high schooler
Pink and stout
Most nod and sway
Driver calls out streets and routes
Hums some old motown sound
Downtown
Work and doubt
Wall street crumbles
Life's the same

MONA

She lied to the mirror

brushstroked the truth

Men came to her door to be loved

she acquiesced

Tenament slum

garbage can lined

Dreamt of times

Beyond the coast

Lazily, lying

Next to the church

white on the hill

Now lived by stretches

imagination and branches

Love imagined

trees of guilt

Nuances of hope

revealed in sunsets and dawns

of scarlet and red

Cannot sleep

beyond the rest

Cannot leave

bereft

New York street sillhouette

street light, stop light

Predawn, hasty lovers quarrel

and stumble toward the haze

Day struggles to pretend

it's supposed to be here

The night disappears

Dawn happens

If you transpose love into the equation of life
You get chaos which works itself out
Yes, there is fallout
Pain and doubt, questions abound
Just tell me the truth, even if it hurts
Sombre rain
I have looked at death which wants death
Wants itself
Becomes routine, walking away

DARK APARTMENT

She rises from her bed

soaked in sweat

clothes squandered

retrieves her robe

Cold water splashes through her hair

Don't look in the mirror

Kitchen, dishes undone,

one last beer, snipes a butt

Draws the curtains

dazzling white

Where'd he go

in the middle of the night

funnel my love

give up my delight

Oh, one pause before the storm

words leap from the page

beautiful silhouette

lament the passing of the day

sunset on Biscayne bay

He's out beyond the lamplight

thinking of you

the way you look, the way you walk,

the way you smell, the way you taste

the way you feel when he brushes his hand across your face

the way you talk, piercing his soul with brown eyes that melt

five senses are not enough

one more category above

belief, beware

AL GREEN'S

Al Green’s was a legendary drive-in on the Eastside of Indianapolis from 1947 through the early 1990s. By the 1970s it fell on hard times, victim to changing traffic patterns and lifestyles. In 1994 it was demolished and paved over by a car dealership but many people still fondly remember its giant tenderloins, free movies, and friendly service. As the nation's first drive-in to offer phone curb service in 1953, it also earned a place in the record books.

I remember Al Green's very well. Cruisin' the neighborhood on a hot summer night, driving my mom's '62 Buick Lesabre, with the 410 Wildcat engine, a six pack and friends, looking for chicks we'd never find, in 1969.

Years later, toward the end, I'd drive by and see Al's Cadillac in the lot, everyday he'd open. Nobody came. He just refused to sell.

It was sad when I finally saw it gone. A part of me as well.

HARMONY

Believe my harmonica
is wrapped in cellophane
beneath my bottom
dresser drawer

It bubbles and blows
sweet fruits of alone
29 palms
and sheets all alone

Duplicity plays a part
split the problem in 2
Life takes on art
Art imitates life

Memphis predilection
Oh, mama
you know what I need
but she knows what I want

RESOLUTION

I have your strength
even as it fades away
goes on blindly forgotten
Somewhere the sun shines
on a field of hay and flowers
August afternoons make way
emerge the means of forgiveness

CHAPTER SIX:REUNION

Lisa is back, been gone two months. She calls me from the airport.
"Hey"
"Hey, I'm home"
"How'd it go?"
"Pretty well"
"That's an understatement. From what I read, made quite a splash"
"Take me to dinner, I'll tell you all about it"
"Ok, around eight, we'll go to Tony's"
"Sounds great, but make it eight-thirty"
"See ya' then"
B14, I knock. She calls out, "Come in, I'll be just a few more minutes. Fix yourself a drink, you know where things are." I reach for the Scotch, look around, everything very familiar, hadn't changed. She walks in, I stare, almost drop my glass. "Where did you get that dress?" "Chicago" It was black, low slung, draped down her cleavage, thin straps over the shoulders, about knee length, and hung on her curves like a waterfall of desire. The sexiest I'd ever seen her, in clothes. "You'd better have some body guards waiting, you're gonna need 'em." "Oh, it's just a simple thing." We embrace, rather long kiss. "I missed you" "I missed you too" "You ready?" "Yeah, let's go"
We don't talk much in the car. Small talk about how the weather was on the trip, the hotels, the venues where she displayed, small galleries mostly. I still couldn't get over how she looked, she was always the blue jean and t-shirt type. I'm glad I had at least wore a tie and jacket. Her bearing had changed as well, more confident, a little more serious.
We arrived at Tony's, Bridget at the door was glad to see us, we were regulars. She took Lisa aside, asking about the trip, how the shows went, and if she was planning one here. Lisa said, yeah she was still talking to a couple places, either Fountain Square or Mass Ave. Bridget said to be sure and let her know when it was, then whispered, she had saved the back booth for us, knew we probably had a lot to talk about, gave Lisa one of those inscrutable, feminine winks. She took our order, spaghetti and chianti, house selection.
Tony brought out the breadsticks, said the meal was on the house to celebrate the triumphant homecoming, complimented her on the dress. Yeah. I wasn't jealous at all the attention Lisa was getting. She deserved it, had waited a long time, worked hard for it. I guess I just felt my own ego taken down a notch. I had a decent job, downtown in an office, my work was respected, knew I was good at what I did, just not a climber, ambition not a part of my character, not anymore.
The meal was great, we lingered over the wine. I asked about her upcoming exhibit. "Is that one in it?" "You mean the nude?" "Yeah" "Nobody knows that's you, it's unrecognizable" "Yeah, but I know it's me, and it has to be somebody" She reaches across, takes my hand, looks deep into my baby blue eyes. "Let's go"
On the ride back to her place, she's next to me now, clasping my arm, head on my shoulder. We walk in the door, spins around, kisses me with such passion, I've never felt from her before. She says, "You're staying". It was not a question. She was in charge now, I didn't seem to mind. She leads me back to her room, starts undressing me. "Be right back, put on the tape" I lay back in anticipation. It's Bonnie Raitt, Storm Warning. I always told Lisa she was my second choice after Bonnie. Five foot two fist of dynamite, red hair with that grey streak down the middle, and damn, she could play a slide guitar. She comes back in wearing the T-shirt from the concert a couple of years ago. Turns around and shows me her ass, dives into the bed.
We make love like we never had before, nothing held back, totally exposed, complete surrender. She lay in my arms, spent, exhausted, falls asleep. I lie awake for quite a while, soul searching. I've never felt about a woman like this before. Our relationship had always been so comfortable. We kept our independence, could talk about anything, knew the other was always there if we needed them, and good sex. Now things were changing. I want her in my life and I'm afraid of losing her. Her career was taking off. She'd meet new people, run in different circles, and still needed that alone time to feed the creative juices. I didn't want to hold her back. So many conflicting emotions.


7

We slept late the next morning. Doorbell rang, Lisa rose up, "Damn, I forgot Christy and the kids were coming over". We scrambled for our clothes. She found her robe, gave me a quick kiss and went to let them in. I followed in a couple of minutes. Heard the excited cries of Grandma! as I walked in, Mike! They gave me a hug and kiss. I hugged Christy. Lisa said she was gonna take a shower, asked me to start some coffee. Christy and I sat at the table and chatted. "You guys have a good time last night?" "Yeah, we went to Tony's" "That's not what I meant" "None of your business" "When are you going to make an honest woman of her?" I just shrugged, if you only knew. I looked over at Sarah and Brian, and then back at Christy. Pondered for a few minutes, why not. "Christy, you still carry that ring in your purse?". She had gotten divorced a few months ago and hadn't had the heart to hock it yet. "Yeah, why?" She pulls it out, I hold out my hand. "Oh my god, you're gonna do it" Calls the kids over to her and hushes them down.
Lisa walks in with a towel around her head, looks at me, quizzical, brow furrowed, looks at Christy and the kids, "What? What's going on"
I tell her to sit down, bend on one knee, hold out the ring, "Will you marry me?" Her face grows angry, jumps up, stomps off, standing at the window, huffing and puffing. After what had to be five minutes, she takes a deep breath, I hadn't moved, walks back and sits down, her green eyes still fierce. Then they soften, she shakes her head, sighs, says weakly, "Yes". I slip the ring on, we embrace. The kids are released, yelling, hopping around us, no clue as to what just happened, just that Grandma and Mike were kissing. Christy, still at the table, on her cell phone now, already making plans.
I take all this in, look deeply at Lisa, she smiles. What am I doing? What have I got myself into?We have no business getting married. Not the first time for either of us, but I knew it was going to be the last. What business do we have getting married?
Only love.

ALLITERATION

Indiana August afternoon
Leaves show their silver sides to the sun
Dusty breeze, like brimstone through the trees,
Whisper of wind is all it needs
Sets them shimmering

INTRIGUE

Peer into the darkness
Shadows that can't be seen
Dreams that can't be grasped
Narrow corridors of despair
Two figures pass under the street lamp
Disappear

CHAPTER TWO:HELLO

"Hey"
"Hey"
"What ya doin?"
"Uh, I got the kids."
"Oh"
"You can come over though. You know they'd like to see ya."
"Ok"
"I'll leave the door unlocked."
"Alright"
I take the stairs, not being in a hurry. B14, I knock lightly then push it open. Call in, "Hey".
"Back here"
Find her kneeling at the tub, the kids swallowed in suds. They scream out, "Mike"
"Hi"
"We're taking a bath."
"Yeah, I can see that."
I kneel down beside her, lean over and the kids give me a kiss.
I touch Lisa's back and she gives me a peck.
"Alright kids, you're clean enough. Playtime is over."
"Anything I can do?" "Yeah, you can take Brian."
I reach behind for a towel. "Ok, monster, let's go"
I grab him up, giggling. Pat down his hair and head to the next room.
The suitcase is open on the bed. I take out some Spiderman underwear and pajamas.
I reach them out to him and stands there. I say, "What?" "You can dress yourself now, you're four."
He pulls on the briefs, but I help with the pajama snaps. Head toward the living room, hanging him upside down over my back. Meet Lisa and Sarah in the hall, deposit them both on the couch.
It's getting dark now. Lisa closes the blinds and pops in a Disney cartoon, the mermaid one.
She winks and we take the opportunity for a brief hug, before all bundle together on the couch.
Sarah is now nestled against me, while Brian is buried in Lisa's chest, sucking his thumb. I'm jealous.
Finally they start to nod off and we carry them in, laying them down together. We stand there a minute, looking down, my arm around her. Angels.
Lisa readies for bed while I fix us a drink. She pulls out the couch and at last we get a chance to really greet each other. "You are staying aren't you?" "I suppose."
We snuggle and she places my hand on her breast as she softly strokes my thigh and we fall asleep.


3


Morning has broken and we are under attack. Pounced upon, jumbled in a sea of flailing legs and delighted screams. After a while, Lisa calms them down and says their Mom will be there in an hour and they have to get dressed. I start breakfast. Put on a pot of coffee and check the fridge. Assemble some eggs and sausage and cheese, scrambling them together. Pour out some cereal and milk. Burn the toast, distracted by the commotion in the other room, looking out the window at another day. The table is quieter, only a few spills, and Lisa and I get a chance to chat. The doorbell rings. It's Christy. She gives me a hug as the kids cling to her leg. Sits down for a cup of coffee as the kids watch cartoons. "Why don't you two get together?" "You know you love each other." Lisa and I just look at each other and smile.

CHAPTER FOUR:GOODBYE

Lisa was leaving. She had a chance to travel that summer with her work.
We were saying goodbye the night before with a last supper of sorts.
Spaghetti and chianti. We didn't talk very much. She looked over at me.
"You don't want me to go, do you?" I looked into her defiant green eyes.
Reached across and touched her flowing red hair. We said goodbye.

5


Next morning I took her to the airport. We didn't linger long at the gate, no need.
I sat in the lounge for a while, sipping bloody mary's, looking out the window.

SUNDAY MORNING MUSINGS

Spent all my diamonds in a fake mind,
angels nipping at my heels.
Once free,
rainy day woman,
be nice to me.
Count your beers,
count your tears,
count the years you've been away.
Add up the seconds
on a clock
that's ever ticking.
Victim of genetics,
I choose to be me.

JAN KEROUAC

In the previous post, I was shocked and saddened to learn she had died. I stumbled across her work back in 2001, after coming back from Nebraska, spending a lot of time in the library, having little else to do. Read Baby Driver and then Trainsong, and fell in love. So honest and raw, just like her dad, and so sad.
She only met him twice. Once when she was nine and her mother had filed a paternity suit, he denied that he was her father. The blood tests showed he was and paid $52 a week in child support. The second was when she was 15 and running to Mexico, at his parents in New Hampshire, where he spent his time watching TV with a 5th of whiskey. His parents got nervous and asked her to leave, which was the beginning of Baby Driver. He died a couple of years later in 1969.
Later on, after she had been published, the likes of Ginsburg and Kesey, solicited her to speak and write about her father. She definitely inherited his talent and wanderlust and also his pain.
She died in 1996 of kidney failure, a footnote. I hadn't heard but was involved in my own rehab at the time.
I'm just so thankful that, despite my own failings, I still have my daughter as my friend and my hope. So when you marvel at the Scroll and praise him for the icon he was, remember he was also a bastard.

CONFLUENCE

Jack Kerouak Scroll on display. Don't need to tell you about the writing or the story. I was born at the same time, Spring 1951. Struck more by the sudden knowledge of Jan, born 1952. Baby Driver and Trainsong.

LAST TIME BLUES

Eight Ball Blues(S. Goodman)
Well I wish I had some memories
That I'd keep inside my trunk
I wish I had a nickel
for every beer I've drunk
And I wish I had me a sailing ship
That'd take me over the sea.
I wish I could talk you in to coming home with me
Is this the part where I came in
I've heard this song before
Had a couple too many
but I think I can find the door
And I do not know your name my friend
But I've seen that face before
Well I saw it in the Jail House
and I saw it in the War
and I saw it in my mirror
Well just a couple of times before
I wish I was the Candyman
sweet as I could be
In every town the ladies hang 'round
Just to get a taste of me
I wish I was an opry star
Or had me a Ph. D.
I wish I had the common sense
to be satisfied with me
Is this the part where I came in
I've heard this song before
Had a couple too many
but I think I can find the door
And I do not know your name my friend
But I've seen that face before
Well I saw it in the Jail House
and I saw it in the War
Well I saw it in my mirror
Well just a couple of times before
I wish I had a magic pocket,
That'd keep all my money in
I wish I knew a good excuse
for all of my mortal sins
Well they say 'to know the best in life,
you gotta know the worst
I wish that I had been the clown,
who thought up that one first
Is this the part where I came in
I've heard this song before
Had a couple too many
But I think I can find the door
And I do not know your name my friend
But I've seen that face before
Hey, I saw it in the Jail House
and I saw it in the War
Well I saw it in the mirror
A couple of times before

SPACE AND TIME

Relative

Intricately woven; intimately coiled

Cannot occupy the same; limited by light

Faith and art; spirit and flesh

Untimely spaces of silence

SHELTER FROM THE STORM

'Twas in another lifetime, one of toil and blood

When blackness was a virtue and the road was full of mud

I came in from the wilderness, a creature void of form.

"Come in," she said,"I'll give you shelter from the storm."

And if I pass this way again, you can rest assured

I'll always do my best for her, on that I give my word

In a world of steel-eyed death,

and men who are fighting to be warm.

"Come in," she said,"I'll give you shelter from the storm."

Not a word was spoke between us, there was little risk involved

Everything up to that point had been left unresolved.

Try imagining a place where it's always safe and warm.

"Come in," she said,"I'll give you shelter from the storm."

I was burned out from exhaustion, buried in the hail,

Poisoned in the bushes an' blown out on the trail,

Hunted like a crocodile, ravaged in the corn.

"Come in," she said,"I'll give you shelter from the storm."

Suddenly I turned around and she was standin' there

With silver bracelets on her wrists and flowers in her hair.

She walked up to me so gracefully and took my crown of thorns.

"Come in," she said,"I'll give you shelter from the storm."

Now there's a wall between us, somethin' there's been lost

I took too much for granted, got my signals crossed.

Just to think that it all began on a long-forgotten morn.

"Come in," she said,"I'll give you shelter from the storm."

Well, the deputy walks on hard nails and the preacher rides a mount

But nothing really matters much, it's doom alone that counts

And the one-eyed undertaker, he blows a futile horn.

"Come in," she said,"I'll give you shelter from the storm."

I've heard newborn babies wailin' like a mournin' dove

And old men with broken teeth stranded without love.

Do I understand your question, man, is it hopeless and forlorn?

"Come in," she said,"I'll give you shelter from the storm."

In a little hilltop village, they gambled for my clothes

I bargained for salvation an' they gave me a lethal dose.

I offered up my innocence and got repaid with scorn.

"Come in," she said,"I'll give you shelter from the storm."

Well, I'm livin' in a foreign country but I'm bound to cross the line

Beauty walks a razor's edge, someday I'll make it mine.

If I could only turn back the clock to when God and her were born.

"Come in," she said,"I'll give you shelter from the storm."
Copyright © 1974 Ram's Horn Music

DYING FLOWERS

After supper we'd run out to play
In the cinder alley behind our house
In the endless summer dusk
Till the last gasp of light would give way
To the evening star
And our mothers voice
Calling from the back fence
We'd hobble home
Black as the coal dust
Immediately immersed in waters of love
Helluva bathtub ring

JUNE 5,1968

Forty years ago today, Robert Kennedy was shot after addressing supporters in California, having just won their primary and veritably clinching the Democratice nomination. "Now its on to Chicago and let's win there." I was watching, at 17, graduation looming and VietNam. The train, just five years before, and MLK 2 months, when Bobby was here that night.

Ironic that Sen. Obama clinched this week. Limited hope, the best I can do, after so much.

But I will use this space to shake my head. The OWW's (old white women). Get over it.
It wasn't stolen, she lost. Sexist remarks? I remind you of a true 'iron lady', Golda Meir.
David Ben-Gurion once said of her, "the only man in the government".

The Clintons, plural. Maybe now she can break away. Obama needs her in the Senate. Nothing is going through without her, especially now that Ted might be gone.

Well, I move on with my life.

MOTES

Small things. Collections, like memories. Each one assembling preludes to the past.
Old worn out bar, wood floor, creaks caricatures of time, still my footsteps echo.
Prime numbers are odd except 2, defines the rest, and weary travellers progress.
Saw it on the pool table once before, anathema and regret, headed for the door.

CLASS WAR

Recent rises in food and oil prices cannot be explained by normal market fluctuations in supply and demand. It is a speculative bubble. Since the real estate crash, huge sums of money have moved into commodity index funds, much of which is foreign investment dollars from China and the oil rich mideast, but also from such interests as Teacher Retirement Funds. It is a new medium that presents great returns, a refuge from a sagging stock market. But at what price. Food riots across the world because of the scarcity and huge increase in cost of essential grains; rice, wheat and corn, risking starvation of millions. The motive is simple for those who run these hedge funds, greed. These speculators move from one arena to another, internet bubble, then real estate, and now basic commodities, creating these bubbles and reaping huge profits as they sell short just before the bubble bursts, leaving chaos and crisis in their wake.

In the coming political landscape you can be sure these interests will again try to suade the public sentiment with fear, slinging labels of liberalism, anti-business, pitting rich against poor.
Roosevelt was accused of instigating class war, because he introduced child labor laws, the right of workers to collective bargaining, social security, and regulation of banks and securities. Well, as Truman did a few months later, it's time to drop the bomb. Rein in these hedge funds, require full disclosure and transparency, where the money comes from and where it goes. Repeal any tax breaks that now exist and levy more on profits from selling short. But the problem is not just here in America, since these pirates can operate from anywhere, the World Bank and World Trade Organization being enablers and as much a part of the problem.

In a scene from Steinbeck's East of Eden, Cal, in an attempt to redeem himself in his father's eyes, invests money and contracts a farmer to grow beans, in anticipation of the outbreak of World War I, knowing the price will go way up. He tries to give his profits to his father, Adam, who throws it back in his face, saying he couldn't accept money that was gotten from the suffering of others.
Yes, capital is necessary for our system to function, but dysfunction results when the money is diverted from the purposes of growth and expansion of benefits to all, and perverted toward personal greed that is unconcerned of the consequences. Free enterprise does not mean freedom to ravage world markets and peoples' lives. When this bubble bursts, these manipulators will move on to create the next, perhaps health care, already out of control. With the government poised to throw more money at the problem, at the insurance companies and phamaceutical industry, without making the necessary fundamental changes, it's custom made.

GANG OF FOUR

DARK APARTMENT

She rises from the bed
soaked in sweat
retrieves her robe.
Cold water splashes through her hair
Don't look in the mirror.
Kitchen, dishes undone,
one last beer,
snipes a butt from the tray.
Parts the heavy curtains,
looks onto a dazzling white street.
Too empty, too hot.

ROSIE

Rosie is hard to deal with, not that failure is uncommon, or death, but loneliness that coincides.
Intelligient and sensitive, she hid from me, only flashes of humor. Her favorite song was The Clash "Should I stay or should I go". We hurt each other so bad, but stuck together till the end.
Challenged me, no thought of leaving. Precarious, how far a person can fall, how far they can rise.

When the night has been too lonely, and the road has been too long

And you think that love is only for the lucky and the strong

Just remember in winter, far beneath the bitter snow,

Lies the seed, that in the spring, becomes

The Rose

BUKOWSKI

Charles Bukowski, born August 16, 1920, died March 9, 1994. Transgressional fiction. Transgress-To step across the limits, imposed by law, whether legal, religious, or moral.

Rebel against the artificial codes, restrictions of human behavior. See Bukowski.

congrats, Chinaski

as I near 70
I get letters, cards, little gifts
from strange people.
congratulations, they tell
me,
congratulations

I know what they mean:
the way I have lived
I should have been dead in half
that time

I have piled myself with a mass of
grand abuse, been
careless toward myself
almost to the point of
madness,
I am still here
Leaning toward this machine
in this smoke-filled room,
this large blue trashcan to my
left
full of empty
containers

the doctors have no answers
and the gods are
silent

congratulations, death,
on your patience.
I have helped you all that
I can

now one more poem
and a walk out on the balcony,
such a fine night there

I am dressed in shorts and stockings,
gently scratch my old
belly,
look out there
look off there
where dark meets dark

it's been one hell of a crazy
ballgame

from "Third Lung Review" - 1992

SAM STONE

Sam Stone was alone

When he popped his last balloon..

...

Jesus died for nothin' I suppose

Little pictures have big ears

Don't stop to count the years

Can't play too many tunes on

Broken radio's John Prine 1971

ROLLING THUNDER 1975

I walk the tunnel every day

Beneath the street

Where walkers walk

Disorients me

Red pipes and blue pipes

Water and steam and lights along the wall

Funnel the walkers toward the stairs

Lincoln approaches in suspenders

Axe in hand, pointing toward the escalators

That expand from the aromas of Monday powdered halls

Squirrels scurry clutching styrofoam packets

Scamper up cables to sterile nests in the sky

Crouch in sombre resolution that day will be done

Tom Waits

Ol' '55

Time went so quickly
I went lickety-splickly, out to my old '55
Pulled away slowly, feeling so holy
God knows, I was feeling alive

And now the sun's coming up
I'm riding with Lady Luck
Freeway cars and trucks
Stars beginning to fade and I lead the parade
Just a-wishing I'd stayed a little longer
Oh, Lord, that feeling's getting stronger

Now it's six in the morning
gave me no warning
I had to be on my way
Lights passing and trucks are flashing
I'm on my way home from your place

And now the sun's coming up
I'm riding with Lady Luck
Freeway cars and trucks

Written by: Tom Waits

A child
not a child
A monk
robe and cowl
bows before the bead
Beggar
thief
Get behind that mule and plow

CORKSCREW TO MY HEART

A change in the weather can be extreme
But what's the sense of changing horses in midstream?
I'm going out of my mind
With pain that stops and starts
Like a corkscrew to my heart
Ever since we've been apart

You're a Big Girl Now 1974 Bob Dylan

Wonder what does it matter
When all comes to the same
Struggle to survive, struggle to maintain
Driven to continue, driven to remain

She curls around your conscience
Siren of the dark
Holds out the illusion
Curls around your heart

Enigma of existence
Crucial to the truth
I don't know the answer
I cannot hear the lark

A DYING CUB FAN'S LAST REQUEST

Do they still sing the blues in Chicago

When baseball season rolls around

When the snow melts away

Do the Cubbies still play

In their Ivy covered burial ground

When I was a boy they were

My pride and joy

But now they only bring fatigue

To the home of the brave

The land of the free

And the doormat of the National League.

Steve Goodman wrote that song.

Only a long suffering, diehard Cub fan could understand.

I became one in 1969, Ernie Banks, Billie Williams, Ferguson Jenkins, Ron Santo. They blew a 12 game lead going into August, and the Miracle Mets beat Baltimore in the World Series. It's been 100 years since the Cubs won, 1908 being the year my dad was born, just a coincidence I hope. I've only been to Wrigley once, in 1989, took my nine year old son to a game, they lost of course. Even if you hate baseball, you ought to see a game in Wrigley at least once. One of the most beautiful places on earth. I've always said I wouldn't die until the Cubs won the World Series, that either makes me immortal or marks the moment of my death.

Steve Goodman died in 1984 of leukemia, just 2 weeks before the Cubs clinched the Central Division and played in the National League Championship, they lost of course, after leading the Padres 3 games to 1. He also wrote, The City of New Orleans, called by many, including John Prine, another Chicago native and close friend, the best train song ever written. He wrote a lot of great songs, had some great albums in the 70's, worth checking out. He also wrote the Cubs theme, sung after every victory in Wrigley Field, Go Cubs Go.

They're singing, Go Cubs Go

The Cubs are gonna win today

Hey Chicago what do you say

Go Cubs Go

The Cubs are gonna win today

MONSTERS

On Friday nights, my sister and I would slip into our pajamas and spread blankets and pillows in front of the TV on the living room floor, with a bowl of popcorn and a pop, watch the monster movies on Channel 4. Our parents would be in the back bedroom

Why they didn't want to watch with us I don't know, but we loved to be scared. Would hide our eyes and snuggle closer. Innocence, and we were sure the terrible Atom Bomb was responsible, after all we went through duck and cover drills at school. Always felt sorry for them in the end, it wasn't their fault. Evoked from slumber by man's tampering with nature, misplaced, misunderstood.

STORY OF ISAAC

Faith and hope and love.

Abraham and Isaac.

Sacrifice and redemption.

Lambs and children.

Abraham took the wood of the burnt offering and laid it on his son Isaac, and he himself carried the fire and the knife. So the two of them walked on together. Isaac said to his father Abraham, "Father!" "Here I am my son." "The fire and the wood are here, but where is the lamb for a burnt offering?" Abraham said, "God himself will provide the lamb for a burnt offering, my son." So the two of them walked on together.

War is where a nation sacrifices its youth upon the altar of its values. "To have laid so costly a sacrifice upon the altar of Freedom." Abraham Lincoln

Leonard Cohen published Song of Isaac in Songs from a Room,1969. It is powerfully anti-war.

Story Of Isaac from Songs From A Room

The door it opened slowly, my father he came in,

I was nine years old.

And he stood so tall above me, his blue eyes they were shining

and his voice was very cold.

He said, "I've had a vision and you know I'm strong and holy,

I must do what I've been told."

So he started up the mountain,

I was running, he was walking,

and his axe was made of gold.

Well, the trees they got much smaller, the lake a lady's mirror,

we stopped to drink some wine.

Then he threw the bottle over.Broke a minute later

and he put his hand on mine.

Thought I saw an eagle but it might have been a vulture,

I never could decide.

Then my father built an altar,

he looked once behind his shoulder,

he knew I would not hide.

You who build these altars now to sacrifice these children,

you must not do it anymore.

A scheme is not a vision and you never have been tempted

by a demon or a god.

You who stand above them now, your hatchets blunt and bloody,

you were not there before,

when I lay upon a mountain and my father's hand was trembling

with the beauty of the word.

And if you call me brother now, forgive me if I inquire,

"Just according to whose plan?"

When it all comes down to dust

I will kill you if I must,

I will help you if I can.

When it all comes down to dust

I will help you if I must,

I will kill you if I can.

And mercy on our uniform,

man of peace or man of war,

the peacock spreads his fan.

FINALLY SPRING

Water in the canal and ducks for the first time since fall and it's sixty degrees. Finally its spring.
But my thoughts have gone to other times and other climes.
A girl I knew a long time ago. There is still poetry in my soul.

WHO,WHAT,WHEN,WHERE,WHY?

Many a Sunday morning I find myself asking myself those very same questions.

The first four are fairly easy, the last one can be tough.

Freshman journalism class.

In our sleep, pain which cannot forget falls drop by drop upon the heart until, in our own despair, against our will, comes wisdom through the awful grace of God

Kennedy-King Memorial, Kennedy-King Park, 17th & Broadway.This was the site Bobby Kennedy was to give a campaign speech April 4, 1968 which became a eulogy for Martin Luther King, Jr. and a plea for peace."I have bad news for you, for all of our fellow citizens, and people who love peace all over the world, and that is that Martin Luther King was shot and killed tonight.Martin Luther King dedicated his life to love and to justice for his fellow human beings, and he died because of that effort.In this difficult day, in this difficult time for the United States, it is perhaps well to ask what kind of a nation we are and what direction we want to move in. For those of you who are black--considering the evidence there evidently is that there were white people who were responsible--you can be filled with bitterness, with hatred, and a desire for revenge. We can move in that direction as a country, in great polarization--black people amongst black, white people amongst white, filled with hatred toward one another.Or we can make an effort, as Martin Luther King did, to understand and to comprehend, and to replace that violence, that stain of bloodshed that has spread across our land, with an effort to understand with compassion and love.For those of you who are black and are tempted to be filled with hatred and distrust at the injustice of such an act, against all white people, I can only say that I feel in my own heart the same kind of feeling. I had a member of my family killed, but he was killed by a white man. But we have to make an effort in the United States, we have to make an effort to understand, to go beyond these rather difficult times.My favorite poet was Aeschylus. He wrote: "In our sleep, pain which cannot forget falls drop by drop upon the heart until, in our own despair, against our will, comes wisdom through the awful grace of God."What we need in the United States is not division; what we need in the United States is not hatred; what we need in the United States is not violence or lawlessness; but love and wisdom, and compassion toward one another, and a feeling of justice toward those who still suffer within our country, whether they be white or they be black.So I shall ask you tonight to return home, to say a prayer for the family of Martin Luther King, that's true, but more importantly to say a prayer for our own country, which all of us love--a prayer for understanding and that compassion of which I spoke.We can do well in this country. We will have difficult times; we've had difficult times in the past; we will have difficult times in the future. It is not the end of violence; it is not the end of lawlessness; it is not the end of disorder.But the vast majority of white people and the vast majority of black people in this country want to live together, want to improve the quality of our life, and want justice for all human beings who abide in our land.Let us dedicate ourselves to what the Greeks wrote so many years ago: to tame the savageness of man and make gentle the life of this world.Let us dedicate ourselves to that, and say a prayer for our country and for our people."

Just words.

SUNRISE,SUNSET

Clouds stream over the bay,

Waves lash the shore,

Strands of memory,

pearls of time.

1968

We hadn't gone to the moon yet, I hadn't got laid yet. Martin Luther King and Robert Kennedy had been assasinated, protests were crushed in Chicago, Mexico City, Paris, Prague.
The war headlined every news cast, the democratic party was in turmoil, old liners challenged by a new wave.

A seminal moment, kind of like now. My confidence is not high. Experience has not been encouraging.

Old guard somehow always manage to survive. It was a rush though, that summer. The times they were a'changin.

WINTER OF OUR DISCONTENT

Spring is only one full moon away.

"Now is the winter of our discontent made glorious summer by this son [or sun] of York" Richard III

Steinbeck won the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1962, one year after "...for his realistic and imaginative writings, combining as they do sympathetic humor and keen social perception", in other words, lifetime achievement, Grapes of Wrath being the great American novel. Winter was criticised for its poorly conceived moral emphasis, transparent characters, lacking the stylistic integrity of previous works. I first read it about 10 years, and true it was not Grapes of Wrath, but I liked it very much. Identified with Ethan Allen Hawley, disilusioned, disappointed, feeling a failure to his family, almost going through with the bank robbery plot, the immigrant boss who had bought his family business he turned in, and in the end as he was about to be exported, returned the grocery to Ethan. That guilt along with Danny his life long friend and town drunk he loans the money to that puts him on the binge that killed him, and left him the property that reestablishes his status, his laid aside legacy. Steinbeck died in '68, I think a part of me died then too, although I was only 17, maybe innocence or hope.

OBAMACRAT

Well, it's official now. I'm a certified bureaucrat.

The Indiana State Office Building, above. A badge, parking space, and cubicle in a row with fifty other bureaucrats. I do have a window on the 4th floor though, looking north. I work at the will of the people, the citizens of Indiana.

DEMOCRACY "a government in which the supreme power is vested in the people and exercised by them directly or indirectly through a system of representation usually involving periodically held free elections."

The first time in 40 years Indiana might play a role in determining a presidential candidate. As the campaigns wear on, more and more is revealed. McCain, a man I respect very much, now catering to a withering Republican base, Hillary continually reminding us of 'her' legacy, a failed fantasy. Barack just keeps on with the same message. He has the least to lose and we have the most to gain if he can end this divisive rhetoric. Silence the Limbaughs or at least render their ravings impotent. I believe there is some good in conservatives and even the progressive liberalism I adhere to needs its checks and balances. He's got my vote.

BROWN COUNTY

Spent a lot of time there. High School summers I was counselor at CYO Boy's Camp. Wonderful memories. I also dated a girl there for a while. My room mate dated her sister and we'd go down every weekend. Some good memories there too. But this is about my great aunt Mary. She was an artist, lived in Brown County in the summer and Florida in the winter. I have one of her paintings hanging in my living room. A large 3X2 canvas of a scene in either late fall or very early spring. Beautiful, I often find myself getting lost down the road toward the cabin, framed by blue sky. My grandmother would visit and take me with her. Stark contrast, my grandma was down home country and Mary was sophisticated, self educated, rich and generous, very down to earth, they shared the same roots. One time, I was about 10 and sitting in a wicker chair by the fire, they had a beautiful place just coming down into Nashville, windows opening out on the hills, it was her studio, easels and canvas and paints, mesmerizing for a boy from the inner city. Bill her husband was sitting in front of me intently telling me a story about his youth, his face alit. He was part of a combine crew harvesting wheat, they would start in Texas and Oklahoma, travel north all season, ending in Montana and Canada, steam driven. I drove a combine when I was in Wyoming, harvesting wheat, and remembered that conversation at the time. Bill had later gone into business, self made man, built up some large company then sold it. That day though he was reliving a much simpler time in his life.

BAOBAB

The upside down tree with it's roots in the air and branches underground.

A fickle god who throws creation on it's ear.

I hear the sound of far off bells.

No storm can shake my inmost calm when to that rock I'm clingin'

Counterculture

What you get in a yogurt shop

Just a lonely man walkin' down the road

brautigan

When I saw my friend Stan the other day he loaned or gave, I'm not sure, a copy of Revenge of the Lawn, a Richard Brautigan collection of short stories from the 60's. I told him it was like being reacquainted with an old friend I hadn't seen in years. Added a link to a website I found. The opening line of Revenge of the Lawn, 'My grandmother..', I had just opened my last blog 'Sadie Mae' with the same just the night before.

A side note, when I hit the coast of Oregon in '76, it was past midnight in Coos Bay, as usual I gravitated to the nearest tavern, ordered a shot of Jack, I could drink whiskey when I was 25, someone sidled up to my table where I was drinking alone, it was pouring down rain by the way, he wore a confederate uniform, we drank for a while, and he asked if I was headed to San Francisco, I said I suppose so, don't have any other place to go. So all that night we travelled down Highway 101, made it to the Golden Gate about sunrise. I dropped him off about a block east of Haight-Asbury.

My Name

I guess you are kind of curious as to who I am, but I am one of those who do not have a regular name. My name depends on you. Just call me whatever is in your mind.

If you are thinking about something that happened a long time ago:Somebody asked you a question and you did not know the answer.

That is my name.

Perhaps it was raining very hard.

That is my name.

Or somebody wanted you to to something. You did it. Then they told you what you did was wrong. "Sorry for the mistake," - and you had to do something else.

That is my name.

Perhaps it was a game you played when you were a child or something that came idly into your mind when you were old and sitting in a chair near the window.

That is my name.

Or you walked someplace. There were flowers all around.

That is my name.

Perhaps you stared into a river. There was somebody near who loved you. They were about to touch you. You could feel this before it happened. Then it happened.

That is my name.

Or you heard someone calling from a great distance. Their voice was almost an echo.

That is my name.

Perhaps you were lying in bed, almost ready to go to sleep and you laughed at something, a joke unto yourself, a good way to end the day.

That is my name.

Or if you were eating something good and for a second forgot what you were eating, but still went on, knowing it was good.

That is my name.

Perhaps it was around midnight and the fire tolled like a bell inside the stove.

That is my name.

Or you felt bad, when she said that thing to you. She could have told it to someone else:Somebody who was more familiar with her problems.

That is my name.

Perhaps the trout swam in the pool but the river was only eight inches wide and the moon shone iDEATH and the watermelon fields glowed out of proportion, dark and the moon seemed to rise from every plant.

That is my name.

And I wish Margaret would leave me alone.

OBSCURITY

On the weekend, after laundry and house cleaning, I often go around the corner to the local bar, have a few beers, watch some sports, and play the juke box. Found a friend there who appreciates my selections, no matter how obscure. The master of her universe, she sifts down the bar, engaging conversations and dispensing smiles as freely as the libations. Never forgets a name, a face or favorite drink.
I've done the math...2 1/2 times...aaah! forget it.
Just glad she's my friend.

SADIE MAE

My grandmother was born in 1890 on a small farm, just east, Philadelphia. At fifteen she was working in a broom factory downtown at the river by the old Hygrade plant. Married my grandfather when she was 16, lived on Douglas St where the campus is now, my father born in '08, moved to Brightwood in 1910. During the great flood of 1913 (there's still a plaque at the Michigan St bridge commemorating the building of the levee) the whole west side flooded. She put up her relatives for many months.
She'd tell me stories as she cooked, and I'd be seated at her kitchen table with cheese and crackers and milk. I listened.
My grandfather travelled when he was young, out west, ending up as a cook in a logging camp in the northwest.
I travelled when I was young, out west, worked for a while on a ranch in Wyoming. Moved on to Oregon and then down to San Diego. Came back across the mountains and desert to Santa Fe.

Been from Tucson to Tucumcari
Tehachapee to Tonopah
Driven every kind of rig that's ever been made
Driven the back roads so I wouldn't get weighed
And if you give me weed, white sand, wine
and show me a sign
I'll be willin'

I mention this because my continued wanderlust and passion for telling stories, rise from those memories like the aromas from that stove.

STIMULUS PACKAGE

Rebates are like worms put back on the hook, hoping the fish will bite again.

I am offended when the president, secretary of the treasury, and leaders in congress refer to me only as a consumer.

"This package will lead to higher consumer spending and increased business investment," Bush said in hailing the agreement.

My idea of a stimulus package is much different but I am restricted within this blog.

Kennedy said he wants "to strengthen this package to provide unemployment insurance to workers looking for jobs and to help families coping with high heating costs and skyrocketing food prices."

Not to mention health care. I had the unexpected and unfortunate opportunity to experience the current state of health care myself in the past year. Even though I had insurance, and thank god I did after just a couple days stay in a hospital and numerous unnecessay tests that proved nothing, the diagnosis was that I was getting old and smoke and drank too much, Hell! I could've told them that, the overall cost was staggering but just my copays and deductibles still have me wondering how I can recoup. The current discussion on providing health care to all Americans has taken the wrong fork in the road. Until someone is willing to take on the pharmaceutical and insurance industries and the growing conglomerate hospital corporations, the cost will continue to rise. Instead of trying to figure out how to give more away to them, let's concentrate on spreading out what we already have to those who need it most.

Listening to the old men debate this morning in the breakfast bar I go to, their simple wisdom was undeniable. The candidates should listen as well.

BLIZZARD OF '78

I was working downtown in a bank building. The snow started around 2am that Thursday morning, by 7 we weren't going anywhere. The company put us up in the Hilton at Meridian & Ohio. We, five of us, blasted out of the parking lot through a 4ft drift. I remember looking out a 6th floor window across Ohio toward the Bell building, couldn't see it. The hotel didn't have much food, they put out a cold buffet. We got hungry later that night and decided to make a go for White Castle. Driving up north Meridian was other worldly. The street was blown clean, the snow in drifts up to 2nd story windows. We made it to 16th & Illinois, White Castle was open. We got some sliders and headed back. The city was shut down for three days, not much moved till Saturday morning. A hundred year storm. I hope never again, but it left some indelible memories.