THE SINISTER RAIN
Dogs growl, cats snarl
As they target the pavement
The wolf subdued howls
From the cavern’s encagement
As the teary drips
Pelter my head
I envision wet lips
And what was it you said
When you were kissed
In the softening of pain
As we slid in the mist
Of the sinister rain
The thunder warned
Of the passing bane
That impassioned the storm
Of the sinister rain
All run for cover
The Heavenly Mother screams
For the Mad Bowler
Wins through extremes
Lightning’s a façade quip
The younger Gods
Still in internship
They topple with the odds
And the puddles are swarmed
With angels who have reigned
Now are forlorn
In the sinister rain
Submersing words of quiver,
The wind’s wails distain
So let’s swim their river
In the sinister rain
Let’s prance in the drenches
Of the grave launderers wring
To soil the quenches
Of blissful children who sing
Rain Rain go away
Come back another day
The skies are blue now
In the sadness of clarity
Depriving the fowl
Of cloud obscurity
THE
SADNESS OF APOLLO
Standing on a stressed plank
Waiting for the sedatives to take
Standing on a stressed plank
Waiting for the sedatives to take
The pressure is on me too to give
An honest dollar is all I have
A few more won’t save my act/ass
But I’m holding out for less
Trying not to look down
Feeling as lonely as the moon
Trying not to look down
Feeling as lonely as the moon
Yeah, I’ve been walked on too
A misunderstood world
Whose weak shoulders tilt his soul
The sadness of Apollo
Who broods without hope
Looking over a poet’s river
A few moments till forever
Looking over a senile river
In just a few minutes I’ll be better
My mind is a cloud of thoughts
I can’t seem to make out the words
My pain is in my stomach
There is much I can’t stomach
I sought the scared animal inside me
And negotiated on its terms
Which was where we had first met
Twenty something odd songs ago
Ravaged still, by the same pranced dance
It took decades prior to unlearn
And revamp with stride
Its hands too fallen to shake
Swung dangerously with the breeze
I was at ease, though
An eyebrow twitched
As another wrinkle appeared
Making it known
The present is aged
LEGENDS DIE BEHIND THE
WHEEL (AT LEAST)
Past glories, fast stories
Told too well to believe trigonometry
Played any part in this. What are you to do?
A fool is a pen pal whose questioners are never answered
Answer the maiden call.
Put the phone down for a second, you know
Revolution comes to those who persist
Evolution to those who exist
And demolition for whomever climbs too steady
To be entrusted the right of way. Write away
Sound is not a crime, misuse is reduce, supplies in mint
Cash in, cash in whatever doesn’t repel you not to
Put a price tag on it, rap it up really nice
Whose thoughts are these? I don’t know, my hand is on the
Steering wheel
Feel sexy
And know everyone is a dreamer
With dreams of dreams
Everyone raps, taps, claps to your insignia, broadened, too boldly
The tattoo artist is overpaid
Pay me the poet speaks incognizants
I was gifted with a vocabulary
Or thrown down a dictionary
Thesaurus Rex they called me in school
Stream of crotches, brave with a pen
It’s anonymity that ridicules
Identity suckles the breast
Who are we to believe?
The liar, tasteful, flamboyant
Or the redundant petitioner
NERUDA'S
WAVE
Teach me the meaning of a synonym
And I will show you how life works
The shortest safe route to the liquor store
The one that takes pennies and sells cigarettes by the single
The passionate syntax
The moon that howls back at us
The throwing stones reach
The climbing tree’s torque
Nothing ever came natural to me
Walk me through the territorial linguistics
And I’ll assure you the Spanish were here first
And raped and pillaged with much more affection
Now learn to read colors and say yes with your eyes closed
The passionate syntax
The dustiness of actual touch
The throwing stones reach
The climbing tree’s torque
Nothing ever came natural to me
But sorcery and carnage
Further pass the harbor I’m your guardian Spaniard
The immigrant of your inner seeing
Do not torch these jungles without me
The natives are ignorant to your means
BIRTHING THE ANCESTORS
The pathetic sun
Crawls out from its eastern shift
Leaving Magellan to die
And Dardanelles at last
for the kept who sweat dreams
they may swim or sail from soon
then reality shores- “ daylight”
the cool pale night claws
Old men twenty years nearing death
Oh, but the fish are biting today
But you my son in your school heart will be happier
You need only read the psalms of Solomon to know we are
sadder than wise
And our eyes are liable to all they are open to
So’ tear your heart from the window
Your teacher living talks to you now
Our teachers are ghost, phantoms
Heart is intent, soul is ego
Who must have known hard shoes are
needed for a hard journey
Our design is a continuous one
For the children of our creation
Who are so demanding of attention
“Until I know why I’ve chosen this path, so rugged,
brutalizing my confidence, weakening muscles in the
pretence as if to strengthen my spirit. But why, I ask as I
scavenge, scorning pride, impoverished belittled in flesh, to
preserve thoughts with what mind is left. Because the
children of my creation are so demanding of attention.”
THIS IS
WILMINGTON
Retune my guitar
Till it plays my Father’s chords
And takes me back to Harbor Park
Where I can sleep ole Hollywood off
In my C - street dreams
My Metro starts
And sprints Avalon
Where Jack still waits
Paul keeps faith
The 232 is late
There are no parades
But the Don Hotel stands higher
Than the Catalyst Cracking Tower
And that gives everyone hope in Wilmington
That gives everyone a home in Wilmington
Where the heart beats in harbor
Figueroa was born
To the first son Banning
Who gave up the land deeds
For the Mother’s in canneries,
The father’s refineries
Where the sailors pawn their sextants
Till the next ship comes in
And it always does
Because everything, everyone returns to Wilmas
Don’t go to the north side
To hustle bottles
Unless you know Dago
And don’t deliver your papers there
Cause they’ll never pay you there
Anyway, the dogs run free
The bad kids are tied to porches
But no one gets hurt
Who’s not where they don’t belong
And the east-siders
And the west-siders wear this
And face off on Avalon
Where Jack still waits
Paul Uriaz keeps faith
The 232 is late
There are no parades
Seiko Bro’s remain
The Mahar boys still sing oldies
Tony Bloss spars in the shadows
Till the street lights go out
Then comes Sunday morning
Little children walk themselves
To Saint Peter and Paul’s
As the bejos look into the din
Of the Wilmington cemetery
NOCTURNAL BALLETS
Watchman:
Our dreams are with us and shall recede
Should the wolf have attained it in its mind us to eat
Our dreams are with us and shall recede
Should the wolf have attainted in its mind us to eat
2nd
man: Bargain with this brawl. Set out our last ration soup-bone.
(asleep) Give him water if he is despaired.
Then will he go, go quietly and not displace the air. For the
seething breeze is an anaesthetist for varicose veins.
Tomorrow our journey threatens and we’ve phantoms still within.
Watchman: But the ferine… and I have but a bow.
Or the courage of direction,
distinction of nocturnal ballets. Be it I, benign. In the moon’s
maddening glow I distraught. For the nightingale, I’ve assailed,
my arrow is at a loss.
Narrator: It was for the nightingale,
he had assailed,
the watchman’s arrow was at a loss.
His last arrow, at a loss.
2nd man: But serenity was so of its decline.
Understand soldier,
(sleeping) this watch is not mine. Deal with this devil. Exchange
references.
Spill what broth is left, save the kettle. But do not awaken me
again. At least until you’ve tossed your satchel.
Watchman: He’s closer, now, than breath has
ever been. I’ve one hand clenched
in reason. The other, short of petting. What animal four legged could
resist with just this understanding. It is the sleeping who are fray. So,
with the stillness of a trap, lie down my idle friend. And if saved your
battles yonder are mine. But if again hunger should set and the sun -
oh great decline, to pass judgment on your dreams to end this night,
as will mine- I will remember, tonight we wore a force. Tomorrow, a
tiresome
REGGIE'S PLATEAU
No kinder soul
Did I ever know
Or would have sought to trouble
Had I somewhere else to go
You are charity, charity to me
You are blessed with charity
Trustful friend, when I’m in need again
Self sufficient working mentor
As sweet as the word please
These streets are rugged
And have tolled me back to you again
I have nothing, nothing have I lost
But my pride, and now that is yours.
Set me on your couch, so warm and soft
My feet will stand again, when they can or must
Till then could you open up
A can of beans, and a nice cold beer
Oh, but the world is cold too
Buddy, I’ll drink to you
And your warm heart that houses me
From vagrancy. I decree
I’ll protect you from anybody but the police
Yeah! I’ll do anything to you…
Wait! No! I mean
I’ll do anything for you not anything to you
So don’t bring up the past, unless it’s for laughs
Didn’t I teach you not to hold grudges
I was on a different plateau
You are just too decent, you would never know
Some bad men from down south
Were trying to take me out
For what they say I owe them
And I know you are more forgiving
Hey, I was on a different plateau
You would never understand
You always said yes, you just give and give
You never ask
And would you have caught on any other way
Yeah things could have gotten worst
Had I not gotten to you first
Man, these streets are for rodents
And I even owe them
But my gratitude is always with you
I’ll never take offence
To your hesitance
Hey, I was on a different plateau
When I stole your collectibles
But I’ll pay you back my friend
Before you stop ageing
You’ll never trust me the same
But you will trust me again
UNTITLED NO.2 (I
gave another dimension the slip)
I gave another dimension the slip
Now I’ve only four
One runs
I’m closing in on you
I will never be free
For even the days have numbers
And are itemized
My name came after Sunday
The longest trial
There I go again accounting
Never forgive me if it means
To forget
But I forgot already
Oh I saw your…who inquired
And said you…the other day
On a pivot, a pivotal…
I used to call it
But I told…answered
You were doing fine
And everyone sings
My walls have been distant to me lately
The windows have left me for a curtain call
I’m swerving into the fast lane
I want to buy you the love of a dog
I can’t give mind for head
How can I wash feet that are in Heaven
And they call me nonsensical
Is this sensitivity
Greg Ginn
Who else should know
UNTITLED NO.2 (The creative fluctuation)
The creative fluctuation
That pits them against such friends
Forgetting is also a chore
So I sweep the floor
After waking the day
To see it through methodically
And sing it as though melodically
Tragic starts, careless turns
Broken ties, stolen prize
As if I were an heir to a chord
And this day, today too, I dream
For Mother Nature I give you Victoria
For Victoria… Sleeping dog wake me
And you will know the death of probability
Tragic starts, careless turns
Broken ties, stolen prize
Good morning my America
My day has begun
Yes the end did come
But that was years before I was born
And my concerns are not worn
On the sleeves of my coat of arms
If my nose bleeds I inhale deep
And feed my soul
Though it never growls of hunger, or do I?
The creative fluctuation
That sends them to such ends
Forgiving will also keep score
So I remember no more
But if it is the rhymes you await
Do not expect I will be late
The words to express that which you save
Will speak kindly of your grave
Tragic starts, careless turns
Broken ties, stolen prize
I know my harmony is banned from your house
I hear the sound of machinery, sweeter than your muse
Sing me a life I can understand
As vulnerable as my own two hands
Stop tuning and play me a song
This is a working life and the hours are long
But you wouldn’t know about these things
You are too busy observing
Honesty spoken well like a trooper
And how do their eyes roll
When the clichés define the light of timing
Once again proven sharp
But secrecy, to whom it is confided
What engulfed creature told me that I could love?
That I could speak it’s linguistics into the ripens of the sun
Tragic starts, careless turns
Broken ties, stolen prize
THE GREAT
ONE IS DEAD
This morning after chanting and reading a t- shirt
I fanned through a neighbor’s paper
In search of a name like mine or the funnies
When the news of the untimely death of an inspiration (The Great One, the
great one, to many who saw through those eyes
Starring down at me, in caption eulogized) took me.
But I did not weep. I did not weep. Caught the bus as I do every day of the
week.
Even the lesser known of us dies
Feeling less alone I consoled myself
Then, “The Great One, the Great One-”
Said the person in the next seat
“-is dead, dead. Died while asleep.
What will happen? What will happen next?”
I pretended not to speak the language.
And minded the girl in back of me
Crying sweet tender tears, I could not erase.
She thought me, a stranger. It was The Great One,
The great one they loved.
No one else could earn their trust.
But!
The Great One Is Dead.
The Great One Is Dead.
The Great One Is Dead.
The Great One
Morticians readjust bids
Ageing biographers send rough drafts
Tortured missionaries send their regrets
Their regrets for the late one
Religious ornaments, on the take, converge
Moments of silence, in haste, are observed
Officials negotiate price
While sculptors practice on Christ
Tomb dogs awake in the dark cry
“Where in the stars is the Great One’s name written?”
Private scribes make final entries
Voices are horsed in eulogy
Ex- spouses, ill thought of by wards also dug up
In the humidity and debris
World leaders put war and hunger on the backburner
And negotiate for positions as pall- bearers
Because
The great one is dead
(This is where the great one left me,
scrubbing
the floors for gods and saints to walk on pass me)
WATER ON THE DANCEFLOOR
The soldiers are mounting tonight, quietly. Quiet! You too!
Or I’ll have to hide you; better than explain you. Now what
good is an easily excitably spy? Yes I have compassion…
but mostly cupboard space. And I know food only entertains
you. But, so does madness. But have you ever looked into
the insane heart and found it hungers for something other than
Klutzes in armor
Too fearful of stray
Bullets to sway
With the groove of the movement
And to look upon
The pretty figures
Atoning smiles
“There is no war,
Only the hungry at heart,
The havoc breeding sort,
Dance costly routines”-
Amongst the trim
Whom revolution offends
Like water on the dance floor.”
Klutzes in armor
Claim to keep the peace
But cannot keep a beat
“The madmen trying
To restructure society,
The sad trend crying
Why don’t we?”
It’s just water on the dance floor
Water on the dance floor
Water on the dance floor
Why weren’t they barred?
RESUSCITATE
THE WORM
Julio Kenneth strayed from the light, but hid a candle
To savor his time alone when he’d drink with his shadow
Obscured and out of touch, he would never share a bottle
I gave him his space, though I never cared for the asshole
And I wish I was better
As if I could ever be
Cheyene, the musty, a dirt clot, looked at girls half his age
Undressed with his white eye, some barely passed puberty stage
An uncle to every daughter, no skirt or blouse was safe
From the wretched hex put on by his fowl disdainful gaze
And I wish I was better
As if I could ever be
Black Magic is what the other burros called Javier
He had a way of making shiny objects disappear
Without magician tricks, smoke screens, or the use of mirrors
He was a profound mystic who had to pay his dealer
And I wish I was better
As if I could ever be
Blondie now dry as a manikin, though I suspected
This cat would give up the ghost before he would a habit His dyer need of
color, the way his mouth foamed rabid
Ask me, he high on something other than dianetics
And I wish I was better
As if I could ever be
A friend who has less need for his legs than he does for shame
Carries his dowry with him, a cold aluminum cane
Ready to shoulder the kindness of strangers who seek blame
For his lost identity as he takes another name
Molly my apprentice who read more books than I could burn
Was starving for something, he did not know enough to yearn
So I broke out a bottle of mescal and said now learn
To lap down your knowledge till you resuscitate the worm
NOW THAT YOU'RE DEAD
Now that you’re dead
What are we going to do?
If you would have stayed in bed
This wouldn’t have happened to you
No instead you had to get yourself killed
And we’re so sad; you cut us off your will
If only you would have listened to us
You wouldn’t be on the ground collecting dust
You didn’t have to leave in such a hurry
You could have said good-bye
And left us some money
Now that you’re dead
What could be worst?
Than to be without a head
In back of a Hearst
And we simply can’t afford the funeral expense
So sleep in the morgue with all of your friends
And you can rot away for what we care
Or maybe go to heaven and raise some hell up there
You’re no good for nothing. You’re a worthless wonder
And now that you’re dead you’re just six feet under
Ashes to ashes, dust to dust
Here my bones lay
Beneath the Earth’s crust
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