REFINERY NIGHTS

Sidemen

2011-08-26T18:55:00.001-07:00

Small, focused spotlights
of orange and red
conjure fire from the ebony baby grand
deep pulse of stand-up bass
sultry horns
wanderin' reeds
every solo turnin' heads
as each sideman takes up the slack
through the grey-blue smoke

Sophisticated
elegant
spacewalkin' smooth

Stella's gettin' her starlight on
tonight

Try it while dining

2011-08-26T18:53:00.001-07:00

Smooth jazz at midnight
soft
mellow stream of favorite grooves
upbeat
intimate
as jazz lovers, people lovers
touch fingertips across the table
napkins casually folded
coffee cups ignored
dishes gone

Soft brushes on quiet drums
rich textures sparkling on piano
occasional tangy note
like a twist of orange peel
on a layered chocolate dessert
the warm blue tempo
leadin' the way toward morning

Entre nous

2011-08-26T18:51:00.000-07:00

Her lingering perfume
swirls of smoke from his cigarette
cocktail olive in a very dry martini
the jazz just soothing and serene
easy shuffle
sensual
with a slow, slow burn
like shadows
from flickering candlelight

After dinner, dessert appears
two creme brulees and coffee
on stage the sleek quintet
begins to purr

Slap Bass

2011-08-16T18:07:00.000-07:00

Flash of white shirt cuff
gold cufflinks dealin' sparks
them long brown fingers
like Cuban cigars
slappin' strings in time
said slappin'
blues man don't strum or pick
call it slap bass
that's what it's called
stand up bass
for a stand up man
keepin' time under the lights

That piano he's just noodlin'
some high and lonesome key
trumpet waits for the bridge
just practicin' his lip
drums he workin' brushes
on that scuffed up snare
but that slap bass --
good night daddy
that's what they came to hear!

(For open link night at dVerse.)

Palermo (for Ed Pilolla)

2011-08-06T20:10:00.000-07:00

Footsteps on cobblestones
down a walk
barely wide enough for two
he gestures
in silent Italian
she shakes her head

Admiring geraniums
in a window planter
she misses his shrugged reply

Their table is set
outside Piccolino's:
two long-stemmed glasses
dark bottle of vino
straw flowers
in a makeshift vase

He touches her elbow
points toward the cafe
she nods

Tuning (for Rosamond Finley)

2011-07-30T21:44:00.000-07:00

Slender fingers carefully coax
a tuning peg to tighten
violin tucked snugly
in the crook of her neck
strings respond but softly
to the subtle bow

That much is simple physics

But in which hair's-breadth synapse
between which two neurons
in what recently painted hallway
of a violinist's mind
resides the exquisite vibration
of A above middle C?

And which gentle program
picks it out
from among the dreamy roses
of a long ago Maui sunset
the color of her father's eyes
the uncanny sweetness
of Vermont maple syrup
and the name of her Congressman
which you must understand
are filed side by side?

And which subliminal subroutine
without a second of conscious thought
compares it
to the string's quiet voice
and tells her slender fingers
to nudge the tuning peg
clockwise
another fraction of an inch?

Found Jazz

2011-07-30T21:38:00.000-07:00

Even the angry crossing bells
as a midnight freight rolls through
sound like jazz to me now
I've got it bad

I'm hearin' beats
from a Harley at a traffic light
drum solos from a garbage truck
shakin' a dumpster over his head
when a fire truck wails his way
out the station and downtown
I hear trumpets
hear Miles and Satchmo
the clink tinkle of coins
in a soda machine
boom boom thud
when the bottle hits bottom
that's danceable, man!

Don't give me harmonic abstraction, teach
don't learn me no chords or tempos
I got all I need
in the sidewalk click
of skateboard wheels
just like drumsticks
on the rim of a snare

Somewhere in my reptilian brain
I'm riffin'
I'm riffin' on the sounds I hear
we're talkin' close encounters
of the improv kind
that's found jazz

And I've got it bad

The Little Club

2011-07-14T20:01:00.001-07:00

There's a place in town
that's called
the Little Club
turn left on Vine

Don't you dare
you square
tear up
that ticket stub
one Michelob
and you'll feel fine

Every night
the cats come out
just to play that jazz
and knock everybody out
there's a place, I said
that's called
the Little Club

Let me tell ya
what I'm talkin' about

After dark
there's a trio
starts to hop
bass, piano and tenor sax
if you're lucky
they'll swing until they drop
cookin' session, layin' down some tracks
they have a friend on clarinet
sometimes stops in
for a midnight set
at this crazy place
they call
the Little Club

So

If you can keep time on the skins
bring your drum set
down where jazz begins
to that place on Vine
they call
the Little Club

Art Walk Night

2011-07-14T19:56:00.000-07:00

Art walk night

the air is right

up on the corner
they're just startin'
to play so tight

cuttin' up

they swing, they jump

rythmic grooves
and baby, it moves
that down
town
side
walk

saxophone
(three, four)

all alone
(seven, eight)

cookin' some
just startin' to hum
and
here come the drums

tap your feet
feel that steady
beat

fourth and main
they're feelin' no pain
it's down
town
art
walk

L.A. CAN
do all you can
back room crowd
just gettin' loud
that's poetry jam

It kicks, it hops
don't call the cops
pops
L.A. has what we call jazz
on art
walk
night

Most recent photos

2011-05-17T03:15:00.000-07:00

When you said
I really like the way
that turned out

I thought you meant
the couple
in the picture
not the photograph
itself

Because
we feel that way
don't we
when friends
we knew belonged together
finally
figure that out
on their own

We say
I really like the way
that turned out

The knack

2011-05-17T03:09:00.000-07:00

Ending a song
without resolving the chord
leaves you
like a coffee cup
balanced
on the edge of its saucer

What if that's the trick
to life?

How many conversations
situations
relationships
lives
end without resolving
the chord?

How many friends
lovers
partners
selves
are left balancing
on the edge
of their saucer?

California Vespers

2011-03-10T06:28:00.000-08:00

Broad slash of tangerine brushed
between horizon and denim sky
silhouetting palm trees, rooftops
in charcoal against day’s end

Brilliant sliver of crescent moon
suspended in twilight
consecrates the sacrament of night

Venite, invisible crickets chirp
Venite, exultemus Deo

Faint perfume of gardenias
welcomes blessed evening’s calm
frogs in nearby cycads intone
a Magnificat of deepest bass

The prime minister

2011-02-27T15:40:00.000-08:00

He stabs at the air
with a gnarled finger
silk necktie absently askew
Knight of the Order of Independence
looking every weary moment
of his seventy years
(appointing yourself president
is tiring work)
an aging
bald
remnant of himself
shriveled within his tailored suit
gold Rolex Oyster
slipping
on his birdlike wrist
glinting
under the television lights

I am not running away!
he insists in hoarse, raspy Arabic
while his limousine
is double-parked outside
his one-way ticket on Tunisair
tucked safely
in a jacket pocket

Furnace

2011-01-23T20:28:00.000-08:00

Dead west
red rock canyons
sandstone bluffs
offer the ancient sun
a resting place

Its flaming ball
dips below
purple cliffs
the cloudless vault of indigo
deepens
darkens
familiar constellations
appear

Along the Strip
twenty-story hotels
illuminate
in pastel hues

Cards are shuffled
dice tumble
wheels of fortune spin
the Stratosphere's tower
spikes the darkness

Bartenders
showgirls
high rollers
dealers
have only the night
to play

Before dawn skies outline
lava buttes and mesas
and another day
in this godforsaken oven
begins

No leash

2011-01-17T10:23:00.001-08:00

Sitting at attention
in the sun-baked grass
nose lifted slightly
tail twitching
you stamp your paws
whining
anxious to run
restless as the golden sun
races toward the hills

What foreign scent
what far-off bark or howl
have you picked up
from the afternoon breeze?

And what vague sense of duty
to your master
or his house
restrains you from sprinting
through the autumn meadow
to chase down
what your canine senses
discovered?

The conversation

2011-01-17T10:19:00.000-08:00

Peeling shutters thrown open
sheer ecru curtains
billowing out
in the sudden draft
you rant in outraged Italian
eyes livid
hands gesturing wildly
your white hair
an uncombed shock

I follow your eyes and fingers
to the cobblestones below:
has an ill-mannered fruit vendor
inflamed your ire
or a newsboy
late with the paper?

The street is deserted

Yet your colorful tirade
continues
an occasional obscenity
thrown down
by your eloquent hands

Palm reading

2011-01-17T10:14:00.000-08:00

Is there a reason
you've spent the last two hours
doodling the stars
on your hands?

What mysterious worlds
have you drawn?

A full moon is rising
in your left palm
the old moon sinking
in your right
the solstice sun cradled
half in one hand
half the other

Your fingertips
chart the Zodiac (the old one)
Aquarius and Libra
in blue ballpoint
crossing the spirals
and ridges

Does Neptune orbit your thumb?

Will Halley's comet
pass carelessly
between your fingers?

Department store days

2011-01-05T17:32:00.001-08:00

Cool
quiet
spacious
spotless carpet
soft fluorescents
a chime
repeated softly
from the ceiling
bong
bong

Mannequins
styled for 1962
smartly fashioned
always white

Elegant background
of soothing Mancini
gleaming escalators
fake travertine marble
and lots of cold
hard
cash

Fossil

2010-10-24T21:15:00.000-07:00

Tall, white haired
in belted English raincoat
and Florsheim shoes
he stands in silence
clutching a zippered leather
courier's pouch
against his chest

Indistinct figures
under open umbrellas
chatter in languages
he doesn't understand
as they pass him
on the rain-soaked sidewalk

Slow night

2010-10-24T21:14:00.001-07:00

The dim sum pagoda
is brightly lit
the enticing aroma
of Cantonese delicacies
beckons to the empty parking lot

Near the sidewalk
a bored Chinese teen
pops a wheelie
on his teal green ten-speed

Renaissance

2010-10-24T21:12:00.001-07:00

A split rail fence
with a barbed wire garland
reminder of cattle ranching days
wind, desert sun
weathered the wood
the wire has rusted and sagged

A sprig of bougainvillea
magenta and red
winds around a post
along the fence

Dandelions have sprouted
and gone to seed
waiting for a strong breeze
to scatter the next generation

Final stop

2010-10-03T21:25:00.000-07:00

Cotton Belt
locomotive
thirty-eight-oh-nine
whose last tired mile
ended here

Gives up parts
to keep her tired siblings
rolling
while she rusts
and tells her railroad stories
to the weeds

Moonbutton

2010-10-03T21:21:00.000-07:00

Carefully staying
in your line of sight
I reach out
touch your face
whisper your name

Bridle, saddle, stirrups, reins
lie ready in the tack room
with your blanket
they're for another day
another time

Today is for
gaining your trust
with a handful of oats
a bouquet of hay
scratching behind your ears
shooing flies

Riding you
even once around the pasture
is a long, long ways
away

Seasoning

2010-10-03T21:18:00.001-07:00

Summer's final setting
strikes a starburst
in my lens

Mustard weeds
masquerade as yellow straw
Dusty sycamore leaves
borrow notes of raw sienna
from the dying sun

A moment's breeze
whispers through
the wild barley
of the meadow

Moon rises
shadows lengthen
Autumn returns

Impressionism

2010-10-03T12:24:00.001-07:00

Neon colors
splash in gutter puddles
chic umbrellas appear
from handbags
as a sudden rain
reimagines Pasadena
as Paris

Silly rabbit

2010-08-01T22:33:00.000-07:00

I would tell you
you're too old
for skateboard tricks

but

you're already off the launch pad
in flight
right arm a rebel flag
shaggy haircut whipping
stale summer air
one grey suede Etnie
kicking forward toward the bricks
the other coming down
at just the wrong angle
and gravity wants it bad
your left foot and that curb
have an appointment

The stop sign behind you's
like a big red button
if I jump up and push it
in time --
forget it
it's already too late

Your streetlit shadow
sailing down the market wall
looks like he just might
make it through this
okay

On any weekday

2010-08-01T22:32:00.000-07:00

Hollywood's been making
boring movies again
blank white characters in vapid lives
who spend their time
and glittering money
on meaningless
pointless
things

Not us

Who else would spend
a carefree hour
browsing for sunken treasure
on Melrose
ferreting out the hottest scallions
at Farmers Market
monopolizing the only mirror
to try on Edward G. Robinson hats
or wire-hanger thrift-shop clothes
assembling your Fourth Avenue
salvaged-runaway look
on a handful
of crumpled dollar bills

Buying a day pass
to find out
what's at the end
of the Metro

What god
or goddess
of being hip without trying
grinned at me
and paired me with you?

Coral Blue

2010-08-01T22:30:00.000-07:00

Let me bring twilight
of pine scents and crickets
to soothe your torrid summer sunset
a clear medley of stars
and fleeting clouds
to whisper morning lyrics in your ear

Let me add a gentle
perfume of ice
to your tangerine dream at sunrise
a subtle garnish of cilantro
to our fiery chili night

You paint the hot new sports cars
matador red
I'll buff them to a mirror gloss
with Coral Blue

The frequent flyer

2010-07-20T10:40:00.001-07:00

He straightens his power tie
shoots his cuffs
between the cool sixth floor and the lobby
nothing like a Splash of Nash
in the Club Lounge
to punctuate a tryst
with a spicy older woman

Then out
through the brass and glass
to Fifth and Grand
bleak glare of a downtown afternoon
beyond which nothing's what it seems

He moves down the sun-bleached pavement
like a well-dressed accident
whistles a cab
settles back in the warm bench seat
where Celine Dion's voice
and the rhythmic click of the meter
massage his temples
on his way Westside

Behind his mahogany desk at Watt Plaza
he remembers that vital detail:
his credit card, left on a cocktail napkin
at the Biltmore

The colony

2010-07-20T10:37:00.001-07:00

Just before mimosas
and scrambled eggs
standard issue
LAPD Ford compact
metallic blue
amber light flashing lazily
in the rear window
makes the turn
from Stone Canyon Drive
wheels through the East Gate
of Bel Air

The kind of neighborhood
where players
die discreetly
in the pool
in the party hours
of moonlit nights
vanish by ambulance
before dawn

Where a homicide shield
past his prime
knows better
than to shoot craps
with his pension
lets it ride

No film at eleven
no names in the Times
nobody goes to jail

2020 Beachwood Drive

2010-07-20T10:34:00.001-07:00

Santa Ana wind
comes off desolate stretches of Route 66
whips down arroyos and mountain passes
soars to the sea

Santa Ana wind
whines through Assyrian parapets
of City Hall
down Cesar Chavez
up the dawn-red canyons of glass
around well-kept Jewish towers
of Fairfax, Park La Brea

Santa Ana wind
makes nights oppressive, sleep elusive
speaks of steamy nights alone with a friend
Otis Redding on the radio
cigarettes in the car

Secret messages from your guitar
played at midnight for your ears only
rise like the scent of sinsemilla
to my loft upstairs
where I still lie awake as well

No soft westerlies in the twilight
fanning palm fronds as you play
no ocean breezes
no trade winds whispering aloha
through your half-open balcony doors

Only sweat, oppressive heat
and Santa Ana wind
searing the soul of the city
in one long hot breath
the Mojave exhaled

Six forty-five

2010-07-11T20:33:00.001-07:00

Sprinkler water drips
from unripe gin-berries
of woody junipers
at lawn's ragged edge

Banded mockingbirds
on telephone wires
show off their collections
of pirated songs

Southern magnolias
take deep breaths
and face the daybreak
just cresting the hill

As a grey city street sweeper
its wet brushes whirling
leaves a snail trail
around the neighbor's Camry

Borrowed time

2010-07-11T20:30:00.001-07:00

We are spindly hermit crabs
picking our way
along an endless white sand beach
our bodies are bony shells
awkward shapes
and colors
sometimes we decorate them

We help ourselves
to a vacant shell
not designed
to last a century
we choose it at random
inhabit it for a summer
complain about it
then move on

It's not sad

It was never our shell
or our summer
to begin with

The price of oil

2010-05-03T03:05:00.001-07:00

A feathery tendril
of blue-grey smoke
curls skyward
from Deepwater Horizon
quickly mushrooms
into an inky plume
merging with billows
of dirty grey
that hang in layers
above the Gulf

A shimmering rainbow
of British crude
spreads swiftly outward
from the platform
fouling forever
the infinite Caribbean blue

After party

2010-04-12T10:47:00.000-07:00

Doors squeegee closed
Local bus exhales
with a roar
lurches back into traffic
lighted rectangles
frame unfamiliar faces
sailin past

Brite orange hand
white walkin men
crossin Maltman
as Cypress Hill lyrics drive past
we navigate greasy sidewalks
wedge into a narrow slice
of coffehouse
its harried barista
moppin what's left of his floor

We buy fragrant herb tea
find a saggin red couch
drink what's hot
and chat each other up

We take a verbal stairway down
to serious levels
the Jim Crow South
tea party pawns
Islamophobic homophobic Christians
Obama
Dr. King
Malcolm X

We conversate our way back
across Maltman
another Local bus
sags toward the curb
you chinstrap your helmet
unlock your bike
our silent hug says more
than that whole conversation

(Objects in mirror
are closer than they appear)

You gmail me later
in that warm starless night
tell me I'm super chill
always supportin
always transmittin
positive energy

Dude
your head is bolted on solid
you the last man I'd be worried about

Dory Fishing Fleet

2010-03-14T21:28:00.000-07:00

Shivering
in the chill white fog
I hear the clanging bell
of the channel buoy
at the mouth of the harbor

You're floating
in a fishing dory
anchored offshore beyond my reach
propped up on a pillow
in a steel-railed bed
that fills the boat's narrow stern

Your voice is weak and thin
through the clammy fog
it's hard to see your boat

You'll have to talk for me, now
your feeble voice trembles
I can't...

I step into the shallows
the ocean engulfs my shoes
fog envelops me
your rowboat retreats
into the mist
beyond the wharf

I am
I shout toward the harbor bell
I have been
then, in barely a whisper:
they won't listen

I see your pale hand reach upward
your eyes fixed on a seagull
your thin, reedy voice
comes again through the frigid fog:

I know

Zen

2010-02-22T09:24:00.001-08:00

Blank sun of a cloudless day
embraces him with warmth
legs and feet
tucked in a perfect lotus
and nearly numb

He ponders the simplicity
of a pebble in his hand
black kidney bean
of deep river sandstone

Born without crack or vein
tumbled to perfection
by adversities
of water and time

A nameless pebble
without need or want
will neither dream nor plan
it simply is the pebble

Stone
water
sun
and time

It simply is
the pebble

The Man in 120 B

2010-02-22T09:19:00.000-08:00

How swiftly his diagnosis
transformed him
robbed him of the will
the strength to fight

His world was already
growing smaller
less engaging
he retreated from independence
yard by hard-fought yard
till life abruptly
retreated from him
with the subtlety
of a gallows trap-door

Now bald and pale and thin
he dozes
his final days away
oxygen cannula in nostrils
mouth open
electronic air mattress humming
rice pilaf
and mandarin jello
left untouched nearby
bleached white hospital pj's
hospital curtains
hospital sheets
hospital television
with Divorce Court on mute
while legal narcotics
white out the pain

A toy stuffed animal
a lion cub
thoughtful-eyed
perches on burgundy hospital comforter
watching him sleep

Stormcrow

2010-01-24T22:05:00.001-08:00

Storm's dark blanket of somber grey
parts at afternoon's end
chill winter sun in vault of blue
mocks the soggy aftermath below

Cawing raven soars vexed
from tree to wire to housetop
finds each perch unwelcoming, cold
with a screech flies on

Her talons find but moments' roost
on half-pipes of Spanish tile
tarred ridgebacks of shingled roofs
only to flap, cry and launch again

No haven is hers in the ebbing storm
no heights her resting place
she turns and pursues the fleeing clouds
a malcontent in despair

Manhattanhenge

2010-01-24T22:04:00.001-08:00

Twice in every calendar's flight
the setting sun aligns
with east-west streets
of Manhattan's taxi-choked grid
like medieval sighting-stones
at the solstice

Brilliant lasers
of amber and flame
trace out the numbered canyons
in a moment's beam of dazzling light
drawing fleeting lines of fire
from Battery Park to Chinatown

What druids told the seasons here?
Which spire was the Sunday stone?
What giants helped the Merlin
of old New York
plot the equinox
of 42nd Street?

Witch's Curse

2010-01-24T22:03:00.001-08:00

Shameful this
and shameful that
and shameful yet once more

A dark abyss
of snake and bat
of caverns without door

Loathsome night
and loathsome day
and loathsome yet again

The darkness light
will chase away
the dead shall pray
Amen

Worlds Apart

2009-11-16T20:12:00.001-08:00

We watch each others' lives
from across the grid
read each other's letters
for clues

You take the skyway
to your eighty story tower
I take wet sidewalks
alleys
traffic lights
below

Lattes
with barista's art
squiggled in fragrant foam
gourmet cookies
and a book we've both read
to discuss
in the gathering twilight

The night
is everlasting here
our wood-veneer corner
the coffee
will never run out

Let's light two cigarettes
talk about the book
pretend
we still have something
in common

Gospel Truth

2009-11-16T20:02:00.000-08:00

I might have moussed my hair
even worn some nicer clothes
if I'd known you would cross
my evening's path

With your shy midwestern cadence
self-conscious grin
reticent handshake
warm grey eyes
that stayed locked on mine
neat black Mormon nametag
heartwarming picture of Jesus
with coupon for DVD
to resolve
my personal family
challenges

I know downtown Pasadena
pretty well
you're built like a decent runner
if I grab your hand
can we try to lose
your cheerleader-dating
missionary partner?

Patrician Wind

2009-11-16T19:58:00.000-08:00

Crisp, cold nightspeech
of familiar Moon
that stares full-faced
in autumn's dead clear night
wafts through leggy heights
of our yellow birch
troubles the placid surface
of our pool
gently rustles dry fronds
of our fan palm

Santana's brutal
devil wind
bone-weary of driving
summer's savage flames
has become by turn
a woman of genteel birth
well-mannered
elegant
refined
serenely walking
her cloudless
star-swept sky

Salvo

2009-10-26T04:07:00.001-07:00

Swarthy
sweaty
three days unshaven
somber hotshots stand brooding
under fiberglass helmets
leaning on axes and shovels
atop a blackened ridge

From above, behind
propellors drone
a bomber nearly scrapes
a mountain peak
from her belly an explosion of red
drenches a canyon

Far below on the ridge
one weary hand shoots skyward
thumb up

DGA

2009-09-27T21:02:00.000-07:00

You turn to me
Laugh Factory neon
dancing in one eye
the violet
of California night
filling the other
and we spin
eyes skyward
to a gallery of mirrored glass
pillared colonnades
one rustling L.A. palm
and the forty thousand dollar
film school
you wisely decided
not to attend

Film Festival Reception

2009-09-27T20:55:00.000-07:00

Turning left
at the hors d'oeuvre chatting model
then right
at the inflatable producer
we navigate
toward the beverage table
you for a blush of cabernet
me for grapefruit soda

The gossip and deal-talk sails
in one ear and out
a bit too precious
or just a shade too vain

But uninvited
we understand
we're lucky just to be there

Screening

2009-09-27T20:51:00.000-07:00

We sit in the blackness
of our two-seat section
on a buzzworthy summer night
whispering as young directors
tell us sad mad funny poignant ludicrous painful tales
their characters parading past
for us to meet

The silent Palestinian girl
who's not there to blow up the bus
The shy boy
who goes home to a smokestack

The brown slave who watches
blue schoolboys play cricket
the bride whose driver
dies in her arms

We ride their songlines
into their worlds
their lives and our spirits
collide
in that standing-room-only
dreamstage of the dark

Amelia (Earhart)

2009-08-09T21:43:00.000-07:00

In Friday's twilight sky
silent clouds of billowing sorbet
fade from raspberry to peach
terrazzo tile sparkles
under halogen's glow
as our sneakers cross the courtyard
outside the theatre

We watched the aviatrix
rise suddenly to fame
live passionately
the most wearisome life
on the ground
love passionately
the most dreary
self-absorbed men

Then soar eastward
with her bright-eyed
auburn-haired
handsome cursing drunk of a navigator
into their own sorbet silence
from which they never returned

Outside Tom Bradley International

2009-08-09T21:37:00.000-07:00

Backpacks, duffels
luggage, wheeled and not
emerge
from double-parked shuttle vans
or trunks of economy compacts
to the tune of announcements
over airport PA
a bedlam of live jabber
in a dozen native tongues
blue turbans, brown sandals
eyes scanning check-in signs
for El Al or Air India
Aeroflot or Cathay

You've got your carry-on
your boarding pass for Qantas
your baggage checked through
to Adelaide via Melbourne
your passport
your last cigarette

What you're missing
is a kiss

But in this swirling, chaotic
mini United Nations
the airport cops
writing tickets at the curb
and your fiancee standing nearby
I reluctantly settle
for a hug

Station 20

2009-08-09T21:36:00.000-07:00

Buses, cars
locked in midday traffic
seem to honk in your direction
as they pass
do they know it's your birthday?

Sunset and Mohawk
for a hundred years
boxy cathedral of City Fire
kept all us sinners from burning
evolved from horse-drawn
to diesel
from shouts for help
to dialing 911

Faded photographs
a century of brass-badged caps
handlebar mustaches
regal white horses
lanky dalmatian dogs

Paper-cupped punch
slivers of cake
a proclamation's whereases
and therefores
are placed on hold
as bells and buzzers
break the silence

Red beacons whirl
electric doors rattle open
sons and brothers
of heroes past
climb aboard

Engine 20
has another run

Eyedropper Moon

2009-08-09T21:34:00.000-07:00

On my Macintosh
I have an eyedropper
for borrowing colors

When I see the perfect cinnamon
in a photo on Flickr
a subtle shade of almond
in the Times
I borrow them
for my personal color wheel

On my porch this morning
I stretched
drew a full, deep breath
and thought of you,
then noticed the moon
still lingering
in the western sky

And I wanted my eyedropper
for those gentle blues
to capture those delicate shades
of white and grey

Yes, there are shades of white
you doubt it?
then join me here
on my porch
and share the moon

4 Westmoreland Place

2009-07-22T20:13:00.000-07:00

Inspired by a visit to the Gamble House in Pasadena

Mid-morning's glow
falls on mahogany
through oak leaves
of amber leaded glass
blithe portal
to yesterday's
genteel life

Home to a dynasty
of servants concealed
'neath stairways
and hidden halls
cryptic doors
in the teakwood
for household help
to clear the dishes
fold the laundry
and vanish into the wall

Gracious quarters
of linen
and ecru lace
for the dozing
maiden aunt
sleeping porches
and pewter lamps
for absent parents
empty rooms
of children away
at boarding school
spared the chill
of life
in a museum

The Pharmacy of God

2009-07-06T19:09:00.000-07:00

Newspaper boy's
persistent shout
in the red dirt street outside
pierces the haze of hibernation
stirring us awake

Harsh verano heat
off Sonoran desert
creeps under our door
with the sickening scrape
of a lizard's dusty tail

Low, slanting sun
of Mexicali morning
peers through Venetian blinds
laughs at two gringo stoners
groggy in our sweat-stained purgatory
of roaches and week-old sheets
two gringo stoners
pretending to be writers
living Hemingway's Cuba
on the arid flats of Baja
devotees of our own dying religion

A Royal typewriter our confessional
pulque vendor our priest
our cathedral the barrio drugstore
across the road:
Farmacia de Dios
the pharmacy of God
with the Virgin of Guadalupe
on their wall

Four Liverpool lads
faces half in darkness
stare back at her
from the hand-painted mural
on our casa
They plead our case
with the Virgin each day
to let us buy the goods each night
to avert her gaze
as we buy the holy elements
from God's pharmacy

We find the pushcart vendor
outside the Lucha Libre
load up on carnitas
tortillas
frijoles
arroz
wash them all down with mezcal
from the pulqueria

Then spend another night
in our red clay purgatory
with the four hundred rabbit gods
of drunkenness

Power Tools

2009-07-06T19:03:00.000-07:00

I wish I could freeze
this confrontation
'neath the domed rotunda
of City Hall

Snatch that radical's words
right out of the air
yank the 9-volt battery
from his bullhorn
erase the picket signs
blank out the shirts

Save this moment
below the gargoyles
and colonnades
store it all in a good-sized crate
complete with marchers
picketers
organizers
press

Then
when some idiot crosses me
when my hackles are raised
my ire inflamed
I could set them up in a minute

Print appropriate slogans
on their t-shirts and signs
pop the Duracell
back in the bullhorn
turn them loose

Forget letters to the editor
phone calls to my congressman

My own private army
chanting
shouting
waving their posters
indignant as hell
and demanding my way
marching right to the corridors
of power

Paix de Nuit (for Dan)

2009-07-02T22:58:00.000-07:00

I live
at the foot of the mountains
le pied des montagnes
and the devil wind
of brush fires and Indian summer
Santana
rushes down Azusa canyon
while I sleep

Something stirs inside me
I step outside at two-thirty or three
scan the starry sky
bless my tribe of friends
and sip the quiet calm
of the night

Lately it’s Orion
who awakens me
that hunter from primordial times
who prowls the infinity of space

Standing barefoot on my porch
I find him overhead
Betelgeuse on his right shoulder
blue Rigel on his knee
Alnitak, Alnilam, their sister Mintaka
triplets shining from his belt

A violinist friend
loves my mysticism
and you my bohemian ways

Courez-vous toujours le vent?
do you still race the wind?
I’ll bet you give him
a run for his money
n’est-ce pas?

Stuck in Neutral

2009-07-02T22:54:00.000-07:00

Short order waitress
and mother of kings
she lends him her attic
where he speaks
little more
than fluent bass

Fender pick in mouth
eyes closed
he fingers his baby
slithering between notes
adding sevenths and sixths
for the magic

It's really soft
for the first few measures

he whispers
to his empty room

Sounds sweet
with a little distortion
wanna try it?

He takes a long hit
from the smoldering joint
coughs deeply
into the smoke

Nice little riff, man

he nods to himself

Really perfecto

Social Media

2009-06-28T14:16:00.000-07:00

Cut from the tail
of the twentieth century
the new hipstered wired ones
in thrift store chic
gender agnostic
and freshly squeezed
mill outside a ramen bar
in Little Tokyo
thumbs never silent for a moment
tweeting the night's plans
or the precise GPS coordinates
of their left sneaker
to their overheated blog
where othercoastal netfriends track
every emo suicide threat
and snipped-off URL
to the viral video
that's already
so last week

Noon

2009-06-28T13:46:00.000-07:00

Like Eisenhower and Nixon
they arrived
old-school
bundled
against the biting cold
in winter coats and gloves
George looking weary
bored
Dick just sinister
in ominous hat
and wheelchair
still plotting something evil
as his power ebbed

Hatless, gloveless
in sharp blue suit
JFK in color
strode confidently
to the platform
snatched the torch away
without apology

Blues in C Minor

2009-06-28T13:43:00.000-07:00

When the medics
closed their tackle box
doused the red lights
that said it; he turned away

Cops lurking nearby
moved in with yellow tape
intruded with notebooks
flashbulbs
nub of chalk
tracing his friend's outline
in the street
he shoved his way back home
climbed the stairs

In his bedroom
latches on his saxophone case
snapped like brass switchblades
in the dark

The reed was crisp and wailed
smooth and polished
till even the cops
looked up to his window

Sprawling low notes
a mournful cry
that rose and smoked
from the bell of the horn

Gentle high notes
luminous
tight and pretty for his friend

He closed his eyes
dug deep and found some more
wild
unsettled riffs

Restless pictures of Andre
in white chalk and alto sax

ER 4

2009-06-24T22:27:00.000-07:00

Cool
bright
silent corridor
gleaming linoleum
and blank white doors
identical
faceless
motion controlled
swing neatly away
before the thought of opening them
even forms in my mind

Instantly
I am engulfed
in a maelstrom of chaos
movement
color and noise
a black woman screams
in traumatized violet
RNs move professionally
in reassuring teal
like monorail cars
on invisible tracks
from the nurses' station
to cubicles
and back

Heart rhythms trace sine waves
across monitor screens
pulse
systolic
diastolic
respiration
blink in amber digits
too public
too sterile
detached

Telephones ring unanswered
doctors are endlessly paged
by a calm
pleasant
disembodied voice
to call Pulmonary
or Radiology
or a nameless
four-digit
extension

Solstice Night

2009-06-20T20:44:00.001-07:00

Did you gather
beeswax and honey
under the last full moon
the pale ashen orb
that rode the clouds of night
and whispered in your dreams
till daybreak?

Did you gather
fresh rain water
from the last bright storm
even as lightning
split night's canopy
and thunder rumbled
across the desert floor?

The Sun has climbed
to his zenith in the sky
now his might begins to wane

Awaken then
and harvest your cherished herbs
cut them gently by scythe
in the moonlight
hoard them in a tiny pouch

Add to the fresh rain
pebbles
feathers
shells from the sea
guard every drop in a vial

Now is the moment
for magick

La Noche

2009-06-20T16:34:00.001-07:00

Chase me to the border
just two for the darkness
let's make a run tonight
we'll cross at Calexico
follow the moon
make La Rumorosa
by morn

We'll dance to mariachis
in the courtyard at dawn
ringed by rustling palms
we'll fish for our futures
in the dry salt lake
set sail
on canvas wings

We'll light the lanterns
of the ancient hotel
listen to guitars till eve
when wings of blue butterflies
on tortoise-shell marigolds
will bless the night
and lead us to our dreams

The Blue Hour

2009-06-20T16:29:00.000-07:00

Side by side
on our grey stone bench
atop Elysian Park
we read the atlas
of dying days
in the soft vermillion
of western skies
between the dark pillars
of trade

Lights are struck
on random floors
as skyscrapers inherit the night
their west faces, liquid
painted gold by the sun
while the east
proclaim gathering dusk

Devotees of the twilight
together alone
we drink deep the changing world
as the streets of Los Angeles
become an incandescent grid
engraved on the darkness below

Concrete Confession

2009-06-19T08:21:00.000-07:00

Words of anguish
bleed across concrete
in angry Magic Marker red
where you scrawled
your final manifesto
around the chains
of newspaper stands
down school bus yellow
of loading zone curbs
ending only
where weeds broke the pavement

I picture you heartbroken
suicidal
betrayed
spewing rage
in urgent diagonal slashes
blood red felt-pen
deathgripped
in your white-knuckled fist

Did it ease your pain
to scratch your last graffiti
on the sidewalk
of Whittier Boulevard?

Did you feel any better
after?

Or were you too busy
slitting your wrists
by then
to notice?

Fellini Afloat

2009-06-19T08:19:00.000-07:00

You surface like a sea turtle
from an ocean of students
the filmmaker-to-be
navy Beatles cap bobbing
above the waves of
dental assisting
criminal justice
computer drafting majors
till you swim into focus:
red backpack weighted down
with textbooks
on cinematography
tripod slung over a shoulder
your struggling optimist smile
greeting me
across the churning surf
and roaring waves
of Starbucks

Telephoto Lens

2009-06-14T07:18:00.000-07:00

Oak leaves sugared
with morning frost
mill about your doorstep
on dew-spattered grass
discussing the headlines
on the damp folded Times
trading rumors about the key
under the third flower pot

You're missing all this
I'm missing all you
you're cross-legged on a curb
beneath the 4th Street bridge
watching an Amtrak diesel
gently tug a Pullman sleeper
off a freight yard spur
coax it to join the train

You're cross-legged on a curb
in grey Penney's turtleneck
rain-spotted parka
one eye squinted tightly shut
the other scanning the scene
through your old-school Minolta
one fingertip
placed lightly on the trigger

I rest on your creaky steps
in silence close my eyes
my spirit shares your viewfinder
from miles away
the silver-blue hood of the Amtrak
fills the frame
sunlight glints off the headlight
a starburst in the lens
I hear the shutter clish
I smile
I'm missing
all you

Next of Kin

2009-06-13T22:16:00.000-07:00

Wisps of off-white upholstery stuffing
peek out from small tears
in tangerine Naugahyde
padding the tiny diner booth

Yellowed business cards
Scotch-taped above
black pay phone on the wall
advertise tax preparers
towing service
drain repair
overweight bruiser in rebel flag tee
curses into the phone
about a muffler for a Chevy pickup

Road weary major
in suitcase pressed Class A's
orders a fried-egg sandwich
extra fries
Coke no ice
another highway diner meal
mundane cotton belt road
another bottom-of-the-economic-barrel kid
blown to hamburger half a world away
nothing left for the family
but some paperwork
one visit from the Pentagon

He watches a creaking ceiling fan
twirl slowly above the counter nearby
tries to remember the casualty's name

He asks the waitress
the name of the town
forgetting it
as soon as she speaks

Palermo

2009-06-03T22:05:00.001-07:00

Footsteps on cobblestones
down a walk
barely wide enough for two
he gestures
in silent Italian
she shakes her head

Admiring delicate blossoms
in a window planter
she misses his shrugged reply

Their table is set
outside Piccolino's:
two long-stemmed glasses
dark bottle
cheap vino
straw flowers
in a makeshift vase

He touches her elbow
points toward the cafe
she nods

Question on an Employment Application

2009-06-02T18:35:00.000-07:00

Q. Why is the sky blue?

I could point out
it's not always

That it's black as night
on Halloween
grey on rainy Tuesdays
crimson or vermillion
in autumn sunsets
and sometimes almost gold at dawn

I could prattle on
about gas molecules
Lord John Rayleigh
and tropospheric scatter
you see
I do understand
the science behind it

But I'd much rather just say
I'm really glad it is
blue

Especially that
particular shade of blue
that comes on mornings in early June
when the sun rises
before the moon has a chance to set
and they're both in that cloud-free
sapphire sky
together

Palm Springs Daydream

2009-06-01T16:19:00.000-07:00

Spicy sun-dried rooftops
of Rancho Mirage
pass swiftly 'neath the shadow
of our balloon
we're sailing in a basket
bound for nowhere
skimming just above the date-palm groves

Rising dawn paints desert dunes
the Salton Sea glitters, iridescent
like scales of shimmering fish

The wind takes over steering
we soar toward Arizona
or our future
two surfers on the daybroke tide
looking forward
to their favorite morning wave

Refinery Nights

2009-06-01T06:23:00.000-07:00

Cloaked in the constant
low murmur
of heavy equipment
like the work songs
of a thousand hivebound bees
a labyrinth
of distillation towers
starry minarets
in a dark Byzantium
of pipes and valves
reach into the night sky
above Wilmington
celestial backdrop
for late shoppers
at South Bay Mall

Essence of thunder lizard
secreted in tar filled clefts
seeps from limestone caverns
to the waiting straws
of Chevron
souring the evening air
of Signal Hill
with a whiff
of heavy crude

Gas plumes blaze
like medieval torches
hydrocarbon molecules
trade atoms in the dark
forming benzene rings
on the playground
when the teacher's back
is turned