The Calling

The talk today . . .
In church today
     -About being all we can
     -Doing all we want to
And
     Knowing
          What that is

I am inspired -
As I lay upon
     My couch -
For this is something
I Truely
Want
To
Do -

To lie
Here
Within the influence
Of
The little
Air conditioner box -
I am fulfilling
A deep and basic
Calling
A deep and inspired need
To rest awhile
And to be cool while
     Doing it


What a wonderful invention
This -
A box -
Whose sole reason
     For being
Is to produce
     Cool air.

Like that
I would like to produce
- for the people of this earth
Something Truely helpful
-Truely wonderful
It would be my gift
     To them
It would be my
     Calling
My talent
My contribution
     To the collective
I would produce
A certain cool air
A certain savoir-faire
I would
     Bring down the light
Which would help their
     Plight
Their plight of being trapped
By materialism
In material body and mind
     Boxes

This would be my
     Alchemy
My gift
Probably no one
Would ever know -
But "they" say
It does matter -
Somehow
     It clears the air
Makes people
     Less prone to fight
Makes available more
     Spiritual
Light

Wandering Off

She forgot 

     To wear 

Her 

     Underware

To the 

Country club

 - formal 

     Dance -

          (I heard) 

She used to be

     So stylish

     -so fine-

One time -

She was lost 

     Buying gas 

And had 

     To ask -

The way 

     Back home 

She almost stole 

     My boyfriend 

          Once 

She was as good

     As that!

But no matter how 

     Upscale 

We are ...

- Turquoise  Jaguar 

In the garage -

(She is still living 

     Across the street 

     From the beach 

With famous 

Neighbors)

But, no matter what -

     There is this 

          Pesky 

     Natural 

          Law ...

-won't go 

     Away

-cannot be 

     Reasoned 

          With -

That -

We all go 

     Away -

One day 

The game-board -

     This holographic 

          Video game -

Cannot really 

     Be won 

Some leave 

     Quietly 

Some loudly -

Some wander off -

Some are welcomed 

     In -

     To 

The arms of 

     God -

And know 

The way 

Axes

I no longer have 

     An axe to grind. 

I gave up my axes 

     And my grinding wheel ...

The I that had these things 

Is becoming less 

     And less -

She is seeing 

     Some things 

As baggage 

Some others 

     As burdens 

Trouble and complications

As

Something

To be avoided 

Now she needs 

     To give up 

Sugar and wheat 

     And 

Become neat

Good luck 

     With 

          That !

The Tango Will Miss Me

The Tango will 

     Miss me 

For I'll be 

     Waltzing 

With you 

A person can't do 

     Everything at once 

It seems 

We will be dancing 

The specific steps

Of correctness 

Not the 

Improvisational randomness 

Of the moment 

These people 

At this place 

Don't know 

How it can be done 

     A dance 

     With no steps and no beat 

     And only holding close 

          And feeling the heart beat 

What can this mean 

What can it be for 

     How could we sell it 

     For a profit 

And of course, 

That's the beauty 

     Of it 

Perfection

Everyone seems to have 

Their own 

Agenda 

Wanting me to follow 

Theirs --

Even the six year old 

Who makes up rules 

To suit herself -

She let's herself win 

But not every time 

So as

Not to

Create suspicion -

She's too cute 

To say no to -

Now 

But someday someone 

Surely

Will

Life itself will 

Have it's way -

It always does

And you -

You

Want me to be 

Someone special 

Someone perfect 

And I -

Just want to 

Run 

To hide -

The answer is 

A certain degree 

Of confidence 

I suppose -

And

Better hiding techniques 

-Camouflage 

-Smoke screens 

-Carefully covering 

     Tracks 

Let the six year old compose 

-all the rules she wants to 

But you -

Will have to know 

That I'm not perfect 

Now -

And won't be -

Probably -

Ever

Scrape, Scrape, Scrape

Teeth scraping 

How can this be right ? 

She puts on her blue gloves 

And cracks her knuckles 

I take a pill 

Scrape, scrape, scrape 

Say a mantra to myself 

Listen to oldies playing there 

Breath deeply 

Scrape, scrape, scrape

Visualize the third eye 

Feel the little Valium kick in 

Turn your head this way

Turn it that way 

Open mouth 

Close mouth 

Brush more often 

and floss 

I look out the window at the beautiful 

View 

Ojai mountains

And eucalyptus trees

Why me ? 

Why am I stuck 

To this particular body 

And forced to feel its 

Pain ? 

Why isn't there a switch somewhere 

I can turn 

Off my connection to 

It 

One which is not the final 

Switch 

One which is not available 

Only once

And possibly 

Forever 

Sometimes I envy those 

Who 

Never think

About it 

Those who never ask 

Such questions 

And don't 

Care 

And then she's done 

For awhile anyway

On the way home today 

I will have a donut 

That's what I'll do 

That will prove 

( nothing to anyone ) 

But it will taste so good 

- I'll have two -

Gee-whiz

Sitting on the front porch

In my chair 

It's comfortable here 

Day is nice 

Not too hot 

Not too cold 

Beautiful breeze 

No obnoxious wind 

Neighbors are quiet 

No yelling today 

Sitting on my front porch 

Very zen 

Contemplative 

Trouble is . . .

I know 

If I open that door,

That front door, 

There are things to do in there -

More things to get done 

Than I can possibly do -

Dishes probably sitting in the sink 

Waiting patiently 

To be washed 

Dust on things 

Waiting patiently to be 

Removed 

Floors to sweep 

Stuff - to be . . .

     Done

     Something with ?

Not to mention paint and plaster and 

Other mysterious things 

Like backs of closets 

And bottoms of laundry bins 

( bin currently buried by 

Laundry) 

And so I contemplate 

How long can I legitimately 

Stay here . . . ?

If I 

Camped out 

In the yard 

I would never 

Have to 

Go in there -

I have heard that 

Gypsies sometimes 

Do that 

Leave the house empty 

And live in the

Yard -

Excellent idea there -

The postman just came -

Delivering bills 

Ruining my 

Zen-like mood 

And I'm getting hungry -

Gee -

Whiz