Burning Effigies of 2009

Today's verse Dec.. 31, 2009

Songs for the old depression and new year.

Worse than Bukowsk, perhaps,
those who couldn't even be bothered
to write it down, about the bluebirds and
the other stuff, but hey!
I'm just saying that you are going to value some
different stuff along the way
no matter what you say

today.



So I can say that if you can give me the time of day
then I would be a man who would stand in the way
and say
that I am the only man who is here today
and if you would like another man then

hey!
That's OK.

cuz I was only here



today

In the Spirit?

Here's Annie's latest card design. She was inspired at an early age by Peter's work. While we are not planning a career in patristics at this point, she is keeping her options open, while studying the urban environment and community arts (I think it means that you know how to paint a mural next to the community garden, but it is similar to patristics in that it is all Greek to me).


On another topic, the girls and I spent a little time yesterday reading the liner notes and lyrics from the Brothers Twain album. We all felt the love.

Joyeuse....., and all that

At the Auberege de Grand Sacconex

Courtesy of Peter. Note Pedro in the background.

Today's Verse: 22 December 2009

I wanted a great man
To be
Love
Worship
Serve
Slay
Mourn
Worship
Love
Serve
Be

Today's Verse: 10 December 2009

What brought the rat in the gents
I'd like to know what brought it
Was it transient like a passenger
Or did it have a goal
For which it vanished beneath a bench
That runs along a wall
Acknowledged, by avoiding, me
I respected its need for discretion

I can't think of everything
I'm cursing cause I lost it
Maybe the boss
At a cost
Bears a cross
Inside's soft
Exhausted

Wherever he is the boy is scared of serpents
Though at home he lives in comfort
Cause he believes he is free
From sudden lunges and sibilant surprises
When traveling a sneaking suspicion awakes
That he may not be entirely safe

I can't think of everything
But the boy may just have something there
Maybe I too should take care
Beware
The unseen snake's
Silent steady intent
Thrust
Agape

I've seen a newborn puppy plays underneath the hedgerow
Who'll raise the whelp to bare his shiny fangs in an agreeable grin
To winningly sport and ingratiate
Readying to sink them deep in
Love or hunger
Any way appetite

I can't think of everything
It's morning and I gotta go
About my business
Just like everyone I know
Selfless in pursuit of self
It's in my chromosomes

A diaphanous fold of phlegm floats above
Rising on visible currents of warmth
Blissed out on its own beauty and menace
Patient and only apparently passive
Like a sigh of the inevitable
Wonder what it makes of me

I can't think of everything
I'm sorry I lost it
Lost it completely
I was feeling the pressure
In the grip of the vice
Crushing my spirit
Vexing my mind
I'm sorry I lost it
Now I'm just fine

Songs for the New Depression: It's No Fun Being Poor

It’s no fun being poor
It’s really quite a bore
It’s not as much fun as some people think
There’s no glamour, there’s no glitz
It’s pretty much the pits
It’s no fun being poor, it kind of stinks
I thought that I could be like Garbo in Camille
But when my tummy’s rumbling it’s all too sadly real
The worry’s made me ill
Can’t afford a doctor bill
It’s no fun being poor and that’s for sure!

It’s no fun being poor
No money for the grocery store
I’ve had Top Ramen three nights in a row
Can’t stand KM&C
Guess it’s beans and rice for me
It’s no fun being poor and I should know
Not going out to restaurants is what I find the hardest
I don’t think I was cut out for the life of a starving artis
tBefore I give up the ghost
I’ll have mayonnaise on toast
It’s no fun being poor and that’s for sure

It’s no fun being poor
The landlord’s at the door
Saying he’ll kick me out on my caboose
He says that he’ll evict me
But no jury would convict me
For spending my last few bucks getting juiced.
Mother Theresa may have taken a vow of poverty
It made her loved by millions but it won’t make a saint out of me
Being poor’s no joke
Bumming your last smoke
It’s no fun bring poor and that’s for sure!

Well Jim I didn't bring you anything for your birthday, but I'm trying to build a fire on the first cold day here in Berkeley and drinking Spanish wine and I wish you were here with us playing your guitar. Here's to 50 more.

While we're on the subject of alternative headgear

and Thanksgiving, I would like to present this recent discovery from my daughter's closet.
I don't know if Dionysius himself recommended it, but it is good to be nice to your mother-in-law, in any event.

A little something I learned from Dionysus

Songs for the New Depression: Papa Stay and Fight

Papa called me to his side
And told me plain and clear,
“Son, you know my time has come
I have to move from here
Though it breaks my heart to say it
I fear I must take flight
I cannot stay here on the farm.”
I said, “Papa, stay and fight.”

He said, “The land has turned to dust
And there’s no grass or grain
And though all day it thunders,
There’s hail instead of rain
The livestock is all starving
And stricken down with blight.
I cannot stay here on the farm.”
I said, “Papa, stay and fight.”

He said, “The water’s noxious now
There’s nothing left to drink
The creek here runs as red as blood
The fish died, and they stink
The sky’s covered with locusts
The day’s as dark as night
I cannot stay here on the farm.”
I said, “Papa, stay and fight.”

I said, “Papa, we Auerbachs
Have always worked this land
We’ve built the house and barn
With our hard-working hands
We’ve suffered and we’ve struggled
And toiled with all our might.
The farm’s your home”, I said to Papa.
“You must stay and fight.”

He said, “My body’s swollen
And covered with boils and sores
It’s time to cross that river
To a home on the other shore.
And there I will be healed and whole
And bathed in gentle light.
It’s time to go, I can’t stay here.”
I said, “Papa, stay and fight.”

Toy Piano

The show is over
Ended bleakly
No brass band
And no soprano

Out of tune and
Playing weakly
Tinkling on a
Toy piano

Our song still plays on….

Today's Verse: 17 November 2009

Something slipped
my mind
slipped just
out of reach
then out
of sight
then
forgot it
partly
entirely

On the edge
Around the periphery
Obscured by rocks
In shadows
Darkness

Glimpse movement
recognize it
the instant
fleeting
gone
again

Not forgotten

Dig the classic T.

Peter and Jim, thank you for the kind birthday wishes. You make an old roundhouse man's eyes fill with water. I had a delightful Election Day weekend: Juliana took me to Yosemite National Park, where the schedule was more or less the following: early afternoon, hiking; late afternoon, drinking wine; evening, reading Moby Dick. It could only have been improved by the company of old friends.

Happy Birthday Johny!

I hope you're being treated well
From morning until night
That pleasure and fulfillment tell
The story of your life

I hope your noble spirit soars
Through depths to breathless heights
Encompassing the earth and more
Exulting in its flight

I wish that I could be this day
In your cherished company
To wonder at the way we are
And how we came to be

Though far away, you're in my mind
Your presence I perceive
First Jim, now you, have crossed the line
What next shall we conceive?

Half a Century

At half a century
our thoughts begin to tend
towards how we may support ourselves
when colder days descend

At half a century
through spectacles we look
and must resort to stronger ones
when we would read a book

At half a century
one feels assorted aches
and some of them may have to do
with thoughts of past mistakes

At half a century
new lines on face appear
and what we've made ourselves to be
becomes a bit more clear

At half a century
old questions still remain
they rattle round and round within
a more hard-wired brain

At half a century
a friend is still a friend
and may God grant you many years
before your years shall end


Happy Birthday, Johny!

Sub Mission

Today's Verse: 24 October 2009

There's more to life
There's death
Your wish
Second most dear
Close held
Compressed
A burning coal
Fire

From when you're socialized
Accustomed to your place
A kernel of lust
Passionate kin
Of its creative twin
Is conditioned, constrained, controlled
Within

The ever mounting desire to consume
Purge, annihilate, destroy
Tamed, ignored, caged
Rationalized

It wants out
To express its dark
Nature
To rage

A current may
Forge a channel
To a rising tide
That swells and frees it
To merge, fulfilment
In grand deluge

The tide recedes
Desire contracts
Once more enclosed
Concealed
All 'round
Just under the skin

Today's Verse: 13 October 2009

I'm friends with the door
It won't shut me out
I'm friends with the floor
It won't let me down

I'm friends with the clock
That sits by the bed
Its steady tick tock's
Like a poem I read

Chorus:
I like my friends
I like them there
Whether they know
Whether they care

I like my friends
Like them alot
Whether they're good
Whether they're not

My friendship's a railway
With weeds in between
It bisects the forest
Dark silent unseen

My friendship's a country
Of mountains and plains
It hitchhikes on highways
And wanders back lanes

My friendship's a stranger
Obscure and complete
My friendship's in danger
Exciting and sweet

My friendship's a chain gang
Partners in crime
Entangled in mischief
Imprisoned in time

I'm friends with the losers
Who lose though they cheat
I'm friends with the bruisers
Who battle defeat

I'm friends with the lovers
I'm friends with the bums
I'm friends with the others
Who leave them the crumbs

I'm friends with the nigger
Whose secret I keep
I like the grave digger
Who'll put me to sleep

The soldier the preacher
The tin-hearted whore
We've been friends for years
We'll be many more

Be your own best friend
Psychologists say
Why should I pretend
Why put on a play

I belong to our friendship
It's not part of me
Without it I'm blind
Within it I see