mountain poem
Somewhere in the hills
where the snow climbs up the mountains and tree tops, and the isolation speaks
a quiet breath of hollow spirit. There are only a few who know how
to listen anymore. I am going. I am gone. Where a man is not judged
by the lack of control
he has over his own destiny, but instead by his soul. My mind like the landscape,
my madness is the road
that winds deep into the hills, far beyond Christmas. I am looking for peace. But first I must go where there is no difference
between the wash of blinding snow in front of my eyes and
the darkness of my own mind. I must know
that I am in good company
when I am only with myself. And everyday I have to relearn to trust
and forgive myself for that. Like the drifts over the road, my course and my footsteps,
the engine, the coffee, the exhaust, scarf and gloves. I’m not afraid to be out there. But eventually, the tree limbs will break under the unbearable weight of ice and snow. Silence screams
and naked as I am. My mind beams. I wanted to come home.
Sorry if I let you down. The train came
the bell rang, the whistle sounded and then the cars, very slowly
pushed away from the station. My suitcase is there. I am there. I am gone.
sight for sore eyes
cause you get drunk all the time
you smoke cigarettes all the time
lose your keys all the time
fly your scarf all the time
bundle up all the time
take me laughing all the time
play tricks on me
winter windows
mountain motel toes
when you remember to brush your teeth before morning
but forget your clothes
walkin’ moonlight
barefeet in the snow
burn candles all night just to watch them glow
I’m lookin’ for the way to kingdom come
I’m lookin’ for the way to kingdom come
cause we’re driving straight through
so afraid that
I was born to love you
pile on the blankets
lay next to me
turn down the volume and call it a silent movie
sight for sore eyes
pouring milk in your ice cream
you hear yourself think but I know what you mean
I’m lookin’ for the way to kingdom come
I’m lookin’ for the way to kingdom come
cause I’m drivin’ straight through
so afraid that
I was born to love you
get drunk all the time
smoke cigarettes all the time
play cards
you take baths all the time
make love all the time
I fall in love all the time
drive it north all the time
sleep in cars all the time
drink coffee all the time
it’s every mornin’ all the time
nights of stars all the time
miss exits all the time
burn it bright
I
I was born to love you (with a Gminor)
cause you get drunk all the time
you smoke all the time
tell bad jokes all the time
you play tricks on me
we fall in love all the time
lose your scarf all the time
miss your exits all the time
you lie with me.
winter wind froze
mountain motel toes
when you remember to brush your teeth before morning
but forget your clothes
walk barefeet in the snow
light a candle by the stove
and let it burn all night by the window
just to watch it glow
we’ll drive it straight through
we’ll drive it straight through
I was born to love you
we get drunk all the time
make me laugh all the time
bundle up all the time,
play tricks on me
we make love all the time
steel coffee all the time
make me laugh all the time
you lie with me
jigsaw puzzle
Me, I’m waiting so patiently
Lying on the floor
I’m just trying to do this jig-saw puzzle
Before it rains anymore ~ the Rolling Stones
Good morning. Here I am. It’s 6am. What good is this? I’m awake. America. Early Morning, I’m talkin’ to you. It’s freezing in my apartment. I woke up in the middle of the night with the windows open and the heater off. What happened? My mistake. Was I supposed to have known you were going to turn cold over night? Last I remember I was reading with fresh air blowing through my apartment. Did your mood change? Should I have known we were not going to be friends today? Why do I feel more like your parking meter sometimes than you mine? Time expired. Aren’t I the one who’s renting?
The morning is still very dark. I don’t even hear the hum of the highway yet. I know it’s early. I’d like to sleep late but my switch flipped. Now I’m curled up in front of this page and perched next to the space heater. I have a blanket over my shoulders. My socks have holes in them. My sweater is thin. I pressed a cup of coffee in the darkness cause I needed company. Now I feel better. Had a terrible dream. I won’t say anything about it. I’ll just say that I woke up with my eyes fixed out the kitchen window. The silhouetted trees swayed in the breeze and the leaves danced in front of the black night. It was beautiful. It was harmony. Is this fate? Who is it that you want me to be? Have I been cursed? Or is this part of your plan? When do I know if I’ve been blessed? When I take a walk, is it safe to go back inside? I think I’m going to move to Lake Tahoe.
It seems that everyone these days has got some good advice. Was it always that way? Is any advice ever really that good? Why do we need it to get along? It might be better to live without it. Like credit cards. Advice is like a loan. No one really wants it. Banks would love to control it. And it should collect interest. What is the difference between advice and good suggestions? I’m sure someone is really trying to help. Next time someone gives me good advice I’m going to say, hey, that’s a good suggestion. That way, when they come back around to collect I won’t have defaulted on my promise and have to pay some 35 dollar fee. Bank on it.
Austin town. Late night town. You’re still sleeping now. I know you. I’ve known you well. But we’ve never really been great friends. I think we’re both gamblers. But I’m the rambler. You’re the charter. I’m the ticket holder. When do I get my money back if we haven’t gone anywhere? I’m not impressed. Wonder what it’s like in Chicago right now. 16 degrees. Negative wind chill. A bunch of people sifting through the city. I stayed in last night and hunched at my piano. I’ve been playin’ this Joni Mitchell song, “River”. It’s a darlin’ tune.
The morning has started turning grey blue now. It looks the way I remember the ocean. The trees are still black with night. The light above the garage is still fighting for darkness but the morning will win. I’m in favor of morning now. I pressed another cup of coffee and am ready to settle my debts. I’ll do this actively. With a lunch box, a cup of coffee and a daydream. Each key pieces in my jigsaw puzzle.
blackness lit up the night
A man may be born, but in order to be born he must first die, and in order to die he must first awake~
Carl Sandburg
I looked up
and the light shined down from the streetlight
into my eyes. The snowflakes fell like feathers
so slowly from the blackness lit up the night.
And your face appeared in my hazy vision
when I was weary eyed and tired.
I looked out from my hood.
And you. Where were you? If I were to ask, would do me no good.
A few lonely strands of hair fell out your knit cap,
to rest quietly on your scarf. And I looked through the cold smoke
of our frozen breaths. They collide in the air between us. And you,
your frozen lips, your frozen cheeks
your frozen nose. I froze too.
Burn out
Ninety-nine percent of the world’s lovers are not with their first choice. That’s what makes the jukebox play. ~ Willie Nelson.
When in doubt, make coffee. Let the sky rain. Burn yerself out.
Take a spill and curl on the floor.
Lay about the bed. Look up at the ceiling.
Say, it’s been rainin’
Guess rainin’s where it’s at.
Even if tomorrow is about as far way as the rainin’ outside. And
the rainman’s been puttin’ an ear up to your windows. Listen’n in to
your footsteps, and your coffee pot, and your snorin’. Feelin’ isn’t just feelin’.
And outside, it’s lookin’ real cold between the sounds of the wind and the black street and the trees. Midnight Howls. Midnight silences.
And there you are runnin’ your fingers over the edge of yer life.
I spent about 20 minutes at the piano.
And I spent about 20 minutes sleepin’. Before I raced out last night
to play some guitars in this house full of players. Banjos, Fiddles, Guitars, Keys, Whistles, Thistles, Mandolins, talk, chatter, eatin’, drinkin’. And you know what, man?
It felt pretty good to be playin’. People got so many conversations in their ears
that they might not be hearing what they ought to be listen’n to, but it feels good to
pass through that door. And sling beer, wine, food, and a few good laughs. And pass back out into the cold. With my jacket up.
My hands in my pockets. My guitar over my shoulder. Feeling a little better.
Feeling a little colder. A little freer. A little more in tune. And my senses are a little sharper…. a deer runs by. And my feet hit the pavement. And my toes are cold. And my fingers grip. And my mind holds on to the ideas. And my cheeks shiver. And my eyes water in the edges. And the mist of the sky falls onto my jacket. And over my knit sleeves. And my skin turns from cold, but burnin’ about the lift in my spirit, and the rise in my mind, and the heavy freeze of the earth on my body. I know that somebody out there is sleepin’. Somebody’s dreamin’. Somebody is giving. Somebody is takin’. Somebody’s drivin’. Somebody is tellin’ a lie. And somebody is just findin’ out. Yep. There I am. Standin’ under that misty haze of tear drop sky. Just after midnight. With the darkness all around and it feels good to be human.
a mad king, a black throne
Here I am drivin’ 80 mph back down the highways to that
Austin town. After a week of walkin’ around the snowy city and
escapin’ up to the trails of the smaller mountains. Walkin’ round. I’m supposed to be thinkin’ about nothin’ at all. But I can’t do that. Even when I shut off the faucet,
it drips a steady leak.
So there I am 12 hours later…cuttin’ through towns in the alternative country,
the vacant dead land of wanderin’. Burnin’ through places
where people have been livin’ in like it’s
1940. American Villages. Ev’rbody’s drivin’ round in old trucks and roundin’
around in towns that’s only got a couple of roads. And nobody really cares too much about changin’ nothing at all. It’s 5 am
I’m gone. It’s 6 am, I’m goin’.
And then it’s 7am and here I am…flyin’ through
like a mad king. And I got this big black throne with wheels
and a 6-cylinder engine. It’s all rev’ed up and I’m cookin’ it.
I really I am. 80mph. At the speed of a coyote after a mouse in the cotton field.
The night before, pulled off the highway in
New Mexico underneath a feast of darkness and desert sky.
Off on a county road with no name. A capillary. Feedin’ the heart
of the alternative country. Hearin’ sounds between life. Feelin’ the need between needs. The torch between torch.
The touch between touch. The voice between breath. And I’m lost in this. I’m not feelin’ anymore.
I’m not needin’ to. I’m drivin’. Thin skinned and evil. Because.
When you look at yourself from the outside in.. you take notice to
everything yer tryin’ to fix when really yer just needin’ to try to stay alive. needin’ a fix and there’s probably nothin’ to fix at all.
