POEM - Old Family Recipe

Mixing together the ingredients

I’m reminded that this is unique

This is an old family recipe

A secret handed down

On my mother’s side

I wonder how long this has been happening

Who made these first?

Who came up with this mixture?

How old is this really?

In its present state

It can’t be that long

Crisco was introduced in 1911

Combined with all that powdered sugar

It produces a fragile confection

In stark contrast

To old world utilitarian fare

Completely superfluous

Cooking for pure indulgence

Then there is the chemistry of it

Fat and bicarbonate of soda

Battling in the heated oven

Creating an ensconced neutral ground

At the center of every cookie

A delicious void

That bursts forth sweetened fumes

Followed by the melting away

Of the snowy white walls

Of the nibble treat cave

POEM - The Easter After

It has always been a two day affair

Easter

With a defined and distinct split

I never felt confused

Never had to get hung up

On the moral or spiritual dilemma

Concerning what I was celebrating

On the one hand there is the insane holiday

Where children run about

In a chocolate fueled demented rage

Marauding over hill and dale

Relentless and driven

Believing in large fluffy rabbits

Who, possessed of sentient thought

And mischievous natures,

Drop painted hard-boiled eggs

Across the countryside willy-nilly

Just so we could all dress up

In a variety of pastel colors

To have a big family picnic

On the Saturday before Easter

It is a journey of the absurd

But there is chocolate

There is sugar

There is a day outside with family

Without the drama of Thanksgiving

            Or Christmas

Then Sunday rolls around

That’s Easter

So distinct I grew up with odd continuity

Remember them being weeks apart

By Saturday night all the candy was gone

Everyone fell into a proper coma

To be reborn on Sunday morning

The mythical celebration but a memory

POEM - Winter a Desert Is

those pesky winters can’t live right

snow avoids the desert not

for temperatures sake, fear

cactus kill the delicate flakes

lizard tongues too rough my skin

too tan and tough reckless cancer

black bits too sad for frozen doilies

take ten steps north for nothing

weather doesn’t even change

distance causes a storm between

us our fiery southwest passion keeps

we closer than November snow can stand

six steps out of nine that break

apart the story falls I drop

a line that never knew sympathy

for any but itself it is careless

dangerous in indifference my smile

betrayal comes too often never in

time melts my skin melts faster

for want of fever deflate all

car ride in car ride in

discussion of half-white saguaro

cream dipped sideways deception

things not this way they look often

not often enough not to be normal

is often where distance comes in play

August breaks between us a deluge

cold to steaming in heart break

this car takes riding seriously

POEM - How I Think of William Carlos Williams

He said it

Elegant

Cool, cool, cool

As chilled plums

Saved for later

Eaten

Ahead of schedule

A choice turn

A phrase

A thought

So much depended on

One right word

Left to hang

Delicious

POEM - Prufrock Returns

In the night the vision come and go

In and out and to and fro

Even they question should I be

Should I exist and be allowed

To live and wander

Thru empty silent streets

An intrusion in the crowded air

My very presence a  marked affair

We speak in words not understood

As rain in rivulets on the weathered pane

My trousers still too long

Traipsing along the dampened ground

I could never answer the question

So they stayed

Unrolled, unruly testament to pain

The women who talked

Along the seabed floor

Would never call for me

Did not know my name

So I remain and have remained

We speak in words not understood

As rain in rivulets on the weathered pane

I have grown thinner still

The spot of bald is now a patch

My belt tightens another latch

The songs are harder and harder to hear

Please step a little closer, draw near

And whisper the questions you used to shout

Sing the soft reminder of the dance we shared

And I will roll my trouser up

Shine my last pair of shoes

Dispose of every scuff and scrape

Tuck in my ragged white silk shirt

A little yellow now from ages of neglect

I know I still remember a step or two

As smoke and fog combine

Across the courtyard

Across my mind

It turns to mist and spray

A push to the sea and deeper still

The salted air a humid cloak

Embraces and the song continues

Sweet as the peach we shared

Sweet as the breath you left in my ear

Is it mermaids that really call?

Or just you who I chased

Through empty streets

And dead ends and draws

On padded paws

I am old, I am old

Now my trousers are tattered and rolled

POEM - Pinkwater

If I don’t have to explain

Then we will probably get along

Like breathing and air

Because I can trust you

If given the choice

Between the fancy, bright storefront

And the dusty curiosity shop

To choose the right door

To brave the musk and the dank

Just in case, on the off chance

They might be discussing parallel dimensions

And have a way to travel between them

I know, as well, you won’t be upset

When a random bird flies by

To drop a pail of orange paint

Right on top of your house

You will see the good luck in it

Grab your paint brush

And finish the job it started

Kevin Shapiro understands it

Though he is often dead

And I understand it

What he has done to me

Keeps me searching for the impossible

To happen like the ordinary

It is Zen

Disorganized in a Dada poem

            The Snark is not place or time

            The Snark is you

            You are Snark

            Snark out!

POEM - What Does Dubie Do?

The idolized mortal offers

            Lilting oration and humorous rumination,

And every gathered ear is locked tight

On knowing eyes, underscored

By an honorable white beard;

Each mind centering on rhythmic visualizations.

I’m there with everyone else, devouring

This aural pallet that expands yearning mind, there

With my wife and children:

“So, what’d you think?” I ask her

“Weird” she says, and then

“I wonder what his wife looks like,

            and does he take the garbage out?

What kind of car does he drive,

            and what about his kid?

Does he play with them?

            Do they understand him, think he’s weird?”

These are valid questions, I even think them sometimes.

I know where she’s coming from

            She thinks I’m weird, too

And she knows I forget to take out the garbage

And my children think I’m weird

And she loves how I am when I play with them

And she forgives my faults, and

She sees in the man on the stage

The future me, and she would just like some answers.

Likes to know what to expect.

Maybe if I get a chance I’ll ask him.

Will he think I’m weird?

For now I shrug my shoulders

As I walk on, a fox in winter,

I consider the blood red dawn.

POEM - The Lightning Room

Remember that time I went back

Took Barz to visit my old haunts

Trying to marry my two lives

Ended up at the house of strange girl

That Barz had meet tubing on the Salt

He got sick and crashed there

Sent me off to have fun

I found Fletch again

Like I always try to do

Ended up in strangeness as well

Picked up that redhead kid

The one who smoked to much

And was too proud of his light fingers

I had my grandpa’s truck that we inherited

When he had passed away a few months back

And a desire to live my old life

Tempe was a safe world

Compared to the wilds of Tucson

We did it up right

Hit all the old haunts

Grandma Tony’s hadn’t changed yet

Played the pin ball for a few rounds

Downed a slice and a cola

Headed to the mall

Other things had changed though

No one was friends anymore

That redhead kid shoplifted too much

I was distracted by the distance of time

Hoping I’d remember where I left Barz

I dumped my playmates downtown

Bid farewell and said goodbye

To old friends and everything else

Found my way into the foothills

Enjoyed the evening in a stranger’s house

Reclined in the lightning room upstairs

My new friend beside me

Watching the evening Tucson sky light up

POEM - Stake Dance Saturday Night

Three Saturday nights each month

I had everything to look forward to

That’s when it was time to dance

It still means everything to me

Over quarter of a century later

The hours spent embraced by music

Twirling and gyrating

Sometimes with someone

Sometimes not so much

It was the feeling of the sound

Waves of energy

Pulsing through my chest

That’s what I looked forward to

Sure it was nice to have a partner

Someone to dance slow with

Someone to feed the energy

Take the craziness to new levels

This was the 80s

Punk had begotten New Wave

Which had birthed Synth-pop

All of them selfish for attention

Trying to be louder or faster

Jumpy, bouncy, energetic, more

More than what came before

I ate lived breathed drank it

It moved me

Spastically

Spent each week wondering

If I’d have the nerve

To do the worm

For the whole second verse

Of “Rock Lobster”

Wondering now if I’ve lost the groove

Could I last through even a few seconds of the worm?

Would I be able to get back up if I tried?

Will skanking to my 2Tone CD

Instigate a cardiac episode?

POEM - Victorio, Ho!

Scout camp happened unexpectedly

I’d lived in Tucson exactly one week

By the time I was sent off with strangers

For a week of scouting at Camp Victorio

I’d met almost everyone exactly twice

When I was being whisked away

To a place only 50 miles from Mexico

I wasn’t exactly sure

This sounded like a good idea

As far as scout camps go

This one was rugged

As far as kids go

They were an eclectic crowd

I was allowed into the group

Because there was another Aaron

He was the short one

And I was tall enough

And strong enough

To give him rides around camp

Then there was Fletcher

A year older and acting like Joe Scout

We, for reasons still unclear

Did not get along

So I was ostracized from the group tent

Relegated to the flimsy two man

Chris took pity on me

Moved in so I wasn’t alone

Talked all night and didn’t stop

For the rest of camp

Even when the rains came

And the river formed between us

Down the middle of the tent

I survived and thrived

Even made friends

            With everyone, surprisingly

When we met back up in high school

Fletcher and I were thick as thieves

The memory of Victorio an odd anomaly

Cherished, necessary and unexplained

POEM - C’est L'amour, Xochiquetzal

Day after the Dead play Compton Terrace

Jim Sr. grins, takes two Valium, and disappears

Jim’s dad sold straight pot

No oregano and cheap to friends

A homegrown severance pay

The former cop gets no hassles

Grows it right out on the back porch.

I joined the story earlier that morning

I found four legs hangin’ out

From a ’51 Chevy named Xochiquetzal

The gods of love were sleeping inside.

Last night Fletch and Jim parked and crashed.

Even my idols have to get their rest

I had hope in bestowal of virility

As I hopped in the back seat

Of the ancient love machine

Windblown to Tucson fueled on Waffle House

And the energy of half stoned Heads in the parking lot

Begging a buck, bumming a ride, chasing the next show

All too high to understand we weren't going their way.

I never touched any of that stuff

Jim didn't either, but he sucked ink like water

Every pore connecting the dots

Of a massive paint-by-numbers

At 17 already the canvas a third filled.

I had religion and at two-thirds converted

There was still enough room left

For a truck shaped Aztec love god

To throw some blessings my way.

POEM - Call of the Javelina

The two story Roman Cross style house

Sat in the western foothills

On the outskirt of Tucson

It was designed by my Uncle Kim

Built by my Uncle Ron

And lived in by us for a couple years

Downstairs contained all of the bedrooms

And the TV room just off the deck

We’d huddle down there every afternoon

To watch cartoons

And avoid chores

Then something cool happened

Thundering sounds began

Tromping across the back deck

Stirring us from our electronic trance

We all wondered if the deck was falling

Or a quick storm had hit

We rushed to the window

To find even more wonder

A troupe of javelina met our eyes

Dozens of the wiry desert pigs

Trudging on as if this was normal

I took it as an invitation

Slipped on my shoes and bolted

Running after the galloping herd

Figuring there must be some reason

Something that sent them to me

On through the Sonoran desert

Under an overcast sky

Falling behind, but keeping in sight

Until they began to slow and gather

I slowed too and slunk down to hide

I’d heard of their temper

A tendency to stampeded in defense

Instead they just stood and looked

With a subtle confidence and peace

As if they knew it was only me

A  hunter with no weapon

Who was welcome

As long as I didn’t stay too long

POEM - Rat and Turtle at the Dead Hotel

This girl I knew was too cool

Tight curled, close cut flat-top

Cast in auburn

Looking like the poor-little-red-headed-

Step-child of Grace Jones

Product of a Lost Weekend spent in the embrace

Of some wily Leprechaun

Saints Preserve Us! She had some fight in her

She was the perfect match . . . for my friend

If I had just stayed a little longer that summer

Ran away from home, refused to move

That would be me, prostrate in an abandoned pool

My body at rest on hers, our faces joined at the mouth

 

We three spent the evening in ruins

Amid the shambles and wreckage of this eerie hotel

A transplant from Desolation Row

That someone famous had slept in

And then Checked Out for the last time.

I left my heart there; we had always been close

The lie I told myself was my friend

Was just the closest thing, not the dearest

And an open door was still in her heart

When the moonlight wore off I knew

I’d never walk through that door

A punch on the arm

As she passed me in the hall

A generous laugh

At an unsuccessful joke

Were the closest we came

To an affectionate dance

Billy Bragg sang to me

One lonely sleepless night,

It was that line from that song The Saturday Boy

Where Billy sings

“In the end it took me a dictionary /

To find out the meaning of unrequited,”

Like memories of a turtle summer

Chasing Rat through a dead hotel

POEM - Old Pueblo Days, Tucson Nights

A large part of what I am

Foul or fair

Finds its birth in Tucson

In the veins of the Old Pueblo

Founded in secret passages

Nearly abandoned buildings

On the wheels of a skateboard

In the dirt of the Sonoran desert

 

One of the last strongholds of Weird

A proud land of kooks and loonies

A strange mix of humanity

Equal parts gangster and hippie

Scientist and Latino existing as one

Mixing and evolving into new creatures

My favorite part was that I was young

School ended at 3:30

My dad left work downtown at 5

I had 90 minutes to explore any day I wanted

Longer if I rode home with the Chmara’s

Even longer  if I ditched a class here or there

I took that time whenever I could

Feasting on the freedom hungrily

Breathing in the air of every record store

Bookshop, thrift store and pizza joint

 

Exploring every inch of ground

From Hotel Congress to U of A

Shredding every angled wall

Chasing every rumor of abandoned pools

Running like an escaped animal 

From a zookeeper’s oppression

POEM - Crazy Fire

It’s a long Sunday of church and baking

One of those days that tests you

Especially if you have young kids

So, in the interest of sanity

Ezra is sitting with me

While dinner is being made

Partially for Linda’s piece of mind

Mostly so he won’t end up on the menu

Ezra is a thinker

I ask Ezra to help me write a poem

He starts off with an  amazing title

The first stanza then practically writes itself

Although there may be 5000 dogs around

We can still build the fire

The crazy fire

I can tell we are headed for greatness

I just think there needs to be a little more

So in emulation of a poetry Mad Lib

I ask what happens next

The next lines are epic defined

There are leprechauns jumping out

To grab my chest of gold

The dreaded fire leprechauns

With flames shooting from their beards

Yes! Yes! Now we are getting somewhere

What happens next? I can barely contain myself

Our only hope is to build the fire, the crazy fire

We fight through the canine hordes

Across the plains of fiery leprechauns

I’m proud of the budding poet

I think he has done well

I can tell there is more in him

The last lines roll off his tongue, unstoppable

It takes about 1000 pieces of cardboard

Which took forever to get

Eventually we won the war

Against those fiery leprechauns

And the war of the canine attack

Hmm . . .a thousand pieces of cardboard

At least we won the war

Thanks for helping me Ezra

Hope that crazy fire never burns out

POEM - She Asked for It

My mother-in-law keeps asking

Wants me to write a poem

A special one

For her when she’s dead

She threatens she won’t leave

Until I show her I’m finished

I think to myself, oh well

It’s your funeral

So I’m writing this poem

An elegy in free verse

So she can die

My dearest mother-in-law, Suzanne

Now I know that you would prefer

For me to rhyme each line just so

But for now the rhymes I will defer

I thought I’d tell you so you understand

I should write about who you were

And what you meant to us

You were always Linda’s mom

Your hair never moved in the wind

Without fail you’d remember to call us

Just after we got into bed

And your life was empty

If there was no Coke in the fridge

You hit your head ice skating

When you were just young

It made you lose all your teeth

And turned your hair white, I was told

You loved your husband Randy

He loved to drive you crazy

When he died you lost your best friend

That drove you the most crazy of all

I’m sure there’s more, or so I’ve heard

But we never really got along

So I wrote what impressed me

Had the good sense to withhold the rest

And if this ends up as intended

We won’t be able to reach you for comment

POEM - The Twinkie Suite: Fit the Third

An ode I offer at our story's close

Of simple  joys and pleasures sought

How sadness turned to sweet repose

Despair in to a hopeful thought

Well, not so much an ode

As a really good story

A family tradition with sweet roots

It’s time to tell the story

How it happened

Quell the controversy

It was a Sunday in the late 80’s

After my Aunt Julie and family

Had made the move from Cali

To the suburban haven of Tempe

They spent a lot of time at our house

Which we liked, looked forward to

Julie was the one looked up to

By all the older cousins, the teens

As she had only recently departed that club

And seemed to still know what it meant

More than any of her siblings

So it was Sunday night

Playing games and talking

And the hours passed and passed

Until finally the snacks ran out

A tragedy rooted in our conviction

To do no shopping on the Sabbath

It was then the tradition began

With a little help from the clock

As it ticked off the last seconds to midnight

To complete Sabbath, and we were off

Almost before the thought hit

To grab some snacks and extend the fun

It was Twinkies that we embraced

And Ding-Dongs and Zingers

Green olives and Dove bars

And snacks and treats galore

In the first moments of that Monday

The Twinkie Run was born