EXCERPT

Wandering With a Roadside Prophet
(For Francis)

I borrow from Francis Thompson
with countenance, firmly indebted in admonition,
that eagles gasp with winded breath
upon a roadside diner
where meals are uniformly free.
Dressed in lace and frills arrested to a hungry eye
gilded daydreams shine in the heart of heavenly stars
from whence their brightness comes.

I am a minstrel to my own folly
wandering with a roadside prophet
grasping grapes of ardor
from farmed out groves of over abundant fields
left ripening in their happiness but despairing
with petty needs, in tears of falling dew
decaying roots of long planted histories
distilled from wines of faith endowed.
I'm left to wonder the irony
grapes hang like clothes upon a line.

Francis takes his time to the clear opium like haze
from his window seat staring out into meadows
fresh with cabbage memories
bunched in heads of armies still in battle
raged against a madness only devils and demons fear
A man of faith bides his time with honor
humility enclosed with in his heart
meekness reaches forth to grasp the clouds to ring them dry
falling into golden meadows, summers full of fruitful hours
not wasted but complete with physical and mental beauty
exercised in joyous miracle and loving the gentleness.

My how the wind loves to laugh
when the sun has shown her grace
painting gold a noon day sky in creation's glory.

Inside Willie Nelson's Guitar

Sitting and thinking with an old beat up acoustic
a man can't spend his day all the time, alone.
I hear him in his Teatro playing and drinking
Singing up a storm of dreams
Leaning out a greyhound bus yelling good-bye Fort Worth
time just carries on slow and surely
I drift outside the lines with Jack Daniels by my side.

Night life is just another scene for playing
Broken angels play their hearts like harps
Acrobats prance around doing handstands
It's all just another scene for burning memories
Just the like the old songs go
It ain't nobody's life but mine writing him more songs.
That was then this is now. Time is burning and fading fast.

A man can't spend his life all the time alone
surely destiny must have a hand in this somewhere
like an old blind man, cane walking down the boulevard
whistling a sweet refrain
about Mrs. Georgia on his mind.
A Spanish angel who sits in her garden
her tears fall in rainbow colors
cause her man fell to the ground
a vaquero once brave and sure
has gone to meet his maker
where no devil ever would.

He sits in his Teatro singing and drinking
writing of a broken heart
about a man who was lonesome and mean
he just couldn't get used to spending
all his time alone
He found a girl whose kisses tasted fine
they found a spread along the red river
had kids and raised a family
along the Texas/Oklahoma line.

Life in Synopsis

Two become one in love
For life; a synthesis in
Creation, beautiful in
Splendor where heart endures.

Tranquil bliss; a glimmer
Of an eye; an aura glows
Trimesters of pain and sorrow
Months pass by like tomorrow.

Images glow from a screen
Baby, child, pubescent teen
Learning, growing, loving
Touching and unknowing.

An awakening from a synaptic sleep
From a genetic loving soup
The world awaits a smiling grace
And her parent's embrace.

Dignified Zombie

"Every thing is Different now" ~ Don Henley

His breath is stale
but he's a dignified zombie.
Sitting there with his olive martini
waiting for some great thing to happen to him.
But it won't. Everything is different now.

His friends have gone back to their caverns
the voodoo market place has dwindled
Generations have grown older, wiser
put their dead past behind them.
Looking into cryogenic balls of crystal futures
bleak eyes look back at them and wonder why.

What was I thinking?
What failed youthful exuberance
enthralled such experience of thoughtless stupidity
to waste my years on frolic exultations and youthful expenditures,
The memories seem vague and unexciting now.

The laughter false and congenial,
unlearned through example
of role models who knew less than I
Yet acted with unending disgrace and decorum
in the name of vanity
and retreated when pride was questioned.

So he sits in his recliner with his olive martini
his pool and mansion surrounded in black attire
haunted by his friends who are just as dead as he
in their gothic fashion way-
yet the world they knew has changed.

Everything is different now.