2

09/08/2003

In the flash of a mileage signpost

In the flash of a mileage signpost
the world was different.

At mile 39 the moon was in the mirror,
the cars flashed by, 
the dark shape of the trees 
outlined the hills
against the sky.
You were driving.

At mile 40 the moon danced in the mirror,
the car was filled with song,
the trees on the hill caressed the sky,
the cars flashing by winked at me,
and you were looking at me.

I had seen this mile post coming 
since a month ago.

The little voice is yelling
Don't Go There 
Go There 
Don't Go There

What you resist persists
I am resisting mightily 
and choosing to suffer bravely
and falling into the deep anyway

I lie to you: "No, you are safe from me"
as I fall headlong into the abyss of 
the uncharted space of who you are.

You are singing.  I forget to resist
and am dancing in the the mirror with the moon
and caressing the sky with the trees...

Chuckling, Raven flies by, does a somersault 
and continues his way 

You are singing, dancing in the space,
filling the car with joy
and the heavy coat of fatigue and sleepiness
I am wearing
falls off into the dark

I am swimming in the space and laughing.

At mile 41 I have long forgotten to resist.
Your way of talking has become mine
and I catch myself holding my mouth the way you do

and then my attention is on my mouth
and on your mouth
and wondering what it would look like
with them in the same space.

The raven is chuckling again.  Again I lie to you
that I am a rock of virtue
when even now at mile 43 
I am swimming naked in your beingness
like a mermaid.

It is not you, I discover.
The dance and song was asleep in me
and woke up to the same dance and song in you.

I am fulfilled.  I have been made love to 
without a touch.

The raven is gone
the sun erases the shadows of the trees
you are asleep

That which you resist persists
but so does this.

I forget to count the miles.

3

10/15/2003

after holding you

after holding you,
after you have long since gone,
you're still in my arms

4

10/15/2003

far off, raven laughs

far off, raven laughs:
no matter how far I walk,
always end up here

5

10/15/2003

Now I understand

Now I understand
how you felt about the fish
when you threw it back

6

10/21/2003

Raven Feather

back when only animals lived here
there were no lines
the rivers flowed where they chose to flow
and the fish swam and spawned

and the bears slept in winter 
and the weasels and otters and foxes
lived where the villages are now

and Raven lived there too.

But you know this
for you are blessed with the knowledge
of the Raven.



Spirit came down from Tahomah
on a raft one day

a raft of spinning leaves

to visit Raven.  He said,

Hey Raven

What do you think of a new kind of animal
one that walks on two legs instead of four

and Raven said yeah so what I walk on two

Spirit said no what if they don't fly

What's so special about em then?

Hmm let's see what if they could talk

Veh sez Raven you and I talk all the time

and Spirit says I know, but when we talk
we know that what I talk comes to life
as easy as this

he snapped his fingers
and a butterfly flew out

But what if these new kind of animals
had a way to talk 
that came to life
but they couldn't see it?

You're kidding me.  What's up with you, spirit,
restless?  Can't sleep so you're dreaming up new ways
to mess with what we got here?

No Really, Raven, look how simple this all is.
I dream up a valley, poof there it is.
I dream up a family of mice, poof there they are.
The mice get to be too many, I gotta dream up a way
to deal with em so they don't eat all the fruit.
So I dream up hawks to feed on the mice.

It's all nice and balanced.  But...

Busy busy busy, I like making stuff 
but it gets kind of boring.

Yeah, spirit, I got it, you made this all
and it's nice n stuff

but you got somethin movin in your mind

Yeah
What if I could bring an animal in 
that could do that too, what would it look like?

Raven looked at Spirit.
You're kidding.  You wanna give an animal
the power to do what you do?

Spirit said
Well I give all of you a little of my magic already
but what if I gave this one a little more

Raven said
You're askin for it.  There'll be no end of trouble.

But Spirit persisted.  This has been growing in me for a good while.
I want to see what can happen if the magic to build up and tear down,
lives in one of you.

Too much, said Raven.  You gotta draw the line somewhere.  Else they'll be all over
and mess this all up.

A twinkle of delight escaped from Spirit's eye.

Yeah.  

A line.  

So, Raven, you're the one to be the keeper of the lines
for the new animal.

Raven was astonished.  And a little irritated.
What do you mean, keeper of the lines.

I will give the new animal the power to draw lines.  So picture this:
Where they draw lines, new structures will come up.

I don't get it.   You make mountains without drawing lines first.

Yeah, lines, don't you see? If they think the only way to make things
is to draw lines first
they won't go making mountains and moving them around.

At least very fast.

So what does that have to do with me, said Raven.

You're the balance, said spirit.  I want you to mess with the lines they draw.
Just to keep it interesting.
Just to keep them from thinking they're god.

Oh.  

Hmm.



So the new animals came in
on two feet
and we called em 
people.
Although they called themselves various other names
and began drawing lines

and houses and roads sprung up where the lines were drawn,
just as spirit said

and Raven saw that the lines they drew
were not real
but only lived in the spirit side.

This is real trouble, said Raven.

So he sat on a post
and watched 
to look at what kinds of lines there were.


There were lines in the pictures of the land 
that lived in the minds

and Raven saw that when they drew those lines 
the lines soon became real on the land

as roads 
and houses 
and bridges
and fences
and telephone and power lines

And  raven saw that there were other kinds of lines
like the lines connecting two hearts
or the lines drawn between them

and he found that when his shadow fell across one of these lines
of any kind

it moved
just a little

especially if it didn't yet have a structure.

hmm.

this could be fun after all

so he watched
a guy would draw a line from his heart to a woman's heart

and where those lines were drawn, the structures that emerged
were children.

and when raven would redraw it to another woman's
more lines would come up, fence lines between the first two.



Sometimes I dream of villages of our people
Sometimes I dream of children with blue eyes and raven hair



See, Raven, says Spirit
Wherever you move the lines they draw
will be in the right place,

even though they are confused by it.

This keeps them in balance
so they do not move too fast 
in their creating the universe...
So the world they create will be a work of great beauty.

Raven smiled.

Yeah, I think this'll be fun.

7

10/28/2003

frogs

frogs
(whisperings of a muse to a certain guardian angel)

frogs

(yeah i said frogs 
to get your attention)
(he thinks he can`t sleep because of you
but it is me keeping him awake
his poetry is full of my pictures)
(he is awake writing this 
and thinks he is clever)
(so let him
i still got things to say)
(someday
take him to the place on the butte
the place of the frogs
without food 
for a couple days
and i`ll meet you there
meantime
let him
have poetry
i`ll talk to you that way
like:

frogs
huh
always show up as princesses 
when you least want them
in the swirling leaves
turning brown and yellow
and turning round and round
round
the campfire

where do the frogs go for the winter?
turn to princesses every one
when will they ever learn

in the campfire with frogs and swirling leaves
(they call it fall you know
because of the way the leaves fall
and the fall leaves,
leaving the winter)
i think the swirling leaves
and when it leaves
there is a peace about
which is kind of like a walkabout
only in one place.

(he is full of his doubts and likes to suffer
the campfire with the frogs and leaves
will give him a peaceful place)
(so let him suffer the campfire
and leave the frogs)
yeah
he`ll do

8

11/01/2003

I deeply crave, to have thee sleeping sweetly

I deeply crave, to have thee sleeping sweetly
11/1/2003

I deeply crave, to have thee sleeping sweetly,
softly nestled up inside my arms, 
thy raven hair caressing me so neatly,
thy nakedness, devoid of conscious charms,
entrusted full, complete, into my caring;
to have thee freely giving me thy sleeping
heedless of the softness of thy bearing,
to have thee store thyself into my keeping.
And on the light of day, thou stir, and see me
through half closed eyes, and stretch, and smile, and yawning,
to move thy arm across my back, still dreamy,
to move up closer, whispering, good morning.
Of all the world's riches I could name,
t'is but of this that lately I do dream.

9

11/02/2003

Source Document of the Order of Saint You

My dear loved one,
 
I have said
(actually Alan Watts said it)
that every major religion
contains the road to enlightenment
for those who seek it
 
I say,
You are a one-person
road to enlightenment.
 
Let's start an
Order of Saint You
 
and examine the Insights
of that order:
 
Here is the low hanging fruit
on that road.
 
Lesson 1.
 
Loving unconditionally
opens up a new beingness
of unconditional love,
 
a new abundance of lovingness
...the acceptance that
there is enough
to go around.
 
So when I meet
someone you love
besides myself
it does not make me fear
that there will not be enough love
left for me.
 
Is not God capable of infinitely loving everyone?
And are not we made of God-stuff?
 
Lesson 2.
 
There is a level of you
that has this unconditional love
and this abundance
 
and somewhere below the wounded child
you have been being,
 
is the loving inner spirit
of who you are.
 
Lesson 3.
 
When I get how you love me
and how I love you
I will see
how many others will love
and be loved by you,
 
and have loved
and have been loved by you,
 
and will love you
and will have been loved by you.
 
Lesson 4.
 
Knowing that you love me
means that you see in me
the things you love about yourself
 
Lesson 5.
 
The more I meet
the ones you love
and have loved,
and will love
 
the more I see myself,
 
and am honored
and amazed
 
and understand finally
the total amazing beauty
of who I am...
 
amazing
because the beauty of who I am
blows me away
when I see that same beauty
in others.
 
Lesson 6.
 
I am overwhelmed
at the passion you have for me
in the company of those who you love
and have loved
and will love.
 
How do I deserve
to be even counted among these
wonderful people,
let alone to have been loved by you
so passionately?
 
Lesson 7.
 
In accepting who you are
I know I will never own you
but can be happy
to have you be happier
and more complete
and more fulfilled
for knowing me
than you were before
 
for what you love in me
is who you are.
 
Lesson 8.
 
To the one to whom I originally wrote this -
(you know who you are)
 
You may think I am writing this only to you,
that you are the source of all of this
 
Well, yes you are, love, but
now go back and read it again:
 
for if you are reading it
you are the one to whom I have written it.
 
Now send this letter
to those you love
and have loved
and will love.

10

11/01/2004

Cork Net Float

cork net float
hold net up
feed my
family

my son leave
go Seattle
take this float

mama run
in
happy yell excite
package from Sam

clan gather round
open up
box
what in side

years have change
cork net float
feed son
family

now cork iron
now float spike
now net track

iron rail
spike
hold track down
feed son family



iron rail spike
hold
rail down
feed my family

my daughter leave
go New York
take this
spike

son run in 
happy yell excite
package from missy

workcrew
gather round
open up box
what in side

years have change
iron rail
spike
feed daughter family

now iron bristle
now spike brush
now rail
floor

bristle floor brush
scrub dirt up
feed missy
family



A
Bristle Floorbrush
Scrubs up dirt.
I feed my
family.

My son`s gone,
Off to Newark
I gave him the brush.

Hubby
ran in,
yelling excitedly,
"Package from Charlie!"

Neighbors gather
`round,
as we open up the box,
What`s inside?

Mom, he writes,
years
have changed me, now
I no longer use the brush

Now it`s
Electricity!
Now it`s Light bulbs!
Now, It`s PROGRESS!

The Electric
Light Bulb
Lights up Broadway
and feeds my son`s family.



Forty
watt bulbs
light up the world
and feed my family.

My kid`s gone
off
to Cupertino.
I gave him a light bulb.

Sissy runs in,
"Package from
UPS!"
she breathlessly exclaims.

Factory workers gather
to see what
we`ve gotten.
What`s in the box?

"Dad, I coulda sent
the computer mouse
I use
but you might like this better..."

Cork net float
found in pawn
shop
feed Great Grandpa Family

11

12/15/2004

grey grey go away

grey grey go away

After a grey day at work
a cup of earl grey tea
a grey
fog settles in

and my fingers linger silently
on the piano
as I stare
off
into space

I sit down to write a poem
wanna hear a zen
haiku
wanna hear it again
haha
cause that`s all I wrote
103 items on the
to-do list
on the computer
none done today

read the latest 75
pieces
of junk e-mail
good news
i can enlarge my penis
pay off my credit
card debts
at unbelievably low mortgage rates
work at home
buy viagara from
india
cheap software from china
get a degree without any studying
and
i
can turn off the computer
so i won`t erase any real mail
by accident
go to
bed and watch 3 hours
of crime drama 
guy in a dog suit
gets bumped
off
after raping someone
of indeterminate sex
in a bunny
suit
it
drowns out the constant noise
grey noise 
of half-forgotten
memories

dreamless grey sleep

grey warm steam in the shower
grey
temples in the mirror
grey whiskers on the razor blade

foggy 2 hour drive
to the job
bored dazzling em with expert moves
long ago invented
and half
forgotten

having used my brain up
I`m the first they get rid of
no one
wants the grey ones around for long

how grey is it
so grey you can`t even
beat off
and don`t want to anyway
lest you see her face in your mind
and
have to drown it
with 3 more hours 
of crime drama

12

01/14/2005

ordinary

who i am 
isn`t green and fluffy 
at 3 am

when i turn over
and the
cat grumbles at having to move
who i am is not doc doolittle

when the alarm
goes off at five
and my hand mindlessly flies up
to swat the sleep
button
who i am
is not my promise to be to work early

when i drive out

in the dark 
and my emptiness leads me to a fast food joint
who i am
is
not on a quest 
to be a picture of vibrant health

when i think of
"her"
(whoever "her" is 
in this particular seven year stretch)
wistfully,
sadly, angrily, 
once or twice a day,
or less as time goes on,
who i am is
not ward cleaver

when i buy toys on ebay
who i am is not suze
orman

when i surf the net at work
who i am is not success driven mid
manager

when i do 80 on the freeway
who i am is not careful and law
abiding

when i look at my to do list
who i am is not driven

and who
i am:
when i say anvil an anvil doesn`t fall out of my mouth

when i wonder
why my words don`t create wonderful new worlds

and who i am is just being
ordinary, ordinary
and who i am 
is not making it wrong to be
ordinary

and that`s not ordinary

13

01/21/2005

if you knew me

if you knew me

if you knew me
you`d hear the harps and cellos 
in the
vaughn williams
instead of hearing greensleeves

if you knew me
you`d see
a million shades of green
instead of leaves

if you knew me you would know
yourself
if you knew yourself I would know you
if I knew you I would be
happy
If I were happy

you would know me

14

02/01/2005

ablative absolutes in the wilderness

ablative absolutes in the wilderness

A coyote sniffing the wind, I look before
starting through a new green light
A flight of gossiping geese, the freeway opens
up for me
A spotted horse running with the herd, I put the miles on the car
A
termite building a mound, I put in a day`s work
A squirrel gathering windfallen
walnuts, I deposit my check
A salmon jumping the rapids, I head homeward
A cat
worrying a mousehole, I wait for your call
A lion lazily lounging, I curl up in
front of the fire with you
A bear hibernating, I drift off

15

05/04/2005

stealing free cheese

So when I was green and golden
in effervescent mornings
sprawled out like a table cloth
laden with chops and cheeses

I thought I found out
the feasts weren't for me
so I settled for some used gum



Blinded to the warm delicious smells
I cursed, I cursed the wrinkles
in the cloth
and schemed how to steal the cheese
that was free

There were others 
there were others  
the others were statues to navigate around
or push over

And tripping over a statue
or a wrinkle 
I sprawled,
  
looked up under the table, and said,
Aha!  The World Really Is Covered With Used Gum

And the statues laughed
green and golden laughter

I tried and tried 
to laugh green and golden
but all that came out 
had the odious stench of stolen cheese.



The caves of retreat 
and used gum 
and wrinkles
were grey and musty
and I cursed
I cursed
the dark shapes

It is hard to find your way,
Only the memory of the promises
and the hollow distant sound
of green and golden laughter
and dancing dreams
and chops and cheeses
lit the way



Serene, I stand as a statue:
The green and golden effervescent, fevered shapes
flit about,
try to steal the cheese I give them
and trip over the lost ones,
the resigned and cynical ones
in the caves

I close my eyes and grin:
they will find their way
in the worst of the caves

and putting out more cheese for them to steal
I laugh
and it is green
and golden

ps the cheese is pretty good too
have some

16

10/22/2006

zen haiku

i write zen haiku
listen closely, here it is:
want to hear again?

17

01/15/2007

What would it be like

What would it be like
to have a feeling 
like being in love
whenever you want?

Would it be like
the woman
who had an orgasm
whenever she sneezed?

Or like the guy 
who gets hooked 
on the latest sports car
and has to have it
at any cost?

Is the feeling 
of being in love
like an obsession?

Whenever I have had it
I haven't resisted
but struggled to get 
what I was focused on.

But what I wanted was
the feeling
of being grabbed
and shook like a washrag
by that feeling,

but without
the loss of focus
at work

without the jealous husband

or the hurt wife

or the hopeless entanglement
with someone
who looks totally different
six weeks later.

Times I was being 
really vital:
Speed skating, getting my second wind

rescuing a seagull in an Alameda canal

driving 100mph, screaming, on the 880.

What was present?

For one thing,
I wasn't asking myself
what it would feel like
to feel passionate
whenever I wanted.

18

02/02/2007

portrait of the artist as a work in progress

1946
victor is my name
even though they never said so
or put it on the birth certificate
i was conceived on vj day
and deserve it
and by damn it will be in my eulogy

so they ate fish chowder
at the fish house in santa monica
on the day mushrooms sprouted
in the western pacific

and they didn't call me victor

but bicycled with the little tadpole
that was me
up to the shadow of tahomah

1956
had i been victor
it wouldn't have been so easy
to make me push my mother's wheel chair
all those years

or to run home crying
bully, bully
like a sniveling little poet child

but i couldn't come crying home
when the kid next door
showed me
what his daddy did to him

all i could do
was show his little sister
the same thing

1966
victor first showed up
as victor komarovsky
and it took twenty years
and 3 readings of zhivago
(the sniveling little poet)
to realize who victor was
and who yurii was

as yurii i pleased mother

1976
yurii lived in the woods a season
in the story
and wrote passionate poetry
i lived in the woods a season
in a van
and quit smoking

being victor scared the hell out of me
when i was able to sell something
to someone who didn't want it
didn't need it
and couldn't afford it

1986
trying that part on for myself
i could never quite pull it off
oh look at the bodies you leave strewn behind
they would say
and i would go running off again
sniveling little poet

victor gets the bit in his teeth
and goes galloping off
for his own amusement
not mindful
scornful even
of whose heart
he is galloping on

but yurii the sniveling poet
spends his day navel gazing
and blaming circumstance
for his galloping on the hearts
of others

i have lots of experience
being yurii

1996
i have lots of experience
being victor

but yurii has to put up
with the tears 
afterwards

2006
i am really kinda nasty
either way

but as victor you can see me coming

(c) gluefish 2007

19

02/07/2007

a funny place

i dream of visiting new york

i set out on a trip there once
with a friend
in '70
but someone ran over my car
with me in it
in wyoming

a small town in wyoming
is a funny place
to wake up in the hospital
with a bandage on your head

its a funny place
to work washing dishes
for a buck an hour
and a hot meal
while you try to remember
where you belong
and why you're there

it's a funny place
to go to the junkyard
teary eyed
to visit your twisted MGA
and see the oldsmobile
with the child-sized hole
in the windshield
and think of the tears
of others

its a funny place to sleep
in a cockroach hotel room
for five dollars a week
and if you pee out one window
it goes to the gulf of mexico
and if you pee out the other
it goes to the pacific ocean

it's a funny place
to have an indian sidekick
adopt you as his kemo sabay

it's a funny place to spend
all day on the highway
trying to hitchhike
back to the coast from

its a funny place
to remember
thirty seven years
and three marriages later

and wonder what ever happened
to the friend
the cops ran out of town
because of his long hair

20

02/07/2007

sistah's house

staying over at her sistah's house
sleeping downstairs
so as to not raise any eyebrows
morning comes, sistah and hubby gone to work
in their beemers

fooling around with her in the shower
running naked down the stairs
to get my clothes

oops the maid damn

running naked back up the stairs
for a towel

it got back to sistah and her hubby
maid thought it was me with sistah

hubby left her

but it turns out
sistah was having something on the side
with some other guy
who she then moved in with

this was yet another while ago
haven't seen either of them
in many staircases yet

21

03/29/2007

telegram

·  

i telegraphed the world
i wanted to be wanted

i got a telegram back from
president johnson
saying he wanted me too

gluefish 3/29/07

22

03/29/2007

the day after acid

·  

the day after acid in december 65

amazed i was alive
dripping all over the
back steps
of the roller rink

on a hot december practice day
breathing
intense green
of the orange grove

surrounded like a velvet pillow
in the
life outside
escaping the dark mechanical
skate dances

i could smell the
blueness
of the hot winter sky

i could hear the aroma
of oranges from
the grove

singing with the music
of the traffic on I-5
i telegraphed the
world this day
skating wasn`t going to be my life

no one understood
but
me

gluefish 3/29/07

23

08/12/2007

Kellie

1970
late night, homework's done

nothing else to do
nothing on tv
nobody's answering the phone
don't think kellie likes me anyway

walk down to the lonely note club
see if anyone's there I know

nobody's there
cept a navy guy Davy
and Paul the writer
and Billy the pianist

one drink
waitress doesn't even look

lonely walk home
along the beach boardwalk

2002
saw kellie after all these years
just before she died

she wondered why i never phoned

music by
gluefish: "old louie simmons"
poster by chaosphaere:
Jazz at the Lonely Note

24

09/10/2007

Brain-Machine Interface

HITACHI DEVELOPS BRAIN-MACHINE INTERFACE TO CONTROL MODEL TRAINS


if i had a brain-world interface
i'd change the game
i'd change how everything works
if i had the tools

if i had the moxie
i'd flip a mental switch
and make it okay
to love who i like
whenever it feels good

i do have a me-to-world interface
i call it my mouth
and with that tool
i create new realities

if you'd like to see
how things change
when i use that tool
bring your mouth over here
and let me put my mouth upon it

but first let me cancel
the law of unintended consequences
...still working on that

25

09/10/2007

Butterfly Effect

western tiger swallowtail found in our garden 8-19-07
still thinkin'

every wing beat
of every butterfly
in the oregon forest
changes the weather
in holland

ya know
my own poetry sounds different
because i heard you speak yours
five years ago
and the only way i know 
to share yours
is to share mine

you are off saving the forest
and protecting the tribes
and being the inspiration
for an environmental movement
"somethin' to do", you'd say

but sometimes late at night
i still feel the beat
of your butterfly wings

picture (c)2007 Carolyn Forbes

26

09/10/2007

Cleveland 66

cleveland 66

daytime
work at the airport
skating practice in the evening

nighttime
adele's bar poetry readings
california dreamin
pot
waking up groggy
repeat

wondering
worrying
which am i
dark side 
or squeaky clean

oregon 07
beloved grandpa
and
tapping into 
my dirty old man energy

who sez they can't be
in the same place

27

09/10/2007

Come sit on a post with me

Damn, I miss ol' Mehitabel.  She would get out at night and you could
hear her singing on the back yard fence:

"Come sit on a post with me 
and we shall serenade the neighborhood.

You are so hot
when you fluff your tail
and hiss like that.

Look I know a little dive
under the pier
where we can feast 
on fish heads
and chase dogs for dessert.

There's always jazz to hear
from the alley
in back of the pet store
on Washington

And afterwards we can head down
under the bridge on howland canal
where ol' six toes
has a catnip patch.

many a night i have woke up
with a catnip hangover
under the house
beside the dell avenue playground
(where the old woman leaves out leftovers)

i'll show you around 
where the old aragon ballroom was
over to where the boats go in in out
of the marina

(many a night
steaming up the car windows
watching the boats
go in and out of the marina)

"c'est la vie, c'est la vie", she would say,
"there's a dance in the old dame yet."

damn i miss ol' mehitabel

28

09/10/2007

It's All About Me

N is for Neville who died of ennui

It's all about me

Every poem you wrote
was talking to me.
Every come hither look
in every picture you took
was for me to see.

It's great to fix boredom
with daydreams.  But then,
every come hither look
in each picture you took
was aimed at all men.

The thought truly saddened.
It made me feel blue.
So I could not tell you
the blogs I was reading
were from others, too.

29

09/10/2007

Jellyfish

diving deep beneath the sea
-dark and cold and silent sea
light ahead in my lover's hand
pointing out, for me to see,
man-of-war, with silent strings,
waving light, she's warning me

from above we watch it pulse,
propelling itself through the night,
almost visible, thing of beauty,
round and perfect - like her breast -
-like the curve of my lover's back - 

-forcing my attention back -
jellyfish illuminated,
glowing in the pale light,
simplicity, the will to live,
the drive to live and reproduce.

tapping me she bids me come
down into the craggy rocks
-cannot get the image out
of her perfect, perfect form
following behind her fins

silently her strings surround
and a stinging pain ensues
followed by a rapturous
sense of utter weightlessness
-she surrounds me with herself

never frightened, I submit
for this moment I was made:
I was meant to be her prey
from above they watch us pulse
propelling ourselves from the light

thing of beauty I'm in her
I am of her, I am her

diving deep beneath the sea
my lover's flashlight flickers out
deep upon the ocean floor
heeded not by jellyfish
needed not by jellyfish

30

09/17/2007

freedom

31

09/25/2007

The UNIVERSE doesn't want you to ANTHROPOMORPHIZE it

The
UNIVERSE doesn't want you
to ANTHROPOMORPHIZE it

I was having breakfast this morning
(you all know how I feel about breakfast)
when I heard a voice.

I know, you're all saying,
Oh now he's hearing voices.

So I took off my tinfoil hat and said,
HUH?

And the voice said,
I want you to quit anthropomorphizing me.

Who said that? I wondered.
Aloud.
Oh, I said, did I say that aloud?

The lady in the next booth got up and left.

The universe replied,
Yes you did, boy, now back to the subject.
I want you to stop anthropomorphizing me.
I think it belittles me and that makes me mad.

Are you God?
Are you the great Hairy Thunderer? I wondered.
People started looking at me.
Oh, shit, I said that out loud again.

Lots of people call me that.  You could if you want.
But I want you to stop.  
Stop making me seem like a human being.
Oh, pass the butter, they never put enough on the toast.

Then it said, 
You gonna eat all of that?

You could even call me the Cosmic Muffin if you like.

The universe turned its back on me for a second,
and said,
Would you do me a favor? 
Scratch my back, right there in the middle.
I can never quite reach it.

I still didn't know where to reach out to
so i scratched the wall.

NOT THERE, IDIOT! Shouted the universe.

GOD DAMN! I shouted back.

WHAT THE F..., shouted a couple of McDonald's Patrons.

Oh, never mind, I'll just go rub my back 
up against a planet somewhere.

Just then the manager came around the corner, 
with that look I know oh so well.

The universe said, Watch this.

The manager tripped on his shoe string, 
and almost fell.

Ever hear a universe chortle?  
It sounds almost like a trolley car 
going by outside.  

Which it seemed like to most of the patrons.  

Since there WAS a trolley car going by outside, 
they didn't notice that it was actually 
the chortling of the universe.

So, Universe, 
are you going to save me 
from being thrown out of here?

Just a minute, I have to go pee, 
said the Universe.

Just then, it started to rain.
The manager drew closer, 
and a cook and a janitor 
were with him.

I sighed.  
Oh, well, it's time to find my smelly sleeping bag 
and hunt out another door frame 
and see if I can get some sleep.

Putting my tinfoil hat back on,
I yelled at them on my way out
THE UNIVERSE WANTS MY EGG MCNUTTIN

I left it on the table, 
just in case the Universe was still hungry.

32

10/07/2007

portrait of the artist as a work in progress, chap. 2

victor
yurii

victor
yurii

victor the ruthless businessman
yurii the sensitive poet doctor

the poet who abandoned his wife for lara
to follow his heart

the businessman who raped lara
and blamed her for it

the poet who was blown by the winds
the businessman who was shot in the end

the ineffectual sniveling poet
the snarling despicable businessman

what if there was a third character in this novel?

What if there was a man
with a poetic heart
and a heroic stand

let's say

a stand for the forests of Oregon
a heart for the soul of the Northwest

one who could say to Lara:

      "Go with your Yurii or or your Viktor
      Go your own way
      Go have your fill of the heartbreak of poets, backchannel assbiters
      Go
      Come back when you are ready
      for a talk
      about greatness.
      Yes, I'm talking to you.
      You are a great poet in your own right,
      Lara.
      You know who you are.
      Every day a new cat, every day a new poem
      every day a post of who you really are,
      but every day another breadcrumb of your lost path.
      You who are lost in the siren song of the false poet prophets
      and the struggles with their false women
      Come back and lead us
      and stop playing their juvenile games.
      Be Joan of Arc, be Hillary
      Grow the fuck up.
      Come over and slap me silly, if it'd get your mind off it."



What if there was such a man here?

Fuck Viktor.
Fuck Yurii.
Fuck them both.
Close the damn Russian Novel, put it away and shine the light of leadership.

This Forest needs saving.
This Indian Land needs protecting.
These PEOPLE need leading.

33

10/09/2007

Can God prove you exist?

Can God prove You exist?


What if God were ag-people-nostic?
So here's god
sitting up in his giant
rocking chair in the sky
smoking his pipe
(a great Meerschaum of course)
and musing
Gee do people really exist
or not
I mean
I can see them in my mind
but is that real?
He puts out his pipe
and goes to bed
saying
It makes my brain hurt
I'll think about it tomorrow

34

10/18/2007

Chaque jour

chaque jour
je t'observe traverser le pont
voici, voila
voici, voila
parfois tu me souris
parfois tu as un air menaçant
et la plupart du temps
tu feins
tu feins de ne pas me voir

c'est ok, mais je me demande...
si le chat dans la boite
est mort ou pas?
et si je pourrais continuer à t'observer
si ça te change un peu?

et quelque fois
je me demande si,
dans le fond,
ce n'est pas moi-même
que j'observe
plutôt que toi


gluefish

35

10/24/2007

I always wondered

I always wondered,
is a poem
a poem
if you wrote it once
and someone read it once
and then you both forgot it?

Is it a poem
during the space between the reading
and the writing?

Is it a poem
only during the reading
and only during the writing?

What of the words
that made up the poem?

Do they come back
in a poetic afterlife
as a prescription
or a harsh denunciation
or a lofty parable?

Do the words remember
their previous life
as a poem?

And when the words are gone
and you find them in other places
we see that the words
themselves,
"I always wondered"
in some Russian Novel,
and "If you wrote it once"
in some literary criticism,
those words
were not the poem:
so looking in the spaces
where the words were
for the hidden
essence
of the poem,
what do we find?

What do we find?

When you are done
reading this poem,
try this:
go somewhere else
and forget it
and then fifteen years from now
call me up
in the middle of the night
to tell me of a dream
you had.

You will find my number
in your dream.

Didn't you ever write a poem
in your dream?

I wrote a Russian Novel
in a dream once.
I dreamt that
because I could write French
I could read Russian
and only had to place
my head upon the book
to read it.
Upon awakening
all the words in it
were at my command.

I could write French
in my dream
of course.

Funny thing was
the novel contained
all the words
in the poem
I wrote
in a previous life,

but not all together.

Some say we create
reality
with our words.

What if it was reality
that was creating the words
instead,
and upon creating them
they fall out of our mouths
willy nilly
as if we had anything
to say
about it?

so all these words
come together in my head
to come out as a poem
to write once
send to you
and throw away.

Do not read below this line.

Oh, and I lied
when I said I always wondered
this
about a poem,

I only wrote it in a poem
and that doesn't count.

So the words may
safely
resume their lives
elsewhere
on computer screens
and harsh denunciations
and movie scripts
and literary criticisms
without needing to worry
what the hell
they were doing
in the poem
in my dream.

36

12/08/2007

Armed Guards Stopping You

armed guards stopping you
at the Peace Arch, going north, 
--they weren't there before.

37

12/21/2007

what we held as dreams

What we held as dreams
in the instant we called NOW --
became memories.

38

12/27/2007

If Titles Came First Here Are Some Songs I'd Write

If Titles Came First Here Are Some Songs I'd Write

Cartman`s obsession on Lisa Simpson
Crop circles of the mind
Devil`s 3 martini lunch
Harmonica Virgins
Attack of the Unarmed Keyboardist
How Would I Know When I'm Dead?
It's Not Loaded, He Said
Meet Me At Zero Dark Thirty
Never Say 'Unhand Me You Villain' To A Guy With A Machete
Prefrontal Lobotomy With A Side of Fries
Short Bus

39

01/06/2008

Baby Boomers

Joey the Baby Boomer

Born in the first year
of the baby boom

When I was little
we didn't call us
baby boomers
my Aussie babysitter
would have said
'a bye bee bew mah?
ats a joey init?
joey the friggin
bye bee bew mah
ow kai now eatcha gripe nits
ya lil twit'

when I was a little older
a boomer was a sub
that launched nukes

I used to wake up in a sweat
imagining that the light
the car turning on the corner
cast on the bedroom wall
was the flash
of a nuke
in downtown Seattle
Didn't help
that I had just read
Nevil Shute's
On The Beach

so now I'm the boomer
afraid my generation
will spend my grandkids
america

so sitting on the couch
I let a good one loose
and my grandkid ran out of the room,
laughing,

'Grampa's A Boomer, Grampa's A Boomer'

40

02/13/2008

Marion Manor

What's missing?

Ya gotta wonder
how many old folks died here
since it was converted
in the seventies
to a retirement home

something's missing,
the house is sad,

but solid

i think
kids
would make the difference

maybe lots and lots of kids
noisy
schoolyard noisy

and music
people practicing drums and trumpets
and electric guitar
and pillow fighting

that's what's missing

and a white picket fence
with a slender grandma
with white rolled up sleeves
tending the roses

a woodshop in the back
with grandpa turning bannister spindles
on a lathe
and tending his prize orchids
in the solarium

that's the energy that's missing

the new mommy in the bedroom
with her babe in arms
class of '26

that's what's missing

and thanksgiving dinners
with all the kids at their own table
plum pudding with hard sauce
that will knock you on your ass
and five generation pictures
on the front steps

that's what's missing

this house knows how
it has history
and strong bones

it's waiting,
waiting

it asks me
to give it what it's missing:
what if: I am what's missing

--gluefish 2008

41

04/03/2008

still legal

still legal 
in dec 65
henry said
here take these

what are they

lsd25 he said
i was still a drug virgin

i was downstairs talking to a neighbor
when his van gogh print came to life
he said
did you come from henry's

yeah

well you better go back up there

henry was playing with the radio
my first time ever hearing kpfk
i thought it was my head that was different

i got paranoid
speeding on my bicycle from the beach up washington
henry trying desperately to keep up

got to lincoln
and wove slowly through the stopped traffic
henry said
you ran a red light
and did the fastest zigzag i have ever seen

went into Friar's
asked for an orange

the world turned orange
that was the best orange i have ever eaten
even to this day

the next morning i decided
i didn't need to be a skating competitor anymore
much to dad's chagrin

so a week later henry passed me a joint
i said, oh my, that's dope, i can't do that

henry laughed

years later 
early seventies
i saw henrys wife
henry had left
was still looking for something
never found it

42

04/08/2008

Synaesthesia

synesthaesia

the chocolate raspberry anticipation
of when we should meet
explodes into a cacaphony of cherries and cream
on seeing you

and later when we are lying together
hot chocolate
purple plum pudding
and the sound of orange peel mist


Breathe peppermint into me
tickle me into exploded pomegranate
let me lick your strawberry lips
once more
and oranged out
I shall sleep a deep tangerine dream

....gluefish '08

43

05/08/2008

Tenth Muse

Take the mantle, 'δέκατη μούσα'

Who do I say this to?
One day it is an old friend,
another it is someone returned from the past,
and yet another it is someone long lost,
and let us not forget one I have never met.
How many dekati mousae are there?

As long as I don't write heroic lyric love poetry,
dance unabashedly and abandonly naked in the woods,
invent raucous music and play it carelessly skipping through crowds of strangers,
there are none.

Of course, some might say that the muses would be frightened away
by that second example.

But not my δέκατη μούσα.

44

06/01/2008

Green and Golden

When I first came to Oregon it was green and golden.
More green... California was golden.
You were golden and I was green
in the opulence of the forest mornings.
Were you golden? Your hair was,
but was your heart?
I could see your heart glowing
in the nighttime
among the giant redwoods.
I had yet to meet you
but knew where to find you:
though I traveled wide and far,
you were from but a few miles from where I was.
Were the years golden, and I green?
Now we're both silver in the midnight blue of our times,
and yet I still smell the green and golden haze with you.
And yet, in the evergreen, giant redwoods,
when I listen deeply
I hear your heart among the rivulets at my feet.
More, because of my listening than because of your answer.
Do we green again at the end of the night?
The green rustling of ferns as I pass
between the trees
sends up a chaos
of your thousand whispered names.
Verdant whispers, caressing my ears,
pulling me irresistibly forward,
towards what? Towards when, and why?
Coming to Oregon,
always in my dreamed future,
always in my future dreamspace
as though the highway was already paved,
called to me from the north,
and from the south, and from the west.
How did I resist
all these green and golden years,
to struggle flailing
against dark skies and cruel winds,
while you waited so patiently?
The time will come when it is dark,
green no more,
and yet,
it is a green darkness
that I could enjoy
being enveloped by.

45

06/29/2008

Why should I write in verse today?

WRITING VERSE
...Why should I write in verse today? I think it's far too hot to try to cram my
words into a form.  The literary nerds down at the Border's, let 'em sit and drink
their flavored coffees while they bespew their educated bullshit at each other; I'd
personally find it much less bother to mow the lawn, avoid where flowers grew, trim
the hedges, oil a hinge, replace the tired, worn out washer for my wife,  put up some
shelves and sharpen up a knife or two. In general, show I love the place. The house
itself is poetry enough. Composing verses only makes me gruff.


Why should I write in verse today? I think 
it's far too hot to try to cram my words 
into a form.  The literary nerds 
down at the Border's, let 'em sit and drink 
their flavored coffees while they bespew 
their educated bullshit at each other; 
I'd personally find it much less bother 
to mow the lawn, avoid where flowers grew, 
trim the hedges, oil a hinge, replace 
the tired, worn out washer for my wife,  
put up some shelves and sharpen up a knife 
or two. In general, show I love the place. 
The house itself is poetry enough. 
Composing verses only makes me gruff.
(c) gluefish 08

46

07/11/2008

butterflies and kisses

BUTTERFLY KISSES
...admittedly, I watch lips more than I ought to.  Sometimes I lie that I'm hard
of hearing.

when you are talking
watch my eyes
if i am watching your mouth
it is because i am dreaming
of your kisses

and what kisses must they be
that butterflies escape from them
and cavort inside me
to tingle and inflame throughout

and looking at your lips
the beating of butterfly wings 
while you talk
i barely hear your words

langourous, your words float up 
butterflies in the cloud high day
till one of them should land on my tongue:

what would your butterfly kisses
taste like?

...just then, you stop:
Are You Listening?

...yes, I lie, smiling

(c)gluefish 08

47

07/15/2008

Where To, Mac?

WHERE TO, MAC?
...the zen of cab driving lived with me the rest of my life.
Where To, Mac?

i don't talk like that
really
it's just a cabbie kind of thing
to say

so you're a businessman
or visiting your daughter
or flying in or out

or a retiree 
fetching groceries
i know, no tip from you
but you're a charming
little old lady
and I'll help you
with all your grocery bags

(after my shift
i won't remember any of you
anyway)

no, I'm a musician
actor
playwright
dancer
architect
philosopher
writer
graduate
law school student
take your pick

waiting for my big break
got my degree
in liberal arts
three years ago
still looking for 
the right job -
nobody driving cab here
does it as a career
don'cha know

no that's cool
i like driving cab
i learned a couple things

like

you never get there faster
by driving hard

the cheapest way
isn't the freeway

nobody ever says
'follow that car'

and you can just get by
driving cab
if you got something else
going on the side

well here you are
yeah thanks for the tip

(watching him drive off
i see myself 30 years ago

he doesn't know it now
but he learns his freedom
in a cab)

48

08/17/2008

a way of being that lets the words flow

funny
i don't feel like writing poetry much
except after
a great coaching session
for someone

it's like
being out of my own self
and into someone else's world
opens up
a way of being
that lets the words flow

so i get to look at
who am i being
when they're not?

49

08/17/2008

Passionate Permission

When I'm coaching someone
Sometimes
all it takes
for a huge breakthrough

is to find the story
they told themselves
at 2 or 3
to survive

and have been using that ever since

and have them love the child
that gave them that story
and thank the child

there are usually some tears

in other words
give themselves passionate permission
to be
exactly who they are

50

08/17/2008

zen sluggo

(sometimes i write a note to a friend
that turns into a poem
so bear with me)

my sister's kids
have fists
that won't unclench

we noticed it
when her oldest boy
was 12

her oldest boy
called me 'unca ooey'
and took up french horn
and computers
to be like
his favorite uncle

he was in a wheel chair 2 years ago
then totally bedridden

he still loved unca ooey

but unca ooey
couldn't bear
to go see him die

(thank you for the zen sluggo)