Joy and Sorrow

When you are joyous,
look deep into your heart,
and you shall find that it is only
that which has given you sorrow
that is giving you joy. . .

When you are sorrowful,
look again in your heart,
and you shall see that in truth
you are weeping for
that which has been your delight. . .

Khalil Gibran

No, not now.

The Nurpsah quiddles by itself . . . .1973

The Nurpsah

. . . a nurp of nuppies
stood their ground'
their teeth were long,
their eyes were round,
casting glances very furtive
trying hard to be assertive.

holding on with
tooth and claw,
each possessed a
cavernous maw,
a fearsome threat
from a whiskered snout,
of their open snarling clout.

nasty nuppies
muttering pack,
sleathing all
and back to back,
pass them fast,
before they know
that i am close
to their tableau . . .

November 1979

Prelude to a Trio

Slow fade in and out . . . 2008

Power play on pavement

on rolling roads
or country lanes. . .

where fatigue
is the question. . .

and sweat
is the answer. . .

where need
is the reason. . .

and sublimity
isthe result. . .

May 28, 1986

Sky-Eye

Sky-Eye,unblinking eye, stare on . . . . 2008

At dark-thirty in my greenhouse.

dark, but warm,
perhaps too. .
i leave the door open a little
to let some heat escape,
the green plants love the heat
and the Sun all day,
the quiet is ecstasy:
my eyes slowly adjust to the murk
and peace envelopes me
like some blanketed waif,
i am unto myself
with nowhere to do
and nothing to go:
i have escaped the hubbub, the press,
the push, squeeze and shove.

i am me,
let me be . . .

December 15, 1973

Sunset Sloops

Sunsetsloops
in stunning
shades of
psychedelic
hues. . .

They ride
golden rays
of sun
on waves
of sapphire
blues. . .

9-13-08

finding yourself

You may never
find yourself
in a crowd . . .

only in the
solemn peace
of solitude . . .

1986

less than Greek,

but more than meek. 2008

the moondog knows . . .

the moondog late, in silence howls '08

Three Hai`kus

day slowly rises
pulled up by the warm red sun
and all time goes on
. . . . .

the rocks remain still
day and night have no meaning
only clinging roots
. . . . .

the gray day settles
slowly falls to leafy bed
cold grass pulls it close
. . . . .

October 1985 seventeen syllable hai`kus

The dreams of Nookertan

He who enters Nookertan might ne'er return.

The moondog

. . . in and out
of pale moon shadows
a paler form moves,
moving slowly now
as time passes,
it is an entity
that has seen much
and forgotten many things
most of everything is behind now
with little left to know
that means anything,
so the pale shadow moves on
in and out of mottled future trails,
from a brightly colored day
into a pale pool of moonlight . . .


2008

Beach torso

Sun, surf, sand, and sails 2008

In the current of life

two people poleing
their boat through the dread
headed for shoals
on the ocean ahead,

caught in a tangle
twisted in love
rolling like clouds
away and above,

two people boating
their lives gone astray
wanting to go
wanting to stay,

wrapped in confusion
their hearts are afire
hating to see
how such things transpire,

two people moving
away and apart
each one is stabbing
straight for the heart.

1972
(After I wrote the poem I stuck it in a book
and forgot about it until 1979 when I found it)

After the bath . . .

AFTER THE BATH . . . 1995

The Lake

In the beginning, there was nothing.
and then after a long period,
a lake appeared full of clean clear water,
the seed of grasses mixed and bubbled,
and the air became permeated
by the yeasty odor of fermentation,
then people came and found the lake
and they settled down and lived by the lake
and it was good,
then someone tasted of the lake
and it was good
and all drank,
and it was good,
then someone invented the guitar,
and that was good also
and the people learned to sing and dance,
and that was very good,
and they called the lake BeerLake.
and it was oh so good,
and life became a
Beer Festival.

Friday night
September 5, 2008

The King of Hell (on a friend's drinking problem)

complacent to the utmost lost inside a dream
dismal as a swamp that used to be a stream
living in a bottle the jinni of the South
drinking up his life fearful of a drouth . . .

a slave of many masters yet only one of all
can make him squirm and whimper and be a total thrall
the mistress of his lonely enscapsulated id
she drives him with her power to do her every bid . . .

pleased to be a vassal heaping tolls upon her throne
fatigued yet still enraptured so thrilled to be her drone
when his strengths are wasted and nothing is his all
she will sneer and exit saying "if I want you I will call."

1997

The son of yelladawg

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=C9L1UWSQLAI