You Think You Saw But Did Not See

A small boy and a smaller dog

sitting on a curb, in the late afternoon.

A Rockwell painting; alive.

An image to conjure thoughts of our glorious age-

stirring pride

and warming hearts.

But the dog is tired and thin

and the boy's smudged face echos the pups hunger.

I suppose they're waiting for a parent

or a sibling who's running late,

but more likely

he and the dog will sit,

their shadows will draw longer

and the sun will fade to orange, then pink.

Sustain

Protest songs, ill-defined

implying cadences uttered by the swaying and swelling

of angry crowds shouted till cords are raw,

screaming a desire for

sudden change

at all costs.

Guitars were picked and harmonica blown

to massage messages into the minds

of those that turned a deaf ear

when the issues were forced.

Banjoes and tambourines,

mandolins and steel guitars,

silenced by a black listing

when lyrics delved too deeply-

Un-American to question another man's

misguided crusade;

Un-American

to admit defeat.

Three voices of change

cast away into a void of thick air

pure, country music, questioned

for being against the murder of innocent

and the recall of loved ones-

Un-American

to come home.

A single tear brought on by an echoing chord

a flash of resent from a nerve strummed

and the hardest men given away

as their feet began to tap

A suggestion is put forward

a nudge in the right direction, to

please look up, into the burning sky

at the hard rain looming

Truths only noticed by the ones looking;

wars that cannot be won,

marches that need to be ended.

We will bring them home,

we will further question our readiness to fight

another mans war.

We will stand with eyes closed,

listening in the pouring rain,

for answers-

blowing in the wind.

A Few Nights Distilled

1.
Smoking areas
are wondrous things;
drink causes clouded thought
but just outside the pub
wafts a mixed air
of smoke and words,
a haven for the cultured.
The thumping noise within
makes for deaf ears
individuality wanes in the dark;
Here you are butted against
a variety of miscreants
the drunks, the smokers
observers of kindred souls.
Wander out into the soft din
step onto the toes of the repulsive
this is my living room
and you will find my lot here
lock eyes,
find the education of countless universities
all the hard knocks that society can muster
drink in the experience
for the barkeep inside
only offers a hazy recollection
this cocktail is one that
offers a hangover that life beyond
will lust after.

2.
People are more interesting
when they're vague
so much to long for.
The mind creating infinite possibilities
filling in the blanks with your own criteria.
Facts enter and judgment occurs,
the fantasies die swiftly.
Mystery is the muse of life
lose it and reality is what remains
reality, is a harsh spouse.

3.
Will he remember me?
stumbling up from across the bar
asking for a cigarette.
He was from "Spain"
a casting director
a space explorer
and a rodeo clown
I bought him a drink.

4.
The late night weirdos,
huddling together under smokey umbrellas
in brick coffee houses,
glaring angrily at the glow from a laptop;
a foreign object and symbol of the outsider.
Thick rimmed glasses judge your book jacket
and a scarf from across the room sneers at your shoes,
this is not a place to lock eyes.

5.
Fidgeting again.
Cool walls hold back ash
the fires are still burning.
My radio plays a soft tune
some 1920's voice.
At this moment
I wish to be there
to open my eyes and see nothing
but a typewriter and an ashtray.
I want to look out the window
and see a sparse Los Angeles
free from traffic
dripping with youth.
I want to bump into three piece suits
private dicks
and women in furs.

6.
I sit at attention;
coffee, chocolate and mind
close at hand.
Like a small boy before thanksgiving dinner
poised for the massacre.
My pen is readied as his fork is raised
and when our customs are done,
his grace and my candy bar,
we will both carve into our task at hand.