In the Mood

I'm always in a writing mood 

or in a music mood

then I sit down at either keyboard 

and the mood betrays me;

I need viagra for the disfunction of art

or weed, coke or something

to pull the words and music

out of a soul that dried up long ago;

my fingers pause and raise the coffee cup

and salute my last addiction,

except for the daydream of youth

when the words, music and future flowed;

and even I could spin

easily to the basket

and stretch one long thin arm out,

and finger roll it in.

Life as an Animal

When the lizard brain awakes

and all that is human has fled

and we are reduced to our lowest form

scrabbling among the rocks

or slithering amidst the reeds

seeing with dull eyes set low

feeling the dry and the wet

hearing the silence and the sibilant

smelling the decay of the carrion

tasting the rot with relish.

When the lizard brain awakes

and all that is reason has gone

and we that are primitive arise

scrabbling into the sunlight

or slithering onto the warm sand

seeing shadows with with dim eyes

feeling pain with hard skin

hearing cries with covered ears

smelling lust within the musty

tasting the blood eagerly.

When the lizard brain awakes

and all that is enlightenment has darkened

and we blunder noisily in the night

scrabbling along the water's edge

or slithering into the wetness

seeing nothing in panic

feeling that which is unseen

hearing the sounds in the loudness

smelling both the prey and the hunter

tasting the empty snap of the jaws.

When the lizard brain awakes

and all that is civil has torn away

and we thrust away the broken soul

scrabbling after the prey

or slithering from the hunter

seeing the blood and the flesh

feeling the fear and the anger

hearing the whimper and the scream

smelling the terror and the fright

tasting the bitter and the sweet.

When the lizard brain awakes

and all that is us has left

and we are fear, pain, loathing and anger

scrabbling for the choicest bits

or slithering among the remnants of life

seeing what we want to see

feeling what we want to feel

hearing what we want to hear

smelling what we want to smell

tasting what we want to taste.

Bullet Back

Even after 40 years I'm still wanting to take the bullet back...

a song of ghosts

When I washed my hands for the 20th time that day

I stared in the mirror above the sink

as I dried my hands

a hollow eyed ghost stared back at me.

My lips parted to speak 

and the ghost's lips parted, too

so I waited to hear what he had to say

but the words whispered out and I could not tell.

Once again I started to speak

and once again I waited in deference

and I strained my ears as he spoke

and he said "sorry, I'm sorry".

I nodded as if I understood

and waited longer to invite

any other word he cared to speak

but he slowly shook his head and I shook mine, too.

So at last I could say what I wanted to say

and as I spoke the ghost shook his head

his hollow eyes grew more hollow

his haunted face grew more haunted.

I spoke to the ghost and he shook his head

even I could not hear the words I spoke

I wondered if I'd become deaf after all

but the ghost assured me that I hadn't.

I caste my eyes up and down

I glanced from left to right

and turned my head to look over my shoulder

but there was no ghost nearby.

Then I stared straight ahead

into the mirror of the past

into the mirror of the future

straining for a glimpse of the now.

The ghost stared back without emotion

and when I started to speak he turned his head

so I hesitated

and washed my hands again.

A Portrait of God

I wanted to paint a portrait of god

so I got my easel and set up a canvas,

squeezed paints on my palette

and stepped back to consider:

how tall is god?

is he as tall as a man,

as tall as a tree, a mountain or the sky?

how wide is god?

is he as wide as me,

is he thin or portly,

is he muscular or smooth?

is he male or female? is she?

what color is god?

is he or she black or brown or white

freckled, mottled or splotched

tanned smooth or frog-belly raw

a face flushed or livid?

how old is god?

is she or he youth or age

timeless, aged or ageless

callow or wise

something in between?

what form is god?

is she formless or rigid

ethereal or solid…

and on and on.

so I decided to paint god as beauty and kindness

as the face of my mother when I was a child

so I decided to paint god as patience and dignity

as the face of my father when I was a child

and all that was pure in my mind

but once I finished I couldn’t help but notice

that the canvas was blank.

I Bought a Gun

One day I bought a shotgun 

and I looked at my shotgun

and its shells

and I said quietly to myself: "Courage".

But for some reason my heart still shrank 

and my hands still trembled

and I felt alone and small

as I watched the others stride around me;

and I said quietly to myself: "I need more".

So, one day, I bought a rifle 

and I looked at my rifle

and its cartridges

and I said aloud: "Courage".

But somehow courage eluded me

and my eyes darted about

and I felt at ill at ease

as I watched the others stride around me;

and I said aloud: "I need more".

So, I one day, I bought a revolver

and I looked at my revolver

and its bullets

and I said in a clear, firm voice: "Courage".

But why was my heart still so small

and why was I nervous

and feeling uncomfortable

as I watched the others stride around me;

and I said in my clear, firm voice: "I need more".

So, one day, I bought an automatic

and I looked at my automatic

and its magazine

and I said in a loud voice: "Courage".

But where was the courage I wanted

and I found myself shying away

and why did I feel so alone

as I watched the others stride around me;

and I said in my loud voice: "I need more".

So, one day, I bought a semi-automatic rifle

and I looked at my semi-automatic rifle

and its extended magazine

and I screamed: "Courage".

But I didn't find my courage in my guns

and I didn't find it in myself

and I felt too much to bear

as I watched the others stride around me;

and I screamed my scream: "I need more".

So, one day, I took my guns with me

and I looked at my guns

and all their ammunition

and I softly said to myself: "Courage".

But for some reason my heart shrank

and my hands still trembled

and I felt alone and small

as I watched the others stride around me:

and I softly said to myself: "Maybe tomorrow..."