Assorted Poems

Twaddle, Twit, and Twoe

Went out to see a show.

Said Twaddle to Twit,

“But where shall we sit?”

Said Twit to Twoe,

“We have to know!”

Said Twoe to Twaddle,

“We'll have to do battle!”

To battle they did go,

Thus ending Twaddle, Twit, and Twoe.

TO JEAN

Thanks for

being there.

Thanks for

crying with me

in the kitchen.

Thanks for

being the sweety

that you can be.

You were

the first born

and I

was the last

We are the

circle

that encircles

our mother.

Thanks for

being there

encircling me

with sisterly love.

FLYING HOME

Someone laid out

carpet samples

down there

Someone carved out

wiggly lines

down there

All those

shades of green

down there

And then the desert

Above the wing

and far away

Frosted horizon

Sierra Nevadas

(tiny lakes)

I thought I saw

a Cessna

down there

trying to keep up

me too.

DAD

I hate talking about Dad

in the past tense

He had

He did

He was

in my head

he still

is

and always will be

Flying along

Big and Strong

me and Dad

above the clouds

How the valleys

in the clouds

reflect the valleys

on the ground.

MAN

Man of flames

(we bury him)

Flying over

the salt flats

where Burning Man

burnt

lighting up the desert

I can see

a hundred

volcanoes

Cold and sleepy

(like me)

I would like to be

a burning man

lighting up the desert

in my own

small way.

Every day I think of him

And wonder where he's gone

His pictures and the trinkets

Are all that's left of Jon

And a box of salty ashes

Made of dirt and tears and bone

Ashes in my mouth and

My heart a sinking stone.

Every day I think of him

And every night it seems

No matter how I want him to

He's never in my dreams.

As if he wants to drive away

And see the universe

While I remain behind and wait

The silence makes it worse.

MORNING IN SARATOGA

It's morning and Margaret's gone

to meet her car

It's morning in Saratoga

And she doesn't live far

And the tingle from her loving

Still tantalizes to my bones

I'm eating toast, drinking tea

with Rickie Lee Jones

The more they take away

The more me is left

The more She loves me

The easier it gets

It's morning in Saratoga

and the steam from our shower

is fogging up the windows

With Ms. Jones spinning her tales

And me typing away

I put this disc on for one or two songs

like requesting a dedication

on a late night radio show

“I didn't even know what city I was in!”

she claims

I know

It's Saratoga

It's morning in Saratoga

And the woman I love

Has gone to meet her car

It's a short walk

She doesn't live far

I've only loved

a city or two in my time

At night

with the lights of the Caroline Street brigade

casting their surreal facets

on the shadows in my room

And the crazies with their zombies

And the Skiddies

And the skid row bums

And the pizza truck selling refuse

Before the morning sun

Now it's morning in Saratoga

And the day's begun

the lady that I love

In the city that gave me life

You took away my past

okay

You gave me music

You restored my art

Everyone even Ray had a part to play

okay? Okay!

I'm silly again with an edge that wasn't there

Like an iron knife passed through the flame

Makes you hard, makes you useful

Makes the morning sun

Each one

A friend like before

My Lady through the door

The sound of the street waking up

and footsteps on the stairs

Morning in Saratoga

My Lady lives here.

SNIFF, SNIFFLE, AND SNEEZE

Sniff, Sniffle and Sneeze

Went out to meet Bob Breeze

But Bob wasn't home

He'd gone off alone

And missed Sniff, Sniffle and Sneeze.

NAZISH

Nazish was walking along

When suddenly she thought of a song

The tune wasn't right

So she got no delight

From singing a song that was wrong.

THE URN

When you burn them

Jon's ashes

Feel the heat

Let it scald you

Make your eyes run wet

Hard to breathe

When you shovel them up

Jon's ashes

Feel the weight

Like leaves, like sod

Like the weight of

A quarter of a century

Make you ache for days

When we toss them

Jon's ashes

Breathe them in

Hot and burning

Into your lungs

Jon's ashes

Make them part of you

Hard to inhale

Hard to exhale

Frozen by the results

Of that fire, that oven

When you throw them into water

Jon's ashes

Jump straight in

Hold your breath in

Jon's ashes

Feel the cold of death

The suspension of weight

The feeling of being

Swept away somewhere else

When you place them in the urn

Jon's ashes

Sealing away the sight

The smell the texture of

Jon's ashes

When you pick them up

Jon's ashes

Let them slide away

Your fingers part

He slides away

Jon's ashes.