Archive for July, 2011

West Coast Woman


In your times of quiet, west coast woman,
do images return that we saw through our
affection be-sotten eyes, in that golden time
when we walked together?

As you travel that west coast I’ll always love,
do you sometimes visit beaches we combed for
heart-shaped pebbles, or high places where
we watched the red sun sink away?

A still-young woman, and still beautiful, and
an architect of landscapes for rich homes,
you drove a pickup truck, laughing off any
idea of downstream appearances.

One evening it carried us into the mountains
to watch meteors spark and fall, you and I warm
under quilts in the truckbed, with good wine,
spectators of the clear night sky.

Another time, we arrived late at your home
with a truck-cab full of old songs on the radio,
old songs we paused to hear, and we called in
to request one from the DJ.

Such a song, such music!

Last night, in this place, the moon shone down,
same old moon that sheds gentle light where
Pacific waves roll up onto sand, re-arranging
any heart-shaped pebbles we missed.

Some evening when you stroll with friends
after entertainment or a festive dinner, perhaps
the moonlight will catch your eye, and you’ll
remember this poem, and us.


july fifth


July Fifth

Listen. Birds outside,
reclaiming their turf
songs to the morning
now that last evening’s
fireworks madness
played itself out.

Patriots safe at home
excess food and drink
speeches sans meaning
flags children died for
whiz-bangs and pops
celebrating an illusion.

Freedoms they hail
disappeared, or maybe
never even happened
not since the invasion
when foreigners came
with their politics.

Once every year they
commemorate wars of
fighting, suffering, dieing
so rich men’s corporations
may rape mother earth and
rob every damn one of us.

Now, this morning
noise gone, trash remains
father sun looks down
sees rich men, poor men
cruel men, ignorance, and
listen. Birds outside.