Outdoing Neruda

The roosters crow

24/7….music and

arial bombs come

without reason.

My love is lost in

the crowds that circle

the Zocalo. My time

is up. I await my fate

basking in the humanity

that swirls around me. 

Even My Company Forsakes Me (For Salvador Quasimodo)

Relying on my sad hands

that have seen and felt so much stress

is a comfort, because, they can still push

the keys, shift the gears, but, my hands

are an after shock.

Of the life that we all have lived….

and, did we learn?  And, did we 

see? Our bodies hold our life secrets,

like film, they are portraits of our lives.

I can’t remember the events that led to

most of the scars on my arms. 

We walk around in our bodies,

living testimonials of our lives.

For some, we are easily read.

For others we are bodies only 

in relationship to their own,

to be sorted and judged and

put in the place we deem right.

We are life, we are art, music, dance,

drama, color, flavor. It seems too much

so, we want to contain ourselves and

feel comfortable….which  is called death.

It takes some effort, some study and

practice, to be able to just go along with

the way life is, to appreciate, to not be so

judgmental, to change our focus from this

to that.  Because, that’s where it’s at.

Morning Raga

Early Morning Poem  (For Arn)

What would I hear you play

if we got up early because we

had something to do, or, we

just couldn't sleep…..or, we

had been up all night, and this

was just a petite denouement

before we got some rest before

we continued?

What raga was that on the 

guitar the last night? 

It was the mirror of that morning.

When you said: "Tisch, don't go…"

I really didn't want to.

Bored Silly

Like a yak stuck in snow

at fifteen thousand feet…

"What the ?"

Like a pomegranate,

ripened, doomed

upon a tree.

Like an old football 

player, body finally

getting the message.

Everything nobody

wanted me  to be.

Sitting in sweatpants.

I win.

Waiting To Go Onstage

Every night I go out,

say my piece, hide behind

the curtain. Every night he 

kills me, slays me,  if only

he was a better actor.

To Two New Friends That Are Old

I don't want to impress you…

I want to explode…go out in

a blaze of glory..the last chance

for a thousand miles.

We've been there…it's all a 

platform now, to rant where

you will, where you can, where

you think someone might be 

listening.

What else keeps us alive?

The chance that someone

off hand might glimpse us

and find us interesting.

Today's Hot Poem

Well, maybe not….

A hook is good to catch

a fish….humans may be

another species, but, they

take the bait quite well.

Looking onto blank paper

is, for me, like looking into

a mirror, and, what I see,

is you…..yeah, and me, 

and world..being dramatic

is communication beyond

language.

I want to do you…I want 

to mess with you…stir you…

roil you….why? 

Good question.

Because….you're still there.

Haiku

Old man, cigarette,

on my third drink already…

Sun bright…still air…breathe.

All the poets are

with me tonight in my dream..

we sing in silence.

Finding a way out

is not possible, really…

the way in right here.

I can't see the birds

outside…only hear roosters…

but I know they're there.

One day, then, the next…

simplicity, beauty, peace….

digging my own grave.

How long, oh, how long?

the starlings gather and swirl

in the empty sky.

So, Words:

Words are what I have now

and a platform to spew them

from…..oh glee!! I know I'm

just talking to myself…why not?

Reality Television: the home game.

Is there post-modernism in poetry? 

A fish? No…that's not it….black…

black…black…black…black….black…

white….black…black….or something.

Meanwhile clean space…..white…

white…white….purple…purple….

white…white…white …sunlight…

smoke…smoke…music….movement

of the mind…echoes down time….

strange planet to find myself on...

strange time of "The Big Boy"…

you don't have to look into the sky

to see aliens….we're alienated…

inoculated…  a whole list of words….

the words, the matrix, the virus

has us.

Let's Go

I mean, in a good way

a freeway…a highway…

I mean, flowers are nice

and included, but, it's not

just all about them.

Lion cubs playing

are training to hunt

and kill…you know

when you're being hunted

because you can hear

the silence.

The mandelbrot is set…

our Casablanca in the swirl

of chaos disappears in the mist…

soon we will be naked with just

our hearts…if not already.

When I was young, I just wanted

to feel safe. As I grew up and realized

I was in deep tofu, some instinct kicked

in and led me to find the road less 

traveled.  I knew I was blind in a forest

of enigmas, but, somehow, I stumbled

across the truth  (OK, ok, My truth).

But, enough about that.

I still listen to the music.

I still see the rainbow of illusion.

My heart has room  to breathe.

Back To Tepoztlan

Back to perfect weather, beautiful

flowers and my freshly painted and

cleaned casita….back to temporary

paradise…back to a monkish existence…

back to conspiracies and poetry and

afternoons of staring out the window…

back to my routine (every German 

needs one): coffee on the steps of Cafe

Tepozt…meeting the few old ex-pats

at another cafe…today a young, handsome

Canadian journalist en route to Argentina

played his guitar and teased us old people

lovingly.

The Stones

Are where you go

if you want to listen

to where you've been

there if you were.

Average, no, not anyone

at that time, from the

hippies in San Francisco

to the ticket taker in

Minneapolis bus station.

Xanadu in time, not space….

it was everywhere at once,

a glitch in the Matrix before

the Matrix got popular again.

Sorry

I know what you want.

I know what you like.

It's not me you're interested in,

nor should it be…it's what comes

out of the cabesa.

Well, my friends, good enough for

you…good enough for me.

Sorry, too vague….maybe I don't

know what I mean…but, as if a 

magic lantern…oh, never mind.

Neither Eloi or Morlock, I'm 

somewhere in between…

….the world is closing in…the

Mother is angry….I'm not playing

to an audience….sorry.

Two Friends

The ones I visited in California…

A. ….Basketball player, Sitarist,

Promoter, Salesman, Educator…

bouts of depression over the years…

creative mind on a threadbare

treadmill…meaning no traction.

Physically imposing, likes to look 

tough…his likes are as abrupt as 

his dislikes…polite, but direct.

Like all Germans (ancestry) wants

to keep his heart hidden… the

sensitive see it.

J.  …doctor for years…DEA thought

they had a target and brought him 

down…lost his license…marshaled

his whole educated, immigrant son's,

Sissyphisian, stubbornness to get it

back so he can quit the profession.

The path well taken….a rut of a life,

in a way, but he can still play Scott

Joplin…still gets the joke, he

never grew up.

They both exhibited a bit of angry 

old man….not grumpy…slightly

impatient…not distressingly so…

certainly not for me. I was happy 

to see we could navigate together

the waters of our lives, even for 

a short time.  

Marin County

Driving through the twisty hills

so many houses tucked amazingly

into the windy roads….redwoods

share the space…one can just tell

that people love living here.

And there is a hangover of  the

Sixties…the same way that Japan is

hungover from WW2….it's a 

hangover of lesse fair, que sera sera,

of course, money takes over, corrupts 

and pollutes here….but there is still

real raw organic spirit here….I swear.

Koan

There is no fourth man

Old People Talking To Themselves

Old people talk to themselves.

Call that whatever you want.

I think it's natural….especially

now that I am one of them.

Some don't vocalize…some do.

I do…I don't really care who hears…

I consider it a service.

I'm with two other old men now…

it's a visit. They constantly talk to 

themselves..they wander about the

space here as I do on my own. It's

so beautiful.

Post San Francisco: Travelogue Decompression Moment

It was a beautiful trip….seems like I saved this
one up for the right reasons..My friend, A., lives
in a house owned by D., and my bosom friend, J.,
visited for a couple of days from Chicago…I bought
a little Cannon, (camera), right away so I could capture
visions from the visit. The camera turns out to be, (not
not to be), an exciting little beast…and, after patiently
trying to learn something about this new technology,
(two words in that sentence I abhor anymore: technology
and learning) I realized, like Joseph Cotton in "The
Forbidden Plant",  these new beings that are creating
these new intelligent inventions are so advanced, that
if I don't take it step by step….and not be concerned too
much if I don't get much past step three….. my
head will just explode….."Scanners"?

And, yeah, the camera is important because I captured
video of A., D., and J. playing the piano…all excellent
musicians. That right there was the price of admission.
The could be seen as "The Big Chill 2013" It gets more
like "Waiting For Godot" every year….
.I suppose I should try watching the videos both when I
have and haven't been drinking….
There was some rich conversation in there too….and
…masks.

Going into the Beat Bookstore I actually was a bit in awe
because we knew the same people. My friend, H., joined
us for that and to eat Thai food and chat…H. had been with
Leary at Millbrooke, and had some good stories, which we
all liked to hear because we were the same people…..

It's Nice To Have Old Visitors

As long as they are ambient,

Because,

They've already run the gauntlet

So,

If they're still alive, they've learned

to survive, tanned by experience, 

cured like succulent meat.

My experience  here now of three

older men in the same space of

similar energies if not propensities

is as if I was alone…..with privileges. 

San Francisco Update

Castro Valley….just like the rest of America. 

We did go to The Warf, watched football, got a 

glimpse of the Bay, bought a hoodie, (Christ it

was cold)…going back in Friday to meet an old

friend. Everyplace is becoming the same place

in America more and more…..the earth, even the

same dirt is not so visible…earthiness…but I did

share a cigarette and a chat with a very nice black 

woman outside the pub. That kind of simple 

human contact means everything anymore.

I did see myself in the mirror more than I ever do

in Mexico, so, I got a haircut. Not exciting, exactly,

but, really good. It's hard to get obsessed about the

tragic things that are happening in American right

now, because, right now, I'm in America, and I
just  had the best Indian food I've tasted in years,

bought some things I wanted at reasonable prices,
and as always, am completely blown away by the 

infrastructure. It doesn't add up…..yet. Somehow,

it's rather like balancing on the top of a wedding

cake.  I have no idea what that means….later.

Anything?

Well, no, not much.

Already in the waiting room

for my trip…already gone to

Ferlinghetti's gone world….

listening to myself on radio

years ago reading something

I still like…better than some 

old magazine.

What's next seems already 

to be happening...

what's left is anybody's guess.

In The Neighborhood

Like horseshoes or hand grenades,

I'm close to where I should be for my

upcoming trip with San Francisco.

The last dance, the last go round, or,

it might as well should be.

"I was in the neighborhood, and, I 

thought I would just drop out."

"I've had enough experience so, I know

when to say yes...it always happens at

any time."

"Like music, you know when you hit the 

groove, and your life lets you take you there."

I'm not there yet….you know the transition

when you are about to go somewhere…you

can feel it. 

But, I''m in the neighborhood….I've always

been there.