Johnny's Curse

"May the fleas of 1000 camels invade
your armpits" said Johnny Carson once
to his sidekick Ed McMahon
what a great quote to remember
now and then
and send it to deserving persons
like the dean of this law school
who lied to me yesterday
and lied to herself
and lay in the bed of deception on
a mat filled with fleas, each one a myth,
a distortion, a gossipy tale, distrust,
fear, a manipulation and a struggle
for power and control
which she'll never get against
the powerful men who run this place
yes indeed, may the fleas of 1000
camels invade her deserving armpits.

Chicago, March 2000

Dissatisfaction

Fog outside
a lonely meal and an endless
cough and no sense of hope
for my mental wellness
plain bread and butter
unheated water
rows of pills and a cat
begging for my love
and attention
the kind certain to make her just as sick as I
Satisfaction
all of the above and someone to hug me
through the end of this miserable prison term
the sentence for my crime of not stopping to rest
and let others be there to support me
Faction:
A set of divided loyalties within me
one group of feelings saying all of the above
is too harsh
another set saying just let it be
it's another day in the stressed out
life of a lonely visiting law professor.

Amrit's Disciple

In 1992 I took a vow

in the beautiful Berkshire mountains

with a teacher

who sprinkled holy waters on my head

and left me seeing with closed eyes

lavender hosts of light

as his long Hindu dress brushed

the edge of mine

where I sat in meditative repose

believing in the connection between

spirit and love and all beings

and promising myself never to forget

to reach out and experience the sweetest

form of love

that of trusting in the moment

and breathing into the

yogic experience of Life.

First Love

I remember when you sat

at the desk at 5 a.m. or so and I

half asleep looked over at the furious

pace of your writing down every feeling

image desire and dream that came rushing

out from your soul to your brain

to your heart and through to your hands

and I was awakened by the sound of

your passionate pace

and now almost thirty years later

I reach out to your memory and wonder

where you are and what happened to

that brilliant star in the sky that I knew your

mind to be

and I wonder if you are even still alive

and if you even remember me

and if you ever really forgave me

for joining hands with you on a path

we were destined not to complete

together

and for loving you so deeply

so richly

and then so harshly

letting you go.

Visiting Professor Blues

Grain meal that's "healthy"

but that I cooked in a Teflon pan

my life is full of contradictions

Lo-fat and a bunch of cookies

rich in caramel and chocolate waiting

for me in the fridge

sober alcoholic and these

alternative medicines

prepared in 70% grain alcohol!

Oh me oh my

How old and tired I feel somedays

Cooked and tossed around

in a bowl of confusion

the world of politics

is not for me

I am learning I'd rather be

buttered up and fried in that

Teflon pan than

be eaten alive by

law professors who need

to act out their

insecurities on me!

Gold Coast Bells

Chime

for the living

a stony realization

that although I feel

squeezed in

by the tall buildings

and although the city laughs

tonight outside my 9th floor

window

the street lights did not

turn on in my heart

and I panicked

and felt singularly

alone

unable to embrace

the friendly

chime

forgetting that

there are times

when we need to be

our own best company.

Pike's Peak and Down

Bump, bump jiggle

bump, the tightness in

my ear drum

reminds me of how high

we are on this

Colorado mountain road

food tumbling around

my tummy

girlfriend at the wheel

doin' a fine job of

getting us through the

red rock,

the hard rain

and smoky grey clouds

that surround my little 'ol

body a tremblin' in

both excitement and fear

Yikes, the feel of a Pike's Peak

trek on the way down

as she shifts down from 2d

to first and we gaze yonder

into waves and waves of

clouds and mist

and eerie but fantastically

majestic hues

that tell you the hand of the goddess

has been here and is gently guiding

you down

Rumble rumble on a sharp curve

over red dirt and gravel

a wide view over flat

plains, snow capped

distant ranges, pale blue lakes

and a giant's playground

of rusty pebbles

Trust is the growing feeling

as I descend and in awesome wonder

and delight

take in the highs and the lows

hoping to grasp with an artist's sight

one more curve

another 10,000 pines

a flash of lightning miles away

and the comforting signs

of being just a few more

miles

a few hundred yards

and a few more feet

from the bottom

and The End.

8/14/95 -Colorado

Glamour

I love glamourous women
painted lips
pearls
low cut dresses
black silk
thin gold bracelets
and really simple earrings
a hint of an expensive cologne
soft curls
and a rich red velvet sofa to sit on
no reason to give
for imagining the
elegance of a woman
and her cat
fluffy and warm
on a Sunday afternoon
enjoying a poem
and eating a box of chocolates.
Care to join?

FIVE CAPE COD POEMS

(1) BEACH

The mainland
is but a smear
of flattened grey blue paint on
the horizon
as fishing boats
head north in search
of lobster pots
and in safe distance
of shipwrecking
hidden sandbars

Gentle waves climb and dance
upon a strand of charcoal like
and mossy boulders
the wind is making
an angrier sea today
than yesterday's mellow calm
when fishermen waited
for the tide's turn in hopes
of a decent catch of
striped bass or herring

Seven colors of pebbles surround
my feet on the beach today
which I can see was visited
much earlier by a morning stroller
I am in no place to meet those
icy and tempestuous waters
into which the seagulls dive so easily
in search of swimming prey
I would rather keep warm
in the sand and toss grains
and pebbles and bury
or mourn the red and black ladybug
lying next to a rusty orange pebble
who must have met an untimely
death last night on
this Cape Cod shore.
@May 1999


(2) STUBBORN AND ON VACATION

While I spent three days
working on a writing
I did not think twice
about the essay that was due
last month
Ahhh...
how wonderful this seascape feels
and how powerful its effects
on my mind and my body because
though I could have worked
on that essay
I do not feel an ounce of guilt
for waiting and putting off
a task
that is far less important
or urgent than
embracing my stubborm
spirit's voracious appetite
for these ocean sounds
and pebbled beaches
which I must leave
with longing and sadness
after today.

(3) SAND AND SKY AND MORE


I know you cannot hear it
but just imagine the melancholy
horn sounding in the distance
in tempo
and throughout the evening
until morning
Now see in your mind's eye
a faraway sailing ship
with a white hull and long
masts and other gear for
hauling in mass quantities
of lobster, fish, mussels and clams
and place that smooth sailing boat
on a Cape Cod blue of ocean
with a seagull
calling out in a mile high sky
of white clouds
and seat yourself
in this mindful photo
on white and tan grainy sands
and now open your arms
to the new day
awakened
to whatever comes forth
as a means to express
how happy you are here.

(4) CAPED HISTORY

Cross legged and sitting on
moist sands
like an Indian Chief
about to smoke the peace pipe
she looked out wistfully
at the lonely waters of the sea
and believed she heard the
ancient cries of the
three thousand or more
ships wrecked upon these
New England ocean doors
and she imagined
men
and women lost in the night
and praying final words
in Puritan faith
and wondered why
the difference in centuries
cannot change the rhythm
of the waves on a Sunday then
or now
when the sky is a happy blue
and terns and seagulls enjoy
a veritable feast of
hunting game
and she wondered if the pebbles
strewn about her near and far
might contain some of the very rocks
once tossed against these battered boats
by an angry goddess of the earth
waiting in suspense for the arrival
of these witless invaders of
native and indigenous lands.


(5) SALT MARSH

Low tide
blue and even
deeper blue
In the distance
a light house
and quiet
in the seagrasses as white sands
surface and the high morning sky
lengthens
like arms outstretched
appear the welcoming
yellow and tan sandbars
for curious feet
and webbed predators for the tiny
crabs, mussel and snails
Fox and heron, raccoons
sea rat and clams
old and new
grasses of brilliant springtime hues
mosses of a deeper sheen
and rocks painted
black in a drying greyish green
wetness upon which
gulls
and ducks
may land and observe
a new day
on the salt marsh.

The Flood

(based on hearing of events in Ciudad Acuña, Mexico)

He was probably just
7, 8 or 9
leaving his work of bagging
groceries and pushing carts
much too late
with a few tips in his pocket
maybe for a mother
or a little sister
or brother
a contribution to the
meager household funds
for food or clothing
or the toys father
could not buy
and one day it rained
much too hard
and the path home
in this colonia
at the Mexican border
flooded

and in his tiredness
at 11 pm or so
his judgment and
that of his two companions
was overwhelmed

and they thought they could swim
across the bridge
and maybe they held
each other's hands
but then they could not
and someone let go
because the exhaustion from

the day's work of pushing carts

carrying groceries to cars

was too much

for the small thin arms

in a white shirt

and uniform blue pants

and the torrential gushing water

too strong
and little fingers unlocked

and separated
the boys
the little workers
let go into the cold waters'
embrace
into the doorway out of
a short lived life of struggle
observed daily by
the shoppers' eyes
blinded to their plight
by their accustomed
indifference.

@Fall 2000

The friendly pies

They didn't really know each
other yet
they chatted about their pasts
and laughed
and ate lemon
pecan
and pumpkin pie
and in the talking asked
and answered more questions
in between gulps
laughing or asking more
about life's whens or whys
and about how to eat favorite pies
and dishes circled

the snug dining room

slices of pie

slices of life

making friends

and as I swirled
the flavors
on my tongue
I remembered
at the end of the feast
that it was a Friday night

the weekend's beginning
a very good night

to meet

greet

and eat

unforgettably

delicious pie.

Conceptual Thoughts

I swish inside her full belly
and hear the sounds of
my drinking father
and her crying in the
middle of the night
we have committed a grave sin
the three of us
in the eyes of a strong
yet impatient Abuela
Como es que lo haz
hecho otra vez?
How is it that you once
again have given
your passion to a man
who cannot possibly
take good care of you
and your already fatherless
three daughters?
I hear the words and do
not understand
them
but I know the sensation
of tension
(her belly tightens)
and fear
(I suffocate and reach
for a deeper corner
of my little house)
and suddenly
the tension ends
the loud angry
grandmother
has slammed the door
and taken away
my sisters
and now it is just
the three of us
Daddy has
driven us to Arizona
Mommy is now
married
I swish happily
waiting to push out
of her canal
and look
into the eyes of
my nervous
but happy Mama.

Against Isolation

The clock ticks
the music flows
the candle burn
the cat sleeps
hand on my chin
as I
contemplate
another day of not
really knowing
what the hell I'm supposed
to be doing as
a "grateful servant"
today
and being willing
to do it anyway
scooping out
as much love
as I can find for myself
in this lonely heart.

@2000

Two Candles

Flame rising
are you my anger
and frustration
over not getting a job today
or are you the symbol of my
prayer for wisdom and clarity
about the next stop to take?
Trembling flame next to it
are you the candle that
burns my fears away
this morning as I
sit here resisting life on life's terms
pretending that I am patient and wise
and clear
and seeing instead
how stuck I am in my attitudes
of despair, disgust
and indifference?

Burn candles
burn away
my disappointments
my fears
and my desperate
attempts to predict the
unfolding of this short life
this flaming rocket of
female essence
aging passion
loving humanity
that I am.


@2000

Euthanasia

Whether a noose
or a pill
or a shot
or the cancer
itself
in the thinking
about killing
my very sick kittycat
I am dying
inside.

Headstone

Sitting with legs crunched
in an armchair
apple of my eye
over by the table
my pen and me
thinking together
sadness evoked
by the sunny weather
because behind the curtain
after she took her last breath
there also shone a brilliant desert sun
and I knew not how to comfort
myself
or the child in me
and gosh
I hate memories
that are locked
in the cool breezeway of
contemplation
that if I just rub my hand against
the cold cement I can pick up the
fading imprint of a chapter of my life
when I helped close Her Book of Life
and began to think seriously
about writing mine.
@4/2001

At the End

[on Jane and Betsy]

The woman with cancer

opened the door

for me

we greeted each other

and I thought and said

"you must be Jane"

and I asked for the caretaker

of the woman who is dying of cancer

the one leaving huge teardrops

wherever she stands

feeling the passion and love

they have shared

and the days left

with each other

and the presence

of Death between

their sheets at night

and the caretaker

of the woman with cancer

managed a small laugh

and ate a little

so much more

in her anxious state

than her patient

who had not eaten

in two weeks

and Death hovered

nearby

hanging in the air

draping the garden pots

and the hanging planters

like lanterns below

the canopy of trees

in a space of greenery

and color they had

arranged and loved

together

and the Love in the house

and the anticipated moment

of the last goodbye

filled every corner

and shelf

but the friendly

chatter of this

one afternoon held off

the scorching heat

that made it a chore to play

and wilted the breath

of a cancerous woman's

dying day.

@ Austin 8/11/00

Morning Opera

Head on my pillow
felt heavy with
an Italian opera
going full blast
in my sleep
in it I am a crazed
alcoholic mean old man
calling out for
peace of mind
from a window
The dream seer

would say

You are Him

He is You

and we understood

each other's
complaint
both

insane
both

in pain
and then poof!
I am awakened
operatic words
not sung not spoken
the tenor
residing in my head
my dreams
my pillow
rent free
We took a break
and it felt good
going to the opera
such a good time

and I didn't have to spend
a dime.

Mama in the Sound of Spirit

Ma
Mom
Mamma
I hear you
calling my
Name

I am fine
I am sewing clouds now
and making blankets of rainbows
I am running through the woods
I always wanted to see

I ride elephants
and hear the music in the rain
I curl up under the wings of eagles
and ducks and the lumbering
joy of mountain bears.
I am right beside you
whispering your name
reminding you of
the love we learned to share

And your abuela
she is here too
we have mountains for couches
and trees with which
to stir the paints for brilliant skies

Do you remember my singing?
Open the windows during those
Southern storms and listen carefully
for the sweet harmony weaving itself
on a symphony
of torrential rains

Don't be afraid
of those gray skies
they're the curtains
of an awesome
performance for gods
and queens

Do not cry
sweet daughter
I am here
dancing on the waves
of an ocean of love for you
hearing your prayers
and offering you hope

stand up
child of sadness
and wipe your tears
and embrace your Mama
tu madre
tu Lucita
the light in your eyes
the idea in your head
the friend in your moments
of passion for making the world
a little happier
and its troubles soothed slowly
in the wealth of the goddess's
love and light.

@10/1998, Austin, Texas

Gate Number Wait

The man with the hat
waved goodbye
at the gate
the friend looked over
and realized all the planes were
delayed because
of air traffic and snow

calling it a day in a
comfortable place she could call
home
would come
very late

the fretting attendants
offered vouchers
and comfort
as they exchanged quick glances
and a few worried people settled
in for a long wait, naps
and glanced once more
at their watches
pulled out their books
to read
checkbooks to balance
phones to dial
and messages that could
be charged at half the rate

the pacing continued
and so did the snow and the rain
mindless chatter filled the room
the din of the heaters took away
some of the gloom
it was another day of travel
in the northeast
and another trip of no great
waste
as we all contemplated
the delayed flight we had
run for in cabs, trains and limos
with such
incredible haste.

@NYC-pre-9-11

Poeta Enamorada

Las palabras
que oí por la
primera vez
en mi vida
llenas de cariño
fueron en este dulce
idioma
el Español
Pero las palabras
que te dirigí
cuando por
primera vez
pude decirte
con toda mi mente
corazon y alma
"te quiero"
fueron en este dulce
idioma
que es la música
del amor

Siento no se qué

confundida
y cansada
de tanto arreglar
nunca podiendo
ver el camino
en frente de mí
nunca sabiendo
si estoy haciendo
lo que se requiere de mí

Lloro

Le pego a las páginas
con mi pluma
me jalo el cabello
gritos y llanto fuertes
se escapan de mi garganta
como tigres y leonas
escapándose de la jaula
con hambre
y coraje

Siento poco
siento demasiado
y te pregunto
por qué no me
das la mano
y me llevas
cubierta bajo tu mirada
y buena protección?

Porque no me dejas oir to voz
en esta noche larga que es mi
duda y falta de fé?

@Austin, Tejas 2009

Buddha's Pearls

He sits in peaceful meditation

something I have a hard time doing

He wears glittery beads

from a parade

and two candles in purple vases

flicker in front of him day or night

The Buddha's pearls belong to a mother

now gone who left

behind a daughter

who does not know

the Buddha but

tries to live like the Buddha

wearing pearls and seeking

peace in the soft shimmer of a

strand of beads each one like

a mark of time

at rest and yet alive

at once.

@Austin, TX July 2009

Yellow Page

The skin has weathered

on this right hand

where the veins hold a river

of the blood of my ancestors

incense fills the air

and on the waves of a smokey carpet

I travel in time

to the clink clink and sharp

aroma curling a path from

an incense holder

to the altar

dedicated to a lady in blue

surrounded by a

halo of stars

dots of light

streaming down

like from a strand of Christmas lights

a faint memory of my teen years

inside the nunnery school

where life was so simple

obey

sometimes rebel

be cared by substitute

mothers, teachers

in black and white

the wives of the Christ

I longed to embrace

and be like at once

The skin on my face

has weathered

leaving a half smile

etched on this older face

tentatively looking into

the foggy distant future

of my own life

The skin like

this yellow paper

is

weathered but still here

use-able

and kind.

Austin, TX July 2009

WTC Ashes in the Air

I am the dust in the air

the fallen ashes

in the wind

after a terrible disaster

I am joined in my heart and sorrow

with the souls whose bodies

shattered instantly

in a huge ball of exploding flame

I am in the tears and the fears that engulfed us all

as those towers came tumbling down

I am in the ashes that are our collective grief

I am in the hope that must follow

that we will learn a lesson of compassion and that wise decisions

that are capable of generating peace

will come forth from

the structures of power

that remained standing

I am alone today in my sorrow

my pain

and my desire to comfort the children

the families

the neighbors and friends

But I am with the

ashes that flew in the air

as we all stared

and released our hatred

and our fear

I am not happy

to sit here feeling

like I have nothing to do to help

But I am after all only one of millions

who was lucky not to be a victim

in this disastrous day that

has stopped us in our tracks

and forced us to see the thinness

of the wall between walking

on the solid earth one moment and flying

into the next to another life

as windswept

ashes in the air.

Chicago, September 12, 2001

Drip and Fold

Drip goes the faucet

in the kitchen

the roar of crashing waves

on a shore recorded

for this weathered

tape I play as

I drip drip tears of

longing for the company of

friends

anyone

beyond the placid

indifferent cat

stony books

laundry to wash

to caress and fold

as if hugging a starched

lover's shirt

might fill

a sky's scrape for love

lunging forth

from a hungry soul.