and so it goes

this is, i believe, my seventh blog
they're scattered here and there
begun and abandoned
i haven't decided for sure if this one shall be cast to the wind
or if my heart may change
but if i write here no more
i want to thank you shoebox and ruth for stopping by
and supporting me
being my friends
it's meant much to me
that's all
rick

Derail

when i was a boy
a hundred yesterdays ago
from my father's lap
i would pretend to drive

and at the carnival, i would sit
in the balloon coloured boats
and turn and turn the half moon wheel
but only go round in circles

so off to the merry go round!
where all the pretty ponies grinned
i was so sure they could gallop me off
to an old west adventure
cross painted deserts
jump the fence i couldn't
but they only bobbed up and down
in a zombie march

once, at a theme park deep in the woods
they had a real train, or so it seemed
and the engineer wore a hat
just like casey jones!
but even the tame geese
mocked our two dollar circle

i'm older now and trapped in the knowing
that i still don't drive where i'd like
the ponies won't jump
and that fucking train
just won't derail

lost in the pause

Yesterday i was many things
and today i am  only one

a farm is a field is a fence to a cow
a drive to a house to a man full of labor
and a barn full of sunrises
blazing stories over meadow

A day is a morning
full of coffe and promise
a lunch is a pause in a midnight sun
and the afternoon sets a table for
twilights mischief

I have been these things, only yesterday
But today, i am only a dirty mug
on a barren shelf in an empty barn
the needle that drones
at the end of a Victrola's symphony

I suppose the many things i was yesterday
go on without me as they should
in the land beyond my surrender
where the colours hid my fear

But i have found to let them go
is to be let go if never was
yesterday i was many things
today i am only one

disorder

my hair flies wild these days, where it will,
as countless minuscule beams of
sourceless light, and so do i

was a time it lay buttered and tamed
capped and clipped proper
like a boy's first day at school
before the apple lost it's shine
but then, so did i

some tell of an explosion;
have you heard it? BANG!
and off they went! shooting this way
falling that way, a billion stars
in a cosmic fart tumbling
end over end in a radiant giggle

only to settle in the dust
of a first breath's whisper
where the symmetry of all we know
and dream, finds definition

it seems the tale of order,
this giant ball of gas condensed in black
sitting like a dozing judge before
endless testimony and blind witnesses
as so then, did i

but in so much order
like a sausage left in the sun
depth is a stench that
breaks the heart's spirit

a place where dreamless still men
on seas of glass drift blindly in circles
while never trod lands languish
and disappear beyond secret horizons

once in a universe does the cosmos fart
but everyday a twig breaks
snap! snap!
and chaos bears a child

a door slams, the dog barks
the cat jumps, the bird flies
and so do i

Baton Rouge

i hate this sky that can't decide
this broken wing, that just won't fly
i hate the things i didn't say
and the things i did
that went astray

there's a river flowing through me now
and it spills where it will
forking into cat tails
standing like soldier's tombstones

well, damn that river
and it's crazy ways
and damn the bridges
that spare you from me

and damn the light of yesterday
that illuminates today
where i fell and broke your leg

i knew a young boy once
and damn him too
and he knew a girl
who damned him one better

and i knew a highway
that knew a field
and together they conspired
to jester me to you

and i knew our name
scrawled by you in timeless sand
but if there we now went
could we find us in it?

damn the no i know
you knew

damn the ways that churn me black
the things i said
i can't take back
damn the things i didn't say, and
damn the loss of yesterday
damn this sky that can't decide
and damn this Baton Rouge

insanity

insane?
me??
says who?
oh, yeah, guess i did

well, what is sanity anyway,
in a world such as this?

this is a place that calls God love
then kills in His name
just to prove it

a place where starvation
grows like kudzu in Georgia
as billion dollar satellites play bumper cars
to get the better picture of it

we put up signs and erect fences
to claim ownership of an acre of earth, and
am i crazy to not understand, how
a person can own a piece of planet?

we kill our children
who quite readily, return the favor
and build mansions as empty tombs
turning stone into tin
only to vacation in busy campgrounds
to better bitch

i have thoughts
haven't you?
crazy ones, ones
that make me hide in myself
as in, what the fuck was that?
did any one see?

but i rarely see them through
does that make me sane
or criminally civil?

maybe we're all insane
that would explain much
and maybe I'm just a minority member,
insane beyond the loop

after all, democracy defines truth
and righteousness

i like my crazy thoughts
i like that i question theirs

i wish i could say that i have hope
that the sane will save us all
once they root out the rebels
but i fear
someday
only the bumper cars in space
will tell the tale
and the bones and blood
won't care to listen

contradiction

contradiction


hedonism;
it's not so bad once everything else is lost



man and machines;
today i saw a pair of fox
racing each other across the highway
one made it, the other didn't
a piece of car flew as if the price
the golden fox, so unaware
was trampled, rolled,
and skidded in final movement


what a waste

i looked at its tail of harvest sunset
flawless and softer
than any love i ever knew

i hate us for what we are
and yet,
my chips are on the table
steaming for an ace

hedonism;
it's not so bad, once everything else is lost

we the strong

ok, i abhor us
is that clear enough?

the high-pitched squeal of the apple tree
says, come!
be blessed of my fruit
rest in my shade
make love to my limbs
and bring a friend

but we rattle our sabres, pillage and destroy
wanting the best
wanting the all
and we piss a deed in crafting laws
carving initials, building fences
til at last, in a violent shake
the rot that fills the earth
is our very own in ugly conquer

we, tin soldiers us,
invent threats from hungry souls
and forgotten hearts
while we build our cities
with the bones of the weak
grinding them into battle hymns
that reverberate through history
teaching a stronger generation of warriors

we are a warring noisy people
greed is our bagpipe
the glint of steel our code of honour
and the backs of the unsuspecting vanquished
our very foundation

and this do i abhor
for i have learned it as well

my stuff

I remember long ago in my youth, the first real good sleeping bag i bought.
It said it would keep me warm down to twenty below and it kept its word.
Still does
But when i got it home i noticed it came with a tiny blue sack.
From my knees i held it up, studied it, shook it.
No way this big puffy ball of warm was going in this thing!
But liking a challenge, i tried my best.
I tied it, rolled it, folded it, this way and that, over and over as the sweat beaded
and the FUCKS! flew bouncing off the walls.
Finally, i called the company to explain they had given me the wrong sack.
I could tell by her laughter that i wasn't the first to call in with this problem.
"that's why it's called a stuff sack, sir. you just grab a handful and start stuffing!"
That seemed crazy to me and against everything i'd ever learned, but agreed to give it a shot.
Sure enough, in a minute or so the bag was completely encapsulated in the tiny sack, tight as a drum.
I sat back on my haunches and marveled.
It seems this has become my life

a lot of stuff, ya know?
and me being a people, i figure i'm supposed to carry it all.
So i fold, roll, tie n tuck-but it don't fit.
Kinda like an ostrich who thinks just cuz his head is in the hole, his ass must be gone too.
But it aint. Its right there, just prime for kickin
So i stuff til it fits, but then it's like a possum, tits up three days on the highway.
A ghastly explosion is imminent and there'll be plenty to go around
So fuck the stuff
I'll leave it where it lies
Walk lighter
And leave the crows to to feast on the
bullshit i can't carry

birth in a quiet valley

we've baked and bleached in the burning sand,
been robbed in the markets of Bang-kok
we buried our keel in the shoals off Singapore
and derailed our train in Berlin

hell, we've raised, and tasted its sulphur
as we filled our purse with mistakes
come here, sweet thing, and lie with me
and i'll lie to you til i'm gone

hands we took in treacherous grasp
while fingers crossed our painted kisses
oh! the songs we sang to the great blue northern
that shook its head in mournful disdain

oh grey moon, you're mine, you're mine!
as if saying it made it so
and the river too, it spoke to us
til we silenced it still with our wisdom

we held the bird in twisted grip
pretending we lived within
but to the trees that shook with shame
it flew to pray for rain

so come with me, let's pitch our tent
to quiet the rage that roars
let's carry our wings to the valley floor
begin with streams and butterflies,
the tender grass we'll nest upon
is the birth we missed before

The Edge

(i'll be damned if i didn't write this in the morning, and live it at midnight. No details-the sheriff's still lookin for me)



gettin itchy, so's
i buy a newspaper
and notice my trigger finger twitch

the banker slides his key in the door
and sneaks a cautious glance
over his shoulder

i close one eye
and raise the other eyebrow
while he fumbles his keys stupid

i sneer, then laugh
as he nearly tumbles through the door
just like someone put a blow torch to his ass!

as i saunter down the street
the little boys stop playing catch while
the women scurry, and men scramble
their pocket watches

i light a smoke-and listen, just listen
to the rhythm of my own spurs
that long to burn flank
across blazing desert sand

i wanna shoot a man
force a woman
rob a bank
steal the sheriff's horse
-just to feel the chase

i had a sidekick once
but sidekicks like winners
and that busted bank heist in Omaha
that netted thirty two dollars
and a shot out tail light
was too much for ol Rusty

Rusty wasn't lookin for danger,
just a poke to buy that dusty ranch down in El Paso
and i wish him well

but i ain't scratchin for no ranch,
ain't needin a chrome covered Cadillac
and i dang sure don't need the fame
of billy the kid or db cooper
-crazy bastards

i just need the chase
the rush i feel when i near
the edge of the mesa
and the dust of the posse
tickles my nose

that moment of desperation
which makes a horse's nostrils flare,
wishin they were wings

i'd rob that bastards bank
but bankers are fat and slow
i'd fuck the mayor's wife
but she might like it too much
to complain
but now, that there sheriff,
he's lookin mean
and his horse looks fast
think i'll mosey over
and give it a better look

so many ways

the hawk, resting only in flight
as it disappears beyond the ridge,
and that maverick wolf, with the soulful stare
so God-damned far, and yet,
so far beyond anything he sees
feeling a place he's never been

the weary sea turtle, lumbering through the sand
bidding good luck and good riddance-
you miserable little bastards!
while the darling momma cat bird, this time,
let's the phone just keep on ringing

so many ways...

hey! let's keep in touch,
she shouts in belie
you have my number
don't you?
and don't forget to write
uh huh, uh huh

sometimes
it's a slow rolling tear falling
on fingers released from fingers
or perhaps,
only footsteps in the hall

and sometimes
it's an uneasy laugh,
a hug that no longer fits
or the rubber band
sealing a stack of letters

and so it goes...

then later, all too often,
it resonates
like a wind blown church bell
in a desert ghost town
or the seventh skip of a stone
that only pretended it could fly

i sit upon these timeless shores
where lovers bade farewell
and i listen
to the sun melting
into blue,
a foghorn bearing warning
and the lunatic gulls
chasing waves that can't be caught

and i think, to the night,
sometimes it comes in silence,
and sometimes
silence
is the right goodbye

perfect compromise

would one
be nearly so beautiful
without the other?

still moment

twenty four guns to the starboard!
twenty four more to my port!
a cockwiggle grin to know my chin
and a cutlass full of grip

and the rockets red glare!
the bombs bursting in air!
yada yada yada

the jack hammer breaks the world in two
all rat-a-ta-tat rat-a-ta-tat!
while alarms sound the fire
and sirens chase the thief

a fist for the belly
a stick for the snake
and dynamite just in case

but here and just now,
in this stillest of time
befor hell rises up
its a canoe i glide

a silent paddle that slices
and dips while there, on the shore,
the grey goose nurtures her young
near the turtle
sleeping the fallen log

across the lake, the loon
cuts the silence of this frozen
time, penetrating
the mist rising from this northern lake
not yet awake, but stretching
in yawn

the slightest of breeze
dances the willows skirt
before washing my face
in its echo glow

just before me, a lone bass
leaps for no reason
and the red fox going home
pauses a glance from shore

yes, a screen door will slam
a woman will yell
and a Johnson will fire to life
in search of the bass's hideout

the telephone men will coffee
at Carol's Diner, comparing
bowling scores while the road crew
don the orange blaze and
the school busses lumber their duty

jackhammers, sirens and alarms
will surely follow this path
and violence shall rise with the sun

but now, and just now,
for a moment or so more
i see a canoe
and hear the loon
in this stillest of moments
while i consider the price
we've paid to progress

Corporate Kisses

remember?
the taste of that first sweet kiss
down there, in the green green grass
where the laughing brook dances

you crooned and clark gabled me
with tales of riches and enchanted adventure
while i clenched my tender thighs,
hoping my blush went unnoticed

and to your pictures of the Riviera,
as i swayed and swooned into your gilded arms,
i swear i almost peed!

and though you never said
-and how could i be?
that i was your first,
your kisses told me i was

then there was that gold watch,
the big wedding,
where all your family crimsoned my pale cheek
with their kisses of blood-let deceit

and that first year together,
when never once did i burn your supper
or scorch your shirt with my iron
well, it seemed bliss enough
as i never really believed
the Riviera part anyway

and chagrin, did i barely
as time and again
you bent me over
in hopes of making me
your sporting whore

but then, the plated watch
began to keep time
with the loss of its charm
whilst your family forgot my name,
but not that i was your whore

and darling master, my bewitching lord,
is it then any wonder
that a shirt got scorched
and the soup turned tasteless?

now, in the shadows of the dim fire light,
i watch you in your den
all brandy and robe
with a pipe full of silent smoke

while outside on the porch
gathered with the moths,
your whores line the rail, fill your swings,
and wave to garner your attention

how can they know
that this haggard wretch
peeling your potatoes
was once, as well, a shimmer of beauty
in the eye of your needle?

so while the iron burns through
yet another fine shirt
while the bread falls flat in the oven,
i glance to the window framing
your porch full of fools
and know
my time draws near

and here, in my final knowledge,
i spit in your potatoes
and tell you, with bags nearly packed
you're a lying bastard!

horses can't fly
and you'd fuck your own mother
if she wasn't filled with the clap

(in case you're wondering, this is a love poem to employers)

A Lantern

when the moon rises
and the wheat praises
in holy alleluia.
when it clears the chimney,
passes through the warm smoke
and sails the winter pine,
i'll hang a lantern in my heart;
a beacon of remembrance
of the moment you were,
when yet, you still believed

then as it hangs, just there, on nothing,
i'll walk that wheat and feel the chaff,
climb that roof and twirl the smoke
in warm silken magic

and then limb after limb
i'll climb that pine
to let needles remind me
we were real once,
when nothing else was
when yet you still believed

She, She and he

as the bell jangled, i looked up
as though i didn't
for that's how the game is played

i don't know if she,
or her breeze that followed
noticed me give inquisitive chase
but so it is in the stoic forest

she had cypress trunks for thighs
with branches and leaves sprouting
where they will, while her hair
dizzied the atmosphere like Absalom's
before the tree claimed it's prize

in all, she seemed a Sherman tank
with twin turrets lacking nonsense
and yet,
somehow too,
an alpha rose fresh in bloom

when she spoke, i smelled the cinder,
felt the burn, and my eyes vapor trailed
to the scenting flower, smouldering
in her shadow

this one was tall, willowy
and delicate as a bride's veil
-before the first raunchy toast

her smooth, lean legs moved as a whisper,
her white lace shirt fell softly
to her tiny shorts,
and her quiet steps
gently echoed the march
of the cannons

from a safe distance i listened to the cypress
claim the forest floor while the tender breeze
petaled her wake with adoration

there was nothing in this, worthy of mention
until the cypress spoke loudly
to the forest Lord, saying,
"it's his first time here"

as my eyes lasered, breaking every rule,
the breeze inhaled itself
and the forest hushed and grew still

the lace white shirt knew no guns
nor the tiny shorts a hip
worthy of any launch

and in those few seconds of quiet still
upon the forest floor,
i searched for the boy
but instead
accepted the pretty flower
who accepted my smile
and the breeze blew once more

Amy

Amy Amy Amy
where's my moral parallel

hey! didja hear the one about amy and the...
oh, ya heard that one
how bout when Lettterman said...oh
ok, then when Leno said she was...

well, anyway, didja see her in that pic?
where she was runnin down the street, bawling,
in just her underwaer on Sunday morning?
wow! yeah, wasn't that a hoot?

she looked a lot better, hot as hell actually,
before the drugs rotted her teeth
and made her skeletal

shit, i heard in the Ukraine,
she was staggering and couldn't even
remember her own words.
lucky they didn't kill her!

amyamyamy
where's my moral parallel

hey! didja hear amy died?
yeah, sad as shit
only 27
-27 forever

i loved her
oh yeah, i was always on her side
too bad no one could help her

these things happen, man,
but at least she'll be a star forever

i saw her once,
God, was she good!
she autographed my underwear!

hey! didja hear the one about lindsay...
oh, you heard that one
yeah, what a total whack-job!

amyamyamy
where's my moral parallel?

we oughta be ashamed
cept we're too busy laughing

(yes, Amy's true lyrics read morale-not moral. But i don't think she minds)

This Hour

the rage is born in the east

roils across the atlantic

and like a jet engine
chock full of seagulls
the violence will only grow bloodier

in this, my finest hour
my northward gaze drifts
a wary eye to the storm

i smell the blood before i see it

the trees know, the hills too
and the fields rescind their dance
and play dead

i choose, here and now,
to not be engulfed
to just once, escape
the certain conflagration
that ignites the horizon
but i know better

so i turn to the peace of my hour
when the trees are yet alive
silhouetted against the flowered hills
and the fields full of life

the moon has gone
having done what it could
and the earth stutters in transition

i stutter too
in this last breath of peace
before the day catches fire

The Hard Way

there's a highway to my vision
free of bears, marauders, and lunatics
just take a left at floyd peterson's dairy farm,
a sharp right at the crossroads
and follow the signs

of course, there's laws
and those to enforce em
-and ain't we the lucky ones!

but it's a breeze!
windows down, radio cranked
cherry cokes on every corner, and
lathered in ice!

why, good God!
i saw one place with
49 kinds of ice cream!

trouble is, i always choose the gale over breezes,
bears over puppy dogs,
marauders over preachers
and lunatics for companions

why, i've nudged elbows with jed smith,
drank hugh glass under the table afore
he get half ett by the bear
and outrun colter when them blackfeet took chase

and ol bridger aint fit to saddle my pony

but now them damn highways
aint caused me
nothin but fits and misery
so it's a brush cuttin i will go

i'll ford the yellowjack
backwallow the tundra
spit back the blizzard
and scale the moose's tooth

i'll rendezvous with pirates,
piss the cape horn screech,
then smoke with the souix
while out shootin the banditos!

more n likely, i'll never reach that vision
but maybe i'll find me another long the way
and  anyway,
even pain should be earned