The suspense...
...is killing me.
My miniscule mortal mind...
Clamps.
It constricts around the ambiguities.
Squeeeeak!
My shoulders hunch under the weight,
Of the stone cold wheel of 'reality.'
Down the hill of a typical rise and shine I go,
My psyche in tow,
Flapping in the fume.
What better doom,
Than to dream?
Shall we go, you and I while we can?
O, plastic day, would you hold me close?
I belong to you, masked or no.
Why must you hide from me so?
O, littered maw, would you wash me of this residue,
The wild, blue bunk of simple pain?
I am not so old as I seem.
Enchanted mist, ancient past,
Twist my hair into Viking's braids,
Entwined with baby's breath!
I hang my harp unstrung from the tree,
And sing the pure song of life!
Banshee, banshee, jump, jive, and wail!
Make these rains cascade their living guts,
All across the Kingdom Come.
I am blind and sick and think that I am well.
The sterile perfume of sanity has washed away the day.
O, day, o, day, where me and my true love,
Were ever wont to gae,
Show your true face to me!
My thought is disfigured by your hiss,
Methodical imperfect emptiness.
This minutia melts,
Through the floor,
Of the All-Shining Light,
And passes out of sight,
Of my clamping mind,
Stretched across the year,
Brought back to the day,
Where me and my true love,
Were ever wont to gae.
What better doom, than to dream?
I sally forth in mercy.
I am not so old as that.
SCA 2015
SCOTT'S POEMS
BEN'S CONCH
My girlfriend's breath sings from within.
I march methodically across the sands,
Under moonlight on this chilly Pacific beach,
A magic feeling of emptiness in my heart.
By the grace of what to my eyes appears,
I become unable to hold back an exquisite delight!
I have discovered another piece of your sorcery, dear!
I coo with a parched, crisp exhilaration, joy bursting past gravity.
I lift the elegant shell from the wet sands.
I study the weight of the gnarled treasure,
Securing my grip on its shape with a flexing strength of my fingers.
I rinse the conch in rolling saltwater.
My shoes and pants are soaked.
My heart cruises like a stampede of dolphins,
As I bring the cherry blossom chateau to my head.
My face is kissed by a lush swath of ocean,
As I ecstatically reunite with your precious voice.
From within the little mollusk catacombs,
Your star-lighted love songs of infinity.
We will always be together.
I march methodically across the sands,
Under moonlight on this chilly Pacific beach,
A magic feeling of emptiness in my heart.
By the grace of what to my eyes appears,
I become unable to hold back an exquisite delight!
I have discovered another piece of your sorcery, dear!
I coo with a parched, crisp exhilaration, joy bursting past gravity.
I lift the elegant shell from the wet sands.
I study the weight of the gnarled treasure,
Securing my grip on its shape with a flexing strength of my fingers.
I rinse the conch in rolling saltwater.
My shoes and pants are soaked.
My heart cruises like a stampede of dolphins,
As I bring the cherry blossom chateau to my head.
My face is kissed by a lush swath of ocean,
As I ecstatically reunite with your precious voice.
From within the little mollusk catacombs,
Your star-lighted love songs of infinity.
We will always be together.
MR. NEBULOUS
I gird my consciousness,
Still fly in fear, still flee.
Grow pale, waiting.
Now covered in music, I wonder,
"Which is my pain?"
SCA Y2K
Still fly in fear, still flee.
Grow pale, waiting.
Now covered in music, I wonder,
"Which is my pain?"
SCA Y2K
SUNLIGHT FOR A HEART DURING WINTER
I thank Heav'n again for the Sun,
That ever shineth, so long as Ever Is, and I am I.
Indeed, we are all gold, and red, and white,
Each incessant in awaiting pause that brakes the engine.
We are gold, and red, and white,
Preparing for the death of Sight.
So, why not hold me as a tattered coat,
To merry, don by fireside?
Clothing thy color by the bosom o' the shadow,
Where from is harvested stillness,
Grown in fields of crypticism.
Lo!
If one is humanly flawed,
Perhaps oneself the very disfigurement of a rainbow,
Is it not so that one's heart's forest woods,
Might be haunted by a tribal wild rumpus?
Turning, turning, even heart's lips,
Are drawn, and cracked, and peeling,
Pressed against by the abrasive evening of a California winter...
While even heart's oh-so-rosy cheeks,
Are chapped by winter's breath.
Hope dimming, dimming, while even heart's body,
Is manhandled, and prodded with prods,
And set about and again by All the Mad Hands of Stone Cold Time...
While even heart's back is shattered
With utterances of the notion,
That we are basking in the mist and the dust,
Of bitter, more than sweet victory's rhapsody,
All challenged by the demonic pulses...
Even while my smiling heart's grave is being dug,
Out in the valley, a hole they're diggin' there for me,
Wherein shall be lain my ego's prideful necromancy,
The Angel's Wheel of Self has shifted from its everlasting axis...
Groping all blind is for the heart without sun in winter.
Groping all blind is safer for the heart,
In this glory of a love all ever-lasting!
King Kong has long since died.
What good is it really?
Blue and black, and old and cold, it is all that is left of you, Kong.
So, are we all not gold, and red, and white?
Gold and red and white,
Preparing for the death of Sight.
That ever shineth, so long as Ever Is, and I am I.
Indeed, we are all gold, and red, and white,
Each incessant in awaiting pause that brakes the engine.
We are gold, and red, and white,
Preparing for the death of Sight.
So, why not hold me as a tattered coat,
To merry, don by fireside?
Clothing thy color by the bosom o' the shadow,
Where from is harvested stillness,
Grown in fields of crypticism.
Lo!
If one is humanly flawed,
Perhaps oneself the very disfigurement of a rainbow,
Is it not so that one's heart's forest woods,
Might be haunted by a tribal wild rumpus?
Turning, turning, even heart's lips,
Are drawn, and cracked, and peeling,
Pressed against by the abrasive evening of a California winter...
While even heart's oh-so-rosy cheeks,
Are chapped by winter's breath.
Hope dimming, dimming, while even heart's body,
Is manhandled, and prodded with prods,
And set about and again by All the Mad Hands of Stone Cold Time...
While even heart's back is shattered
With utterances of the notion,
That we are basking in the mist and the dust,
Of bitter, more than sweet victory's rhapsody,
All challenged by the demonic pulses...
Even while my smiling heart's grave is being dug,
Out in the valley, a hole they're diggin' there for me,
Wherein shall be lain my ego's prideful necromancy,
The Angel's Wheel of Self has shifted from its everlasting axis...
Groping all blind is for the heart without sun in winter.
Groping all blind is safer for the heart,
In this glory of a love all ever-lasting!
King Kong has long since died.
What good is it really?
Blue and black, and old and cold, it is all that is left of you, Kong.
So, are we all not gold, and red, and white?
Gold and red and white,
Preparing for the death of Sight.
THE COLD, VAST BLOB BLOWIN' THE GLORIOUS HORN OF THE KING
I have seen the Glory of the Coming of the King,
And it was hardened with laughter of celebration,
Like dogs playing in the sun, chasing splashed water.
It was laughing divinely in celebration,
Inundated with charm and holy power, like Krsna in the wood.
I have seen the Glory of the Coming of the King,
And it was infinitely chipper, like the majesty of joy,
Presiding warmly with just enough distance,
Yet presiding silently, such that,
Mystery tickled me, like cinnamon-sugar toast to my tongue.
Familiarity is the brazen horn sounded, its bell vast among infinite stars, cold and ordered.
I have seen the Glory of the Coming of the King!
All roads lead to God, a love supreme.
One common thread that runs through every song, or dance, or work of music,
Every print, or painting, or mural, every sculpture or piece of the visual arts,
Every piece of literature ever written, every piece of theater ever performed,
Every side street act, every school skit, every film, every moment, every death...
There is one thread in common with everything under the Sun:
Whatever statement the song or the piece or the performance is making,
By virtue of its existence as a created identity,
There is implicit in its craftsmanship work which, for all time,
Praises the triumph of Jesus Christ.
In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit,
Hallelujah and amen!
SCA Y2K
And it was hardened with laughter of celebration,
Like dogs playing in the sun, chasing splashed water.
It was laughing divinely in celebration,
Inundated with charm and holy power, like Krsna in the wood.
I have seen the Glory of the Coming of the King,
And it was infinitely chipper, like the majesty of joy,
Presiding warmly with just enough distance,
Yet presiding silently, such that,
Mystery tickled me, like cinnamon-sugar toast to my tongue.
Familiarity is the brazen horn sounded, its bell vast among infinite stars, cold and ordered.
I have seen the Glory of the Coming of the King!
All roads lead to God, a love supreme.
One common thread that runs through every song, or dance, or work of music,
Every print, or painting, or mural, every sculpture or piece of the visual arts,
Every piece of literature ever written, every piece of theater ever performed,
Every side street act, every school skit, every film, every moment, every death...
There is one thread in common with everything under the Sun:
Whatever statement the song or the piece or the performance is making,
By virtue of its existence as a created identity,
There is implicit in its craftsmanship work which, for all time,
Praises the triumph of Jesus Christ.
In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit,
Hallelujah and amen!
SCA Y2K
MIDNIGHT BLUES
I've got the midnight blues,
Everything to win, and nothin' to lose.
Won't you come and help me,
Find my blue suede shoes?
SCA Y2K
Everything to win, and nothin' to lose.
Won't you come and help me,
Find my blue suede shoes?
SCA Y2K
REIGN, REIGN, REIGN, DIDN'T IT REIGN.
Cobblestone road and horses' hooves,
Percussive in the travel,
Splash puddles, and we got good rains.
How I love to hide.
SCA Y2K
Percussive in the travel,
Splash puddles, and we got good rains.
How I love to hide.
SCA Y2K
TITLE: 'TITLELESS'
Title: 'Titleless'
Euripedes and Specklette harshing.
Someone to dance, anyone,
And I shall have it just so.
SCA Y2K
Euripedes and Specklette harshing.
Someone to dance, anyone,
And I shall have it just so.
SCA Y2K
TENSION TAMER TEATIME
Having just been confirmed by the Spirit Holy,
Won't you see an effort in the Upanishads?
Won't you end-grasp my momentarily diffused retention scapula?
My flea an ever-dichotomous, trans-habitual, tension tamer teatime?
Make-shift nine-dozen four-tool trajectory!
SCA Y2K
Won't you see an effort in the Upanishads?
Won't you end-grasp my momentarily diffused retention scapula?
My flea an ever-dichotomous, trans-habitual, tension tamer teatime?
Make-shift nine-dozen four-tool trajectory!
SCA Y2K
ANYWAY
Lies. Be smiles.
Lows and highs, long or short goodbyes.
Heights! Spite! Mighty throne, to the bone.
Humans be-ing. Be-bop, swing, jazz.
Plastic man announced the jam.
Chops! Flops!
SCA Y2K
Lows and highs, long or short goodbyes.
Heights! Spite! Mighty throne, to the bone.
Humans be-ing. Be-bop, swing, jazz.
Plastic man announced the jam.
Chops! Flops!
SCA Y2K
THIS EXTRAPOLATING
Outside edges ringing clear,
Like suppertime and hand me that,
But evidence of molecules, interior, reflect,
Buoyancy displacement,
Reaction with gases,
Classroom seed cup or Ronnie's hamster,
All this an hour of picking through
A bag of co-op brown rice
For gravel in my mother's voice,
Which sails in extemporaneity, gaiety, and severity,
While my mind steps gingerly from tree to tree,
And I catch sap sticking to right index finger and thumb.
What paranoid hunting, this extrapolating!
SCA 1995
Like suppertime and hand me that,
But evidence of molecules, interior, reflect,
Buoyancy displacement,
Reaction with gases,
Classroom seed cup or Ronnie's hamster,
All this an hour of picking through
A bag of co-op brown rice
For gravel in my mother's voice,
Which sails in extemporaneity, gaiety, and severity,
While my mind steps gingerly from tree to tree,
And I catch sap sticking to right index finger and thumb.
What paranoid hunting, this extrapolating!
SCA 1995
MORSEL OF HER THUNDER
She is like black coffee,
That rolls down one gullet to...
Who knows? From what?
She rolls in time, to rhythms,
Ratchets cactus chiming stoically, regular to my heart,
They are a morsel of her thunder.
A day of forgiving,
People know,
Have heard,
Or had watched,
When we were.
Gave me nothing,
But I came away better,
Not knowing,
At the time,
Only now, as I think.
When I finally see,
My inner dams and damnation,
See the river in others,
Flowing all around us,
See a road of glory,
I find the absolute forgiveness,
To forgive you.
She is like black coffee,
Rolling down one gullet
Rolling in time, to rhythms,
Ratchets cactus chiming, cherishing stoic pride,
They are a morsel of her thunder.
SCA Y2K
That rolls down one gullet to...
Who knows? From what?
She rolls in time, to rhythms,
Ratchets cactus chiming stoically, regular to my heart,
They are a morsel of her thunder.
A day of forgiving,
People know,
Have heard,
Or had watched,
When we were.
Gave me nothing,
But I came away better,
Not knowing,
At the time,
Only now, as I think.
When I finally see,
My inner dams and damnation,
See the river in others,
Flowing all around us,
See a road of glory,
I find the absolute forgiveness,
To forgive you.
She is like black coffee,
Rolling down one gullet
Rolling in time, to rhythms,
Ratchets cactus chiming, cherishing stoic pride,
They are a morsel of her thunder.
SCA Y2K
BLACKNESS
If you see black, you know which way to go.
If you see black, you know what's in the light.
If you see black, you can taste the tender fruit,
But be careful to return in same form.
If you see black, you can climb the music,
Of the harmonizing flute, nearly dusk.
If you know black, never show another,
For the pathway is obscure to the shore.
If you know black, your power is unclear,
To test the stones of wall,
Or walk near it at all,
Summons fear.
If you've found black, be careful not to ride,
The pale horse inside, she'll absorb your every care,
Oh, the mare.
If you feel black pulling at your soul, to take the trip again,
You know that you will never leave in same form.
If you hurt back, you'll be sure to feel them,
Maybe I can guide you,
But there are dangers, mind you,
Powers be.
If you see black, you know just what to do,
If you see black, cultivate for peace of mind.
SCA July 6, 1986
If you see black, you know what's in the light.
If you see black, you can taste the tender fruit,
But be careful to return in same form.
If you see black, you can climb the music,
Of the harmonizing flute, nearly dusk.
If you know black, never show another,
For the pathway is obscure to the shore.
If you know black, your power is unclear,
To test the stones of wall,
Or walk near it at all,
Summons fear.
If you've found black, be careful not to ride,
The pale horse inside, she'll absorb your every care,
Oh, the mare.
If you feel black pulling at your soul, to take the trip again,
You know that you will never leave in same form.
If you hurt back, you'll be sure to feel them,
Maybe I can guide you,
But there are dangers, mind you,
Powers be.
If you see black, you know just what to do,
If you see black, cultivate for peace of mind.
SCA July 6, 1986
ANNIVERSARY POEM FOR BENEDICT
Aujourd'hui, c'est notre anniversaire du quatrième
mois!
Je vous adore avec un amour magnifique dans la grâce du
Dieu.
Toujours, l'amour de mon coeur pour vous est imparfait.
L'amour de mon coeur pour vous est, et toujours sera...
Impossible,
Parce que de cas de notre innocence et de notre ignorance,
Et de la pluie épouvantables du monde.
Et de la pluie épouvantables du monde.
L'amour de mon coeur pour vous est, et toujours sera...
Impropre,
Parce que des impuretés de mon ésprit, de ma personne, de
mon corps.
L'amour de mon coeur pour vous est, et toujours sera...
Mystérieux,
Parce que l'abyss de vous et l'immensité de vous dans qui je
tombe dans,
Grandes et vastes avec la beauté de votre âme,
La beauté de
vos émotions,
Et la beauté de votre coeur.
L'amour de mon coeur pour vous est, et toujours sera...
Indigne,
A grace des imperfections de ma
vie.
Et l'amour de mon coeur pour vous est, et toujours sera...
Inachevé,
Dans les yeux du Saints-Esprit!!
Joyeux Anniversaire, Benedict!!
~(English Translation)~
Today it is our
four-month anniversary!
I adore you with a love magnificent in the grace of God.
Still, the love of my heart for you is imperfect.
I adore you with a love magnificent in the grace of God.
Still, the love of my heart for you is imperfect.
The love of my
heart for you is, and always will be...
Impossible,
Impossible,
Because of
instances of our innocence and our ignorance,
And from the terrible rain of the world.
And from the terrible rain of the world.
The love of my
heart for you is, and always will be...
Improper,
Improper,
Because of the
impurities of my mind, of my person, of my body.
The love of my
heart for you is, and always will be...
Mysterious,
Because of the
abyss of you and the immensity of you into which I fall,
Grand and vast
with the beauty of your soul,
The beauty of
your emotions,
And the beauty of
your heart.
The love of my
heart for you is, and always will be...
Undignified,
Undignified,
From the
imperfections of my life.
And the love of
my heart for you is, and always will be...
Unfinished,
Unfinished,
In the eyes of
the Holy Spirit!
Happy Anniversary,
Benedict!
SCA November 17, 2004
FIVE-ONE-FIVE-OH
They took me to the psych ward
I said, "I've found the lost chord."
The doctor said, "You're in for a stay..."
"Because your hold is fourteen day..."
"We feel you're a danger to others,
And a danger to yourself.
It seems you've got a little problem,
With your mental health!"
And it was five-one-five-oh!
A ride in the police car, to go.
Legally insane, don't you know!
Five-one-five-oh! Here we go!
I woke up in the crisis center,
After hearing the voices of my mentor.
The doctor said, "If you want my explanation,
You'll need some medication.
Just take the Haldol annd Cogentin,
Which I'll be having sent in!"
And it was...five-one-five-oh!
A fourteen day stay at the hospit-ole!
They fill you full of meds, that's fo' sho'!
The bills'll be so high, they'll make you po'!
Five-one-five-oh! Here we go!
February, nineteen ninety-four!
I called the Novato Police Department to my door.
I said, "Fella's, well, there's somebody harrassing me!"
They said, "Son, whomever it is, we can't see!"
And it looked like it was another...
Five-one-five-oh!
A ride in the police car to go!
Legally insane, don't you know!
A fourteen day stay at the hospit-ole!
They fill you full of meds, that's fo' sho'!
The bill's'll be so high, they'll make you po'!
Five-one-five-oh! Five-one-five-oh!
SCA June, 1994
I said, "I've found the lost chord."
The doctor said, "You're in for a stay..."
"Because your hold is fourteen day..."
"We feel you're a danger to others,
And a danger to yourself.
It seems you've got a little problem,
With your mental health!"
And it was five-one-five-oh!
A ride in the police car, to go.
Legally insane, don't you know!
Five-one-five-oh! Here we go!
I woke up in the crisis center,
After hearing the voices of my mentor.
The doctor said, "If you want my explanation,
You'll need some medication.
Just take the Haldol annd Cogentin,
Which I'll be having sent in!"
And it was...five-one-five-oh!
A fourteen day stay at the hospit-ole!
They fill you full of meds, that's fo' sho'!
The bills'll be so high, they'll make you po'!
Five-one-five-oh! Here we go!
February, nineteen ninety-four!
I called the Novato Police Department to my door.
I said, "Fella's, well, there's somebody harrassing me!"
They said, "Son, whomever it is, we can't see!"
And it looked like it was another...
Five-one-five-oh!
A ride in the police car to go!
Legally insane, don't you know!
A fourteen day stay at the hospit-ole!
They fill you full of meds, that's fo' sho'!
The bill's'll be so high, they'll make you po'!
Five-one-five-oh! Five-one-five-oh!
SCA June, 1994
WRITING POETRY IN THE ENVIRONMENTAL SCIENCE AREA AT WASHINGTON SCHOOL IN BERKELEY
I can pick up the sun.
The sun cooks my food.
And I drink the rays of the sun.
The sun is really hot.
It melts my hands
Because they are made of ice.
SCA 1977-78
THE QUILT LIMERICK
My mother once made a quilt,
But as a flower doth wilt,
Threads tangled each day,
It soon frayed away,
So my mom stomped on
What she had built.
1981.SCA
But as a flower doth wilt,
Threads tangled each day,
It soon frayed away,
So my mom stomped on
What she had built.
1981.SCA
THE BED LIMERICK
My father once had a bed,
Which squeaked when he moved his head.
Now after one night,
And with all his might,
He put that bed in the shed.
1981.SCA
Which squeaked when he moved his head.
Now after one night,
And with all his might,
He put that bed in the shed.
1981.SCA
FANTASY
Fantasy,
The dark room...
You have an urge to open it!
The dark room...
You do!
Out gushes thoughts! Insane!
Weird! Awful! Plastic!
Even bad names!
So, you write them down.
You verbalize some,
And illustration-wise it happens, too!
Or you shut them up!
Suddenly,
The door closes behind you.
Something happened.
You can't get out.
Are you going crazy?
You're running about!
You push on the door.
It creaks widely open!
Off fast you go,
Running, running, away, away,
Breathing hard, oh, no!!
But the door shut behind you!
The dark room is sealed.
No more creativity,
You've locked the door.
You were scared of your fantasy.
Now what will happen?
You're just a plain bore.
Yes, you guessed right.
What's your fate now?
You have none.
You're as good as dead!
Fantasy!
May 2, 1980.SCA
The dark room...
You have an urge to open it!
The dark room...
You do!
Out gushes thoughts! Insane!
Weird! Awful! Plastic!
Even bad names!
So, you write them down.
You verbalize some,
And illustration-wise it happens, too!
Or you shut them up!
Suddenly,
The door closes behind you.
Something happened.
You can't get out.
Are you going crazy?
You're running about!
You push on the door.
It creaks widely open!
Off fast you go,
Running, running, away, away,
Breathing hard, oh, no!!
But the door shut behind you!
The dark room is sealed.
No more creativity,
You've locked the door.
You were scared of your fantasy.
Now what will happen?
You're just a plain bore.
Yes, you guessed right.
What's your fate now?
You have none.
You're as good as dead!
Fantasy!
May 2, 1980.SCA
THE ANIMAL I WOULD BE
I would like to be a shark.
Every man fears me.
I am not a slave to man,
So they all seek me.
Swish.
Grimace.
Snap.
On the evolutionary scale,
I am equal to man,
But his ignorance of me,
Makes him below!
Swish!
Grimace!
Snap!
I am free and deadly.
My life is my own business and not any of his,
And even if he wants to know,
HE WILL NEVER FIND OUT!!
Swish!!
Grimace!!
Snap!!
SCA May 12, 1982
ALONE ON THE ROAD
Slicing the air with my machine,
Forgetting despair, death is serene.
The evening's usual killing is happening again.
I'm out of touch with feeling and yearning for the end!
Alone on the road,
I can feel it inside.
Reaper's coming for me,
No reason to hide!
Now thrashing pistons fire together.
My machine has the power to end life forever.
As the Reaper's grasp takes over my wheel,
She steers me towards the desires I feel!
Alone on the road,
I can feel it inside.
Reaper's coming for me,
No reason to hide!
My spirit is sliding through time and space,
I'm loving the magic that's taking place!
Biting and gripping, becoming the beast!
Swerving and dipping, my soul is released!
Oh, alone on the road,
I can feel it inside.
Reaper's coming for me!
NO REASON TO HIDE !!
SCA April, 1987
Forgetting despair, death is serene.
The evening's usual killing is happening again.
I'm out of touch with feeling and yearning for the end!
Alone on the road,
I can feel it inside.
Reaper's coming for me,
No reason to hide!
Now thrashing pistons fire together.
My machine has the power to end life forever.
As the Reaper's grasp takes over my wheel,
She steers me towards the desires I feel!
Alone on the road,
I can feel it inside.
Reaper's coming for me,
No reason to hide!
My spirit is sliding through time and space,
I'm loving the magic that's taking place!
Biting and gripping, becoming the beast!
Swerving and dipping, my soul is released!
Oh, alone on the road,
I can feel it inside.
Reaper's coming for me!
NO REASON TO HIDE !!
SCA April, 1987
HONORING THE HOLY MADONNA
Collecting the shards of the Holy Madonna,
Along my wandering way,
My presence, alone, affects the cosmos,
I watch the young ones greet the new day.
Honoring the Holy Madonna!
I honor the Holy Madonna!
I am affected by Her Spirit's commotion,
Though I travel along in this creation for free.
Walking my journey, She is molecular motion.
And walking my journey, She helps me to be.
Honoring the Holy Madonna!
I honor the Holy Madonna!
So I find myself here, at this place, in its eternal grace.
I have been running the race, even keeping apace.
Would I not certainly know if mistaken, boy?
I'd think I'd certainly know if mistaken!
Honoring the Holy Madonna!
I honor the Holy Madonna!
As a plane flies past, I'm in the hot sun,
There's a breeze blowin' past and my coffee's all done.
The plum trees in bloom, this spring is in gear,
I see the holy ones gather near.
I see the holy ones gather near.
Honoring the Holy Madonna!
I honor the Holy Madonna!
Hare Krishna! Hare Krishna!
I HAVE COME TO THE LIGHT!~
Along my wandering way,
My presence, alone, affects the cosmos,
I watch the young ones greet the new day.
Honoring the Holy Madonna!
I honor the Holy Madonna!
I am affected by Her Spirit's commotion,
Though I travel along in this creation for free.
Walking my journey, She is molecular motion.
And walking my journey, She helps me to be.
Honoring the Holy Madonna!
I honor the Holy Madonna!
So I find myself here, at this place, in its eternal grace.
I have been running the race, even keeping apace.
Would I not certainly know if mistaken, boy?
I'd think I'd certainly know if mistaken!
Honoring the Holy Madonna!
I honor the Holy Madonna!
As a plane flies past, I'm in the hot sun,
There's a breeze blowin' past and my coffee's all done.
The plum trees in bloom, this spring is in gear,
I see the holy ones gather near.
I see the holy ones gather near.
Honoring the Holy Madonna!
I honor the Holy Madonna!
Hare Krishna! Hare Krishna!
I HAVE COME TO THE LIGHT!~
PHOSPHORESCENT FINGERPRINTS
Phosphorescent fingerprints,
In certain significant sands of yesterday.
They were maybe not washed away,
From the view of a famous man,
Whom I wanted to recognize my magic identity,
Vicariously adoring myself from the stadium floor.
"But God knows who, or what, from the show!"
I thought, "So, I should find peace in that, right?"
And, "Yikes!" I thought, "I am so vicious good!"
And, "Nobody does do it better!" I thought.
"I am one who made marks in the moment,
And Jerry and I might as well be in love."
Though I tried not to let my head swell so much,
God knew who was who, or what was what, from the show!
My stadium-sized stature and all my shenanigans,
Were miracles, miracles, I came to proclaim!
"So, can I relax now?" No, I could not relax, then.
So I thought I would try forgiveness for being so 'prefect,'
Which was a joke that I made, the best way I knew how,
But I was, rather, forgiven for being so perfect,
And that's what I knew of wielding Christ way.
Did you catch that mock, oh, Lonesome Dove, pal?
Because of the miracles, Chris and I made a scale,
Which measured the caliber of magic afoot.
The units we used fit nicely with Mockingbird,
A pen name I chose from the song that I wrote,
But the units, just surely, also came from Blue Angels,
And flying and power, this Mock miracle scale.
I liked the idea of Garcia, Mock 50,
His miracles squalling, the band round and round.
All one need do is state the Mock units,
To establish how potent one's miracle sounds.
So, when I returned, triumphant from Dead shows,
Mock units and miracles were things on my mind,
And my breast and my head were all swollen and fat,
And I was desperately dreading to fall from perfection.
So, I sat back at Lyon's with friends in Novato,
And privately remembered the concert we'd seen.
I was searching for credit my actions provided me,
While trying to come off my perch of grandeur.
"Miracles, miracles, and God was responsible,"
Though I believed very strongly in the impact I'd had.
My head was locked down on stroking my ego!
'Twas my ears that were shining as I cheered on the playing,
And a twist in his wrist which revealed he'd received.
"It proves that I'm mighty and we are the same stuff,
Bigger than life, there's love that abounds!"
If the same story is true, all they had to do was,
Forensically follow the phosphorescent fingerprints,
Which, now, I am thinking, could surely have slipped past their view.
SCA 1989
In certain significant sands of yesterday.
They were maybe not washed away,
From the view of a famous man,
Whom I wanted to recognize my magic identity,
Vicariously adoring myself from the stadium floor.
"But God knows who, or what, from the show!"
I thought, "So, I should find peace in that, right?"
And, "Yikes!" I thought, "I am so vicious good!"
And, "Nobody does do it better!" I thought.
"I am one who made marks in the moment,
And Jerry and I might as well be in love."
Though I tried not to let my head swell so much,
God knew who was who, or what was what, from the show!
My stadium-sized stature and all my shenanigans,
Were miracles, miracles, I came to proclaim!
"So, can I relax now?" No, I could not relax, then.
So I thought I would try forgiveness for being so 'prefect,'
Which was a joke that I made, the best way I knew how,
But I was, rather, forgiven for being so perfect,
And that's what I knew of wielding Christ way.
Did you catch that mock, oh, Lonesome Dove, pal?
Because of the miracles, Chris and I made a scale,
Which measured the caliber of magic afoot.
The units we used fit nicely with Mockingbird,
A pen name I chose from the song that I wrote,
But the units, just surely, also came from Blue Angels,
And flying and power, this Mock miracle scale.
I liked the idea of Garcia, Mock 50,
His miracles squalling, the band round and round.
All one need do is state the Mock units,
To establish how potent one's miracle sounds.
So, when I returned, triumphant from Dead shows,
Mock units and miracles were things on my mind,
And my breast and my head were all swollen and fat,
And I was desperately dreading to fall from perfection.
So, I sat back at Lyon's with friends in Novato,
And privately remembered the concert we'd seen.
I was searching for credit my actions provided me,
While trying to come off my perch of grandeur.
"Miracles, miracles, and God was responsible,"
Though I believed very strongly in the impact I'd had.
My head was locked down on stroking my ego!
'Twas my ears that were shining as I cheered on the playing,
And a twist in his wrist which revealed he'd received.
"It proves that I'm mighty and we are the same stuff,
Bigger than life, there's love that abounds!"
If the same story is true, all they had to do was,
Forensically follow the phosphorescent fingerprints,
Which, now, I am thinking, could surely have slipped past their view.
SCA 1989
RUM & COKE OF CHRIST CONSCIOUSNESS
I want to make so many faces,
At this business of yours, at this talk!
My prayers are not on your eyes!
You do not know my God, it would appear. You can't.
You will see, when we open up our bodies like instrument cases,
And heave side-swiping crash echo to the stars,
Like a Rum & Coke of Christ Consciousness.
Yeah, then, again, we'll sing of true whimsicality in being.
SCA 1994
At this business of yours, at this talk!
My prayers are not on your eyes!
You do not know my God, it would appear. You can't.
You will see, when we open up our bodies like instrument cases,
And heave side-swiping crash echo to the stars,
Like a Rum & Coke of Christ Consciousness.
Yeah, then, again, we'll sing of true whimsicality in being.
SCA 1994
A THROWN STONE'S CONFUSION
Watchtower blues.
No coming of glory.
Robbed through indifference.
Trumpets bitch and cackle in nonchalance.
Standing watch on my love,
I'm spilling tears of faith,
Like flies.
As a thrown stone's confusion,
In hitting crisp, cold drink.
In seething sorrow, wondering, I.
SCA 1995
No coming of glory.
Robbed through indifference.
Trumpets bitch and cackle in nonchalance.
Standing watch on my love,
I'm spilling tears of faith,
Like flies.
As a thrown stone's confusion,
In hitting crisp, cold drink.
In seething sorrow, wondering, I.
SCA 1995
THERE MUST HAVE BEEN SOMETHING IN THAT TEA
Sittin' home alone, drinkin' cologne,
I got lonely watchin' TV, so I put it next to me.
Been playin' with the sidewalk chalk.
Even got the girl-next-door to talk.
But she didn't have anythin' good to say,
'Cept, "Rock and roll is here to stay!"
Well, I made a hopscotch with 'er, before.
I drew it right up to my door.
But I learned to keep that front door open,
Since now both my arms are broken!
Oh yes! There was something in that tea,
Oh, Lord. Oh, Lord!
There was something in that tea,
Oh, my Lord.
There was something in that tea,
Oh, Lord. Oh, Lord!
There was something in that tea,
Oh, my Lord.
SCA 1995
I got lonely watchin' TV, so I put it next to me.
Been playin' with the sidewalk chalk.
Even got the girl-next-door to talk.
But she didn't have anythin' good to say,
'Cept, "Rock and roll is here to stay!"
Well, I made a hopscotch with 'er, before.
I drew it right up to my door.
But I learned to keep that front door open,
Since now both my arms are broken!
Oh yes! There was something in that tea,
Oh, Lord. Oh, Lord!
There was something in that tea,
Oh, my Lord.
There was something in that tea,
Oh, Lord. Oh, Lord!
There was something in that tea,
Oh, my Lord.
SCA 1995
LA VILLE DES ETOILES (THE CITY MADE OF STARS)
La ville des etoiles se trouve sous le lac.
Ouvrez vos yeux au lac pendant la nuit.
Vous allez ecouter la musique du couer du Dieu.
(Translation)
The city made of stars is found beneath the lake.
Open your eyes to the lake at night.
You are going to hear the music from the heart of God.
SCA 1996
Ouvrez vos yeux au lac pendant la nuit.
Vous allez ecouter la musique du couer du Dieu.
(Translation)
The city made of stars is found beneath the lake.
Open your eyes to the lake at night.
You are going to hear the music from the heart of God.
SCA 1996
BEING MISTAKEN
Scandalously, I wallow in a self-induced epiphany of alienation from caring.
I am desensitized from inundation of rock and roll music,
As it rocks and rolls in the city.
I had thought myself alone.
Snarling to myself when woman goes by doorway,
She maybe just saw me. I freeze, sitting still.
I stopped moving my head.
Being mistaken reigns like a mantra.
SCA 1997
I am desensitized from inundation of rock and roll music,
As it rocks and rolls in the city.
I had thought myself alone.
Snarling to myself when woman goes by doorway,
She maybe just saw me. I freeze, sitting still.
I stopped moving my head.
Being mistaken reigns like a mantra.
SCA 1997
AS MONUMENTS
I wore the stardust in my eyes.
There was this tribe of human beings,
To love and to watch for,
But the smoke blew away,
Their mothers called them in,
And afternoon fell to night.
Adrift across upshot impulses,
As an uncertain vessel,
Upon waters unsure,
My gazing eyes are becoming scattered,
In the jostling current,
Across distance to moon.
There is that which takes place,
But would not, could not be done,
Until my heart is plucked like fruit,
And eaten and gone.
It is like monuments weeping in fog,
The ashes have been scattered, and are breaking down.
The calls and the ears, the sole Truth!
I wore the stardust in my eyes,
For many moons.
SCA 1994
HERE I SIT
The electric stench of my excitement, crackling, shrieking,
Burrowing through my levity like roadkill.
Birds' songs fling my offal hither and yon.
What does your letter say by not coming?
What bitter taste of nothing food?
Because of this thing!
Because of this thing!
Because of this thing!
SCA 1996
POEM FOR JASMIN
To me you are an ice-skating rink,
Perfectly flat, and hard,
Onto which I step from the mushy rubber floor before,
Having gazed at the skaters in so many colors,
And there being so many spaces to slip,
And land on one's butt,
With a smile for anyone watching.
I'd be so happy to split my lip on you in falling,
And mark my place in blood,
While someone just barely misses my face,
And the blade of their skate goes war-story close!
It's always super nice for me at this rink,
With the snow-cone wind breathing in my ear.
Actually, I am warm! Just fine!
Maybe because I have superpowers in reality,
And I should act more brave the next time I'm afraid.
Anyway, I can't retie my laces,
And keep my ankles straight, anymore.
I'll be stopping back by the lockers.
Let's get some cocoa, oh pal, oh bud,
I think it's seventy-five.
Dad is picking us up at three o'clock anyway!
SCA 1996
Perfectly flat, and hard,
Onto which I step from the mushy rubber floor before,
Having gazed at the skaters in so many colors,
And there being so many spaces to slip,
And land on one's butt,
With a smile for anyone watching.
I'd be so happy to split my lip on you in falling,
And mark my place in blood,
While someone just barely misses my face,
And the blade of their skate goes war-story close!
It's always super nice for me at this rink,
With the snow-cone wind breathing in my ear.
Actually, I am warm! Just fine!
Maybe because I have superpowers in reality,
And I should act more brave the next time I'm afraid.
Anyway, I can't retie my laces,
And keep my ankles straight, anymore.
I'll be stopping back by the lockers.
Let's get some cocoa, oh pal, oh bud,
I think it's seventy-five.
Dad is picking us up at three o'clock anyway!
SCA 1996
SPOKEN IN A-BASEMENT
No, not to cherish,
Not to have or to hold,
It's just a thing in passing...
Consequential love.
You shouldn't have to remember it.
You needn't watch for more.
No, it's nothing,
Not to hold.
SCA 1995
PATTERNS
patterns on the wall
shadows of rustling leaves
I can hear their whispering call
watch the swaying of the trees
a pattern on the porch
shapes on floor of boards
sun shines like a torch
wind beats back and forth the door
patterns in the dust
where you stepped today
wind gives one more gust
and blows your footprints away
there are patterns in my visions
country quilts and Indian weavings
puppies being born
and for their first time seeing.
a pattern on the hillside
swaying grass and flowers
and like the ocean flowing
the rhythm beats on for hours
the rhythm beats on for hours and hours and hours
SCA 1995
shadows of rustling leaves
I can hear their whispering call
watch the swaying of the trees
a pattern on the porch
shapes on floor of boards
sun shines like a torch
wind beats back and forth the door
patterns in the dust
where you stepped today
wind gives one more gust
and blows your footprints away
there are patterns in my visions
country quilts and Indian weavings
puppies being born
and for their first time seeing.
a pattern on the hillside
swaying grass and flowers
and like the ocean flowing
the rhythm beats on for hours
the rhythm beats on for hours and hours and hours
SCA 1995
WONDERING ON THE AIR
Walking on a breeze, leaves scatter by,
How high is my step?
How grand, and how strong?
Way above the salty ocean,
I stop and stand on air.
How far might I fall?
For how long?
SCA 1995
How high is my step?
How grand, and how strong?
Way above the salty ocean,
I stop and stand on air.
How far might I fall?
For how long?
SCA 1995
HOLIDAY
Comes another holiday.You go by, bloody skimming from,
Your rise to its auspiciousness,
Wreaking havoc on my medicine of season-watching,
Myself a young man.
Could not my granddaddy be by,
In an old whale song?
SCA 1994
Your rise to its auspiciousness,
Wreaking havoc on my medicine of season-watching,
Myself a young man.
Could not my granddaddy be by,
In an old whale song?
SCA 1994
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