REAL MUSIC©

COUNTRY GODS

god's country is smothered

hellish temperatures in the east bay

drought

further east her sisters bring floods, hail, tornadoes

warm nights mean melted cats

Hector emerges from the wilds of bird land

calling a meeting

Tabitha and Rosie scramble to the screen door

but they'll have to wait a bit

ABC News is reporting today's severe weather

will the power grid hold?

GM cars kill people

they are fined

their profits increase

why is that?

no one runs the country

or the economy

or democracy

but internet packet switching will survive nuclear war

who runs the computers or do they

have a logic of their own

are we disposable?

an evening cup of coffee

some music at the keyboard

maybe something new or not

it doesn't matter

notes die out and go their way

real music happens when least expected

IMPROMTU MUSE

the Brass Rail in Milpitas was greasy

good hamburgers and swill beer

sort of like the beer bars in Angles, Pampanga

why this comes to mind now

I don't know

as different from lives already worn

as they are from each other

I am a refugee

it's rather laughable

why pay attention to a shadow play?

Olly Olly Oxen Free!

(we didn't consult dictionaries then)

a forgotten customer takes the stage

but the props are gone

there is no wind machine

actors speaking to a different audience

with different meanings

an ex-wife or lover

a teacher with convincing theories

a psychic reader who actually

really

just needed her roses dis-budded

SERVITUDE

so it doesn't matter what you believe

flowers are the heart of the universe

from this it could become a paean to waterfalls

or a dirge of wars, pesticides and so on

either way, I'm not listening

but while trimming a hedge

the babble continues

the memory of an old girlfriend

shorn of former charms

as unattractive as I now am

the trimmer screams

it's a two-cycle engine, understand

how could such stray thoughts intrude?

mowing is pretty good, usually

except when the re-modelers at my Saratoga place want to leave

at 4:30

and my truck is last in line on the long driveway

they send an emissary

at 4:35 I'll be done

they'll have to wait, I reply

which pleases no one but

I'm not listening

WISTERIA

the tock of a grandfather clock

in the entry hall of a wealthy client

long pendulum mocking

a gardener waiting for payment

as simple words accrue silence

and no one speaks

appraising who seems to have the advantage

a story burnished in deep mahogany

subtle glints of glory

but there is no shifting, foot to foot

as it fades into mist

QUIT RENT

this pen

held between thumb, index and obscurity fingers

is the medium

I wait

cool evening air

poised in the passing system

barely moves

then morning incense

traversing some rule of motion

as breathing slows

stillness seems an end in itself

SHOES

right here in this ordinary world

is a way through what passes for reality

bicycles, ships and planes pass through

yet most passengers are unaware

bees and birds live by it

the kitchen is a good place for observation

so I clean the dishes and the driveway

how fortunate to do lawns where few people interfere

it might be called a blessing

but I shy from arguments

AMBER

great myths are billboards

hung outside the house of self

nonstop shows every day

follow the journey and get lost

in another illusion

wake up without it

the world is not somewhere else

only that myths no longer rule

riding a bike, plucking a weed

seeing a cup as just a cup

are events

that end when they do

which is to say

never

in the liquid amber tree

a pair of doves have made their home

she sits and he brings food

late afternoon as I pull in to park

a dove on the ground nearby

ambles with some curiosity to watch

and we make our greetings

in the morning a song from the light pole

and later in the day she sits peaceably

in the liquid amber tree