TIME

i won't wear a watch
time is not my friend
for calibrated ends
are not my thing
neither is the ring
of frantic clocks
as i hit the blocks
for a work-a-day world
with objects that swirl
at breakneck speed
which serves time's needs
but not my own
i'm just a clone
in goosestep march
with little arch
and damn sore feet
if i do meet
the demands of time
it's not my rhyme
so, onward i go
good and slow
and meet my end
like a long lost friend
who has plenty of time.

REALIZATIONS

i realize azure skies
and billowy clouds
smiling babies
laughing loud
crimson sunsets
velvet nights
crescent moons
nighty-nights

i realize time
is really not mine
it's owned by gods
who defy the odds
for my finite mind
that tries to rhyme
yet somehow misses
cerebral kisses
from those above
though i do love

these sunshine days
and humble ways
of birds and things
like lakes and streams
midst sunny skies
and gentle lies
of lovers games
what else remains
but realizations
they're my foundation.

ODE TO THE STRANGE

my mind will not rest
'til this issue, i address
strange thoughts enter my head
they're in my view
these freakish things, i must pursue
i know not why, i'm geared this way
i'm into "strange", what can i say?
the dead man's face
a hobo's gait
the circus clown on roller skates
ballistic nuns in hell-bent rage
a deformed thing inside a cage
fetish queens in leather wear
the junkies shooting in times square

there is such beauty in the dark
the light is nice, but it's not my art
i choose to harbor what is strange
don't judge me please, i'm not deranged
i can never trust what's "nice-y-nice"
there's so much more in grit and vice
so, on i go in my sardonic ways
i like the strange in all my days.

LONDON--1980

From Chicago to New York for my connecting flight...
London was my plan.
Got into a fist fight with a New York bartender.
I viewed him as the "typical" New Yorker.
I vowed I never would return to that rathole city,
and I never did.
I don't "heart" New York.
Bailed out of jail, by my traveling companion...
then on to JFK airport, or LaGuardia, or Lord only knows.
The big jet landed at Heathrow, and one the famous, black, London cabs,
renowned for having the best drivers in the world, took me to my hotel.
The cabbies are the best in London, bar none.
I stayed at a dilapidated flat run by a family of Vietnamese,
in Bloomsbury...The box spring sank to the floor.
I was tired...jet-lagged...hungover.
I listened to street traffic, and cockney accents emanating from beneath my window.
I heard fighting among pimps and hookers, crazed drunks and drug addicts, street musicians, confidence men and panhandlers...It was a grand cacophony of noise.
I loved it all, anyway. I fell in sync with the verve of this city.
The women were sexy...Germans, Brits, Eastern Europeans, Italians...a veritable smorgasbord of loveliness.
And the jazz! Oh!, the jazz!...Ronnie Scott's in Soho, was beyond compare.
It was a gas at Covent Garden, and Picadilly Circus.
I got some strange looks from the citizenry.
I had a raggedy beard, long hair, bib overhalls, combat boots, and American biker t-shirts. I loved riding the underground train...The famous "Tube".
I took it all in. The British Museum, The Tower of London, Windsor Castle, and little outlying towns by train. I loved the pubs more than anything...I can still hear my brit working class buddies saying, "Hey Yank, yah partial to shooting another game of snooker for a Guiness?" I drank warm, dark Guinness stout, or scotch without ice cubes. Not much ice in London pubs, but I didn't care. I learned and sang songs about football teams, women and wars, without having any knowledge of these things, and the blokes threw their arms around me, as if I was a brother.
I felt safe and at home...England does swing! Roger Miller was right.

SOMEBODY DONE ME WRONG

somebody done me wrong
she was a vixen
green eyes and alabaster skin
owned a room when she walked in
she done me wrong

we glided on the dance floor
drinks and dope and so much more
shared
and i was open
like a bathroom door
all vulnerable

and she took me in
to my chagrin
into the night
and hooked me
with a right
to the chin
and i ended up on the floor
the whore

somebody done me wrong
that same old song
of love long gone
gone wrong
the memory still stings
the loss of things
cut from my core
she done me wrong

WHEN I WAS FIFTEEN

i knew nine-ball, craps, poker and straight pool.
I watched the older guys and learned.
I knew how to get out of a set of handcuffs.
I knew how to box,
and learned how to run when the odds were against me.
I worked after school, so I could eat.
I helped my old man stumble home,
when the bartender called my mom.
I read jack london, upton sinclair and orwell.
i ran numbers and a sports book.
i attended an all boys catholic high school.
i dated tough girls who knew the score.
i drank schlitz malt liquor
and drove in fast cars.
i knew all the right people.
i had respect and got good grades.
i went on to college,
then on to good jobs and scams.
i had it all.
now, at sixty-two i realize:
how dumb i was at fifteen.

A SAD REALITY

there shall come a day
when toys are put away
for the philosophies of men
who cerebrate with pen
in hand for fellow man
not looking for a scam
and if you think this true
the idealist lives in you
but you will have a wait
beyond your death-day date
for the greed that exists today
it will not go away
and mighty minds that be
can't pen new realities
for the nature of most men
is to drop the lonely pen
for weapons that wreak war
it's easier to score
in money and evil schemes
with able war machines
so bring out all the toys
for deaths of girls and boys
we'll fill the toy chests, now...
and kill all sacred cows
'cause needless cerebrations
are the last to build our nations.

FOR THE DADS

Raise your glasses high, for all the fathers of the world.
For the fathers who died on the battle fields.
For those who returned home, and continued to love.
For all the fathers who take care of their children.
For all the fathers who didn't run out, because of adversity.
For the fathers who worked in thankless jobs,
and jobs of great importance.
For the fathers who changed diapers and told stories.
For the fathers who wiped away their little one's tears.

Also lets celebrate the fathers who spoke of peace and love.
Fathers who said to their children,
"A book can take you anywhere in the world."
Fathers who fostered dreams and seemingly, unreachable goals in their children.
Let's celebrate fathers who openly cried with emotion,
or helped their wives plant flowers in their gardens.

Let's forgive our fathers, even if they were not kind.
Sometimes, being a father is not too easy.
Love your kids, dad.
Kiss and hug 'em.
Always tell them that they're the best.
Tell them this, even when they fail over and over again...
and by God, most will end up being the best.
Happy Fathers Day, to all you lucky men who have kids.

A FATHER'S STORY

As I held my handgun to his head,
he cried out:
"But she wanted the drugs!"
These were the drugs that killed her.
My baby daughter
I lovingly changed her diapers
watched her smile and gurgle
gave her baths
read her stories
i put her on my chest at night
and she was safe with me in her slumber
i taught her how to ride her bike
and how to hit a baseball
i admired her at ballet lessons
and was amazed by her beauty
she was my joy, my life, my dreams
but now she was dead
the change in her came in high school
i followed her in my pickup truck
i saw her with her connection
dozens of times
I knew this man was her dealer
and the dealer to many other suburban girls
now i was in the ghetto.
no place for little girls
then before i knew it, i pulled the trigger
i watched as his brains hit the side of a wall
i looked up at all the other faces
they knew i was ready
no one made a move
i shakily got back in my truck
i drove home feeling like a dead man
i expected the police to pick me up
i poured a stiff drink and waited
no one ever came for me
i guess this was what they call, "street justice"
no matter
it didn't make me feel any better.

SCREWED

i was twenty-years old
it was a friday night
with a pixie-haired redhead
fabulous body
lovely face
a stone fox
she had designs on me

we left campus
for "funky town"
and a few pitchers of beer
some magic weed
now she was primed for love

so, we went to a house party
a lot of long hairs were there
freaks, bikers, bad-asses
but then some moron...
droped some STP acid in my beer
and off i went for a 3 day trip

i was "bye-bye"
and went of on a year depression
but the really sad part was:
that i didn't get laid
and as i freaked out
i saw the walls of the morris library...
melt

then and there i realized
that the evil perpetrated against me
was done by a dude
who was probably riding high in her saddle
so i learned a lesson
at the gentle age of twenty
and thus began
my mistrust of man.

THE GAP

what can i do
between here and there
between birth and the grave
to make it have sense
a life well spent
i am hell bent
to pay my rent
and make my mark
so my soul embarks
on journeys here
and journeys there
what can i do
i must be fair
in telling you
i do despair
that what is done
is never enough
man just wants
more of the stuff
of dreams
this awful gap
does quite distract
for we don't know
how we will go
and what is done
although it's fun
might not be enough
though filled with stuff
this brutal end
comes not when
we want it to
i'm telling you
so fill the gap
and then lay back
and appreciate
what you have done
and gasp your last
as you peacefully watch
the setting sun.

SUBURBIA

now I shop these upscale malls
little islands in "paradise"
izod shirt, kenneth cole slacks,
soft italian loafers, calvin klein sunglasses,
i'm undercover, man...yeah, right.

i see sixteen-year old girls...
driving pink audi convertibles
and fat, cigar chomping wealthy guys
with high blood pressure
lumbering behind svelt blonde wives
who have impressive boob jobs
and i think to myself,
"this ain't my america."

just thirty miles east
is my south side of chicago
where a double cheeseburger ain't a buck...
anymore
the jobs are missing more than ever
and the middle class is joining the ranks of the poor
and on and on and on it goes...

then i snap out of my dream
as my wife asks:
"what do you think of this painting?"
and i answer not looking at the price tag:
"it sucks, and it's too expensive."
she laughs and says, "you'll never change."
and this is what i love about her
and i am happy with her as i jump inside my sedan,
as we drive to another little suburban "paradise".

i smile and think of my '62 ford galaxie
bought for a mere $200 in '68
it ran like a dependable old whore
for 5 whole years
'til it died somewhere on a chicago street.
it was a good deal
so fuck suburbia.

DIRTY ASHTRAYS

i miss those days
of dirty ashtrays
and shots and beers
with wild buffoons
in sordid rooms
with bordello decor
and so much more
that stirred my soul
with words so bold
all locked inside
but they could not hide
and a sober mind
ergo, did find
a way to express
and get off my chest
these tales of woe
and now you know
of ashtray days
and a wildman's ways
for it was good
all wild in my "hood"
when i'm livin' straight
the words don't rate
so i dig deep
and am forced to repeat
my memories of the dark
i must impart
the hustle and flow
of down below
the grime and the dirt
is a better flirt
then the mundane life
so i write down low
that's where i go
to the ashtray days
these were my ways.

MY M.R.I.

Today, in the morning the sun shone brightly...The birds were birding, the bees were beeing and it was a beautiful, albeit a hot day. I felt good as I sipped my two big cups of coffee and snarled at the Chicago Tribune. After my morning constitutional, I hollered to my sweet wife that I was ready to go to our gym.

As I ambled to the men's locker room, my body started veering right...It changed course as if against my will! I tried to make it stop, but lo-and-behold I crashed into a number of elliptical machines, and down I went on the floor. This vertigo thing was wierd, man! I never experienced anything like it in my life. A nice young lady came over and asked me if I was alright. I lied saying, "Yeah, I'm fine." I must have had a sheepish, embarrassed grin on my face...Truth be told, I was afraid.

She told me she was an EMT, (emergency medical technician), and that I should get my ass to the hospital, STAT! I sat myself down feeling defeated and nervous. The gym manager came over to me, and asked me if I hurt myself...if all was alright. I said, "as far as I can tell"...then I saw my wife, and let her know that she had to drive me to the hospital emergency room.

When we got there, and let them know what happened, and my history of problems with peripheral artery disease, they freaked out! I was a code white, (whatever the hell that is). Assholes and elbows were a flyin' everywhere! Now, I was really frightened! The medical staff stuck all kinds of rubber suction thingees all over my chest and legs. They put one of those geezer oxygen tubes in my nose. I could see my pulse and blood pressure on a monitor. I felt like I was an episode in the "House" tv show!

One thing for sure, I didn't feel like Rocky Balboa or the Incredible Hulk, anymore. I started thinking, "I must have had a trans-ischemic episode, commonly known as a "mini-stroke". With my history of aneurisms, this is a possibility. The doc came in and had me move my face, as I smiled, frowned, raised my eyebrows, arms, squeezed his hands, followed his finger with my eyes, and pushed my feet into the palms of his hands. I felt like a marrionette, only I was pulling the strings.

Shit! This thing was getting more and more ominous! They started drawing my blood and putting a IV thing in my wrist for the contrast I was going to get, 'cause the neurological surgeon on hand, wanted me to get an MRI...gulp! This was really a bummer, but I knew it was coming.

They rolled me onto this space-aged looking gurney with head and neck support and slid me into a tube, smaller than a coffin. I thought I was going to lose my mind listening to all the pounding and whirring as they magnetically imaged my brain, or lack thereof. I gut it out in there for thirty-five minutes. I was so tense from being nervous during this procedure that my shoulders were in agony.

When it was all over, two hot-looking attendants wheeled me back to my emergency room. Debbie was there, and she smiled at me as she held my hand...I felt like a little boy with his mommy. It was an agonizing two hours waiting for the results. My mind invented all types of horrible diseases and scenarios. By the time I was through with my machinations, I had an inoperable stage four, malignant brain tumor! I am never one to over-react...yeah.

Finally, the radiologist read my results, and the doctor came in with them. He wasn't smiling which was not a good sign. My guts were churning as I warily waited for what seemed an eternity, for the bad news. What's worse, I was gonna' have to take it, lying down. The doctor told me, "Your brain is normal...no lesions or tumors...what you probably had was vertigo." "It might have been caused by your recent sinus infection or your over-doing it at the gym, without proper hydration." See your family doctor in 3 to 5 days, or sooner if you have more symptoms." Hmmmm...I thought.

I felt like a guy who had been pardoned from the electric chair, at one minute to midnight! What a damn relief. I prayed my thanks to The Great Spirit, and once again turned into my asshole self. First, someone stole my favorite biker tank top...my damn 2004 sturgis bike week shirt! Then, I started bitchin' about how much money this procedure was going to cost me. Also, I was angry that I lost a day of pumping iron and swimming at the local pool.

Finally, I looked at how my wife was smiling at me in the valet parking area, in front of the emergency room. I stood there, t-shirtless in my cut-offs and sneakers, amazed at her kindness. When the car pulled up, I grabbed her hand and kissed her gently on her lips. At that very second, I realized that I was the luckiest man in the world.

THE POWER IS OUT

the damn power went out again
yet the rates go up
the gas company overcharges me
groceries are more expensive
gas is outta sight
nuthin' works anymore
including the U.S. population
yet the rich get richer
the poor get poorer
the sick get sicker
and i just stay pissed off
the powers sedate the masses with:
redbox videos
guitar heroes
ipods
ipads
puters
junk food
american idol
the biggest loser
is us.
i'm in a montana state of mind
throw all the garbage away
start my farm
raise my own food
cattle
chickens
buy me some guns
hole up
no tv
no newspapers
put up a fence
dig a moat
post it
and cap anything in the ass
that don't belong
this is my American way.

MY SUMMER DAZE

i remember being 20...
and my summer daze
at the beach all day
dancing to the tribal music
psychedelia in the sun
we had so much fun
these were my ways

nubile hippie goddesses
swinging their hips
erotically
oh me! oh my!
it was my paradise
southern illinois

we went back to their trailers
or mine
sometimes cheap apartments
sharing a joint, a seconal,
or just some wine
but we ended up making love
as we listened to the doors
or maybe joplin
or the group, it's a beautiful day...
and it always was

drinking cheap bali-hai
or old milwaukee beer
$1.49 a six-pack
my summer was endless
it was a state of mind
i'm so glad it's still here
it hasn't left me
an old dadio
gettin' on with his show
and i'm content
for my summer daze
my young man's ways.

IM A MAN

i don't carry a man bag
or wear tennis shoes.
i don't eat in organic restaurants
or shop in the mall
if i can help it
i don't shave my chest
or my arm pits
i won't bow my head
when beautiful women walk by me
i look them up and down
and suffer the consequences
i like fast cars
booze
and cigars
i hate man bashing jokes
and i put ketchup on my french fries
so what?
i like soul music
the blues
metal
and the sweatin'
while i pump iron in the gym
i also like sleazy dives
i like wearing black leather
and motorcycle boots
and i don't give a hoot
for political correctness
'cause I know myself
and can walk the walk
i'm a man
yeah
that's what i am
so give me a bulldozer
a fast car
and dangerous things to do
i know i can do 'em
i won't disappoint you
this all is true
'cause i'm a man.

WHY?

they came in great, wooden canoes
we shared with them everything we knew
and taught them the ways of the Great Spirit
but they were war-like
and did not share their knowledge with us
instead they devised evil schemes
and forced us from our lands
they disrespected all the living things
that we cherished with all our hearts
and they raped the earth
so we prayed
we even prayed for them
finally their president chief gave us some land
he told us we would be safe there forever
but he lied and more of our blood was spilled
many of our men took to drink
some of our women had to sell their bodies
our children ran in the streets
unkempt and uneducated
our hearts were torn out of our chests
to this day we pray to the Great Spirit and ask:
Why?

THIS ONE THING

my mind is set on this one thing
i can improve my body
pump the iron
run the miles
make pain my friend
eat clean
negate drinking and smoking from my life
and sleep eight hours a night
then the mind improves
there's a greater clarity

the payoff is now
as i sit in this glorious sun
i see no fat on my temple
i only see lean muscle mass
my quest began seven years ago
interrupted by surgeries and illness
finally after four years of battle
i am back to where i was before
thirty pounds lighter
quick reflexes and balance
increased muscle strength and size

now i pump the iron harder
i use heavier weight
i work more repititions on my abdominal muscles
and i keep on my schedule
i don't miss sweets
i don't miss sugar
i don't miss the booze or smokes
three navel oranges at night is my nirvana
i eat seven healthy meals a day
all clean fuel for the furnace that is me

i got my mind right
but i'm no better than anyone else
if i die tomorrow
or get some debilitating illness
i have to accept it
it's in the cards
but i know it's not my fault
because i did the work
anyway, death is everyone's fate

my quality of life is so damned good
'cause i did this one thing
i made the commitment
it became my life's joy
it defines my spirituality
it made me free
this one little thing
let me be me.