The Views of My Muse-
I have no problem finding my muse,
The problem is his controversial world views.
One night he's poetic, and the next he's a punk,
The next he's on facebook,
Doing karaoke drunk.
He expresses his aingst, his pain and the rest,
As well as his lifelong obsession with breasts.
His latest obsessive, compulsion is SPAM
And the endless and mindless pursuit of canned HAM.
Four Dimensional Space/Time-
Waves of light wash upon a distant shore,
Rhythmic stitches in the fabric of space-time.
A brilliant four-dimensional tapestry is formed,
And reflected in this simple rhyme.
King of the Pier
Two keepers in two weekends,
That makes three for the summer.
My legend is woven from monofilament.
My fame is equal, round these parts at least,
to those guys who win fancy bass tournaments.
A handful of smelt swim round in my pail,
My goblet is filled with the finest brown ale.
My rod is my scepter, and a bird poop covered bench my throne,
I’ll have to sharpen my fillet knife when I get home.
I am King of the Pier.
Sea Level-
An afternoon walk in the woods,
Unsettled voices whisper in the trees,
Turbulent waters cascade over rounded stones to the lake.
I am a prisoner in paradise.
An early morning walk on the beach.
I am free…
Sunshine-
A shirt sleeve shields my eyes from the darkness.
My headphones mute the silence.
I know that somewhere in the vortex,
your laughter shines bright like the sun.
A Storybook Childhood
Mother Goose, classic.
Alice, fantastic.
Mr Rogers, sweatered.
Dr Seuss, unfettered.
Far away places to hide from the pain,
a few moments of sunshine, out of the rain.
Away from a stormy cartoon, all too real.
Thirty minutes to watch, and a lifetime to heal.
Diamonds to Dew
First light on the frozen chaparral,
Turns shimmering diamonds to dew.
A lone dove on a wire,
Dreams of a warm summer flight with her mate.
A Thanksgiving Prayer-
Let us not forget,
On this most special of occasions,
The Wampanoags,
And other peace-loving nations,
Who facilitated our so-called "New World" migrations.
Amen
Dreaming from a Wake-
Floating through space,
Chest out, arms spread wide,
I dream from a wake,
Returning to what is true.
Freestyle-
I'm goin' FREESTYLE, it's ME style
It's not for YOU, or "wanna be" style
It's for ME, to EXPRESS, who I BE,
To REFLECT what I HEAR, and what I SEE!
And what I FEEL, for what I FEEL,
Is what is REAL, for ME! SEE?
And if you can't A Pree See ATE of it,
"Prefer convention," or even HATE of it,
You say it sounds like Dr. Seuss rap,
Like Mr. Rogers STONED, or Mother Goose on CRACK,
So, maybe Green Eggs and MY spam just aren't your thing,
Sorry cousin, grab the pepto bismol, because you just ate a whole PLATE of it.
On Yin and Yang-
The hardwood flame leaps from the forge.
Ash gently falls to the ground.
Morning dew drips from the blade of a broken axe,
Nourishing a thirsty oak.
The oak’s roots pierce the earth’s crust,
Opening her up to absorb the morning dew.
A bucket of water extinguishes the forge,
A new axe is ready for the cutting of wood.
A Facebook Apology-
Dearest:
Please forgive me for failing,
To observe proper etiquette,
And trampling personal boundaries,
In my obnoxious attempts at wit.
To consider others feelings,
And not be a twit,
I’m trying hard to remember,
But sometimes forget.
Sincerely,
Ojai Tennis-
The smell of yellow fuzz on burning summer courts.
“That ball had eyes!” and other witty retorts.
A cast of characters, unique every one,
Play the great game of tennis, in the hot Ojai sun.
Some enjoy banter, bringing the weak to their knees,
While others prefer launching their rackets into trees.
If you ask why they live here, they’ll all answer the same:
They love this great town, and they love this great game.
An Ojai Holy Day-
A clear moonless Ojai night, a million stars fill the sky.
Frigid air numbs the ears and nose.
Let's head inside to rekindle a dying fire,
Soon beneath a warm comforter to retire.
A frosty morning slowly pushes aside the darkness,
The smell of orange trees reaches your pillow.
Outside, still shaded fruit-laden branches strain their frost-bitten tips upward,
Revering the Topas, already basking in the warm morning sun.
A clear blue sky overhead,
Crisp air flushes cheeks, and reminds us of the night before.
A stroll through the arcade, Libbey Park, a killer burrito at Ruben's,
Habanero smiles, many waves and greetings,
We are at home, and among friends.
Dusk approaches.
Cold air flows down canyons to rest on the valley floor.
Shadows lengthen across the foothills,
Our western sky is awash with brilliant hues of orange and red.
The Topas, having already bathed in a wash of pink,
Look down upon orange trees bracing for a cold winter night.
Sunshine
A shirt sleeve shields my eyes from the darkness.
My headphones mute the silence.
I know that somewhere in the vortex,
your laughter shines bright like the sun.
A Murder of Crows-
Birds of a feather, all flock together,
We all heard how that saying goes.
To help explain, it will help to recount,
The story of the Murder of Crows.
How it all began, it’s not totally clear.
A complaint was filed,
Based not on fact, but on fear:
“They re too dark, they’re too noisy, they incessantly caw.
They rob the young from our nests,
And they’re not nice at all!”
So a bounty was placed, upon the crows’ heads.
And the hunters went out, and killed most of them dead.
The ones that remained, they put them on trial,
Before a Parliament of Eagles, and a Congress of Owls.
The crows were found guilty of various crimes,
The most serious of which, probably warranted fines.
But the crows, they were sentenced, to life without chance,
Of parole for good behavior, or reprieve for kind acts…
Well, those crows, they’re all dead now.
They died behind walls, of thick mortar and brick,
Used to silence their caws.
But their memories remain, in the hearts and the souls,
Of new generations, of old and young crows.
But crows today, they are cautious.
They’re reluctant to caw.
They avoid hunters, eagles, and owls.
So if a crow sees you coming, and starts to take fright,
Just remember what happened, and that they have a right,
To be wary of their lighter-feathered brothers of flight.
And of men who promise peace, and then turn to fight.
You see history has taught them, has given them reason,
For in the land of eagles, it’s still often crow season.
My Five Minutes of Fame-
Thank you dear friends, for my five minutes of fame,
For my time in the sun has been grand.
This poetry thing, for me, which started out JUST on facebook,
Now, has gotten totally out of hand.
You see, what started out as a little card project,
Overnight turned to a quite involved venture.
It’s been extremely therapeutic, and cheaper than a shrink,
Still I find myself practically indentured.
The self expression is fantastic.
The craft is rewarding,
And the personal satisfaction, immense.
But now I may be spending too much time,
On facebook, writing poetry, and promoting prints.
So my tennis classes start again tomorrow,
And my afternoons will hopefully get busy,
I look forward to making a few extra bucks,
For Christmas spending has made me quite dizzy.
So I’m taking a break,
From this card printing craziness,
And going back to my day job.
Teaching the ladies how to hit a spin serve,
And how to get back to cover the lob.
You see the problem was, that once I got started,
My life, with inspiration did fill me.
But now I’m afraid, that my family and friends,
Are hatching a scheme, for to kill me.
Floating in a Sea of Love (face down)-
I looked for you at the window.
You never showed.
I kept walking.
Straight into an ocean.
I drowned.
I'm dead to you.
Frozen Dew Glistening-
I really hope that you haven't stopped listening,
To my incessant selling of "frozen dew glistening."
I realize that my capitalistic ways are obnoxious,
But my aim it is true, even if my method is toxious.
One small unknown fact, that is kind of funny,
To get my cards, you don't even need money.
Just answer my riddles, and complete my rhymes,
And I'll just send them to you, from time to time.
I'm trying to scatter them both low and high,
So release your "dreaming dove" cards,
Let them go, let them fly.
Santa Ana Jake-
In one of the Casitas, at the bottom of the lake,
Lives a Largemouth Bass named Santa Ana Jake.
He’s big and he’s mean, and if you dare cross his path,
You MAY live to regret inviting his wrath.
I know cuz I hooked him, one late afternoon,
Five minutes before closing, I believe it was June…
I cast out my line, not far from the ramp,
Just one more try, before heading to camp.
And my line it did twitch… it moved… just a bit
And that’s when, my friends, it all turned to shit.
For when I set the hook as I usually do,
I encountered a force not unlike JAWS II.
I had come prepared. I was properly schooled,
With my drag set correctly, and my reel freshly spooled.
But nothing could have prepared me that day,
For Jake and HIS sick idea of child’s play.
He headed straight for the surface, and exploded, in a hurry!
His mouth open wide, like a runaway Plymouth Fury.
Then he dove straight for the bottom, and wrapped me 'round a branch,
Or a hitching post from an old sunken ranch.
And I new it was over, when my line it did break,
And sunk with my heart, to the bottom of the lake.
The Rain is Fallin'-
Well, the rain outside, it's a fallin.'
And is giving me a bit of a fright.
It rained yesterday.
It's rainin' now,
And it's supposed to be rainin' tonight.
It looks like it's gonna rain tomorrow,
And on for the rest of the week.
It's true that we all need the water,
Cuz our rainfall to date has been bleak.
So I'm kinda of mixed emotions,
And I may be a paranoid freak.
I want it to rain, but if it don't stop soon,
I fear we may be "up a creek."
Thank-you so much for reading!
Dave
