Chinatown Jazz

sax man blows
slow note jazz
corner of Kearny
& California
bubbles up like
a slo-gin fizz
in a hip pocket
flask
sun glasses
lowered
case open
catches loose change
from tourists
walking too fast
to feel
the jazzman’s
wail
that wraps the walls
of Old St.Mary’s

International Poetry Festival

cellophane saint
canonized
by dead poets
left along
the road
you have slipped
in and out
the back door
too many times
sending fellow poets
to graves knowing
beyond the fake
tributes–
the truth
proclaiming on their
death beds
how you turned
on them

you slip
into second life
hang out a shingle
of poet or writer
tag yourself
the laureate
and sell your
leftover compost
turning frequently
to wide eyed
converts who fail
to see the little man
behind the curtain
masturbating
in blueblack ink

The SFIPF was held las summer with poets gathering from all corners of the globe. This old photo is entitled the Last Gathering taken outside City Lights Book Store. Ferlinghetti is holding the umbrella. Brautigan has the white hat on. Ginsberg is well Ginsberg. Peter is seated along with Bob Kaufman. McClure is pictured also. If you know the story of Micheline as well as some other poets–you will know this poem.

A Beer With Bukowski

sat two stools down
from bukowski
holding up a high-life
he nodded in my direction
downed it
tapped the empty
on the bar

another

I whispered
bartender
tell him I’m a poet

bukowski emptied
another one
tapped it twice
twisted out
his cigarette
went to the john

I leaned in
whatdidhesay

sounding like cagney
& polishing small circles
on the worn bar
he said,

who the hell ain’t

Found Poem—And Now the News on May 29, 2008

Instant Karma:
China bans Sharon Stone films

Charity aid workers
raping abusing children

Man hanged 87 years ago
in Australia—pardoned

Hundreds of New Testaments
torched in Israel

China evacuates
160,000 over quake

Ex-Press Secretary thinks
(are you serious)
he told lies for Bush

Foreign Adoptions halted
due to baby stealing

and

Only 210 Shopping days left
until Christmas

Airport Blues

I go to lonely airports
packed of people
watch the fast walking
bluetoothtalking
eyes glazed
fixed into a
cappuccino crowd
of standbys &
upgrades

the shine man smiles
hawks his trade
like a pt barnum
the brush carries
a beale street
12 bar rhythm
the smudged rag
carried from mississippi
sings a juke joint
solo

snap two three snap

as the lonely sit
face covered
by the morning times
unaware
that history
is singing
the last note

This poem was inspired by a poem by Jo Janoski and of course a bit of life

Sometimes I Hold You While You Sleep

somewhere
between the road signs

Hi & Dri Boat Storage
and
Have you talked to the Lord Today

I looked over
watched you sleep
chest
gently lifts
caught in window light
prisms
angels pirouette
on rainbows

as we passed
through Egypt Grove
Dylan sang
Blowin in the Wind
I said a quiet prayer

Rosanna

my poems live in
you collecting metaphors
of love & friendship

Decoration Day

it is on this day
and every other
I remember
you did not serve
on any front
but fought
the life war
battling
vices
and dad

struggling
to either
join him
or
leave him
you chose
both
neither
worked

fighting
for a shred of
normalcy
you thought
others had
and you deserved

you lost

I send this
kiss
on angel
wings
maybe
too late
to comfort
your soul
but
it is on this day
and every other
I remember

(for other Memorial Day poems click here)

Afternoon Song

(written by Rosanna and Scot Young)

I
could
go on
in vain
w/o words
songs or
sonnets
but
you know
the lyrics
to every song
I sing

you
read them
to me
under
a morning moon
a summer
mountain breeze
a july sun
cutting
through
charcoal clouds
racing to the
east
laying
afternoon
shadows
across my
face

In This World (part II)

In today’s garden
I tilled for peppers
paused
as she taught
them to fly

swooped off
the fence
hopped a bit
on spring grass
measured flight
they flew in
awkward formation

returned
to the good fence
mother zeroed
in on the newly
turned earth

one eye
to me
as if to say
I haven’t
much time