Some dream of salty tuna gills
While others get a sudden whim
To yowl forth a feline hymn.
And as the world begets
more thrills,
They watch the street from
window-sills.
First published in Nanny Fanny, Summer/Fall,
2000
Conversation With
Aphrodite
“How many liars and how
many fakes
Before I encounter a
winner?”
“As many,” she
whispers, “my dear, as it takes.”
“That is depressing.
My soul even aches!”
“Be patient.
You’re still a beginner.”
“How many liars and how
many fakes?
“How many fast-talking,
free-wheeling rakes
Will hand me the bill
after dinner?”
“As many,” she
whispers, “my dear, as it takes.”
“Why do I fall for those
clever keepsakes?”
“We, all of us, love
a good sinner!”
“How many liars and how
many fakes,
Dream-weavers boasting of
cabins on lakes,
Before I say ‘No!’ to
the spinner?
“As many,” she
whispers, “my dear, as it takes.”
Someday you’ll
find—as the earth ‘neath you quakes—
You’ve found him.
A true Errol Flynner!”
“How many liars and how
many fakes?”
“As many,”
she whispers, “my dear, as it takes.”
The Buena Vista Café
It means good view. It’s
‘Frisco’s best by far.
Those choppy waves are
looking pretty rough.
I feel an eerie presence
at the bar.
Perhaps it’s Zelda
telling Scott, “Enough!”
Or maybe Johnny
Steinbeck’s in this space,
Demanding one last chaser
for the road.
I know they’re dead. I’m not some mental case.
But this is where the
talent really flowed.
That’s why I’m here. That’s why I left L.A.
So I could drink with truly gifted men
And soak up what their spirits have to say.
I only hope they’ll help me write. And then?
Tom Cruise’ll buy
whatever script I pitch.
The Buena Vista’s gonna
make me rich.
Seduced
I cannot help but be again
seduced.
Each time I feel her
breath upon my cheek.
The cabin's where we first
were introduced
And where I heard this
wood-nymph softly speak.
She went from shy to bold,
then back to meek.
Chameleon-like from day to
dusk to night.
With me, she's always
playing hide-and-seek.
And when she laughs? The moon is twice as bright
And all the pines are
blessed with extra height.
Her presence gives the
stars a sharper glow.
Then suddenly she'll
disappear for spite!
How hard it is for me to
watch her go.
But when she does, I know
I haven't sinned
To be enamoured so with
summer's wind.
First published in The Nature Sonnets, Gival Press,
2001
The Death of Iambic Pentameter
Today the formal poets only bore.
Their metered sonnets seem so out of date.
A foot is what you walk
on, nothing more.
In Shakespeare’s day,
those bards could really score.
Each verse would earn them
gifts from heads of state.
Today the formal poets
only bore.
Their tender thoughts lie
strewn across the floor.
Or wadded up and tossed
against a grate.
A foot is what you walk
on, nothing more!
Now lovers are too modern
to “implore.”
Or leave a single rose
outside her gate.
Today the formal poets
only bore.
Romanticism makes the
public snore.
They’d rather read of
conflicts in Kuwait.
A foot is what you walk
on, nothing more.
A
meter is what pocket change is for.
And verses rhymed are
strictly second rate.
Today the formal poets
only bore.
A foot is what you walk
on, nothing more.
The God Thing
I fought the god thing nearly all my life,
Unnerved by flowing beards and crowns of thorns.
I much preferred the world of unicorns
And pipers piping brightly on a fife.
Who needed all that crucifixion strife?
Or swallowing one's sins on Sunday morns?
How Bible-thumpers love to toot their horns
While coveting the pastor's younger wife.
"It's not for me!" I sneered and strode away,
So plump with arrogance and nonbelief.
But as the clock began to tick, I knew
That someday I would have to learn to pray
And hope that faith might overcome my grief.
How shocked I was to find The God Thing true.
Fire and Faith
Odd how a fire takes hold.
One tiny hiss. (Can you hear it?)
Whoosh! Feel the flames growing bold.
Odd how a fire takes hold.
Then it's just ashes and cold.
Like my belief in The Spirit.
Odd how a fire takes hold.
One tiny hiss. (Can you hear it?)
The HyperTexts