BREEZE CAP©

CEILING FAN

my Cadillac has a flat tire

chauffer says we're out of peanuts and champagne

the sky has a glow, greenish mostly, in moving sheets

our view of the ocean is blocked

and here we are without a jack

none of the electronic stuff works

so much for AAA, the Highway Patrol, tractor beams

many years ago, for our school play

we used a sheet of tin to thrash out some thunder

for just such situations

everyone was in awe

us kids had actually made something real

and we just barely knew about radio tubes

more like trekking up to Castle Rock, sweaty socks, puffing, and the sun too bright

reality is marmalade

sometimes lemonade

but hardly compares with a field of golden oats

dried grass

or a compass with its magic needle

and all of that impossibly different than using

much less having

a jack

Christmas trees with blinking lights

traffic signals flashing red and green

a brilliant sign in white lights

"METERING ON"

which, of course, is far from our desert with the flat tire

in the living room, on her exercise bike, Susan is not pedaling

fast enough to recharge the electronics

but in all fairness, there is no generator

to harvest her excess energy

even though we recycle down to the plastic caps off my wine bottles

well, actually, I lied

the TV which she is watching works

so all that neat stuff, like devils in Aladdin's lamp

has to get readjusted from time to time

the car is out there in the desert

without friends or peanuts

and the sky is not only green, it glowers

there are people, not relatives, who remember a glorious sunset

red tinged, orange, streaked with blue

like a Japanese wood block print

but in Japan, in those days, oxcarts were in the paddies,

priests in their temples

and no one had ever heard of a car jack

once when we had a family vacation in New Mexico

there was a lightning storm

darkening clouds eclipsed my song

and it crashed – the thunder that is

much better than a sheet of tin

and in the dry sand there was a tingle in my feet

so refreshing

dim beginnings

the car went from place to place

before its flat tire

it went from San Jose to San Francisco

when 101 was two lanes

and there were no crashes

about halfway there was Dinah's Shack

to celebrate the persistence of slavery

and the radio shack by Moffett Field

to celebrate war, all those antennas

yeah

and then I got to sit in the front seat

all of this, son, will be yours one day

I got a bicycle for my birthday

it wasn't long before I made a luggage rack

over the rear wheel

to carry my grass clippers

I was in business

but that wasn't all

I got a clarinet

and became a soloist

and when it all ran out

needing a jack was

so retro

goodbye pork pie hat

god's country

dim beginnings

I remember when Blossom Hill Road was aptly named

which became the devil's country

the slow tingle when the tractors came

not to cultivate but to uproot

and so much more

earth to earthlings

do you read me?

wind blows through our liquid amber tree out by the street

cars go by

on the driveway our cats bake in the sun

content to be asleep

air quality here sometimes is the envy of our nation

even when the weather gets freaky

climate change makes the bay area, once again, god's country

not that all those people on Highway 101 have noticed

apparently

now on the evening news we see three car pileups, mass murders

and no one out there seems concerned about having a jack

the do-it-yourself era is over

when I was a kid there were people, relatives

who played piano

and one of them would actually be someone who knew

how to milk a cow

nobody cares

there must be some cause better than peanuts

or the military jets that still streak

over Dinah's Shack

I sigh a peaceful sigh

it's all so retro

AUTHOR AUTHOR

prime directive

something ordained

in direct descent of the powers

of whatever

it's like trail mix

enough to negotiate the trail without too much

complication

just keep moving

it's all up there

somewhere

just a bit out of reach

but somehow less than a stretch

waking up is a good time to stretch

feels good

prime directive

ordained by?

a herd of cats

all in military order

ordained by . . .

there are numerous examples

my favorite being apples

and sunrise

I love apple pie

it is . . .

how do birds say it?

when I cannot

but also

a scattering of bell church towers

and blackberry clouds in their parts

wearing fool's caps

if it's all a stage

who hands out the parts

and who gets to write the script?

Director!

who applauds Director as the curtain comes down?

was Director elected?

hoi polloi senseless, insensate savages?

weeds at the base of the stage are ignored

which, after all, are springs of creativity

flim flam et cetera that will bring

The Next Big Thing

bring out the Taiko drums!

fill the mall with happy folk waving Kirin beer mugs

handed out by

The Director

beat the drums

raise dust

stir up two bit players, loosen the bit

let them run

but keep the profit

ah, but soft

perhaps your author is too heated

passion unbecoming

is it?

seeds fall through

germinate

and sprout up through the cracks

F

it's always a compromise between birds of the horizon

which have flown off into eternity

or at least as far as memory can last

and a dripping faucet

long tendrils of our trumpet vine gauge no intervention

or mice on the scurry side of a porch door

there is no wriggle without a wag

no wig without baldness

everything is balanced with what is not

do not make me a leader

for I value freedom

my nose drips

on occasion

such as heavy work on a cold morning

aged jowls are the saddlebags of my face

grateful for a presence of mind which has forgotten

horizons and such theoretical stuff

take your cart to the marketplace and I will not be on it

even where capped clouds are weightless

point to them

I will not sing

civilization is grand

for next to nothing these words have traveled far beyond

and pictures taken with my cell phone

far more than boats have risen

and this does not depend on you

or me

and as for freedom –

simply a recognition of truth

WARM FUZZIES

there are big words for this:

equanimity

small ones:

laziness

but none quite do the job

I do my work everyday

better suited for men half my age

get tired, come home, have a beer, watch newstainment

weather propaganda

every evening I play the piano

Captain Ahab at the prow of his ship

fending off monstrosities

to plumb depths of accidental revelation

and of course to play these words

sing their rhythm

and its all not much

in the eyes of estimation

which flutter down brocaded halls

those eyes

and absolutely it's all just such

accidentally my eyes rest upon a fallen branch

victim of trimming

and it is the whole tree

and yet again the leaf

and then my fingers branching

just a normal day

all beyond those eyes of estimation

and of course these words

a helicopter poses overhead

airship at sea

pulsing waves of sound muted through double pane windows

the resonance

it is all not much

I am lazy

why not advertise it?

it could be the start of someone's journey

getting sleepy now

all that trimming today

and then cooking

then piano

and now a glass of red wine

reservatrol

heard of it?

some sort of life extension plan