Plane Takes Off from Chicago
Plane takes off from Chicago; touches down in Orange County.
One with a young man; the other with another, bald and gray.
In between many worlds, lives, and dreams passed by.
Bound to a god I can never see, but sure I feel It with me.
Going from the Gobi to the 405 is a full-time job.
My thoughts like winter snow drift away, but summer comes for everyone.
If I die before I learn to love, will I ever live what the prophets speak?
Can money pay for all the days I lived awake but half asleep?
It takes a lifetime to learn to grow up and take a stand.
The Second Coming killed the Song a million years before the Fall.
Ride the rails like swaying hobos but no one bothers to ask the destination.
We swagger like lions through the boulevards; gorge ourselves on zebra flesh.
Will I faint from too much incense or pass out from too much booze?
From ups and downs and wedding vows, eternal hope springs.
Exploding Novas all beautiful quickly turn into silent Black Holes.
From weakness I descend to normal; hold me up before I sputter out.
Written 11/01 Published 12/19
THE COURT OF DREAMS
The creaking of the sea,
The boiling of the tea,
The seas and waves, the tides
And winds, they are my guides.
Somewhere in the green mist
From a nightmare’s abyss.
Destined to spend my days
In a prison ship’s cage.
Here I write of my time
Before my only crime.
Crimson Court, Turquoise King.
The watchtower’s bells ring.
Jade Warrior returns.
The bonfire brightly burns.
Northern frontiers are firm
From the Arachnid Worm.
From a bluish green haze
Lantern Witch casts her gaze.
Courtesans bowing low
Knights standing in a row.
Alchemist in the Caves
And the Mad Jester raves.
Speaking a secret tongue
And wishing they were young.
Astrologer of Kye
Through the glass to the sky
His prophecy begun
The third stone from the sun.
Fire from his finger
The Mountain Sorcerer
Turns stakes into snakes and
Spreads fear across the land.
Turquoise King, Fire Queen
What a beautiful scene.
The palace within this
City Necropolis.
Flowers neat in their bed
This city of the dead.
You can hear, shades of grey,
The Purple Piper play.
Written 12/2002
A LIFE GONE BY
Sitting, brooding in a shadow saloon
With a cigar blotting smells of old age.
Hand on my watch, ticking the timeless tune.
An old book, my life has reached the last page.
Dried eyes greet the blur of ghosts as they pass.
Hollow ears catch spirits in the old oaks.
A mind not present, cold as tarnished brass.
The slow silent Companion, my breath cloaks.
A cold violent passage around the Horn,
Made my first fortune in the Fields of Gold.
Cheated by partners, from me my stake torn.
Now here, too late to heed what I was told.
Many years of scorching sun creased my brow.
Heat withered away my dreams on the vine.
To the bank a deed, to my land a bow.
For others will try to turn dust to wine.
Worked on the railroad ‘til the Chinese came.
They worked harder and for much less than I.
Walked to the Nevada mines, found some fame.
Returned penniless, with no tears to cry.
Oakland saloon, I opened on credit.
I would stand all day, my foot on the bar
Lives, loves, lessons learned only to forget
Recounted to any from near or far.
Now I sit and stare, finally silent.
Listening for stories of happy times.
Yet, I never hear any; the content
Are not here. They stayed East counting their dimes.
Written and Published 2/1997
Won first prize at the East Bay Poetry contest where we were given 2 hours to write a complete poem on a photogragh that related to the history of California. The poem hangs on the walls of the Oakland City Main Library.