Do I say My father passed away When people say "hi"? Do I say I'm OK Then smile anyway? Or do I write My questions Then walk away? Or perhaps, “I’ve been better,” “My father just passed,” Then stay and accept What comes my way.
The Silent River
I'll take the path of the river over the clamor of the car... The silent hum of the bees' buzz moments before sunrise, moments after I awake. I'll let the California live oaks' sway set my mood and the rhythm of the day... Away from the fenced-in single-squared-in bent, shoddy twiggy trees... Away from the highs of commerce... Away from the depths of transportation... Yes, the rounded cobbles may watch as I arrange myself as the weather demands. My neighbors' silence is never so. My refrigerator reminds me the silent river, equally not, is.
The conglomerate
Almost everyone is normal, happy, and well-adjusted. People are having fun… Eyes filled with wonder & hope… Memories in the making. A chilly January breeze blows. A smiling crowd is alive and present— In my heart my hope warms me. "Look over there!" "Did you know...? There is no pot that's melting— That’s fusing people together. There's no single product being forged. A conglomeration exists. The conglomeration strengthens individuals, Builds a stronger vessel for transport, Strides upwards, forwards, onwards… Towards the unfathomable future. The conglomerate structure… The stacking, The combing— or pruning The layering— or quilting The individual/together Still unique, Still special, Unionized with the other. An exploration. A childhood of acceptance. An adolescence of faith. We wait. We build. We attack & apologize & blame & boast & scorn & travel And become... We drop the tribal belonging as sole marker of self and become part of... The conglomerate welcomes us as we welcome it. The conglomerate offers us freedom & safety. We follow its rules. We flaunt some. We Ignore others. We fear. We pray. The conglomerate is home. We are home.
The Boom Boom Room
Last Saturday, December 14th, 2024, I went to check on a wonderful up-n-coming band at the Boom Boom Room, DangerAte. The music was hopping, the scene was popping and the show was inspiring. I was inspired and so, last saturday, while DangerAte played, I wrote... Enjoy...
–LB 7:38 PM 12/20/2024
The Boom Boom Room
Phone vids drop. Feeling squeelers hop. A joint dancing; Early slop-droppers pop. Gals grabbing guys on the wooden floor. Street walkers shattered by music Escaping out the door. Locals never heard tunes like this before! Breakneck car chase. Zoom. Fly through gates; shatter wombs. Breasts dip; loins swoon. High as cats at the Boom Boom Room.
a city with
a city with bells a city with chirps a city with yelps with burps a city with chills a city with hills a city with the frilly frilly thrills a city width way from the ocean or the bay a city with sway from the hills a city with sparks this city's frilly larks keeps her swaying fraying braying in the dark a city whose faults built atop asphalt is nowhere more present than its bay a city with bells a city with chirps a city with yelps with burps a city width way from the ocean or the bay a city with sway from the hills
Hello Beautiful
Hello beautiful, I like your smile. Your sunshine's flowin' baby, Let's walk a mile... You're a beautiful flower & your hair is bright. Say, pretty angel, let's spend the night– Together at my place, Or perhaps at yours, Or if you’re a natural soul, Let’s sleep outdoors. Hello Beautiful, I like your smile. Your sunshine's flowin' baby, Let’s walk a mile... How's about seein' a movie or a local show? Or perhaps to a club– Watch them dancers go go go. Come with me to the Haight Let's drum in the park and play. Then to the sandy shores– Let the ocean do what it may. Let's start a journal together. Let's take a trip to Marin. This foggy life is wonderful But Marin's the place for sin. Hello beautiful, Your style I like. Sunshine’s pulsing through you You’re a beautiful site Hello Beautiful, I like your smile. Your sunshine's flowin' baby, Let’s walk a mile...
Freedom of the Road
The freedom in my eyes Comes from that highway ride. The freedom of the road is my prize. As I'm leaving town That sun is touching down. My four wheels rolling on Is my high. Oh, the mountains and the fir The needles and the grass Blue skies, white clouds— heavens in your eyes. Well the wood and paper burn The coffee in its urn The poles and tents and bags all set. All rise!
A Poem or Uncertain Prose
Bartenders beware Beggars barter too. Deliveries dancing Don delights. We exercise Our minds crawl. Consumers; caution! Containers collapse too. Everyone enjoying Empty events. We exercise Our minds crawl. Digging Dirt? Don't despise Forget fun first Forge forests We exercise Our minds create. We exercise Our minds create. We unlearn while we learn. Everyone wants to be a hero. Everyone prays to their god. People need to eat. People need to be heard. Some of us can fly, Some will sing, Some people are cows, bees, bumble— sheep. Others crumble as years roll on, Others keep keepin' on. Teeth rot. Sneakers wear. Halloweens come and go. Flags get left in the rain with no lights. Bags are packed. Some prepare for a journey, Others stay home, Others look for a home, Others other "home"— "Others" keeps inserting itself here. A powerless writer. A mission unclear. A poem or uncertain prose. Only god, godself knows. The obvious line The unfinished poem Or is it unfinished prose.
Stepping Out & Looking Around
After reading Corso & Ferlinghetti with Bradley & stepping out of City Lights Bookstore & smelling, then seeing fireworks & tasting golden garlic noodles & hearing a wild man yelling & witnessing cars cruising & having my hand freeze I search for inspiration & the next line to write.
The Rate
The distance between us changes more rapidly now. I wasn't prepared for that. They were more alert, brighter, quicker, Yesterday. Not really yesterday— I'm a poet, I take liberties. They stumble now; Unable to process at the speed at which I've always demanded. They tire easily now. (Or is it I am more aware of their tiring?) Regardless, I don't want to write this poem I don't like where it’s going. I don't like how they haven't visited in over a decade. I don't like how my "likes" have become the concern of this poem. There's no neat and tidy ending here. Feelings give way... The pen stumbles... Punctuation fails. An interlude is created and kept in. A pothole is treated. The road is still clunky. Is the road the poem, my life, or the other in the "us" I write about? This messiness distracts me. I dislike this messiness the most. Let's go roller skating again. Let's go on a hike. Let's eat eggrolls downtown Walking while looking at art While I imagine no other way to do either.
Just Another Gentrification Rant
I have lived in my Tenderloin Apartment for over 20 years. I have seen the neighborhood get "better"; get "worse"; "stay the same". The neighborhood is always "getting" something. I walk in zig zag lines. I inhale toileted concrete. I breathe the desolation. Where are the Starbucks? The Disneys? The Chases? I am not capable of throwing enough “warning” ice cubes. I can only call-in one incident at a time. I can never put up enough stickers. FUTILE. I welcome the gentrification. Let me repeat that, I welcome the gentrification. I open my arms wide and breathe in the anti-bacterialized oxygen oozing from salons I will Never be able to afford. I salute the Google busses traipsing through my 'hood on their way to Cyber-Work. I enjoy the latest fashions parading by, zig zagging; slip-sliding down Taylor Street. Because Hipsters are easier to predict than Crackheads. Let me repeat that, Because Hipsters are easier to predict than Crackheads. Because Chanel-Girls, like Ghetto-Whores pay me the same never-mind. Because sleek matte-encrusted zoom-racers wear out the pavement just like suburban pill- Popping porno-children looking for a little Zam. Because I live here, and am not just “passing through”. And perhaps, because I live in a rent-controlled dwelling And am removed from the housing crisis— But didn't Jimmy just sell his club on Turk and Taylor for enough cash to never have to worry About where his next drink comes from? And didn't Huckleberry Bikes just expand? And, yes 50 Mason's no more and sure, Viracocha's gone, but still... I welcome the gentrification. Let me repeat that, I welcome the gentrification. I wouldn't mind a Super Cuts on Taylor and Eddy. I wouldn’t mind slyly sliding by and observing the receptionist deal with dopers right outside Lying down as if the black pavement is Waikiki beach and they are surfers on break. I wouldn’t mind having a Noah's on Jones and Ellis only to have shit-flavored bagel wafts Emanating forth instead of the clichéd savory garlic-money flavor. Because I have dealt with this crap long enough. The cops? God bless them, they’ve tried. The Hipsters? Taxi drivers? Valets? Delivery People? Hotel Workers? Etc.? Etc.? Etc.!?— They’ve tried too. I've watched. Yeah, it would be nice to watch some gentrification sprout up in the 'Loin. Be nice to see what it would unearth.
And I Just Sold All Mine
Written nearly ten years ago, strangely enough this poem surfaced within my psyche. What did I sell? Does this autobiographically-based poem provide any clues? ...Looking forward to your thoughts...
And I Just Sold All Mine
North North South North South North North Look You are in an empty house. Your parents are playing poker, your sister is at a friend's studying. Look You are in an empty house. Your parents are playing poker, your sister is at a friend's studying. East Look You are in a cornfield & yet your thoughts wander, your energies shift and time passes, passes, passes. Turmoil at the Levines, Tetris in the park. Motorcycle Madness Blunt-Stuffed rhythms with Dr. Don. DCM82, Green-Schooled Rush. Mechanical, electrical, Eroll & Yars' Revenge. Jamie Wagg & Lazer trails. Dirty Mushroom wanderings. Night tent-McKinley. Billy Joel's Greatest stolen from Leah’s horizontal root beer metal ball riser. Linux and the pseudo-Tron. Reebok, Gap, Ralph Lauren- Sticky cartridge sweaters. The sound of bricks, which can't be replicated. Food Fight's smooth diatrope of spawned ediponry (*). Commando and the octagonal joy, replete with grenades. And I just sold all mine. West. (*) From the author (me) we learn that: "ediponry" means "edible weaponry".
I Can Shout Louder Than You
What should I do when there’s a man shouting on the street? SHOUTING. A man is shouting, I’m pouting, he’s SHouting on the street. Why won’t my friend return my call? I did her a favor, a favor that’s all. A favor I did I wish to collect. A favor a favor a FAVOR— RESPECT! outside, the cool air bristles past the walkers, wherE the sidewalk dirties and tourists comparE their lovely homes to our foggy knoLL, outside in the rushing, the workers troLL. The “theys” of this world tell us, “UNITE”, The “theys” often speak of unspeakable nights, The “theys” appear frequently vested in plight, So I will retire— retire alright? I’ll be home in my garden, outside on the lawn, At the ocean, the mountains, the glades filled with fawn. I’ll draw and I’ll sing and I’ll break my own noose, I’ll laugh and cavort with Doctors named Suess. I’ll hop through the streets with an unrefined glee, Why, I’ll make up silly rhymes— that’s what I’ll be. I’ll fracture, distort and skew all the lines, I’ll make my own reason, invent all the time, Tell lies that are truth when others do glare And shout, SHout, SHOUT more than others will dare!
Whatever
Here's one I wrote back in 2010 during my Club M-One Six Years. Enjoy!
Whatever
Go with that flow with that, keep it slow. You know its true for the red white and blue. Throw in some easy ones, keep it real cheesy fun. It's all that I still want to do. 'Tever to the wha wha yo yo hay. Couldn't care less what others say. 'Tever to the wha' wha' yo yo who. Couldn't care less what others do. Think I'm being selfish? Take a look at you. Couldn't care less how others look. Go ahead and read your fancy book. Go ahead and cry to the man in the moon. Go ahead, think about rhymes with soon. Wouldn't really matter, shouldn't really say. Couldn't care less what others say. Couldn't care less what others do. Think I'm being selfish? Take a look at you. Couldn't care less what others mean. Like MJ said; "The mirror is clean". Nastiness, friendliness, all obscene. Your judging yourself by others tunes, Go ahead, stare up at the moon. Couldn't care less when chickies swoon, Cause I couldn’t care less what others do. Shiny ass quarter, red, white and blue. Dirty copper market street keeps it true. To get to the bay take the 22. Go ahead and eat some pho guru. Go ahead, sign ya name in blue. Gonna get that platinum for you true. Gonna ride around in the Benz with you, On the bridge to the 1 when the tide is low. If you don’t understand, it's like Clyde's solo. Some of the words you comprehend, Others go ahead, text me again. Couldn't care less if you’re my friend, I don't understand what others say. Pray with that type, play holiday, Couldn't care less what others say. 'Tever to the wha' wha' yo yo hay. Couldn't care less what others do. Think I'm being selfish? Take a look at you. When the atrocities are out of my control, I could load myself up another bowl. I could drop my head in a world of books. Take the girlies at their Faced-out looks. I could comprehend something above. Could walk in the Mission, look for love. Could talk about things I do not know. But 'tever to the wha' wha' yo yo yo. 'Tever to the wha' wha' here we go! 'Tever to the SF, Oakland true. 'Tever to the cross that bay its Lew. 'Tever to Marin— Gold & Blue. 'Tever to the Sausalito too. 'Tever to the 38, avenues. 'Tever to the me, tever to the you. Couldn't care less what others do. 'Tever to the nine-four-one-oh-two. This poem's for me, but also for you. 'Tever to the he, 'Tever to the she, This piece can go on indefinitely. Instead a fade out entirely. 'Tever to the wha' wha' yo yo hay. Couldn't care less what others say. 'Tever to the wha' wha' yo yo who. Couldn't care less what others do.
Monuments of Memories
Falling through holes decades past the scene Frisbee lawns given way way past the greens. Trivial lines. Less trivial times. The monuments of memories gave way the obscene. I laughed aside a younger man's prose That play-sport appeared— what he already knows I laughed aside a younger man's wit That play-sport appearing known that's it
Laughing Lady
This lady's laugh is irritating me. I got little sleep yesterday. I drove over 9 hours yesterday. I fly home today. These statements are connected. Many things are. Her partner commented, "Your laugh was quite loud even when you were thinner." It was at this moment I suspected two things: 1) They've been together awhile. 2) They are just as in-love now as when they initially fell in love. Thoughts shift... Her laughing began to irritate me less. Memories, feelings flood into me... A love fills me... My heart pumps... My beats change... My pulse quickens… Visions of Angela & I still very much giddy and in love decades from now began to warm me.
Yucca Prose
I was driving across the country– Summer '99… I wrote “Yucca Prose” Mid-August while in Moab Utah, at the Lazy Lizard Hostel.
A few days ago I was reading an old journal and this piece jumped out at me. Are the obvious-to-me biographical references swaying my assessment of this poem? Or is it actually worthy of merit? As always, I look forward to your comments – LB 11:50 PM 11/27/2023 SF., CA. 94109
Yucca Prose
Three times the fun Once till you're done Recreation of the soul! A slave, voodoo cutesies, lemonade Guess on, long neck crew The shell's in the sea Are the nights in your stars. Layered sentiments, merriments Perverse, yucca prose Nor to be simply seen A something of the rose
Sir
I love it when they call me sir. Feels like I am gettin' Just what I deserve. Finally forgettin' That I was absurd, That I never heard, Other peoples' words. And only thinkin' of my self, My monetary wealth, Not caring for your tone, Wishing I was alone, I vanished. Gone was the happy-go-lucky Frisco Hippy. Replaced with a tripped-out 5150. No more friends stoppin’ by my Hovel. Eating meals at Glide like the homeless in their grovel. I awoke. No consoles set up to comfort me at my spot. Foodborne illness through rusted up Macy's pots. Lovin' life was nothin' hot that I did yet got. I love it when they love it... Forget about the shove it. ‘Forgot about the things that I do not know. Chauffeured in the limo to my brand new show. Put on my tux– E– Do. Hop in the back with the disco girls. Gonna make it hot, gonna jump in the whirl- Gonna jump in the pool with my tux. You know got another one, I got mega bucks. Easier to vanish in my own fantasy, Than tryin' to be the best me I can be. Lately livin' large has been good for me. Goin' through my life acting less selfishly. I love it when they call me sir. Feels like I am gettin' Just what I deserve. Finally forgettin' That I was absurd, That I never heard, Other peoples' words. That I never saw The colors in the sky. That I never heard The birdies chirpin’ by. But now I'm carin' 'bout my peers. ‘Listening to their fears. ‘Concerned about their woes, Mindful of the crows. Not trying to be alone, Friends stoppin' by my home. It feels good.
Dominic Eats
When Dominic gets hungry Dominic eats. He does not cook, nor have to. He rings a bell. Sir? Will the truffled egg white quiche be in order, or does Dominic prefer deviled ham on sourdough? Dominic usually waves his hand in disgust at those who serve him. Uh, sir, egg? Ham? Uh, something else sir? Sir? Dominic has no time to concern himself with answering. Very well sir, they always teeter, I have brought you both. I— I— I had the chef make the lobster Thermidor and— and a fresh pot of consommé, sir. Umm, uh… your sushi’s ready, or, uh… or— your beef Wellington, that is, sir… Sir? Dominic looks up from his latest doodle (to call them paintings would be blasphemy) forks a single edamame, then a spoonful of hot beef broth followed by one small pinky-sized pincer from the Thermidor, reclines, spills his food, reaches up, fingers plastic stars, clicking balls and a diamond mirror.
The Red Sky
Red sky darkens Stage lights soften Chord Boys quicken Hammerhead sharks frolic in the surf. Guppies clean their gills In & out of big jaws zig zagging between pointy teeth. A pirate eats a pretzel. A mermaid kisses her child. The red sky maroons into a silver night