be fundamentally here and now

be fundamentally here and now
as time goes by.
mourn John Lennon's shooting
another day.
meteor showers come around each year
stars remain out of reach, dear
so do not preach or try to teach
while you are here
just be here now

October 2015

mourning the loss of Cannabis Jerry

mourning the loss of Cannabis Jerry
because i could not leave him alone to bud
leaves removed photosynthesize 
yellow become with amputations
like ravishing leftover crust of happy pizza 
insatiable hunger after a meal

Cannabis Jerry of Cambodian birth   
who colored hundreds of boring evenings 
with lingering lingering nothing doing
go on go on re-examining
unaware of pretension writing for others
naively inspiring no one but myself

take away the edge, Cannabis Jerry
lead me astray lost in wisdom
me and Jerry chugging along on the brain-train
just a lonely refrain on the piano
not going to Memphis in the meantime
where life has crushed Jerry out

9-27-15 

when egrets return to Han River

when egrets return to Han River
ants climbing benches will climb no more
Indochinese moisture will shift to sandy Xinjiang wind
egrets will fly from their tree coops to fish in the waters
leaving rice paddy beasties for something more substantial
when wind whips north from China

a young egret now getting its feet wet
first to eat fish this season
others smell it on his breath 
swoop down the gully
long necks 's'-shaped and legs extended
when the autumn moon shines large and full

in the fertile Han waters they shall feast
safe from humans, no need flying south
Taichung's their home with monogamous mate 
mountainous homes up and away
nesting siblings rivalry's future strength
best colonizers Taiwan has ever hosted

when egrets return, i will be there
though shores of boulder-bolstering tractors detract
overgrowth cleared of all wild factors...
when the bike-ride up the Han turns slow
be pushed back to Beitun without turning a pedal
i will be in front of where the breeze lifts me

resist i not the fresh egret breeze
muting the mufflers in the street
easing me with egrets into the river's crease
so scout on, lonely first egret
to your promised land on rocks midstream
ripples of white water buffeting the shallow marshes

dragonflies gone with summer
gnat eggs hibernating until spring's dawn
fish running realizing they have been matched
their beauty renewed in Han River snatched
by egrets from billowed white and blue skies 
to bring grace to Taichung summer's end

again the typhoon winds are blowing
scattering smoke from burning fields
this is how they pay their dead
winds whipped weed-tinged burners
rote-memorizers and never-learners
again the typhoon tries rearranging*

9-20-15
* added 9-27-15

crisp layers of corrugated structures

crisp layers of corrugated structures
dot the impermanent plain
not a resident or worker within
with thoughts beyond existence
no child born that would save the world

mountains roll as the river flows
changes with nature's persistence
while buildings rot 
and residents shrink older
the earth given nothing that would be missed

the city merely maintains
resistant to change
with nature probably interfering.
the river is so different;
not one drop stays in place

earthquake moved mountains
which never about-face
abut thin crisp layers of livelihood
in need of income
how could the residents appreciate it?

how could working people afford
to sit on this bench with me
pondering existence
pondering eternity
crisp fragile layer of civilization

rare daily bread and peaceful dreams
more likely daily dread
and get-rich-quick schemes
just get the workers home by dusk
safely from their delicate layers of corrugated 

vulnerable residents and workers
walk home on the grass along the Han bike path
unaware of snakes lurking underfoot
like the alienation which deprives the individual
of immediate sense experience

9-2-15

first love not best love

never will i  forget my first love
remember always will i my best love
to live want  i with the best love
who keeps me coming for more love
she fell off the horse way back when
i was her Sir Galahad, her forever friend
slower my jogging and needing a seat
she kept on running and could not be beat
with my best love i ride and never tire
each other we pace and nothing higher
how could i miss her when she is near
i do not have to kiss her to show her how dear
my first love feels lost with memories of me
i could not satisfy her by pissing on trees
but my best love has acres of territory
endless blank forests for every new story
like a galloping dog near a master's scooter, faster
my best love sits near me on a sofa with laughter 
i am with her even when we are apart
my mind never strays too far from her heart
my best love can find me and knows what to do
the leaves have their season so pick up a few
it feels so right naturally in its place
that is what i see in my best lover's face
though first loves are never worn out or forgotten
i breathe in my best love like air through cotton

8-2-15

it is time to move on

when flies smell blood
through a slight flesh wound
the lilting tickle is enough
to break my concentration
it is time to move on

when ants scurry around my feet
make an incursion up the flip-flop
onto the foot and across the ankle
inside the pant legs
it is time to move on

another place will not be hard to find
any bench along the Han River line
stay loose and flexible
pack it all up and go
when it is time to move on

all that is here i can do there
with no companion to drag along
bicycle wheels transport themselves
all that i have is in my pockets
when i move on time 

i can write here or write there
no one will care what i say
like a boat passing on the Danube to Vienna 
sits Altenberg and Trotsky at Cafe Central
one stays, one moves on with plans in life

an old man with sorghum bottle canteen
passes by me on time every day 
will see me on an alternate bench
not knowing the reason or sniff the stench
that clearly made me move on up the river

8-1-15

when Mike May died the other night

when Mike May died the other night
there was not much he could do about it
he tried to fight it
the noble notion of fighting to the end
the flight of the tattered peace dove
mostly he had love
and a revolutionary spirit undeterred
in a wasteland called Satan Island NYC
the largest dumpster in the world
Mike May's tarnished flag was unfurled
he laid it on waste
unfurled
screamed himself raw like a punk
ripped his lungs to shreds
what Mike May might have done
if he were not now dead

8-1-15