Memorial Day

What is to pity, or feel bad
About, the young ones will
Fight because it's the mad
World's way, the gut thrill
Of the hunt, especially for
Other men, the chase, the kill,
Organized into a thing called war...
Our children fight for their
Cause, like their fathers before,
And for the winners, the fanfare,
They are lifted, like heroes of yore...
For those who lose, there's nothing
But to lie and cower in the gore...
Then there's the others, who,
Are quietly returned from the fight,
But their parts no longer work together
Like in days before, or fit quite right,
These others must find a way
To somehow make it through,
Each and every remaining day...

(Photo by Geoffrey Hamilton, 1955-2011)

Big Cat At Risk

The Amur Tiger is dangerous,
Yet at the same time endangered,
According to the law,
It sees humans as a meal
To be eaten warm and raw,
What does the Amur Tiger feel,
As it licks blood off its paw...

Morning Tea

Chemicals from the English Breakfast tea
Circulate out from my stomach's wall
Into the bloodstream, to awaken me,
With each gulp of tea, it seems
I perceive the new day much more clearly,
The weird-cool mist of last night's dreams
Lifts before the daylight's jobs and schemes.

Party Time

Looking back on the wild weekend party,
And how the craziness started,
It probably was the moment when
The lights went off, and the hostess farted,
After that it was blind-fun-bedlam,
Until the morning, when the last guest departed.

Victorville Penitentiary

Always check your six,
Watch your back,
For the ones with smiles
Who wait to attack.

If you drop the soap,
Don't bend over,
Keep it on a rope.

Count the days,
But not the hours,
Don't sweat the shit
That's beyond your powers.

The weak dog
Is meat,
For the strong dog
To eat.

All things will pass,
But things can move slow,
Like growth of the grass,
But then it's done, before you know.

May you long live,
And not know the pain
Of a stabbing shiv...

Cold Cure

Fighting the ails
Of a cold with plenty
Of citrus juice,
And if all else fails
Don't declare a truce,
Try adding some tequila...
That'll heal ya.

Reality Of Violence

A barfight is not what you think
It is stupider, uglier, shorter
Than as shown on T.V., its stink
Is cigarettes, vomit, body sweat,
And its cause was trivial, a bet
Unpaid, a look misunderstood,
A warped defense of someone's womanhood,
But not worth the pain being inflicted
On the poor guy, prone on the floor,
Who believed in bar fights as depicted
In stories and on T.V., nothing more
Than a rumble and flying out the door,
Rather than the kick in the face
Which knocked out teeth and broke
His bones and left him a coma
From which he only just now awoke.

Tumbleweed (3)

The cab-over White
Freightliner is a
Rust-lonely sight,
Parked in the weeds...

And what tales might
It tell, of its deeds
On the deadly roads,
Of toiling and speeds
Too great for braking...

Or the countless
Farewells, forsaking
Love for the lonely freedom
Of the highway's making...  

A grand old truck,
Driven by
A tough old fuck.

(Photo by Geoffrey Hamilton, 1955-2011)

Sweet-tooth's Gift

Chocolate covered peanuts
Are proof positive,
That though life often sucks,
It sometimes has good things to give...

The Reality Of Marriage

Our love has made a space
Where the walls are soft
Rubber, and it's a place
You can lung and rage,
And rattle the cage...
For no bleeding or bruise
Can occur, because our love
Will ensure we neve lose
The special room,
Which will contain our passion,
Which we can always use...

Nebraska Sky

To a person who lives on the plains,
The vast open unblocked sky is more
Than a soft blue background to scenery...
It is a looming monolithic presence for
Which there is nothing to compare,
Except perhaps the sea, seen from a ship...
The sky above the plains is more than air,
It is a canvas on which magnificent art
Appears for a moment, then is no longer there,
It prophesizes of things about to start
Like the coming of a storm, rain, or hail...
The person of the plains wonders at the sky
Which inspires, yet makes him feel small and frail.

(Photo by Geoffrey Hamilton, 1955-2011)

Dog Whisperer Needed

A woman walking
A dog in the park,
The dog pulls the leash
And starts to bark,
The woman says "Stop"
But the dog won't heed her,
Because he doesn't sense
Her as his pack-leader;
But at least she is there
With a bag and a scoop,
To follow the dog
And pick up its poop.

California Bar, Summer Afternoon, 1977

2:38, lost afternoon, bourbon chasers
With 40-cent draws, a half-devoured
Tombstone pizza, and the buzz is complete
And good and strong, and empowered
To make the day seem more sweet
And special -- and neither hero nor coward
Are we who gather here on stools to meet
At the long wooden altar of Bacchus
In mid-afternoon off the summer-hot street
Of a dull transitional part of the City,
And a guy starts playing his accordion,
The spritely-sad melody adding implicitly
To the overall sensory innebriation,
Which is exactly why we come here
To kill the minutes of our privation,
For escape, companionship, sedation...

Smarter Than The Machine

Here I sit with hand on mouse,
Interacting with the world
From inside my house,
And all this stimulus and fun
Is caused by combinations
Of zero and one...

Dirt's Gift

Spring-wet green smell
Carressing me with a hint
Of musk and earthy mint,
Green colors so strong
And vivid -- almost hurts
To see with unshaded eyes,
The damp brown dirt's
Surging verdant surprise,
Moist, breathing green,
In countless shades exhaling
Gently, unheard, unseen,
The sweet air of life.

No Pain, No Gain

With regular exercise
Ones body avoids
Obesity, and rewards
With endocannabinoids.

My Mind On A Tuesday

If there were a way to trace
Where my mind spent the day
Would a buttefly in space
Resemble it, or a zig-zag graph
Peaks, valleys, all over the place...
Think, day-dream, worry, laugh,
These all I did, and even more,
Over the course of an average
Day, ideas and brain farts galore,
A million synapse connections
Unnumbered, unaccounted for,
Butterflying in directions
I wish I could better understand,
Taking the trip that can't be planned...

A Night On Iwo-To

Over an island, alone
In the vast tropical sea,
A fighter jet flies,
Like a blue comet, above me,
Into a deep black sky,
Where stars look down silently
On an island of ghosts.

Some Advice

When the days too grow long,
You're tired, short on hope,
Take a nice long shower,
With a new bar of soap.

Can't Go Home Anymore

Home is not just a place,
A point of geography where
Familiar things are gathered;
No, it's home because you are there,
Or, were, until last summer,
And now we cannot share
Anything -- my memories must fly solo
Winging above the loss and despair,
Home is not just a place.
It is a heart, it is a face.

Children Can't Choose Their Parents

What sort of awful screeching noise
Of the soul, tearing around inside his head,
Made him fire a bullet into his mouth,
After shooting his wife and children dead

Shock and sadness ripple outwards...
Irregular painful waves which infuse
A sense of loss, an unforgivable waste,
Briefly made meaningful, on the evening news.

Triangle

She can't decide
Between love and lust,
But abide with just
One she must...

Ivy Flowers

Obligations and commitments
Fill up, stimulate, consume
The days and weeks, and I find
I missed the ivy flowers' bloom,
On the green vines which cling
To the wall, along the path
Where I walk in the spring
Mornings, and they are bereft
Of their sweet white flowers,
With only budding berries left,
Tiny green symbols quietly showing
How much is lost without knowing...