Rang Them Bells

called photographic,
our mind records.
it's all there,
life fulfilled.

cool winds,
remembered.
dinner talks,
went on 'til 2.

after dinner,
we rang them bells.
mornings too,
wanting to please.

put on your face,
go into the world.
be another's joy,
stare at them in the eyes.

understand their pain,
reduce the sympathy.
only us are left,
for tomorrow.

the mind continues to record,
permanately.
on your last day,
you'll watch the movie.

you will rememeber all,
it was there all along.
the best movies build and build,
carpenters being good at life.

some end with a 'what?',
secrets no more.
i hope to see a colored movie,
one with some jazz.

Rational Thought Completly Avoided

the late arrivals always arrive late
early risers are quick to rise.
the timeless never have a start time
others are confined by a planned destiny.

well intentioned intentions are rare
the inability to not please one's own self.
the sad clowns just clowned around
stepping through hoops and blowing horns.

fakers, everywhere you look, everyone you meet
even the known ones.
takers too, all around, taking and leaving
garbage on the floor.

the crimes. the injustice. the hopelessness.
rational thought completely avoided.
pick sides, read the manual, for the greater good
'at least we're not egypt.'

Prince Is A True Hero

     the diminishing that takes place once business is introduced to a concept is an awful shame. unavoidable, no doubt, but still a shame. the business mandate of negotiation and compromise should not be excluded from artistic endeavors. however, it has to be totally excluded from the creative process and completely seperate from the performance process. it has it's own very narrow space. in addition, it should be managed expertly and efficiently by a person unconnected to rest of the overall process. creative and performance can be the same individual, but certainly doesn't have to be. actors act, writers write, a few great songwrites are great singers. only a few. willie, dylan, cash, bono, lucinda, merle, all the hanks, and all the elvises. many that died too early were mostly dumb and addicted. morrison, cobain, elvis, janice, hendrix, hank sr, and michael jackson. prince is a true hero. so to is pat benetar, who is playing at choctaw casino in durant, oklahoma, just across the texas border. my point is this:  take your time and let your gifts be revealed. cannot recollect the original point i was trying to make, but business is business, know what i mean?

gemgc
gemgd

When Words Go Bare

went up to pay my fine
that lost book finally caught up with me
pulled out fifty six bucks in crumpled cash
'it's sixty four ninety five, honey'
the librarian was not smiling
any way i can pay on it and still get more books?
'the whole thing has to be paid off before you can get more books
we'll take a check'
who's got a check?
'i know. sorry'
it's not your fault
came back after a three dollar atm fee
wandered the library for an hour
melville, twain, roth, explorers, mcmurtry, dylanologist, scottish poems
making eyes and breathing low
a God bless
movies bore me
thumbing through the dying animal
the young and boisterous
and lovely skins
readers are the caged
beginnning and completing over and over
never venturing
until one day
when words go bare.

Burst

automatic response of a trembling mind,
significance in an instant.

the routine men and women,
reluctantly counting myself.

committed to lesser breakouts,
completely enjoyed in a burst.

times when eternal is revealed,
exposing a creator's paradise.

Devil's Masterpiece

religion is incredibly human.
and all that humans touch is corrupted.
invented by us.
refined for us.
easier the better.
push a button and see religion.
being religious means nothing.
other than intense self focus.
knew a guy once who got religion.
went to the mountains to pray.
and live by himself.
still there.
hope he's one with God by now.
i guess i hope that.
the Word is worthy of attention and study.
but religion can hold you back.
the letters of screwtape.
the devil's masterpiece.
we're made to work and serve.
specifically for God.
but it has nothing to do with religion.
we're also made to create.
made in His image.
the Creators's image.
create songs.
and poems.
and paintings.
and faces from rocks.
and love.
think even of technology.
and we'll continue creating.
humanity, i mean.
until the credits roll.

Smallcase T

we walk this earth carefully,
concerned for ourselves.
we take measured steps,
and expect payment.

we don't notice the others hurting,
only the pain of our own scars.
we satisfy our dessert desires,
while children go hungry.

we travel the globe,
cameras at the ready. proof that we've been near a place that is known. a drink of pride to the accomplishment. water, spoiled by scotch. seeking the curve of the horizon with an unlevel mind, the smallcase t our only escape.  our only alibi.

cg
fc
gf
cg

LaVillita Art

Humidity and beads of sweat
60 types of green
LaVillita art
Mexican dresses and walking sticks

On the rock paths
Last night's margarita spills
The English sit on patios
Commenting on the beauty

Empty buildings with flags on top
Boats of wonderers
Bridges and carvings
Named for dead heroes.

Mortally Unattainable

a writer can only write well once insecurity is banished. in matters of creative art, one's own opinions and tastes and boundries should be exclusively considered. leave the audience to the performance artists, whose pure craft is just as defined and all that matters is other's opinions and tastes and boundries. all writers fall somewhere in between, desiring connection and expression. purity of either is mortally unattainable....'can a war zone hate in the autumn?' is a tremendous sentence.

Blacklisted

blacklisted.

supernova wanna bees.
glowing eyes.
follow the leader.
keep the truth.
to yourself.
hand out the jacks.
one at a time.
those damn jacks.
blame the bureaucrats.
and the bureaucracy.
sing to the true lovers.
clan of wildcats.
separately hunting.
darwin was partially right.
except for the monkeys.
talking souls here.
talking souls filled up with life.
talking souls that never die.
they all have blood.
not everyone has a soul.

sidetracked.

by a blind runner.
boots up to her knees.
world order is lost.
this hollow life.
checked into the riverwalk spa.
with sore feet.
and a clouded mind.
felt relief in an instant.
finally sane.
a host of cooks and butlers.
table full of fable talk.
wildcats wait.
perhaps a playful paw.
glorious faces.
behind shower doors
not yet comfortable.
not yet adjusted.
unlikely to ever be.
foreigner to most.
follower of none.

  

Woman Farmer

the scandalous
and a two-timer
floated down the brazos.

a woman farmer
hoeing the fields
for the late harvest.

hands of work
she carried it all
too busy to die.

his weak mind
distracted by beauty
and glances.

this tempting world
all the pleasures
all the pain.

Texico (Draft): Maggie Graham

     "You're telling me you cannot say yes to the proposal?" Maggie Graham was moving closer to the Brazilian President, "What are your alternatives?"
     "Magggeeie", he wanted to keep her affection while reasoning, "Texico is too new, too different, too audacious. These things take time to mature."
     "What things?” she asked while taking his hand. The Texican Secretary of State was an articulate and educated woman of 35. Her face was flawless and her beauty moved in an upright posture, shoulders back.
     "Relationships. Only a decade ago it was Mexicans and Americans. Then the Texans got fed up and wanted to do it their way. Nothing wrong with that, but we have concerns about the Texan influence in Texico. Brazilians know Mexicans, but are leery of people like L. Dean and Barnes."
     "Oh, Henrique. You know me. Are you leery of me?" She was close enough to whisper and the President could smell the aromas of lotions, perfumes, and human scents. They had spent the evening dining together at the Palacia da Alvorada, the official residence of the President. Henrique Diego Almeida was a hero in his homeland but famously prone to a wandering eye. The silk white, Irish blooded, green eyed face of Maggie Graham was inches from his lips. Her eyes closed and she kissed him for an extended period. She moved closer to him and her hair fell down. He knew resisting was hopeless and he knew the deal with the Texicans for petroleum rights and refinery development would be announced the next day. The Western Hemisphere Oil Alliance (WHOA) with Canada, Texico, and Brazil would bring Texico gas prices to 1970's levels for it's citizens and ensure the heating and transportation industries would continue to thrive from Rio de Janeiro to New Foundland for all three nations. The Americans continued to rely on the English and Saudi's for oil, the mighty Gulf of Mexico no longer their own. By 2030, the entire American oil industry went bankrupt due to government regulations and controls and gas was $20 a gallon.  The bones of Andrew Jackson, the fiercly independent president of the people and who the American twenty dollar bill is named for, was likely shifting dirt around.  The bones of Sam Houston, his protege and fellow Tennesseean, were getting the last laugh.             
     The wind powered most of the Texico's domestic needs.  Critics argued that wind could not produce on-demand power.  When a Texico A&M scientist, Dr. Dale DeVille, discovered a method to store up electricity, Texico city's were assured of illumination and evening celebrations.  In addition, because the government no longer provided lighting of any kind to cities, towns, or estados, power was only used when needed.  Corporations were looking for profits and lighting up a high-rise building so you can see it from afar, wasn't worth the expense.  St. Patrick's Day or not.  Nighttime skylines were obsolete in Texico.  Only the street levels were lit.  Neon and bright. 
     "Did you get to sleep last night, Henrique?” a stretching Maggie asked when she woke with the sun rise. Her hands were behind her head, elbows bent out. He turned from the window where he was standing and smiled wearily at her.
     "Like a king." he said.

                       

Soul Man's Blues

early wind and budding trees
mind ran off into the alley
thought i saw a morning dove
seems like the devil's been keeping tally.

embark on your lonely path
i wish i could go with you too
words unspoken worthless now
you always knew i loved you.

he was a soul man, the best man i knew
i can remember his words, the soul man's blues.

he was a soul man, all the crowds that he drew
he would just sing out loud, the soul man's blues.

(aharp)hheeeewaaaaassssaaaassoooouuuullmaaaaann. honk. honk.

got wet bones you know what i mean
cold rain all day long, never saw the light
ladies ran off to the shops and boutiques
left me alone until the middle of the night. 

e7a7
e7d7
a7e7
d7a7

a7e7
d7e7d7a7

Generals And Scouts

they're all behind enemy lines.
following generals and scouts.

stepping carefully.
so leaves don't crack.

baaa rump pa pum pum.
hear our drum.

oh, hear our drum.
oh, woe, oh, hear our drum.  (hear our drum).