This is a collection of my poems I have written through my life.

Hotel Room for $19.95 (1968- Mary and I had been living in a sort of “commune” in Seattle. We had LSD in our freezer and tickets to see Vanilla Fudge. We drove up to the house and there were police everywhere, arresting our room mates. We kept driving. We found a hotel room for $19.95 a week. These were my “observations.” During that stay with Mary was the first time that the two of us attempted sex. It was a dismal failure on my part.)

Looking back through brown stained curtains.
One curtain rod.
Brown stains on white lace.
A shade.
Usual color.
To shut out the sun.
Torn curtain sharing rod.
Two windows.
The brown stained white lace curtains.
The torn curtains.
Shadows… of better days.
One leather upholstered rocking chair
that’s rocked an eternity’s worth of people.
$19.50.
A bed.
A desk. The usual Bible that no one roads.
A lamp.
A chair, and one for the desk.
Cigarette burned carpet.
An old chest of drawers with a mirror,
which has been many people.
Small room.
Wallpaper blooms,
with pink and faded white flowers.
Did a grandmother do this?
$19.50.

Sitten in the Shade (One of my “teen angst” poems from the 60’s.)
I’m sitten in the shade
Of the cool
Of the winter,
Listening to jazz radio
Playing softly
And thinking about the fun we had
In the sun of the summer.
Remember the one?
That we met each other?.
You and me lovers.
Now we’re just brothers.
Thank you for the time.
If I had my druthers
We would do it all again.
But then I know.
It’s all over.
And over and over…
No matter what I play on the phonograph
There’s always silence in between.
The silence doesn’t really bother me.
You know what I mean?
But baby you been gone so long.

“Mole” (One of my “teen angst” poems from the 60’s.)
I’m a mole
Sitten in my hole
out of site
Shades tight
Black out the night.
Curtains drawn.
Cement lawn.
Gone
Till dawn.
Always feel like I gotta run
Out of sun.
The sun’s the fun.
I say “maybe then.”
I’ll get high
I sigh
And smoke some thai
To clarify my thinking.
If that don’t work
To prove I’m not a jerk
I go out drinking.
When the room begins to spin
And I believe I’m really in
The stobe lights flash
I strut my trash
No dignity to defend.
I’m all alone
In my own zone
Wishing for things that I don’t have.
My life, it is in waiting.
The waitings what get’s me by.
When I’m straight I’m waiting
To get high.
Then I’m up
As up has come to sound
And then I spend all my time
Waiting to come down.
And when I’m down
I run around
Trying to get up
With credit cards and movie stars
Disco bars and what’s bizarre.
I never live for yesterday-
Never say, “Remember when?”
I’m always waiting for better times.
My dream is like a woman that just won’t let me go.
It chains me, bound and borken, S&M upon my soul,
I’m left empty-handed, doing nothing,
A prisoner in my own home
Listening to the silence,
Listening all alone.
The siren’s scream,
The hounds all howl
The t.v. tells it’s lies
And with another puff of smoke
Another brain cell dies.
Please, phone don’t ring,
Don’t no one be knocking on my door.
My brain can’t think to say the words
No one lives here anymore.

Remembering (One of my “teen angst” poems from the 60’s.)

Oh tell me

how you forget

a wedding in spring,
rose colored lips or a beautiful thing?
How do you forget
a sun shiny day
when that time
wasn’t too far away,
when you would both
walk down that aisle
both almost too frightened to smile?

But smile you did
and no love there was hidden
from the world.
You both said then that you would never part
but time brought a broken heart.
The love there died
and many times you cried
“It’s over!”

Mable the Dyke (One of my “teen angst” poems from the 60’s.)

Do you hate yourself
for what you’ve become
do you think you
are the only one
to ever have thought
those thoughts before?
And you won’t tomorrow.
But yesterday has past
and today won’t last,
very long.
And we’ll see the wrong
we did
in
lying.
Nobody’s crying now,
‘cause nobody knows
except the lie
of asking “why?” and
“What’s the matter?”
Kid psychoanalyst,
he’s really kind of funny.
He’ll say “wow,”
and then he’ll take your money.
IF you got none
it’s been fun
but your a drag
‘cause he’s a fag
with anxieties.
I don’t care
play the game
be the same
and lie.
He did.
And YOU fell for it!
That’s funny.
Don’t know what’s wrong.
It’s getting long…
and late…
and the only fake is you.
Do you wanna talk or
just say petty words
that are meaningless?
Your games a bore
Heard it all before.

Wishen (One of my “teen angst” poems from the 60’s.)

Bowlegged octopi
crawling up my leg
beggin’ for a piece of,
I’m not sure what.

What’s your name?

I know I would like to shake your hand;
touch your hair,
kiss you
If it would be good.

Have you ever slept with three or
four… other people… and loved them all?

I haven’t.

Separating Powers (One of my “teen angst” poems from the 60’s.)

I’m writing this little note for you.
Will you read it soon?
I doubt it.

Look,
outside,
it’s raining.

Isn’t it beautiful?

Some of us say what we feel.
Some of us write what we fell.
Some of us fear to feel
what’s there.

If I liked you,
if I loved you
could I feel you?

Fear

uh, well sir,
I feel that…

your lonely?

I do not know you.

Yes miss?
Ya wanna…
ya wanna get it on
separately.
compete.
come together?
I do not know you,

orgasm.

Revealing Thyself (One of my “teen angst” poems from the 60’s.)

Take the wrappings off child.
Open you presents child.
Let it be
and see me.

Take off the tight white.
Let in the light.
It’s night.
It’s night.

Oh give thyself
and I’ll give me.
Everyone,
everyone should see.

So take off the mask
and put it down
and ask-
make the sound.

Communicate.

Empty Trip  (One of my “teen angst” poems from the 60’s.)

Is this trip
around
called “loneliness,”
the word that man
thought adequate
for a feeling
which is no feeling at all.
Pure emptiness
or maybe less.
The world has died
and you’ve cried
all the tears
it’s worth
and you search
for something
to believe in.

Party friend-
ships
sail away.
I hear some lines
go on rainy days.
Go ahead
and stay
stay…
stay,
away.

Your Own Ego Trip (One of my “teen angst” poems from the 60’s.)

Wandering through a wonderland of maze
a misinterpretation
of the phase
to naked
and nakedness is where I come from
not knowing where I’m going
and many thought they knew
but even I don’t know.
and my mind is mean and low
but I don”t care
and maybe you have seen it,
but then you haven’t felt it,
and again you have to be it,
to trip it.
Yes…
Take me crystalline ships of
fog and grey,
take me crystal ships far away.
You know where your going to;
where have I been?
Been nowhere and
everywhere.
It’s just an illusion anyway.
There ain’t no way
to know.
Psychedelic children been to nowhere yet
and think that I have yet to be there.
Who cares.
I don’t.

Misunderstanding (One of my “teen angst” poems from the 60’s. I was very confused about my own feelings toward other males. I knew I was attracted to other guys and feeling very misunderstood)

Are you misunderstanding
all that you see
and most of all
misunderstanding me?
You think that you don’t
I say that you do
Am I misunderstanding you?
Have you felt so lonely
so much that your dead
and you come alive
from a single word that’s said
and you think only instead
of your boundaries…
your conditioning and life.
In your back the knife
of loves lost freedom.

Hell… misunderstand
take your hand away.
Hope one day
to see her.
Until then, what’s to be done
for you are only one
without another.
wait.
and hesitate
go on debate
love and hate
and soon it’s late again.

An Old Hard Women Walkin Down a Lane (One of my “teen angst” poems from the 60’s.)

She walks with grace
over a golden path
in a dress of lace
hiding pain.

Happiness surrounds her
roses in full bloom
Light of good shines
from the sun.

Loved by all
and it doesn’t matter
she loves all
and to know her
makes
no
difference.

No Title (One of my “teen angst” poems from the 60’s.)

My mother was a prostitute
my father was a drunk.
Sister was a Catholic nun,
my brother, a Buddhist monk.
I’m just no one,
nobody cares.
I’m just someone,
anyone who’s there.
I’m just standing,
standing on my feet,
I’m just speaking
to the minds I meet.
It’s a strange type of language,
I do not understand.
It’s a melody
from a blue green yellow land.

Where? (One of my “teen angst” poems from the 60’s.)

Let’s go down
to the place to be.
I’ve been told
that the places free.
It’s you
it’s me.
I’ll take you there now.
I’ll take you.
See now
it’s alright,
The suns going down.
Lies are gone,
the honest night.
Let’s go down
down
let’s go down
and we’ll be.

Let’s go down to the place
and you know
it’s only our mind
your mind.
Let’s go down.
We’ll find,
how it is.

The End (One of my “teen angst” poems from the 60’s.)

On and on and on
repeat
on and on and on.
empty feeling.
I really don’t feel like it.
I really don’t feel like anything.
misunderstandings.
I don’t care if you do
on and on and on
repeat
I’m dead.
Ignore me
and I’ll dig it.
I can’t converse
or comprehend.
I’m dead.
I’m dead.
on and on and on.
stupor.
drink or whatever
on and on
life is gone
I’m dead.

end.

No Title (One of my “teen angst” poems from the 60’s.)

fighting sanity for my life
a match is struck in the night.
all is dying
all is dying
are you crying too?
gentle waves of the past
a past to present beauty.
I am dying
come lie beside me.
inescapable thoughts of
where do I go from here?
wipe out the fear
wipe out the fear.
take my hand now
and undersand me.
we shall meet one day
you and I
we shall meet

and we shall try.

Suicidal Society  (One of my “teen angst” poems from the 60’s.)

Suicidal society
what are you trying to do to me?
slit my wrists
smash my brain
don’t you know I’m goin insane?

Nothing to look forward to
tear my umbilical cord from you.
cut me up
step on my face
help me get out of this miserable place.

Can’t run and can’t hide

can’t say I’ve ever tried
slash my veins
take some pills

take anything that kills.

Come (One of my “teen angst” poems from the 60’s.)

Come all
be all
see all
there is to see
and be.
the eternity.

Chorus:
Your there!
Your there!
You wanna do it?
can you see it?
And when they ask who
I’ll be there too.

Your one
I’m one
they’re one
and one is all we’ll be.
and see
we’ll be infinity.

together we’ll gather
and your not alone

Chorus:
I’ll be there
see there
be where
and when they ask whoI’ll be there too.

Again (One of my “teen angst” poems from the 60’s.)

Oh my God
I’ve felt this way before
and it leads nowhere
and how do you bear
such a thing alone?
How can I tell
what others think or feel
when nothing seems real
at all?
leave me behind
although I mind that too
it’s not so bad a pain
as when you
act like it don’t matter
that I’m there
when I am.
is that just an illusion
adding confusion

within me?

Advertisement for the O.K. Cafe Chain (One of my “teen angst” poems from the 60’s.)

Writing words of coffee stained thoughts
now sitten at the local handout
thinking ‘bout the freaks
down on skid row
not really thinkin at all.
Making movies of innocent rainbows,
raining dreams of silver gold.
glittering love.
How do you love a bum
who’s screaming Mary’s
screaming how YOU failed?
For a coffee dime
he’ll buy some wine
and tell you what he tells.
the continuing movie dream
isn’t really what it seems to anyone.
silver gold shimmering.
blue sky shimmering rainbow light
by the neon nights of forever land.

“Hey mister…
hey sir…
would you have a dime?”

“The time’s too late,” you answer
thoughtlessly.

Aimlessly you wander
Aimlessly they go.
ain’t nothin hap’nin
nowhere’s near
the place they call

“skid row.”

Stream of Consciousness (We were living on College Ave and I was applying for “Conscientious Objector” status with the San Diego draft board).

It’s night.
My mind wanders; drifts through a fantasy wonderland of maze. It creates illusions, one beside another as if two movies were being shown on the same transluscent screen. My passive thoughts spark now and then as if waiting for an explosion to send them escaping from my crowded skull into the universe as pastel colors.
A surealistic canvas appears in my mind. There is a long field of flowing green grass seeping into the distance. At the forefront lies an American soldier painted gray, dead and cold. In the distance the American flag waves for freedom, encircled by a pure white cloud which, by the wind, has formed the innocent body of an infant. In the brown, smoky sky, the face of emptiness looks down. When I look closely at his dark mouth, there is a road running a distance of desolate miles.
I enter this mouth of empty infinity, and I walk down the cold and rocky road. Finally I come upon a cigarrette machine; a man is standing close by bumming spare change. I give him a cigarette and walk away. He throws a knife, which lands at my feet. My boredom murders him.
The night flows on and I find myself in a brightly lit city. I inhale the smog filled air. I wake myself up to dodge the taxis, buses and other miscellaneous vehicles going in circles. Suddenly a car drives up along side of me and I smell the scent of cheap perfume. I look into the car and see that the circus acts have arrived.
There’s Mike, Bill, Teddy, John and Wendy. They’re all gaily dressed up in their jewels and stockings, out to hustle the sailors who don’t know what’s happening. They’re all dressed up but Wendy, who’s actually dead, but doesn’t know it yet.
The City lights dim and fade out as the music comes up. The show begins. The street people start placing bets on who’ll make it and who won’t. Everyone is cheering on Bill, but they won’t admit it. The music comes to an abrupt halt and the silence engulphs us all. It’s a photo finish and nobody wins but Wendy, who just smiles. The crowd seems disappointed and it looks like riot time.
I feel a little nauseous so I silently two step away into another dimension. The dimension is your reality and I’m sweating. There are things happening. Craziness clogs all up and down. There are things that wildest fantasy could never explain. There are dreams coming true; and nightmares of explosions trying to mak their way past my door… into my mind. I hold them back.
The Wonderland is shatered with a million bullets and silly wars staged by petty poiticians. My fellow man is dying.

Clandestine Nigger (this was written in 1973 when I was going to Valley Vocational in La Puente to become a Licensed Psychiatric Technician. I was in “the closet” at that time for a while. This is how I felt.)

I’m a Clandestine nigger-
don’t look at me.
I’m a clandestine nigger-
nobody can see.
If nobody knows,
then I can still be free.
I’m oppressed and in hiding-
you would never know.
I’m oppressed and in hidding-
don’t think you know
I just do my song and dance
And be part of the show.
I’m a clandestine nigger-
don’t have no soul.
I repress and depress myself-
my story never told.
I’m your actor friend waiting,
to play the martyr’s role.
I’ve been oppressed and in hiding-
just sliding by.
I’ve been oppressed and in hiding-
just sliding by.
I try to keep laughing,
so you won’t see me cry.
I feel that I should tell you
Why I got the blues.
I should come right out and tell you
‘stead of leaven clues.
But honey you is so tired,
Aint’ ready for the news.
So I think this song is finished
Nothing left to say.
I declare an end to my blues now
No more dues to pay.
From now on, baby,
My blues songs will turn gay.

I Praise Thee (1976- Poem to Stanley)

I praise thee,
O mighty virile
Shiney black male
Boy
You sinewy tough
Acting tough
And cool
Telling me I’m a “cool fool”
When in your presence
I’m nothin if I aint’ hot
Looking for my spot
Inside you
With your love all around me
And your way of talken be my music
You beautiful
horney young thing
With that black thing
Hot to shoot
And you be so cute with your big doe eyes
Looking at the white man’s thighs
Or are you checkin size?
Your lips
Your lips.
Your mouth,
Round and full
Would feel so soft against my lips
Your tongue so thick would fill my mouth
And my mouth would
Be my whole world.
Your nose,
I love your nose
So close to you.
I wish mine could be and smell each delicious smell of your
Manly-boyish body.
Hair of wool
So soft and shaped perfectly
Around you head.
Ears catching light in ridges
Working their way into your head
Carrying my voice into your world
With all my innuendo and jive.
“Turkey”- is that what you call me
so affectionately? Oh… I love you
your eyes.
Black pools of promises you’ll never keep and dreams you can’t fulfill.
Oh baby
You thrill me!
I see your face at night
And wanna feel the bite
Of your pearly whites
On my skin.

Crack of my Life (1991)

Friday night you want to go downtown,
Spend my money at all the clubs around.
Saturday night you want to do the same,
but uh-uh baby,
your driving me insane.

I can’t eat,
I can’t sleep at night
Your the crack of my life.
You what puts me right.

I beg you just to spend the night,
If you let me come, you know I’ll feel alright.
You my drug of choice,
You know I need a hit-
your worse than crack
and all that shit.

I can’t eat,
I can’t sleep at night
Your the crack of my life.
You what puts me right.

I don’t pop no pills- I don’t drink no wine,
your my drug of choice- what makes me feel so fine.
I don’t smoke no weed- inject no speed,
you the hypodermic needle that makes me bleed.

You just laugh and tease-
please, please baby put my soul at ease.
I can’t eat,
I can’t sleep at night-
Your the crack of my life.
You what puts me right.

Christmas 2005

It was in December of two thousand five,
when the cynical right was well and alive
and the cult of the religious far right & insane
decided to steal Christmas for political gain.

The grinch, Bill O’Reilly, lied about the a.c.l.u..
Pat Robertson lied about me and you.
But WE know Christmas isn’t really something you steal,
Or… tear apart
because Christmas is something
that lives in the heart.

It isn’t about divisive wedge issues or hate or fear,
Christ was a liberal, or didn’t you hear?
WE celebrate Christmas, with our families we share,
but we don’t need to impose on the public square.

We love our Muslim brothers,
the Hindu’s and Jews,
We love the Buddhists,
And the atheists too.

Christ was a peacemaker, not a war profiteer
He loved all the oppressed and even the queer.

So if you celebrate Christmas,
Here is wishing you well,
And everyone else too,
I think your all swell.

And Merry Christmas even to the nuts on the right,
that seem to miss the meaning of that Bethlehem night.
You shouldn’t use Christmas as a political tool,

But otherwise “Happy Holidays” and a Merry “Yule.”

Christmas 2006

Another Christmas, another year,
another poem, a little cheer.

If Christmas was banned, I guess it must have been brief
‘cause here we are now in another season of peace.

As the holiday season begins to descend,
it is time to send Christmas cards again and again.

Only good wishes, wishing you the best,
anything divisive, I’m putting to rest.

If you read this, I know you have an open mind
and I know pushing a viewpoint really isn’t so kind.

Last year my political humor, for some did offend,
but I’m glad for those that can differ, and still be called friend.

Even the bitter and the sour, I would never exclude,
just because of our differences, in our attitudes.

Some cussed me and banned me, and have cut me out of their lives,
but my care and affection, for them still survives.

Christ was forgiving and I hope we all will be too,
his message was love, may that love be with you.

Merry Christmas

Psycho Song

On my brain,
you’re like a boil,
my nerves so tight,
like an unsprung coil.
You read my mind,
through my hat of foil,
you scare me girl,
like burning oil,
The voice in my head
says you ain’t loyal
you ain’t my queen,
and you ain’t no royal,
You just stir the pot,
a cauldron of toil,
you an evil witch,
the good you spoil!

I know you put a transister
in my tooth,
I hear the transmissions,
I hear the truth.
I can’t eat or drink
anything you serve,
I know your dangerous
’cause you got some nerve.
I know you work for the F.B.I.
and eveything you tell me
is just a lie.
You put bugs throughout my house,
there’s even a microphone in my mouse.
You share information with the C.I.A.
I can’t believe anything you say!

You tell me I’m crazy,
but I’m just wise,
I’d be a fool
if I believed all your lies!
I’m not a fool
I’m not a nut,
you little whore,
you little slut!

When I’m asleep
you inject poison in my veins,
to keep me sedated,
and make me insane.
I hear a voice
or maybe it’s five,
or maybe a hundred
bees in a hive,
buzzing and screaming
you just connive
and if I value my life
I realize
I gotta go now
to get out alive!

No, I’m not going to see your “doctor” friend,
who believes the mean
justify the ends.
I’m not taking the pills
conveniently prescribed
at your request
after he rode your ride.
The voices tell me,
they do confide,
you tell everyone stories,
to all you’ve lied.

So girl, just leave me alone
don’t call because
I won’t answer the phone.
I’ll seal my room
with some gray duct tape
so I can privately plan
my great escape.
Being with you
was like brain rape,
now my plan
can finally take shape!

Please don’t call 911,
Don’t call police,
Don’t call my mom,
Don’t call a priest,
it will all be done.
it all will cease,

God and me are one

Christmas 2010

And here it is,
its Christmas again,
it didn’t get stolen-
it’s 2010.
I’m not sure why there was ever a fear
’bout any war on Christmas,
’cause Christmas is here!
My atheist friends,
they have put up a tree,
they talk about peace,
just as you and me.
Judaic friends,
burn a Menorah of lights
celebrating the peace, too
through eight winter nights.
Muslims and Christians both,
take advantage of sales,
everyone loves a good deal,
and a card in the mail.
Buddhists obviously like the peace,
but also good cheer,
and maybe a feast.
So maybe this “war,”
is only a myth,
created by Fox
to give their ratings a lift?
Regardless,
I hope the myth doesn’t incite,
and everyone will have
a happy Yule night.
The winter solstice
is as old as the earth
and we all celebrate
with light and good mirth.
2010 was not good for some
with economic collapse,
and their mortgage due sum.
It’s been a long climb
from the valley of Bush,
but Obama’s done fine,
with Pelosi’s good push.
Recovery is coming,
I think we all know,
I hope that it’s here
by the melt of the snow.
Jobs on the rise,
mortgage defaults on decline,
repeal of DADT,
I’m feeling so fine.
The Freedom of Info Act,
is much more secure,
’cause Obama ordered
agencies to concur.
Coverups and corruption
is more a thing of the past,
I hope that transparency,
is something to last.
244 accomplishments
have been noted so far,
and that’s just a start
for raising the bar.
Fox watchers don’t know,
’cause their all misinformed,
propagandized,
the truth is deformed.
They worry ’bout stuff
that doesn’t exist,
like mosques at ground zero,
and a soldiers limp wrists.
There are some from MSNBC,
that are a little too left,
and do themselves harm
railing on Obama,
and seem so alarmed.
“Don’t let the perfect,
be the enemy of good,”
Don’t let Ralph Nader
arise out of the wood.
We must all stand together,
and some compromise we must,
as hard as it is,
when there is so little trust.
There will always be those,
that want to give it all to the rich,
that kind of thinking,
got us into this ditch.
But history facts,
they really don’t lie,
we ALL do better
when we let the Democrats try.
Christ WAS a liberal,
I’ve said it before,
and Santa’s a Democrat,
do I need to say more?
So this holiday season,
I wish you all well,
and again I say,
I think your all swell.
Sorry for politics,
it’s just who I am,
Milton tries to say “no”
like a thumb in the dam.
Politics spill out,
even if I try to hold back,
it isn’t opinions
that I ever lack.

Merry Christmas!

Girl From Medical Lake

(My brother, Roger, was always the musician, playing lead guitar in many bands. At one point, he had mentioned a woman that had a crush on him, and she was a bit aggressive, but he didn’t feel the same way about her.

Medical Lake is a place outside of Spokane Washington where there was an inpatient psychiatric facility. For some reason, which escapees me now, Medical Lake was mentioned in the same conversation about the woman that was pursuing Roger. One thing led to the other in my head and I wrote this “poem” that I thought could be lyrics of a “rock” song. I called it “Girl From Medical Lake.”)

I was playing a gig down at medical lake,
the girls down there,
they really know how to shake,
especially one always in the first row,
that girl,
she knew how to go, go go.

She shook her top
and she shook down there,
She seemed in a seizure
like she just didn’t care.
she shimmied
and she bounced
and her sweat just flew,
others stared,
not sure what to do.

Her eyes were crossed
and her hair a mess,
but that girl could shake
inside that raggedy dress.
On her lip was a shadow,
a little mustache,
her legs were hairy,
she was poor white trash.
She smiled up at me
her tooth caught the light,
girl from medical lake
gave me a terrible fright.

She shook her top
and she shook down there,
She seemed in a seizure
like she just didn’t care.
she shimmied
and she bounced
doing what she do,
some think it a lie
I tell you it’s true.

Then she waited at the stagedoor,
I couldn’t avoid saying hi,
she thought I said I loved her,
but you know I wouldn’t lie.
She came to see me night after night
I realized medical lake girl,
she just wasn’t right.

She shook her top
and she shook down there,
It was like a seizure, man
like she just didn’t care.
she shimmied
and she bounced all over me
I stood there frozen,
this just couldn’t be!

Then I noticed one day
when I was out on my beat
the girl from medical lake
was following me down the street.

Soon that girl was behind every tree,
I realized that girl must be stalking me.
She came to every concert,
and she sent me snail mail,
instead of perfume,
it had an ugly smell.

One day that girl,
she caught me off guard,
she whipped out her purse
and took out a card,
she wanted to manage me
and get me some gigs
if I just ate her pussy
and act like a pig.

I said no thanks
but I guess she had power
she called all the clubs
and my gigs they turned sour.
She told the club owners
Roger Rogers, he suck,
I couldn’t get gigs,
I was out of luck.

But if I shook my top
and I shook down there
I noticed the crowd
would start to care.
I shimmied and bounced,
like I was making porn,
and the crowd responded,
when I began to perform.

I found another club
and I got another gig,
all of this
without flipping my wig,
but now I stay away from medical lake,
even though the girls down there
really know how to shake.
They shake their tops
and they shake down there
they go into seizures
like they just don’t care.
They shimmy and they bounce
and they let the sweat fly,
but there’s a crazy girl,
looking for any guy.

Christmas 2014

No
El
No
El
How can a faux news network find a story to tell,
that has no news value after their political fail?
What can they say that’s not ’bout a mythical cliff,
a way to change the subject,
a propaganda shift?
Where can they find a story superficial and lame?
As always and as usual,
from the past, it came.
Like a pair of old pajamas so comfy when worn,
Fox looked for something comfortable to whine about & mourn.
Their outrage is perennial.
We have heard it all before.
Much ado about nothing,
no real story at its core.
It always baffles me as I’ve said several other times,
in several other Christmases
in several other rhymes.
Fox propagandists are masters of indignation & hype
Telling their viewers to fear “abominations”
of every sexual orientation type.
Even though they lost the election
they act as if they won-
but there WAS an election
and we know we’re still not done!
The war on Christmas is so dusty,
it’s tired and it’s frayed,
like so many other stories on Fox,
it’s hackneyed and cliched.
So worn and trite
the war on Christmas
has never stood the light.
But here it is again,
more shrill nonsense from the right.
They love to pretend their victims
persecuted by the rest of us
who don’t live in their bubble
they love to make a fuss.
Gretchen might believe this stuff (she seems a little dim),
but I’m not sure about O’reilly
I think he knows it’s all pretend.
He must do it for the ratings
more bombastic hyperbole
to agitate his viewers
and bemuse the left tike me.
But times they are a changing
as Dylan said long ago
and this made up war on Christmas
isn’t going to help Bills show.
Christmas is everywhere
with exceptions far between & few.
We are inundated with Christmas
even Buddhist, Hindu, Jew.
There is no getting away from Christmas decorations.
They are everywhere that people meet.
We are saturated with Christmas
on every road and every street.
You can’t avoid Christmas carols on radio and t.v.
You can’t avoid the garland
on every Christmas tree.
But that’s not enough for the Fox neanderthals,
it must be a war on Christmas,
if its not in the courthouse halls.
They don’t understand The Constitution,
the separation of church & state.
They want to tell you what to believe
and fill you with their hate.
Which is odd to me and opposite of Christ’s meaning
but that’s how it is in Bizarro world
when nothings what it’s seeming.
Right to work mean’s no rights at work
Clear skies means more pollution.
When Republicans say “no child left behind”
it’s Orwellian elocution.
Their numbers seem to be shrinking, though.
I think people are tired of the shrill
from Hannity, Fox and Friends,
and especially from Bill.
So seasons greetings to non-Christians and Merry Christmas to the rest.
May your days all be merry
and all of you be blessed.

Seasonal Affective Blues (When I was younger, I would occasionally have bouts of depression. Depression seems to run in my family as I know my Mother and siblings have battled with it. I got a lot out of “self-help” books like Wayne Dyer’s “Your Erroneous Zones” and more recently, Eckhart Tolle’s “The Power of Now.” I had a great therapist, Jim Weber, back in the late twenties and early thirties. Getting older and just developing more self confidence with age was very helpful, too.

As I got into my middle thirties, I began to see a pattern to my bouts of depression. I noticed that they were almost always in the winter after we had gone off of Daylight Savings Time. As the day’s would get shorter and shorter, my mood would get more depressed. This was a revelation for me as I could start predicting when I would feel most desperate. Milton and started taking vacations to sunnier locations in the middle of winter, around February or March. I was pleased to discover that those vacations really made a big difference! If I could just go somewhere for a week and get some sun, I felt better and got through the winters much more easily.

In the last few years, I have also used a “Sunlight 365” light intermittently. It seems to help, although that could be a placebo effect I suppose.

In the last couple of years, my Seasonal Affective Disorder didn’t bother me much, thanks to the California drought and a couple great vacations to Florida and the Caribbean! This year, for whatever reason, it seems to be back, though. I have got out my Sunlight 365 and started using it again. We are planning a trip mid-winter to Palm Springs for some sun.

Those that have been reading my stories on here, know already that I write poetry from time to time. Last night I wrote this poem I call “Seasonal Affective Blues.”)

Landslide,
of darkness
burying me,

The days are short-
not as short,
as they’re going to be.

Axions and dendrites
can’t transmit electricity.
It’s all gummed up,
like it will ALWAYS be!

Buried six feet under
Or is it just the night?
I’m being smothered
can’t see the light.

Where’d all
my dopamine go?
And my serotonin
feels way too low!!

Oh my God,
It’s only November!
When does daylight savings start?
I can’t remember!!

My minds too fogged up,
slow and dull.
If I try to move
I hit a wall.

I keep trying to put one foot
in front of the other.
Tried taking a nap
and then another and another!

But sleep don’t come,
I’m just too agitated,
And then tired all day
and always aggravated.

In my nerve endings
There is a riot
And there is just no way
To stick to my diet!

EVERYTHING is just so much
harder to do,
when you got
seasonal affective blues!

Let me just pull
the blankets up over my head,
Please wake me up
when your sure I’m dead!

Christmas 2015

’Twas during the weeks before Christmas, when all through the land
there were constant reminders, the Christian holiday’s at hand.
Christmas is everywhere and there is really no escape,
though Faux News will distort truth to a twisted shape.

Every year, Bill O’Reilly likes to pump up his ratings,
by being divisive and encouraging hating.
Faux News will say there is a “War Upon Christmas,”
but the reality is, it’s just all about business.

The right wing sheeple are all snug in their bubble,
away from reality and facts that cause trouble.
They try to stay ignorant, as much as they can,
they say jolly old Santa must be a white man.

The pundits on Faux News, oh they so love to chatter,
about nothing that’s true and nothing that matters.
“The sky is falling,” is their recurring refrain,
no logic or reason, they are really insane.

Now Donald! Now Carson!
Now, Carly and Bush!
On, Rubio and Christie!
Ted Cruz knows how to push!
To the top of the ticket
and top of Trump’s wall
that most want to build
except for Rand Paul.

As the ‘publicans have their so-called debates,
and whine about moderators and the rights of the states.
they hate the federal government and want to bring it down,
they want it so small, in a tub it can drown.

They whine about nonexistent persecution,
they misinterpret and twist our good Constitution.
They try to scale back our fought for voting rights
and put the nations children in their assault weapon sights.

Ben Carson’s eye’s, they slowly open,
Christies off the main stage and he’s barely coping.
Ted Cruz competes with Carly to see who’s most shrill,
Marco Rubio is happy to be the Koch brother’s shill.
Rand Paul seems to be lost in the crowd,
and Donald Trump just seems a little too loud.
None of their policies make any sense,
they can’t answer questions about world events.

Watching these fools only fills me with dread,
Any Democrat running is better instead.
Martin O’Malley, Clinton or Sanders,
Any would make a better commander.

Now, with Halloween over, Thanksgivings upon us,
Christmas ‘round the corner, Faux News ‘bout to con us.
They drag out this dead horse every December,
and beat that dead horse and then the transgendered.

I’m so glad I can think and understand logic,
and can see the Republicans are just demagogic.
But in the end, Happy Holidays are in sight,
To all Merry Christmas, even those on the far right.