COMMENCEMENT©
KITE TALE
glass mountain has been moved into the garage
I'm not sure why but have been told
it's the decent thing to do
so now everyone is waiting to see what it will do
people peeking in the window
and there is a gentle breeze outside
the birch tree swishing like a hula dancer
kids are laughing
they're always so unruly
even the guy with his ice cream truck
which he brings through the neighborhood once a week
on Sunday
with the music box recording jacked up to a blare
and it's not even Sunday
must be the weather
but let's not get political
no one can see the mountain
being that it's glass
and really, that doesn't matter
everyone is having a good time
there are no police in sight
it's a neighborhood night out
unofficially
and even the crows have come
sometimes they like to visit anyway
filling yards, streets, trees for blocks
the ice cream guy is not playing his recording
crows not crowing
just laughter
kids of course
all this going on for something no one can see
DOORSTEP SUTRA
NOTICE
The Laurelwood Cabana Club Swim Team
will be having its annual sleep over party:
Saturday, June 22nd-23rd
6pm – 8am
Quiet time will be enforced from
10pm – 7am
Laurelwood Cabana Club
3700 Benton St.
(408) 246-8013 Pool Office
Sunday is the day
people go to meeting
operating a blower is illegal
Nirvana oil
for the lamp of Liberation
Heaven on the lay away plan
whatever
it all comes down to peace
and most people do not even mow
the Prince of Peace
does his thing
on Sunday
stories of rulers
bore me
wasteland of history
caves of enlightenment
smudged with candle carbon
prehistoric graffiti
let the good times roll
and roll and roll
I clip my toenails and watch the evening news
three rainy days in the forecast
for the south bay
in June
unbelievably, Wood Duck is absent
the usual Cabana caravan; it's almost eerie
even the birds are quiet
clouds darken the sky
yesterday leaves of our liquid amber were aflutter
a tree dropped a limb across Benton Street
the scales of nature weigh carbon fumes
allocating justice
to humming birds
a glut of carbohydrates
curse of agribusiness
rivals fumes
it all balances out
big kids
float easier
it could be that my blower is blessed
I think of a stained glass mandala
in the palace of the Prince of Peace
IN OUR FINAL EARLY DAYS
briefly, let's consider whether this
which you are reading right now
were intoned into the night
at an open mike club
OK!!! that's enough
our June disaster in the south bay
would not chant very well
thank Zeus no one is listening
I rather enjoy it
the disaster is a beguiling breeze
somewhat laden with moisture
smells of rain
a freshness of infinite origin
and here turn the page
cover your face
though no one is looking
we have walked together in times past
and the rest
nervous newscasters, city officials concerned with rising pension costs and traitorous State warlords
will have parted ways
this could have been a careful report
perhaps reviewed by those very newscasters
who may not have noticed water beads
on their shoes
when walking
subtle motions of a shrub
or more to the mirage
a skeening haze
together we enjoy what may be called
the University of Major Bullshit
how enjoyable it is
no screening
no doctorates
undergraduate tendrils of vines entwined
Major Bullshit!
steaming in a front yard spied upon
by Google maps and cameras
which are blind
we laugh
not a belly laugh
not a sigh
not anything, really
that Google can see
we are free of making missiles
do not answer to corporate Frankensteins
do not lick the rostrum at City Council
and we do not pander to psychopaths:
tip of the pyramid leaders who claim orientation with scientific stars, celestial beings or the ultimate ground of being
no matter how close it seems
or to the putative pebbles of our stream
you know –
those ones we stumble over
on our way to The Great Being
that we are told inhabits stars
animates an Inquisition into our motives
so that we tremble and become
obedient slaves
well, make that a belly laugh after all
guts are not very poetic but just speak their peace when things are right
all the shiny rocks, wet with miracle water, streaming sunlight
immune to intonation yet singing
that is where we met
UMB
if it sells Twinkies
who am I to complain?
on the earthquake channel tonight was a weather report
clouds of meteorologists
gathering over the San Andreas fault
spray cans in hand
injecting WD40 Silicon into those arthritic joints
it was like a rain dance in reverse
amazing
instead of bumps and grinds
a smooth ballet
a great mist of benefaction, clearing throats of symphony goers
unaware of the real reason for celebration
-- no tympani roll –
although it was in the score
to the dismay of the conductor, gesticulating frantically
which everyone took as a cue for the finale
though the program showed no coda
my faith in science exhumed
bones of the earth laid bare as never before
Mozart eat your heart out
get loose, man
the end is not foreordained
all those careful curlicues have a home in unrestrained sideburns
and on HDTV it's even better
Twinkies sweat sugar under studio lights
indeed, I am entertained
the new weather man on Channel 5, more sedate, less subtle
Brian Hackney, sort of homey
he makes mistakes and has phrases for the June wind chill
"freeze your buns"
and brief cuts to severe weather farther east
we are one, but it all comes down unequally
yes, now we're cooking
metaphorically twisted cuisine
further than Kesey's bus or San Francisco's cable cars
for the tourist Twinkies
we're just getting warmed up, here on the wonderful coast
but somehow the usual terms don't cover it
Chicago?
all those careful cubicles
overweight slaves awaiting slaughter
in an offshore downsizing tsunami
salami with cheese, please
how could all of this be inexpressible
except for an ER peopled by machines programmed for profit
at the Bohemian Club, did I mention salami?
perhaps it smacks of the cruder passions
let champagne be our lubricant
at UMB such undergraduate courses are faintly acknowledged
necessary but not sufficient
yesterday a spider's web, today a passion flower
no seminars
just birds in the trees, a chattering of neighbors
and of course jasmine flowering by the porch
the University of My Backyard
is anywhere
in any degree
SUMMERTIME
Summertime
and the livin' is breezy
Summertime
and the heat shimmers high
sleep little baby cyclone
mama's going to bring you a rain storm
don't cry
but mama got some lightning
flashed her credit card and said
fly fools!
run!
sparks are just the start
all that stuff you bought at the mall
for your Walden Pond
forget it!
paradise is burning
and those big dams and reservoirs
not even a drop in the bucket!
it was just waiting
and so
here in California, or Texas, or maybe in Russia, India
anywhere fuel is not yet fossilized
the cycle is interrupted
energy stored is celebrated
San Francisco's giddy victory
freedom to marry brothers and sisters of the same gender
sees wild fires
perhaps a celebration of mama's deserts
as yet another cycle begins
smoke rises up to the sky
homes burn
people die
mama clears the forest for another generation
emails flash across the planet
aliens are tuning in
is this the time?
who to support
Republicans, the Vatican, North African gurus
is this the end?
in California smoke rises from a BBQ
fundraiser in the Oakland hills
and of course they know from past experience
in San Francisco by the bay
magic place where new rules play
where rabbits at the Presidio have their say
rainbow flags aflutter
emails flash
heat rising
the sky shimmies
simmers
dawn of a new day
EVENING ALOEWOOD
no cats are around the clipboard tonight
somehow they have sensed
the privacy of a viewpoint beyond conception
that caters not to their domain
nor to any
there is no explanation
too many wasted words
so if we're on the same page
let's have a good laugh
hear it echo over lupine meadows
the question has resolved itself
on a foggy evening
that strawberry at the edge of a cliff
plucked during the fall to certain death
having grown beyond the reach of profits
was free, thankfully
of pesticides
the usual disclaimers apply
domain?
conception?
lawyers scratch their heads
ribald guffaws
Hannibal crossed the alps
beyond all expectations
and after that the grape presses of Italy extruded
virgin olive oil
both of which are still appreciated
I rest my case
ignoring possible historical inaccuracies
there is no evaporation
Mark Twain has taken the stand
as mentioned on other occasions
reason makes logic a whore
Queen of Science impugned
to enthrone the Mad Hatter King
signed this Wednesday evening in Santa Clara
California
the Mission City crossed by El Camino Real
in full possession of all normal and extraordinary faculties
and affixed with my seal:
the gardener
