On the Death of a Friend’s Father
Could be free floating in free space
Could be re-entry in a realm
You’ve sought, earned, or stumbled into
Could be sweet eternal nothingness
Final oblivion.
Or harpsichords and white clouds,
a Meeting with the Maker.
I just don’t know.
Or maybe I do know but don’t recall
the all and everything of transcendant beauty.
How could it be otherwise?
around the year 2000
Akita Blues
Wintry skies reek of dull gray
Structures creak and moan under the strain
Of a vengeful wind.
Mud-splattered snowbanks tunnel the streets—
Beautiless inaka streets, crass suburb streets,
City streets devoid of style or intrigue.
Desperate sun-starved citizens
Scribble suicide notes,
Poised to pad infamously ignoble stats.
Oh Akita! Promising autumn fields,
Trails leading past seas and mountain trees,
And lifetime employment.
You offer no recourse, no respite, no repose
From your ill-temperate clime
And unscrupulous Leaders
Lost in clouds of hubris and ego.
Only fine home-brewed beer
Can slake my thirst for grander place.
winter 2006-07
Akita Blues
Wintry skies reek of dull gray
Structures creak and moan under the strain
Of a vengeful wind.
Mud-splattered snowbanks tunnel the streets—
Beautiless inaka streets, crass suburb streets,
City streets devoid of style or intrigue.
Desperate sun-starved citizens
Scribble suicide notes,
Poised to pad infamously ignoble stats.
Oh Akita! Promising autumn fields,
Trails leading past seas and mountain trees,
And lifetime employment.
You offer no recourse, no respite, no repose
From your ill-temperate clime
And unscrupulous Leaders
Lost in clouds of hubris and ego.
Only fine home-brewed beer
Can slake my thirst for grander place.
winter 2006-07
An Ode to Earth
Fly to the moon on a techno-path
What'll you find?
VCRs and computers to delight the mind.
An orbiter here, and space debris there,
People are starving but noone does care.
It's unrelated, I know,
I've heard the sermon of science
The men in white coats are no humanitarian giants.
It's not that I decry you, condemn you or deny you
--even I feel some awe--
it's just that I can't revere you
and your visions
I don't share.
You are the neo-Columbus--no mistaking is there,
but your quest for some metal again I can't share.
If there's gold or some answers in the orb let it be.
I'll stake my rake in the earth and
look up
when I please.
The planets have their place, and so too does man, despite the grand visions,
I'll abide by an earthly plan.
It's true I've crossed some oceans,
and a river or two,
I've climbed mountains, rode bike trails,
and gazed awe-struck at the stars--
all along the ancient mother did keep me
embraced in her arms.
January 5, 1996
At Mt. Madonna
If I promised you Gardens of white roses
And the last bastion Of succulent fruit trees,
A cottage in the mountains
And intentions of pure gold—
Would you sing for me?
Would you lift the veil
That enshrouds us in a worldly haze?
January 1997