keep to the right

He keeps to the right
he's not to be tempted
the rules are the rules
and they won't be preempted
by dingbats and dumbasses
yuppies and jerks
idiot bimbos
who think they have perks.
Pushing his buttons
as he climbs up the case
he's still on the right
but you're right in his face.
using your cellphone
on the damn escalator
keeping tabs on each other
when you can say 'see you later'~
And then at the top of the stair
PLEASE keep walking
hang out somewhere ELSE
and ENOUGH with the talking!
Far worse on train
a much longer ride
and then on the bus
and he's fit to be tied!
You take up two spaces
when you need only one
and that drippy umbrella
has robbed all his sun.
And WHAT are you eating?
it smells just like crap
and his blood pressure's
pushing steam out of his cap.
Normally quiet, this mild-mannered gent
is really no trouble, until he get's bent
the key to avoiding a terrible plight
just mind all your manners, and KEEP TO THE RIGHT!

of

The power of your words can mezmerize and heal the hurts,
your eyes are beautiful, they've looked into my soul.
The wonder of your gaze touches the places I would rather not be writing of,
and afterall this is a poem and way too much to share in whole.

The starting lineup, back when I was young, I think I missed the gun,
but just as well
took off for other places.
I longed for mountains magesty and all those things I hoped to see,
while others stayed and loved familiar faces.

Some married and they bore their young, or college-bound for work and fun or tragedy, and sometimes God just loses me.
The question of my failure to connect with just one sailor, what the heck, but strangely so, quite often still amuses me.

I ponder of a hope that it's still possible, within your scope, I'm grateful for eleventh-hour breakthroughs.
Still don't get what you're telling me, I bungled at the spelling bee, you say the thing I'll get is what I'll choose?

The mind it travels to and fro, the world it feeds the input though, and we must press the whey out from the curds.
And so I speak in vagaries, of things to come which I can't see but speak into reality, if only by my words.

The power of your words can mezmerize and heal the hurt, your eyes are beautiful they've looked into my soul.

crooked finger's haunting rant of the miserable wife

Golden words penned long ago
when I was young and zesty
occupied with lofty things
perhaps a lot less testy.

That which clouds my vision
tragic losses which destroyed
sweet perceptions
dark deceptions
left me underjoyed.

Of boyfriends unattainable
rejection would then smite
the hope of finding love,
which left me
just a bit uptight.

in the stretch to earn a living
well my boss is kind of rough
In trying to say something nice I'm on ice
cuz she's hard-headed, driving, and tough.

The high cost of living and then there's the tax
puts a strain on my old bank account
but that backbiting backriding queen battleaxe
can jump from the ground to the mount.

and every day's the same old thing
like a hamster on the wheel
the same old thing is feeling old
and I’m looking cold as steel.

but still I ignore the passing of time
and balance hard work with clean fun
and believing that this is as good as it gets
I'll settle for less than the one.

seeking distraction from everything dull
and attracted to that which you are
I read self help books while you eats what I cooks
and I’m lost in the Harper's Bazaar.

My cellulite was ill replete
and disappointments grew
and long before the smog moved in
it choked the thrill from you.

and out of this stress comes the need to digress
so we sleep and we play and we drink
and we drain our desires and screw up our wires
and leave our sex life on the brink.

Simple amusements, the clutter of things
common to man and his beast
from the pretense of knowledge and so many things
to the Thanksgiving holiday feast.

And now we're blown out, you lie and I shout
there's a palpable distance that's haunted
I long for the day when you'd hold me and say
that I'm just the one you always wanted.

But now mediocre, you opt to play poker
and run with a sweatpool of stink
and hoping to find something good on the street
in the morning you feel like a fink.

Left to your own devices
sleeping soundly, your heart's one desire
for passion it waits, while the office debates
and will do so until you expire.

Displacing my anger I'm less satisfied
and will never see straight, as you'll see
my own crooked finger was put through the wringer
and now it points straight back at me.


I'm not always this happy. 'Crooked finger' is just another fantasy of mine which helps me cope with singleness. I try to imagine the grass being all burnt out on the other side of the fence and find it elating. Not really as I have enjoyed some good things in my previous married life. Funny I was googling crooked finger and found Eric Bachmann I think his name is. Anyway, it's just a mood. If you like dark, drunken, folky music, I highly recommend checking out Crooked Fingers. http://www.crookedfingers.com/flash/index.htm
THis song by Crooked Finger actually reminds me of Dylan's 'Spanish boots of Spanish Leather'.

sweet mysteries

At the end of the day
it could go either way
much like at the end
of this song~
Well I write for a while
then I sink to a smile
when I think how you
draw me along.

Well we came with a story
a beautiful song, unheard verses
locked deep in our soul~
and the way to discover
what lies locked in this lover
find the key that will fit
the keyhole.

And sometimes we're inspired
other times we're just tired
and it's sad when we don't
realize~
it's because of ourselves
talent sits on the shelves
in the darkness for the rest
of our lives.

It was trouble and strife
anger cuts like a knife
and it tore at the door
of my mind (and my pride)~
it was then your sweet voice
through the keyhole rejoiced
and released the deadbolt
from inside.

So how I can tell you
just what's on my mind
I am corny and wierd and unkind,
sometimes...
but I say what I feel
'cuz i know what is real
and it's better than what I
left behind.

Thought the answer was
finding
the right key~
the thing that would then
make you whole~
but the Master
unlocking
life's sweet mysteries~
is the LOVE sown
in each other's
soul.

Rise above

There was a time
I was a child
and I could clmb
the wooded wild
and see out over treetops
way beyond this place called home.
Now I am grown
can bearly climb
but give me time
and I will find
another way to rise above
and see beyond this poem.

The paths I loved
when I was nine
are overgrown
with thorny vine
and streams beside
which I would sit
polluted now
and hardly fit
but give me time
and I will find
another path a sparkling stream
which winds around and satisfies
a quiet place
where I can dream.

Where there's a will
there is a way
there is a path
that's ours today
and if you come upon
a place that seems impassable,
the answer still
the same today
That if you ask
and if you pray
the things you hope for
come what may
will never be impossible.

Mr. Moon ( in iambic pentameter)

(1- 2- 3- 4- 1- 2) Hey Mr. Moon- badunt dunt dunt
shine a light on all of our blues-badunt dunt dunt
we passed around the bottle of gueze- badunt dunt dunt
while lookin' down at skuffied up shoes -badunt dunt dunt dunt dadee

hey Mr. Moon- badunt dunt dunt
your gettin' on my hormonal rythym- ba dunt dunt
my chemi hemi-spherical schizm
is reacting to your lunar deluge

so strike up the band -badunt dunt dunt
won't ya shine a light on all of us crazies
we love you cuz your foolish and lazy
and you do it for attention and news- badunt dunt dunt, dumpedy

well your'e the orchestrated leader
of the criminally insane
and the bona fide heater
of the hearts on lovers lane
and what's it to ya anyway
just what all do ya gain
when ya push the tides around
and do a number on my brain::

Mr. Fool Moon-Budunt dunt un-
aware that you're a pain in my rump -badunt dunt
keep the rhythym 'til we're over hump~
'cuz you know I like the light of your lump- badunt dunt dunt bumpety

Mr. Moon- dadunt dunt dunt
I hope you come around real soon- badunt dunt dunt
I'll try to write a song for the sun- badunt dunt dunt
who keeps a dark old rock in his fun- badunt dunt dunt dupmety

I love you, Mr Moon
Mr.Moon, I love you
I love you, Mr Moon~
Mr. Moon.

*************

Gueze (gooze): Beer term for a blend of young and old lambics.
http://www.beerliquors.com/buy/beer/Boon_Gueze_Lambic_Beer.htm
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lambic

which by the way, ryhymes with Iambic pentameter:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Iambic_pen

undone

a million peices of my heart
in all the things I tend to start, but never finish
and every thing that's left undone
is just a sign I'm on the run, lest I deminish

and if I stop to take a breath
and contemplate my hour of death, I'd have to wonder
what then would be my last request
to sit with winners I detest, or rather one more chance to be a blunder?

Just like that worm
who never made the hook
I slept too late
and never read the book
the early bird
was out cold when I came
he knew the plays
but snoozed before the game.

I dabble in the partial arts
in tasting wines and shopping carts with shaky wheels
and all the prizes never won
for half baked pies, and smiling eyes and flaky deals.

time will tell if this get's done
though time is never on the run, nor one for waiting
no matter what you do or choose
in what you keep or what you lose, that sunset's fading~

Like that worm
who never made the hook
I sleep too late
and never read the book
the early bird
was out cold when I came
he knew the plays
but snoozed before the game.

the moon

Quarter moon's a fingernail
just looks that way to me
like someone clipped and casually flipped
and left it floating free~

Half moon's a quarter moon
lookin' half a whole
but we all know that moon's a lune
it's back as black as coal.

Full moon, it might look full
but half is all you see
the other half remains unseen
a cold hard mystery.

New moon it can't be seen
but right on time it's there
rolling around as usual
and always without a care.

Moon shined on my soul
immersed the whole in gin
Longing for my other half
has driven me to sin.

Scanning sides of Highway Nine
for a room with cold A/C
settled on The crusty Moon
for it's amenity.

Heard about the mirrors
and the funky waterbeds
Ew's the only word I knew
for whatever's left unsaid~

I asked about the TV set
the sign read 'colored' screen
it's free and the reception's great
which means a clear thirteen!

Checked in around eleven
suited up for blasting off
the bathroom was delightful
but the odor made me cough~

The room was clean and tidy
and the maid had left some cheese
upon my bed and made a mouse
from towels if you please~

I tried to get more comfortable
upon on that wad of water
slid around on sheets of silk
that reeked of Estee Lauder

I thought it best I was alone
and dreaming of the night
that you and I would honeymoon
awakened me with fright

Upon that waterbed I lay
face down in my cocoon
but glancing upward, looking down
was one enormous moon

To say it took me by surprise
would be far understated
that moon you see was only me
but the mirror overrated

Could have been some cottage cheese
which gave the moon it's girth
and not the moldy stuff we thought
was circling the Earth.

Had enough of cheesy stuff
and put back on my clothes
took the moon shaped soaps and nuts
and had a few of those

I wandered out beneath the moon
and looked across the way
figured business slowed up since
the Old West went away.

Hitchhiked down to Scooters
maybe had a beer or two
someone singing 'Born Free'
made me smile and think of you.

Sun shine warming rays
bringing light to dawn
found me in a foolish haze
moon up upon the lawn

Mourning for the man up there
cast shadows on my heart
and left to ponder moonlight
far worse off than from the start

Looking up at at quarter moon
but wanting more than this
Fill me to fullest, Lord
and let me be sun kissed

I Do

Tending to things
that don't matter
that much
wasting my time
watching TV and such
spending my money
in folly and shame
don't point at me
'cause your doin' the same~

and
I
need
someone to tell me
it's gonna be alright
and
I
want
someone to lead me
out through the dark of
this night
I do

waiting on something
that's bigger than this
cleared away cobwebs
and cut through the mist
made up my mind
that I'm staying alone
I keep to myself
for I'm all that I own~

and
I
need
someone to tell me
it's gonna be
alright
and
I want someone to lead me
out through the dark of this night
I do
why all the bitterness
I can not say
pride in my life
chose the ignorant way~
well nothing is really
new under the sun
I've taken a look
but not turned to the One

and
I
need
someone to tell me
it's gonna be alright
and
I
need
someone to lead me
out through the dark of this night
I do

paying the bills
that are up to my chin
Wait for the day
when my ship will come in
keep even-keeled in the
worst of the gales
but climbing the steps
takes the wind from my sails

and
I
need
someone to tell me
it's gonna be alright
and
I
need
someone to lead me
out through the dark of
this night

I do

So I work until five
then it's time for a beer
month after month
turns to year after year
Thinkin that maybe
there's some other way
taking a risk could mean
falling away

And we
all
need
someone to tell us
it's gonna be alright
and we
all
need
someone to hold us
and lead us on out
through the dark of
this horrible night
dark of this terrible night
I do
I do.

This came to me tonight as I was thinking about an old black and white Orson Wells movie " The Stranger" in which he plays a Nazi general, Franz Clommer or something, who escaped the war crime trials and fled to America with a new identity, taking a job as a professor in some Ivy League College in New England. The detective who is investigating the fugitive is played by Edward G. Robinson. Franz is eventually found out but not before marrying the daughter (Loretta Young), of some VIP at the college. He has an obsession with clocks and the movie revolves around this fixing the clock tower of an old church on campus. You watch as his life begins to unravel, the truth becoming evident, as he sinks to murder to try to keep his secret. He winds up confessing to his wife, but all the while, untrusting and plotting her murder as well. Not unexpectedly, the movie comes to a climax as......well it's pretty graphic for that time. Almost unbearable!

My lyrics aren't really about Orson or the movie at all but were writtin in the spirit of the movie, and maybe more about being a victim of your own stupid choices, feeling imprisoned and needing some hope and guidance...a light at the end of the tunnel and a hand up and out. I think we all need to have a sense of community, and to en-courage and offer hope from another perspective. Maybe I was thinking about how we need more real love and less gonging bell. Bang a gong.

life song

There's this music that I've heard
deep down in my soul
where the wilderness beckons
us all to be whole~

from a faraway place
it calls like the loon
it was written for us
and it's always in tune.

In tune with the weather
as clouds, rolling in
bring the music of thunder
and the rain on the wind.

In tune with the valley
as I climb to the peak
yodel lay he who goes there
to the echo I speak

sunlight cuts through forests
and glistens on streams
and pine needles carpet
the throne room which sings

the birds do not worry
they have no concern
they're singing the song
that I have yet to learn

Still it flows down the creekbed
and the rivers grow wild
rythmic waves on the shores
where I walked as a child

and the breath I exhale
like the one you breathe in
keeps us all in this lifetime
how strange it's all been

the natural world
truly awesome and wild
and the worst things can happen
and take down the child

the smallest and delicate flower
of life
snatched up and the music
is bitter with strife

and the tone of my song
is of pure aggravition
and way out of tune
with the whole congregation

and I just can't relate
to the choir and organ
and I wander alone down to
Stanley and Morgan

Distracted by life and in
wanting much more
i've lost time with the singers
and forgotten the score

I yearn for the song
which brings faith to the living
love to the lost
and joy in the giving.

born for a purpose
not just to survive
to walk certain of hope
while we're all still alive.

And in search of my God
who can touch my heartstrings
in sickness and health and
and the questions life brings

Who in still quiet places
or noisy train stations
in subways and alleys and
the worst situations

speaks His Peace in the midst
overriding my brain
adding fuel to my fire
and I'm drawn back again

and sitting alone
somewhat stuck in the mire
I remember that Psalm
and it stirs my desire.

'As the dear longs for the water,
so my soul longs after You
You alone are my hearts desire
and I long to worship You.'

The simplest Psalm
sung alone or along
nature's voice to God's ears
creation's love song.

let the buck stop

A true story about being taken advantage of.


On that terrible night
looked you straight in the eye
If you cosign her loan,
well she'll bake you a pie
so you picked the best berries
and never asked why
her words are like sugar
and lye.

Well there could be no cosign
her credit was ill
the guy called you crazy
"She won't pay her bill"
And moved with compassion
to save her the shame
bought that little red
Chevy, so who can you blame?

And for a few months
she worked and she paid
and everything shined
as if made in the shade
till one payment missed
and that sick feeling in ya
heard she done up and quit
and took off for Virginia!

and at least 2 years later
she writes to your sister
seeking full pardon
while you paid off her blister~
"I don't ask for anything
I cannot repay and
Ya know I'll make good
someday".

You say "Never again
will I be so insane~
she asked for the moon
and I've given my brain
my bank accounts drained
but my heart will remain
tried and true
true and blue
just the same".

It would not be as sad
if there were some small return
the littlest sign that
the woman could learn
some indication that all of your care
would make her life better,
but it's just never there.

So grant her that favor
it's all said and done
the best you can do now
is let go and have fun~
she's burnt down the giving tree
and with no wood to chop
just pray for her
conscience and
let the buck stop!

The Walk of Shame

My sister sent some money
'cuz things had gone to hell.
Said "You don't belong there Honey,
a trip home will do you well."

On a three day smelly bus ride
Away from what had been obscene
Turned my nose to New York City
where the air was fresh and clean.

Pulled into Central Station
a different kind of highland
Was met by my dear sister
a castaway on Gov'nors Isand.

Being broke was half the trouble
and we played it like a game
but the nasty shoe debacle
well it made me take the shame.

I didn't know quite what to do
but I knew I had a job,
a suit of houndstooth off 'The Give'
and my hair cut in a bob.

The suit was fitting perfectly
and for shoes she found some flats
pink with silver circled cutouts
kind of clownish without spats

Well I stood there in a laugh-cry
'cuz my job was in the city
I gotta make these babies black
or be lookin' 'Hello Kitty'.

So she gets that strange expression
perhaps it's from the Lord
In an empty apartment down the hall
was some paint for the old baseboard.

We laughed the night we dipped the shoes
laughed until we cried
And early the next morning
It seemed the paint had dried.

You could see that they were shiny
and ready for the weather
and from an eyeball's distance
they could pass for patent leather.

I was ever careful
as I slipped my stockinged toes
into my brand new Government issued
shoes and No-Frills tailored clothes.

Mincing along but gingerly
I hopped aboard the ferry
missed the bus to Beekman
in the dark, the walk was scary.

Made it to the building
not a minute did I lose
I tidied up my hair and
then I glanced down at my shoes...

Blasted bloody got em muddy
bits of paper grass and sand
I heard my toes scream out, "Hey, buddy!
for shoes, tar paint is banned!".

Quickly then I kicked 'em off
and tried to wipe 'em clean
but every little thing unstuck
took off the tacky sheen.

I did my best to conceal a sob
but had to pay my dues
as more than one allergic snob
caught sight of battered shoes.

At 5 PM back on the street
with nowhere else to roam
my misery, was made complete
as I tracked some more dirt home.


I decided to repost this one since I am once again in the process of relocating, only this time I have the shoes and no job.

PS. I was reminded of one of my favorite episodes of the Little Rascals, where the boy, whose mother had been abused by his drunken father somehow managed to buy her a pretty dress and oversized pumps. I can't remember the details but the clothes didn't quite fit right. The closing scene left a lasting impression. The family are walking to church and the boy is looking at Mom in her new clothes and with love in his eyes says," Gee Ma, you look like an angel on Sunday!" Her ankles are wobbling badly, like a little girl in her mother's high heels, but she's beaming down at him, " I FEEL like an angel on Sunday!"

misery loves exercise

I took a walk with Misery
we've been walking for a while
sometimes he says I go too slow
but I'll go that extra mile.

We don't say much and that's okay,
I'm not much one for talking
well I just like his company
when we are out there walking.

Well Misery said that he'd been down
too many familiar roads
prefers to walk with strangers now
who'll kick against the goads.

He's seen his share of troubles
which invite him in for tea
and walks the sullen pathway home
alongside Sympathy.

They take the train quite often
and will meet up at the bars
Self Pity's always waiting there
with her bottle, wounds and scars.

They buy a round and toast the clown
whose always got one-liners
to keep the crowd distracted
from the pineys and the whiners.

Adversity can test your will and take away your smile
you might meet up with Misery and settle for a while,
to dwell upon the negative will limit where you go~
and stuck inside, you'll just abide, and one day miss the show.

Reflecting on old Misery, I often let him lead
through disappointments, heartache and my own uncertain need,
I slow my pace and let him pass, and turning up the sound
I bid farewell to Misery, it's time to turn around!

for the record

Life's like a record
the days keeping score
of the scores that were written
so long before~

and sometimes, if we like it
we'll play it too long
and wear the thing down till
we can't hear our song.

or handle it roughly
and wind up with scratches
the issues of life which
we can't fix with patches

and get stuck in places
and skip till we're blue,
we'll need a new record
what else can we do.

Sometimes it's the speed
and we take it too fast
Alvin and the chipmonks
were fun but can't last.

when I was a child
I would play the thing backwards
and marvel at music
that's garbled and strange~

we can't play life backwards
but turn up the old ones
I'll sing the wrong lyrics
or just rearrange.

the heartbroken fireside blues (revisited)

What can you say
out there in the fog
in want of the old flame
you burnt your last log.

The memories are hot
the pain you remember
beneath all the ashes
the last glowing ember.

Don't bother to fan it
there's no fuel to burn
let it go out
save the ash for the urn.

Turn your attention
to the wood
that needs chopping
do something worthwhile
like sweeping and mopping

Sweep out the soot
and mop up your tears
clean out the attic
let go of your fears

Put on the blues
then something upbeat
get on your warm clothes
walk out to the street

Follow it down
to the steaming creek bed
the mineral water
is something it's said

Melts away saddness
and heats up your head
without all the smoke
without all the dread.

Don't need a fire
the water is good
cleans away everything
and better than wood.

The Word is water
still living and true
all that you need
all that you do

Lie back in the warmth
pulled free from the mire
be free and be healed
and forever on fire.

Corny Hornbutt

This is patriotic tune, set to Yankee Doodle, penned when I was but a youth.


Corny Hornbutt went to town, looking for relations
ran right into Celibut, who flees from fornication.

Horny cornbutt, keep it up
leader of the nation
make the ladies loose their lunch
and squirm with indignation!

Corny went to fellowship to woo his lovely Celi
mortified was Celibut, who punched him in the belly.

Corny Hornbutt, keep it up
leader of the nation
make the ladies loose their lunch
and squirm with indignation!

Corny saw his life flash by and knew the end was nearing
asked for pardon from his sin, as hell-fire he was fearing.

Corny Hornbutt, keep it up
leader of the nation
make the ladies loose their lunch
and squirm with indignation!

Corny saw his wretched ways and in this revelation
The Lord Almighty heard his cry and saved him from damnation.

Corny Hornbutt, keep it up
leader of the nation
Reached for Love and then God's Grace
made him a new creation!

Corny Hornbutt was renewed and now he's Pastor Corny
Celi married Hornibutt and named their first-born Forny.

Corny Hornbutt, keep it up
lead us from dam-nation
Help the ladies serve the lunch
to all the congregation!

wasn't Don Quixote a foreigner?

Your Vocabulary Score: A

Congratulations on your multifarious vocabulary! You must be quite an erudite person.

How's Your Vocabulary?

Not willing to settle for less than an A, I went back and retook the test a couple times. That's not cheating, is it?

purple haze?

Your Brain is Purple

Of all the brain types, yours is the most idealistic. You tend to think wild, amazing thoughts. Your dreams and fantasies are intense. Your thoughts are creative, inventive, and without boundaries. You tend to spend a lot of time thinking of fictional people and places - or a very different life for yourself.

What Color Is Your Brain?

just the guys fishing trip

the
boonies
where you are
in the outbacks and
the middle of nowhere but
y'all like callin' it God's Country
'cuz it's a place which is tended by God
where businessmen have yet to overrun and ravage
to fell forests,and clear the land for pretty developments
and it's a place where you are dangerously closer
to the wild elements and are self-reliant
comfortably near to the natural
free of the 'pressures' who
could encroach upon
your space and
freedoms
wow