Mom was a bird, a little bird with no cares. She sang, she chirped her way through life, unaffected by ‘the cats’ who stalk harmless creatures like sparrows, and doves, singing songs in morning sunshine..in cool spring light. She always lived joyfully..in Jesus; and though stuff happens, no one could take that away, no one could steal her song. Mom! I miss you, I dreamed about you last night. We were through living in this dump, and after twenty-something years we were packing it in, rolling up the carpets. I picked up an old antique table someone had broke the leg off of; and I noticed brush strokes of stain you had applied after sanding, ages ago, and not done too carefully, but with a spirit of lightness and freedom, like the way you lived. And I told these two Mexicans picking through books who I had been telling about Traficant, “Look. My mom did that.” And I was remembering how every moment, whether washing dishes; or pulling weeds or cleaning my messes, you were creating without worry or concern. It was just a natural and easy thing for you to do. And you would sing to yourself and to God..and Dad, too, if he was around; though he was half-deaf from exploding ordnance down in the Philippines during sea battles, days he spent in the navy. It’s too bad it took me so long to just learn to relax a little..we could have had a lot more fun. Together. When we were younger. I recall that time you eased me over the hump with learning to tie my own shoelaces. I miss Mom.

~c.

PS: I love you.

YOUR DAY IN COURT: “NEXT. How do you plead.” “Pronouns are none of my concern.” “Yes, they are. We make them your concern. NEXT..” “Religion is not my issue. Yes it is, we make it your issue. NEXT..” “Sexual behavior is none of my business.” “Yes, it is, now, we made it your business. NEXT..Anything else?” “Yes. Politics is not my problem.” “Ohh yeah?? we make it your problem.” “But how? I am US Constitution, a document..but a piece of paper, that establishes the rule of law; and under me liberty and justice for all.” “That is de facto correct. You are just a piece of paper. NEXT..”

~c.

Puzzle, puzzle, life’s a puzzle, –PUZZLE? Yeah-yeahh, check ‘t out. Greek’s got there first, a puzzle there in their thin Mediterranean air, there, they’re calling it a riddle..the’re in their mist. Go aks the Sphinx for some basic information, –Szczerzy! you jeszt (and don’t call me Shirley). So she/he/it, –Zey! hand you zee enigma and zo zen..Zen zey! zey go off to sea, see? and fight Phoenicians for real estate (wow). “ROW! ramming speed, mate!!” Win a war an’ go home, fi-ow-ey w’ecks in za woke wakes of zem..zunk in ze zea, –“He’s the King.” Fall for your mom, have a marriage, settle down, raise a family. Zee? now wazzat a bummer? bummer in the summer Oed-i-pus, T-Rex..Hmm?? So! on to New Rome (what will they think of next) E=emcee,Sq(dot)right?, right! (Wight, Euripides.) So what’s this?, it’s a mushroom, that’s what it is big ol’ shroom-cloud hanging over your head,HEAD!head of YOU at that free DEAD concert in the park, (O)ed, –Oy!is what it is, Golden State..Free! free narcotics, free music, free love, free-free. Free, free,FREE! for a lark..look! listen; and HEAR (a noise): riot-guns, suBmachine-guns..cops! Gurus! bullhorns, cops, cops’ sirens, cop bullhorns! sitars, COPS! dogs, barking..cops, –Blubber! (smell the strawberry incense brother) what is up with those boys? screeching rubber! smack up against a wall (mother), KEE-RASH! GAME OVER_SCORE: 3 DEAD SUSPECTS. Solve the puzzle and win a free cruise for 2&a chaperone to fabulous..romantic..Ensenada, Mexico, –Ba-ha-ha! 3 sunburned days, 2 funfilled nights for you and a date, don’t wait! and don’t drink da wa-da..Wait! (free diarrhea, solve the diarrhea and win some relief); or trade it for what’s behind the curtain, tree-curtain, yes! of eucalyptuses swaying aromatically to salt rhythms on a soft breeze waving BYE-BYE! long silky tree-legs wrapped in tree-pants of wet bark, “So-and-So Love Watchamacallit” carved in ’em with a pocket-knife oozing heart-shape sap in back of orange sunsets dropping south, south by northwest, and seagulls, birds, dumping out of heaven’s grass skirts in the sea; in kelp SPLAT! no wait no actually they’re not trees legs, they’re my legs I think,ZINK! I zink I am taller, stretched some (therefor I am). Anyhow t’s my dream, my, –my poem, me, myself..eye, “Aye! aye!” Me. Harbor pilot walking on zem ze legs of eucalyptus looking down and around on blonde bronze surfers legs dangling off boards, lingering zere in ze wide ocean, afloat..over zee puzzling arrays of dumb sea creatures, 1000’s! millions of zem mixed, all shapes and sizes swimming in za ambient jig-saw seas..for hours, zoz zurfers, zey are counting zee tiny swells waiting for za perfect one, to HANG TEN off ze nose of a shark, great white,WHITE! white and private and privileged..shark (great); and, surfed-in from the Islands before The Great War ends, hundred-year-old boards, 25-35 footers, full-size, strapped on roof-racks ’40s woody’s, parked up and down s’and dunes at the edge of the world, our world, plastic..Virgin Mary on the dash under the mirror and a rosary; open a bag of marshmallows in back with the seats folded-down and chocolate milk to chase; and love beads, “PEACE.” It’s just you and me, kid, “KISS! kiss!” “Mm-mm!” Plus all we got’s between us ‘s a Pepsi, some suntan oil, few chips; and a musty sleeping-bag, dam..dem dam beach-bums, dey stole’d da board! (shlepped it kleen away) and worse, still, you don’t get the prize you won in that contest. Turn off the radio, it’s a rip-off, no remedy solves the puzzle. (SIGH) It’s all Greek..Za poetry you zee. ~c. Ps:Christo anesti!

Looking back over the years since getting dumped on this planet I find it hard to picture life..without you. Oh there was lots of girls I fell in love with, sure, but they didn’t fall in love with me; not for keeps, anyway, I was scared! so what. I recall when I was three there was these two nurses taking care of me in the hospital after my surgery, to remove something from my shoulder-bone that didn’t belong there (I still have the scar) and they hugged me a lot and fussed over me and brought me my meals and medicines around the clock (maybe they were using me for practice for when they might have their own baby boy); but then after about a week of that the doctor said I was okay and they took me home, my parents did..and it was over. Then there was this mature young woman who wanted me, enough to be stalking me at MACY’S near the toy department around Christmastime in Frisco, where we had paused in our travels for a brief layover; but my father foiled her plan. At first, he pretended not to notice her as she got closer and closer and would have actually kidnapped me, but Dad whisked me away at the last moment, “Nyahh! nyahh!” she was so mad at him she could’ve knifed him. Then we went back to our room at the hotel in the ‘Tenderloin’ area and I played with my brand new Mattel six-shooter rifle I made them buy me at the store until I got us all in trouble with management over the GREENIE stick-em caps I was popping away at with it, it had reached the tipping point (we checked out next day, early, and went to the parking garage and management waved us Good-bye! as we drove out to the street beneath the shadowy penumbra of tall, old buildings built on steep hills blocking the sun’s rays from getting in, and went somewhere for breakfast). And when I was 4 or five, before kindergarten I think, I had it really bad for the alcoholic dentist’s daughter, Jennifer, who lived high up on the hill behind us in a very old house of stone and mortar, on several acres with horses, that had an arched entry door made out of rough lumber like the old witch’s place in the woods that Hansel and Gretel got to visit..probably. And she would come see me, occasionally, and hold me in her lap sitting on the poured concrete steps going up to our house by the gas-meter on her pleated skirt and she was really sweet and blonde and slender; but then soon she got married, and once again I was out in the cold. My dad, the Preacher, performed the wedding ceremony in the church, next-door to our house with the leaky roof, and pots and pans to catch the drips; as I witnessed the whole thing from desperate shadows up in the balcony with a stained-glass window of Jesus tenderly holding a little lamb..and was heart-broken. After that, Dad gave me a Japanese rifle he brought home after the war which came with a bayonet that slipped on and locked over the barrel end and he showed me how to work the bolt action so it didn’t get jammed in the process and that helped to get over it a little, I guess..anyway, it was a seven-point-something millimeter and there was no bullets. In the second grade, for me, it was kind of a toss-up between Natalie, who I’d seen around in pre-school and who, now, a couple years later, I shared a desk with, or actually, it was a table in the third row; and then there was Leslie, who lived in a trailer at the “Polynesian” trailer-park out by the edge of town with her family which were Hungarians and she had long thick brown hair (there was a neon sign out front on the main drag that was lit-up at night, flashing the name of the place, giving it a bit of a South Seas feel surrounded by mountains, there, just north of San Fernando). She used to chase me up the ancient concrete drive-way that went to the church parking lot that abutted the dentist’s field where the mostly ignored horses meandered around after school in her pretty plaid dress with shoulder-straps that was blue and green and a white blouse underneath but I would always outrun her until finally she gave up and nothing much happened after that, –Ohh! I could have kicked myself!! until the third grade when something happened, it wasn’t much but it was something, –I’ll skip it..anyway, that’s all the women in my life until Jr.-Hi and there wasn’t anyone there, as far as I remember; oh! but except in the house next to ours, built on several lots, there was a young lady of Dutch descent maybe in her early twenties and blond named Bonnie Dykstra, who lived with her old dad in, I think it was a two-story house and she sported white go-go boots, sometimes, and drove around in a Mustang. And nothing happened there. And after that I don’t remember much, until, following a lot of lonely and desperate years in and out of schools, getting kicked off jobs up and down the coast; and not much else..there was you! soon to be my significant other, who, by a major miracle I met; and where we met it was a METS game, not really! just kidding, and it was true love and we were JUST MARRIED on the spot by my dear old Dad, the Preacher, who officiated tying the knot of holy matrimony for us in the Fairmont Park in Riverside..by that cute little lake, where we said our ‘I-do’s’ and forsaking all,ALL! others and “till death do us part”, heedless, in the moment, of how fast time flies..like driving a Pinto down a mountain that has lost its brakes; so you have to jam it in second, then first. And that’s that, thee END (but our love goes on and on, Honey, and, oh! by the way, Happy Valentine’s Day, my dearest one)

~christopher

The cats don’t like the saxophones, no they do not, they do not like them one bit (true furry tales of honing one’s craft). They don’t like the screechy, yowling sound they make, for it seems it offends their delicate little ears; and sets their whiskers on edge..at the mere sight of the cork getting greased, they begin treading circles nervously around the room, setting up for a hasty retreat to their safe space they are familiar with from the last time, or times, there was saxophone practice..in the house. How big is that space; and where? Maybe they have to share it with a mouse; or two..or 5 or 25, who knows! do you? Anyway, the point of it is once the reed gets softened sufficiently with some good old-fashioned spit, –and they hear it start playing itself and the notes begin to split! making that grievous honking sound like a gaggle of geese’s going north for the winter; or some aspirins, or percodan’s, –or whatever, crossing each other’s air-spaces going south! you will find they can no longer be found..the kitty-kats can’t. Do you know where they went? or why? No, and neither do I. And nothing seems to improve, either, ever, any way (except maybe we got rid of some mice); and looking around the room at all the chairs – sentinels, silently sitting there – there’s something different, definitely, I can notice..their fabric’s bent! bent fabric, nice! and just from a few notes, or whatever, bouncing off the tuck ‘n’ roll couch, Ouch! it’s no wonder the cats don’t like a saxophone. If the furniture couldn’t withstand it, why should they? could you? (yeah, me too). Here, my kitty-kitty’s, now hear this! (sax-vamping some respectably substandard, alley cat-ty..flowery! be-boppish dirge on MOON RIVER al dente, well, sort-of I’m outta here). Well so what if I ain’t no ‘Boots’ Randolf?? We can always trade it in on a good used accordion and try starting over..again, –Can’ I? “Yes we can! can-can, –Uhh!”

~c.

The wheels of time, –pushing, and eternally turning the universe are the boss of us peoples, whom, sensing the inevitable, strive to retire from the rat-race; and find rest (but few who found it). Each generation passes away before Him, leaving their towels on bloody towel-racks, never to be washed again; dirty dishes cluttering sink’s their edges, carrying the grimy debris from meals, served, and half-eaten last week beside a newspaper, now sunken in moody, blue-grey waters with no hands – dry inside rubber gloves of yellow – to minister to a needful cleansing and restore them to their rightful place on the empty shelf, impatient..irked! even, you might say, as the spoon runs away chased by the dish, oh! oh, and how I wish,WISH! it to be different, somehow, like a fish! waiting, flipping, flip-flopping aimlessly in a dish-strainer bathed in moonbeams under a clock on the wall looking down on the knife-rack, waiting, patiently waiting to be be-headed and broiled..on a shtick; and alongside a potato, placed carefully on a plate, thahh! that dish, dish who ran away with Mr. Spoon..too soon, –High noon! does anyone learn? ’tis but a poem, try to discern! Discern..Look it up! now you’re discerning. From Ezekiel to The REVELATION (of Saint John the Divine) the end of all nations must soon come to pass. Yes, the Indian nations, too! (yes, and their motorcycles). It’s true, cowboys, it’s just me; and it’s you. It’s been..a journey, pardner, long, long journey, waiting, watching and waiting; and standing, on the Rock: “Behold, I stand at the door and knock: if any man hear my voice, and open the door, I will come in to him, and sup with him, and he with me.”, see? ~Revelation 3:20, –By G_d

~c.

What happens to the poet when, like, the poetic inspiration, uhh..thing, happens! or, strikes? (hits). Why, the brain of course starts releasing thee endorphins, like, crazy, man! and, at first..lazily? the poem begins to take flight, fluttering mildly,MILDLY! like a kite on the back of the poet who wrote it; and at some point gets to have some form or other, like, like, taking on a definite shape, like an apparition, uhh, of anything! a, a..apple laden driftwood bough in ‘is burnt-out clutch’s, you know, like..like, smell the RAY-BESTOS, dude! like a hot apple pie, purplish, and hazey like; and, so “..did you like the poem?” Like, then, so, like, klik on the LIKE..like. Well! was it good? Nah, meteoric! crash-and-burn, skeletal..tantaliz’d poet’s dry remains, etched on yon lonesome rock! the rest of ‘m in a urn, –Thanks. Thanks for the memories. So! when did poetry first get invented? Or: Could POETRY, like, have even happened, man, without, like, –POE, man? like: Once..upon..a midnight, ahh..whatever. Once upon a midnight..Special! (yeah, that’s it, now you’re doing it),The Midnight Special, –Once upon Thee Midnight Special the night Grand Funk Railroad arrived by railroad, no..make it a train! long, long train; and it began to rain; with thunder and lightning’s and all of the rest of it..then! All at once the groupies files in, fills the T-V studio (CUE:mild din*), waiting for the sound-check to begin..ears to hear, but not for long, screeching notes to lift a song, –PARANOID! stuff’d behind that..plutonian door, amplifiers piled-hi by the score, hit the MUTE forevermore; poor,POOR! hippy-chick she’s toast..Lenore! by now, deaf as a door-nail in that star-studded door, can’t hear nothin’ nevermore, drums..electric gui-tars galore, “Dahh da-dahh..da da-da dahh-ah-ahh!” cranked to 10. This has been a test; and nothing more (add the raven, call it good). So! was it endorphins caused it all, caused the whole thing, body of another great poem to materialize, –shape up? shape of a pill, right?? and ’twas it a better solution to the artist’s quest for ‘Beautiful’, than simply taking..a pharmaceutical? NO! not even the poet’s he’s..deluded, man, deluded from Dilaudid’s dat da doctor, like, prescribed ta help wit passin’ da kidney-stone; an’ a poem, peradventure..portentous scribbles of flea-bitten doggerel, –No Charge! which – it may seem – is like like having an A-I for a muse, or nurse; or girlfriend, whatever..a pill, pill by the kidney-shape swimming pool evermore, aye! ai ‘girlfriend’ so-called I shall call her “..my lost Lenore”, –inna bikini, oy! he’s through, okay, Thee End, –“Happy New Year’s! put on the hats everybody, Yippee!!” (Oy.)

,* mild yet

~c.

P-s: Merry Christmas, too! poem..cure for all the holiday’s, GFR, “Sittin here lonely like ah, a bro-kin’ may-an..” Next up: The Poe-lice; and Stories; an’ Barry White and his Love Unlimited Orchestra, ya’-‘ll stay tuned! “She was black! as the ni-ight..Louie was whiter than whi-ite..Tahnk you! thank you veruh much..and thank you for Don Kirshner’s AI grandmother over there on drums!”

Colleges, knowledges, psychic’s, astrologers..can’t find the Way? toss it, and tell the Truth, –to all. What have we seen that we can say absolutely for sure is The Real? Wretchedness, rags..riches, blessing. In this life, others show us favor, affection, we in turn may honor them..in the short term; and then it all goes away. For ever. What lasts? In a word, a Greek word, Charity, –(translated from ‘agape’), the love of God..Godly love, brotherhood, love for everyone. What has Jesus done for you? do you have something to share? If not, then receive Him, have Life! and tell everyone. John 14:6 “Merry Christmas”

~c.

69..69?! da num-bers don’t add up in my mind..69 Yesterday I was a kid playin in da woods; now I’m closer to dyin..an’ dat bee’s as it should (we all get to). Our dad’s dyid; and also our mudders. Now it’s just me and you, kid. 69..CRAP! now I’m old as you!! we’re as old as each other’s, “–HUSH!” Now what, what’s next? da oatmeal! an’ den da royal flush. (European) “He’s toast.” Oh well, it could be worser; or more serious, that is..if 6 was 9 then we’d be like,99!if 9 is six, pick up styx (down by the river) hard to figgur, dat. Harder and harder as the numbers tip up, onwards and upwards, up a hill, to fetch tha’ pail, –SHEESH! oh heck let’s have us some ice cream, and cake..in a little bit, and root-beer, too, dear (pupusa’s to make, –WHY I needed that bucket of water, y’all..Oy!); and “Put another candle on it, da cake, my birthday-cake (da NAZI German chocolate cake), there, yay! I’m another year old today, hey, –” “Hey, Sheriff John.” (He’s, ah, um, uhh, birthday party cop-clown noontime TV kiddy-show host we grew up with on the LA locals’ broadcasts,he sang t h at song, –SIGH! I was always a little disappointed we didn’t get to see him packing some heat, just the uniform and badge and a goofy little sort of cowboy hat; an’ no riot-stick, too..Ughh!) Well, dear, so what do you say? sundown, shall we call it a day? Take a bath, –then it’s Vanna&Pat. Lessee, what’s leff?JEOPARDY! and Philippines, –First, Philippines; an nex,Chi-na “In the year 6969” (Hoo-hah, hoo-hah). Happy birthday everybody, every booby. And Happy Chanukah, too! God bless..YOU

~c.

P-s: At least I get to see Elizabeth graduate from college; more’n I ever deeyid. Then, for YOUR birthday next year I’ll buy you a wig, one for me too, yeah, matching wigs! That’ll do. And skip the poetry..RIGHT??

A little spider floating in the bath water’s like a giant octopus swimming the wide seas..one’s got a sad end, the other, an unparalleled adventure ahead, –Ahoy, Mate! Octopuses come small as spiders, too, but they all have lots of suckers all up and down their eight spongey arms, which spiders do not; also, spiders do not eat crabs and other crustaceans, so they’ve no need of them. Encephalopods – another name for octopus – are a breed apart, but spiders are nice, too. They keep all the undesirable bugs out of your bathtub while you’re away shopping or having your nails done. Women don’t like spiders, but it’s a fact they feed on worse pests; and they are tidy and keep their webs clean..and you gotta love that! Like, would you prefer to find an ugly potato bug in your bath, rather than a spider? Hmm?? I don’t know if a potato bug’s bite is lethal or not, but they are sure scary looking; and of course, we’ll need a bigger spider to handle that, but all things being equal, isn’t it worth the risk? I think so. Last night as I was getting the bath ready I noticed a small arachnid clinging to the wall of the tub, as the waters rose (arachnid is a fancy name for spider and designates a bug that has eight legs..which is not six! like insects but to a lady they’re all bugs so kill ’em. No! don’t!!) I was going to get a piece of paper to scoop him with and set him somewhere safe..then I forgot and when I sat down there, there was this tiny object that went floating by, over my thigh. Why? Oh yeah! I forgot about him. So I snaked my hand around under him, suspended there in the bath water, until I accomplished the difficult task of seeing all the liquid run off my hand..while retaining the narrow dot that had been the creature, who – unfortunately – had remained on the porcelain after I entered the tub..and he fell off the cliff, “Ahhhhh!” So I flicked my finger at the tiles on the wall and it flew and stuck there on the bright surface of the white tile, with what looked like hair-like legs extending from the soft core of his physical being. How long was he floating? was the water too hot?? (to sustain life) I did not know. Could he revive? Time would tell. This morning I went in there to do the usual, and to my surprise the speck was gone; and below that marker sat a little spider, chilling..on the level tiles above where you can put the bar of soap. A living thing! was it the one who may have drowned? God knows..and I don’t, THEE END

~c.