As we stand on the edge of catastrophe,A despairing poet, I can no longerFollow my Zen like some hippie troubadour,Riding my Harley across the dusty roadsWith my battered old Gibson Les Paul guitarSlung careless across my faded denim coat,Seeking for enlightenment in the oily dregsOf yet another warm dirty MartiniIn a sordid bar on the edge of nowhere.Nor yet follow the rollicking exampleOf my illustrious forbear Ben Jons...

“What is this place?” he thought to himself. He carried only his beloved Gibson Les Paul guitar as he kept stumbling forward. His watch read 4:20 but he didn’t know if it was A.M. or P.M. A booming voice echoed through the cavern. “Step forward boy!” A figure rose from the ground. He watched as the figure stood 10 feet tall. It was grotesque in appearance with horns of a ram and a long whip-like tail. There was a swinging...

Dear Dad, It’s Julie. This is the letter we always used to wonder about. It took much longer than expected. My timeline runs parallel to, but thirty years ahead of yours, and I’ve grown older here than you are there.  You’re approaching the point where I lost you. A time when everything fell into chaos here. You wouldn’t recognize my world, but I’m still your little girl. I miss you deeply, shaking as I compose this, tryi...

“This is like a Rod Serling Twilight Zone episode!” he observed. “Four of us locked in a room, and none of us know how we got here!” “And none of us seem that concerned about it!” the photographer noted. “Mind if I get some photos of everyone with my Exakta 66?” He stood up and started looking for the best vantage point in the room. The short, portly conductor was already pacing around, baton in hand. Dressed in his black...

There is no Interstate called Four Twenty,No one can tell me how to go there, now.No entry ramps, no exits one might see,But, still, I dream I'll get there, anyhow. The neon sign still glows so bright, my friend,The penguins manning toll gates ask two bits,Then lifting up the cross bar by its endThey welcome in the artists and misfits. At every mileage marker on the way,Twin speakers echo out some brilliant blues.As Alber...

The first time I meet you in a guitar store, strumming a Gibson Les Paul guitar I know you are the man I should be scared to get closer. My eyes behind my digital camera focus on your face while you are listening to the sound of the guitar. A penguin tattoo on your left tattoed hand stops playing, and you lift your head up to look in my direction as if you know that I am looking from behind the lens. Your eyes smile while...

It's unfortunate when you try something new and it all goes to pot. Big Dave is only too familiar with such misfortune, his rundown bar barely covers the rent and its faulty neon sign seems rather appropriate. Although, I kinda like the way his 'Rock Bar' trade name flickers and dies periodically, because sooner or later it always lights up and shines again. Despite its obvious shortcomings, when out shopping or whatever...

When shall we wake?  Shall we wait, wringing our hands,Until our last child smiles no more?Shall we wait until he’s gone to war? Shall we wait, with a self-righteous tear, as last he feels his mother's love,And ends his life in the streets of our City’s empty heart? When shall we wake? Shall we wait, clicking our tongues as the newsman tells of the old womanwho suffered in the cold and gave up her will beneath the weight...

Note: This compilation occurred to me more than a year ago. In fact, the reason I logged on to Facebook on March 14, 2017, was to reach out to Alan and propose that we combine our efforts, merging his Colorado Calling and my Jersey Rejoicing into one poem. Instead, I learned that morning of Alan's passing a few days earlier. It threw me for a loop, and the idea got pushed to the back of my mind. But it was always there, t...

I’m not entirely sure I like you.Everything here is too bright and too dark. It’s a fucking paradox and it doesn’t make any sense.It doesn’t even make paradoxical sense.Like, why am I sitting here typing this? My hands are betraying me.The wind is harsh, yet comforting.Why’m I even drunk? Am I sober? Do I exist? Ugh, questions!Like, I could just write this out like some kinda paragraphy thing. I could write in complete se...

You always did like surprise endings,A twist no one could see coming,And that last one of yours was a doozy.Days later, we're still reeling,Not from the shock, which dissipates,But from a grief that lingers.You probably never knewThe regard people held you in,For it seemed to sneak upAs we chatted and laughedAbout topics big and small.Our esteem grewAlongside your virtual menagerie,Vintage music, Exacta and photography ta...

A con man rolled into town, With a funny looking wig. Made a lot of promises, Everything will be really big. He claims he doesn’t like immigrants, Says they cause a lot of strife, But you certainly would never know, By looking at his imported wife. And he doesn’t like Muslims, And forget it if you’re black. And as for those pesky Mexicans, He’s sending them all back. He says he has a really big plan, To cure America’s ill...

To some the world revolves around them,And nothing else can matter.They’ll do anything to reach that end,Including endless idle chatter.They walk around like “Hey look at me.”And are only happy when you do.They’re like an exhibit for all to see,Like an animal in a zoo.Nowadays they’re on the net, joining many a site,And they bully everyone around.They’ll be on the computer, day and night,If some attention can be found.If...

we are the ghostsyou never see us walking down the street among you beautiful ones the living ones we are the ones you pass without a second thought for the tiny brush of air you feel in our wake we are hardly worth the time it would take to pause and consider for we are not of the same world we are here you are there we taste everything and consume nothing but we are so very muchalive

Flowers bloom, the Winter thaw, Outside the songbirds sing. With the arrival of the bluebirds, I know that it is Spring. But listening to the bird’s songs, And watching the flowers bloom. I can’t but help myself, For feeling a certain gloom. For I find myself a bit jealous, As the flowers start anew, So often I wish I could do the same, If I just knew what to do. 02-22-16.