Pome 19

September 16, 2011

Keith Richards Joshua Tree

This land is your land, this land is my land
From California, to the New York Island
From the redwood forest, to the gulf stream waters
This land was made for you and me

As I was walking a ribbon of highway
I saw above me an endless skyway
I saw below me a golden valley
This land was made for you and me

I’ve roamed and rambled and I’ve followed my footsteps
To the sparkling sands of her diamond deserts
And all around me a voice was sounding
This land was made for you and me

The sun comes shining as I was strolling
The wheat fields waving and the dust clouds rolling
The fog was lifting a voice come chanting
This land was made for you and me

As I was walkin’ – I saw a sign there
And that sign said – no tress passin’
But on the other side …. it didn’t say nothin!
Now that side was made for you and me!

In the squares of the city – In the shadow of the steeple
Near the relief office – I see my people
And some are grumblin’ and some are wonderin’
If this land’s still made for you and me.


Pome 18

July 29, 2011

Pome 17

July 27, 2011

is that a candle in all this darkness

there is little or nothing
of the minds nightwork
so there is pretending & amusement
a goldfish in a toilet bowl
a piece of the captured sun
the heart of a melons wisdom

if of the Spanish marauders
a ripping up of alabaster by its iron roots
carries this treasure off to store in a
galleon that is to die young

instead, i anchor him with old memories
and change his water by day
he thinks it is the tide

Pome 16

July 21, 2011

Pome 15

July 17, 2011

Au Hasard Balthazar

I’ve been over every single foot of it. You could have no idea. You just have to see it for yourself. I don’t know. The prairies and wind leaning on the tall grass and lazy streams down in the meadows, angry little midgets of water up in the mountains, cattle moving down the slope against the sun. Campfires and snowdrifts. You know, everybody ought to have some of that sometime in his life. My dad had the right idea. And it all worked out. He used to say to me: “Son, don’t miss the wonders that surround you because every tree, every rock, every anthill, every star is filled with the wonders of nature.” And he used to say to me: “Have you ever noticed how grateful you are to see daylight again after coming through a long dark tunnel?” “Well,” he’d say, “Always try to see life around ya as if you’d just come out of a tunnel.”

Pome 14

July 14, 2011

Marianne Faithfull

Call the roller of big cigars,
The muscular one, and bid him whip
In kitchen cups concupiscent curds.
Let the wenches dawdle in such dress
As they are used to wear, and let the boys
Bring flowers in last month’s newspapers.
Let be be finale of seem.
The only emperor is the emperor of ice-cream.

Take from the dresser of deal,
Lacking the three glass knobs, that sheet
On which she embroidered fantails once
And spread it so as to cover her face.
If her horny feet protrude, they come
To show how cold she is, and dumb.
Let the lamp affix its beam.
The only emperor is the emperor of ice-cream.

Pome 13

July 12, 2011

Allen Ginsberg - King of May

And I am the King of May, which is the power of
      sexual youth,
and I am the King of May, which is industry in
      eloquence and action in amour,
and I am the King of May, which is long hair of
      Adam and the Beard of my own body
and I am the King of May, which is Kral Majales in
      the Czechoslovakian tongue,
and I am the King of May, which is old Human
      poesy, and 100,000 people chose my name.

Read the rest of this entry »

Pome 12

July 11, 2011

suburban monastery

Only 10 blocks away
building burned – perhaps burning now
the August night broken by sniper fire,
Police men bleeding in the streets
A sniper surrenders (perhaps out of ammunition)
Gun jammed?
some sed he was framed in a doorway
like a picture – his hands in the air
when they shot him –

Only 10 blocks away
from my quite apartment
with its green ceramic Buddhas
& science fiction books,
unread skin magazines to be cut up
for collages

only 10 blocks away
from my total helplessness
from my boredom enforced by the state
they are looting stores
trying to get televisions
so they can watch the riots
on the 11pm news

Pome 11

July 9, 2011

Ted Berrigan

Dear Chris

it is 3:17 A.M. in New York city, yes, it is
1962, it is the year of parrot fever. In
Brandenburg, and by the granite gates, the
old come-all-ye’s streel into the streets. Yes, it is now,
the season of delight. I am writing to you to say that
I have gone mad. Now I am sowing the seeds which shall,
when ripe, master the day, and
portion out the night. Be watching for me when blood
flows down the streets. Pineapples are a sign
that I am coming. My darling, it is nearly time. Dress
the snowman in the Easter sonnet we made for him
when scissors were in style. For now, goodbye, and
all my love,
        The Snake.

Pome 10

July 2, 2011

Jean Seberg

                                                      They flattered
me like a dog; and told me I had white hairs in my
beard ere the black ones were there. To say ‘ay’
and ‘no’ to every thing that I said! – ‘Ay’ and ‘no’
too was no good divinity. When the rain came to
wet me once, and the wind to make me chatter; when
the thunder would not peace at my bidding; there I
found ’em, there I smelt ’em out. Go to, they are
not men o’ their words: they told me I was every
thing; ’tis a lie, I am not ague-proof.