June 2018- Included below are a couple selections from a recent CD collection entitled Seeing Eye Ear recorded last June & released on CD Baby in November which is in the process on being revised with additional tracks for reissue in late Summer/early Fall. Meanwhile- Whose your Daddy ?

The Old Man’s Fault

Hallmark defines

yet another contrive

consumer day of obligation

but fails to see the

species, phylum, the role

the basic biological

reality as it exists beyond

some 5 dollars of gaily configured cardboard

with sentimentality nobody really believes

or nasty sarcasm that all most

everyone smugly snickers at and buys.

 

No.

Closer to the truth

on this Sunday morning in June

is that the once thought of as

Protector

Provider

Patriarch

of the nuclear family

has been reduced

to an atom smashed

pulverized fragment

waddling away down

the aisles in Krap-Mart

in a sad post-modern procession

of the daddy parade.

 

The fat sad daddies

The trim yuppie daddies

Hung over haunted looking

out estranged vacant eyes

ghosts of father figures

Booze fighter Fathers of

medication

neutered

trivialized

reduced to

being walking ATMs

for their families

support and subsistence.

 

Big dumb stupid looking

bumbling cartoon cats

lisping along as their

little kitten sons

trail a half a dozen steps

behind them with a

brown paper bag

over their heads

whining…..

 

“O Father….I’m so ashamed…”

 

All hail

that worthless drunk

drinking by himself

out in the garage

that fragile shaky

blue veined pasty

pile of protoplasm

who holds his family

together with a iron

willed grip of silly putty

and threat of the liability

of alimony

His manhood

maculated

Balls ?

What Balls ?

He’s been bent over

in a question mark

into a bowling ally

beer gut male pattern

baldness worn down

burnt out shell

surfing porn sites

of the internet looking

for pictures of women

who remind him of

old girl friends.

 

In nature

Especially the insect world

The male role is

defined only

the biological imperative

Basically ?

He’s fertilizer

after that

it’s off to be eaten.

 

If he’s lucky.

 

So here’s to your Dad

The father

once son himself

reduced to a lonely holy ghost

 

And if he’s not here

remember

your first teacher

the artist who help

create the piece of work

that is you.

 

Daddy on a lease

Daddy on the skids

Pale wobbly old man

shaking his fist a death

Raging how he still can

even if he never did in the first place.

 

You want to believe that

you’re here on earth because that worthless

bastard thought about getting laid

one night after too many beers

and conceived your existence ?

 

Go for it.

 

But closer to the truth

just maybe you never knew

that once there was a man

who when he looked at you

in the eyes for the first time

in that moment

did see

a world of love

shinning private light

like a gate in heaven

had been left ajar.

 

 

Go right ahead.

Curse his name as you try to forget him.

 

But….. if he’s still around ?

some night

and no not on this day…

crack him a cold one

and put your hand on his shoulder and say.

 

“ No…..to be fair it’s not all your fault

I would have been so goddamn miserable even without you.”

 

And then duck pretty quick

as he takes a swing at you….

 

And he connects square

and plants back on your smart mouthed little ass?

 

You had it coming

 

Sometime Grief – 6/2010/12

*

Dreaming in Paintings visual realization  – Kayla Cunningham- from Seeing Eye Ear Audio collection Fall 2017

 

Dreaming in Paintings

 

There are these blank canvases

In my mind every night

And sleep brings dream pigments

To adhere as clear as if etched

In razor brushes so ineligible

Frame after frame

Like someone’s home movies

From another dimension.

In the morning I can’t remember

Anything about them

Except I can still see intact

The memories of what

I don’t understand

Recognize

Know my place in.

But these paintings are still there.

Like pages unwritten

Yet containing this message

I know is there

Like being aware of portals

To a spirit world

Picture window

To what

the eye has no seen

The ear has not heard

What no mind has imagined.

Returning back to

This corporeal reality

Which seems so gray and shallow

Is a real drag

After knowing those paintings

Where fire is water

And earth  is air.

Dancing between

in the disambiguation there.

                                                          –   Got Abstract ?  2014

 

I promise to keep your photo on the dresser

 

Another month blooms

from inside itself to life 

May June July

as flower explosions

scent the time sky

while memory invoked

moments seeded in youth

Sunrises with snow white

air born cotton fibers

Dawns with a high full moon

still hanging in the blue sky

leftover midnight @ dawn

May June July.

Another month blooms

from inside itself to life.

You once yourself

did as much

to awaken in rebirth

on either coast strange or familiar bed

with a yellow light streaking through

custard bedroom curtains

spilling on and firing the ivory of the sheets.

untroubled by any horizon of doubt

from the meridian of the coming day.

Her arms reached for you

while a picture of someone else

sat planted eyeless on the dresser watching

you moving from the small of her back

into that coal shock blackness

of her wild thatched hair

cascading on to her shoulders

bodies entwined rising from the mattress

singing into each other’s ears.

-The Terrible Now   2003

*

Medical Records

 Says here that I was born 6/7/55

for $125.00 with that you get three consulting physicians @ 25 bucks a pop & a C-section.

And all I’ve heard my entire life was that I was no bargain.

Bullshit

-Attitude House  2001

 

 

 

*

Sister in Gemini

(for June Webb)

I remember seeing her out in the front yard in the June sunshine

When we were both quite small

Out on a blue chez lounge recovering from her latest operation

Her blonde hair and massive white bandages and cast seemed to glow

The doctors where trying to repair her deformed limbs

She and I had been born hours apart

I was told that June might never walk again and would probably

Have to struggle this handicap for the rest of her life

Yet it was me who was indelibly marked with harmless

port wine stains  on my face and neck….

Like a Technicolor Achilles

and was told to consider myself lucky

I saw her years later in the marketplace still limping with

Her signature smile and familiar lope

I kissed her and wished us a happy birthday

And she smiled and remarked…why you haven’t aged at all

I replied with a shrug….you ought to see me on the inside

They knew just where to aim the arrows.

Got Abstract /2014

The Yellow Sting Ray

 

When I turned 12

I pestered the living crap

Out of my folks for this

Really, expensive Schwinn

Yellow Sting Ray Bicycle

With high set handle sissy bars,

Gear shift and sparkly plastic banana seat

That I saw in the widow of Terry’ Bike shop

In town.

 

The old man said how ugly it was

and was just way too much GD money

at 89 dollars for such stupid dangerous thing

But it was my birthday

And I think my Nana kicked

In some dough.

 

So that evening my mom pulls

Into the driveway with it sticking out

Of the rear of the gray station wagon

And I took off on it like a bat out of hell

Not getting more than twenty feet away

And attempted to POP a wheelie like I had

Seen them do on TV.

 

Of course I immediately dumped the thing

Going air borne and ending up

In a crashing concussion

To the hard into the road surface

Raking myself up one bloody mess

Of road rash from head to foot in

Shredded clothes and with blue stones

And tar stuck into my abrasions.

 

Not only that I bend the frame,

handle bars

the yellow banana seat

came off as well.

 

And some 45 years later

I’m still doing pretty much

The same kind bullshit

to anything

I can get my hands on.

 

Just still trying to ride the GD thing

Without going down in flames

And tearing my ass to shreds

Down into the gutter

 

Got Abstract   2014

*

Lost & Found June Fragments

*

Memory

Most of what you are compelled to recall

Arrives in this plain brown reality wrapper

Containing roses and razor blades

in a hollowed out hymnal

So that all you can really remember clearly

Is praying never to be cut like that again.

 

What is a Good Story Teller ?

 

A good story teller

Can relate to you the verbatim truth

And you’ll be so sure they are lying

Through their teeth

And yet

That very same person will in the next breath

Spew the most outrageous bold face lie

And you’ll bet your last bottom dollar

You just heard a brilliant truth.

 

The Pyromaniac’s Logic

 

Listen.

You remind of the little girl

Who started a fire somewhere once

And ran away

Only to show later

With coffee and donuts

For the sweaty beat fireman

Trying to extinguish the damage

And when during the coffee break

They seemed none to please to see you

 

You storm away in a huff

Thinking just how ungrateful

They are.

 

-Uncollected 2012