Deluxe Memory

Deluxe salad days

2 pkgs cherry jello

1 lemon jello

1 1/2 c. Pineapple juice

1 c. Whip cream

1 c cottage cheese small curd 

Deluxe salad

Family time 

July 1968

Or '69

Those were the days

When simple jello

Was tbe exotic 

When pineapple juice

Was the world

Brought to you

In a can

Sweetness 

Tropical

Palm trees and ocean breeze 

In the dry Utah-Idaho  summer-scape

Cousins and teetertoters

Hot shiny metal slides to the sand

And grass

Swing high jump out to the sky

Land fall roll laugh

Do it again

Grownups talk in the shade of

The park picnic tables 

Under mighty cottonwood trees 

Faded photos taken that day

Of the old folks

Four sisters One brother

Grandma joy

Great Aunt ined

Great Aunt elma

Great Aunt orpha

Great Uncle Dick--old cowboy--alcoholic

All in a row

So long ago

Seems like yesterday

But dim

Til I taste the deluxe salad

I made today

July in 2010 California

And it has the right flavors

Color 

Almost the same textures 

But not as pretty as grandma's. 

Which means

I'll have to try again

So I can hold that day

Tight to me 

Like today

Like time 

Isn't bound 

Or linear

But alive still

However we choose

To know it. 

Bat Mitzvah

Bat Mitzvah eve

Chant the dreamscape currents

Knowing the meaning

Without the hesitation

Of un-lived life--

So we hold these moments

Precious and true

Glorious grace

Held in the center of

   Our heart

Realized

 And within

Reach. 

New York minute

Late summer night NYC

The hum 

People

Moving

The night like silver black skin

The brilliant and the destitute 

Cigarette smoke

Take a slow drag 

It's like hell is heaven

Choosing what to see

Will we see?

Bongo drumming 

Splash of water a lone sound

In a fountain bravely going on

What beauty

Young black woman sits 

Alone

Looks down 

The fountain rising 

Singing 

Behind her

She sits and writes

Silent

A piece of herself

Shimmers there 

Reflects the light

Her face 

A contemplate 

While the brilliant and the shinning ones

Walk round her and

Through the smoke

The hum

The sorry ones

Seeing only hell

New York dreams 2011

She is filled 

She walks into the rainy unknown 

Knowing the purpose 

Of her inner integrity

"new York is harder

  In the rain" she says,

Looking at the dreary

Wet outside her window

Watching people dodge the rain 

The old tough new Yorkers 

Push their frailty across

The busy streets. 

  How have they managed?

City life is a hard life

No time to be weary

Just keep going

One foot in front of the 

Other.

She is young but not so 

Almost 26 she has

Some city living

Forged into her determination 

She knows it's tough

Some days

 But it's also so very

Marvelous too

A magic colored bright 

And dark

" I'll be alright,"

  She says

And seeing her there

I know she will. 

Crumbs and Sunshine in New York

Overcast but clear September 

Humid afternoon

Warm

NYU students

Chattering 

Birds of a feather

Gather in Union

Square 

new York city

Brash

Ignorant innocent 

Before

Life has had it's way

Chewed and spit

Them

Reshaped 

And

Challenged 

The persistence 

Of their longitude,

Brutalized their 

 Surviving  latitudes;

 Yet they

Shine with light,

The brightness 

Of  sparrows

And little brown birds

That sing in the morning

Before they go

Scavenging the broken

Sidewalk,

Foraging for crumbs .

September 11, 2011

Dreams lost: September 11, 2011

We hold ourselves 

To be self evidence 

Of resiliency 

Ten years

Two

War/Occupations

Shattered landscape

From which we

Arise

And

Try

To fly

From

Only it's very

Complexity

Anchors our flight 

And all that remains

Of justice

Is

The striving.

My Girl Dreams

My girl

She gifts herself

By following her dreams

The path is bright and dark

It questions her tenaciousness

She answers

Digs deeper

Constructs the ways

And utilizes the means

Plunges herself into

The soil she plants

New York wet

Rain in new york

The wet sends 

Shivering 

The few scampering

For shelter

Umbrellas hardly

Holding back the rain

Pools along curbs

Wait for the errant

Footstep 

The sliding streets blacker

Washed dirt that never

Retreats, a  slickly visible

resonace

Traffic never ceases

Life hunkers shoulders hunched

The night homesick 

For dry twilight 

A memory balmy

And out of reach

Except for the waiting

And the promise

The wet won't 

Always hold us captive

This Moment

We are this moment

This moment

Now

Holds every possibility 

Ever that exists 

Has existed

Will exist

Infinite

Unfathomable

Yet known

Deeply

Intimately

There

Right before

Our 

Naked

Longing

Willing us

To plunge

Fall in to

Indigenize

Embrace

This 

Simple courage

And live   

Zoo of Memory

A dream, a memory

Time arrested 

Flash

Sunshine from 

Long ago

Lost but not

A hot Arizona afternoon

Me my 12 year old self

Sitting on the tortoise statues

At the Phoenix zoo

Feeling the smooth stone

The shape like an ancient tortoise shell

And the real tortoises

In the shade beyond the barrier,

The smell pungent

Their slow movement barely visible

I'm with my grandparents 

My mom and dad,

My "little" brother, as tall as me, sits on a turtle too

Even an absent big brother 

No zoo for a 15 year old

But he is there still

In my life

In who I was then

All of it is there

I am once again

A girl with grandparents

And parents

A little brother 

And big brother always off on his own--

Even from 54--my parents gone my grandparents gone

My brothers no where near my everyday life-

When these things come out of the ether

The sun is just as hot and bright

The smell of animal dung sharp

Reality

Again

Or

As always?

I am still 12 years old

And also 54

And 84 and a newborn greeting the world

All at once

Spectacular dimensions

Unknowing but there

We feel it in the moment

And it lives, 

lingers, 

ever ever

There. 

Know What?

What do we know ?

The sifting sands

Tell a tale 

But do we know

The answer? 

Can we comprehend our

Life in relation to what we can be versus what we are?

I jump to the monumental

In the space of a practical

Contemplation

Where does it all lead to?

Neferious and inconclusive 

But that is the truth

And it is what we are

New York Life

What is real life?

Bleecker

 and 8 th ave.

Greenwich village

Home of legendary

Fame and now, wealth.

Forget the bohemian 

Starving artist past

It's all just that 

past 

Gone

Vamoose. 

It's a glorious spring afternoon 2012

Pink tulips abound

Wealth and the

Well being

It brings

Fills the park benches

And fashion boutiques

The babies in fine bugaboo  cameleon carriages and combi strollers

And

Even me--

I can enjoy

This abundance

And beauty of having 

The good things in life 

That money can buy

Through the simple osmosis 

Of sitting here on this bench 

All is free to spill

Into the spirit

To

Fold into 

the luxury

Of people's

Unconcern

About the trouble

Of scratching by 

to live 

Without worry

That translates to

Simple unaffected 

Contentment  that comes

With expectation 

And entitlement

That life will be good

Because I can afford to

Expect it to be just so,

So, no worries. 

When I allow myself to just feel this moment

This energy around me now,

I am also wealthy,

Life is good. 

I am thankful for the sharing. 

This is 

real life. 

Smoke

He holds his pain

Twisted in his stomach

Relief sought in cigarettes,

Medicinal for unpleasant 

Memories

Even as it kills him

It seems to save him. 

So he sits outside

Under the umbrella

Away from the sun

Shielded from the heat

And light of day

Purses his lips

Kissing salvation

From death defining

And ransacked remembrance 

Purity 

Transcendence 

Up up into smoke

Acrid burning

Red ash now gray

Falling down

As his eyes squint

And Swirling black clouds

Enfold him. 

To be

When the moon smiles

Like a perfect smile

In the dark night

The moon shone it's

Benevolent shimmer

Through the atmosphere 

Stars in the naked blackness

Points of light

And remembrance 

Seeking the voice

Feeling the tremor

A Vibrato clear--

To act is to be

To know 

Ourselves 

Glorious sunlight

Yesterday a continuing

Sheet of wet and gray

Wipers going full speed

Car slogging along the freeway. 

Today all is bright

All is beautiful 

Clarity in the brilliance

All is washed and the forgiveness

Gives us breath

Yesterday was 

Today is. 

White Guy

He's a white guy 

He's a painter by trade,

Drives a white truck,

Wears painter pants and T-shirt.

And his hands are rough and chalky white,

Too much primer over too many years.

His hair is white --

It flies up like a baby's hair

His beard is full and white

His eyes blue with white eyelashes

"I'm  1/8th Cherokee ," he says

"my great grandmother she was full blooded and real dark. "

My hair is dyed bright red

My cloak a deep red print

With native America motif 

The floors in my house are dark red brown

He thinks Obama has wrecked the country

Not Bush so much

I carry a re- elect Obama 2012 magnet on my car

That is white

I have him paint the walnut cabinets white

He sands primes paints on

Swiss coffee premium white

Semi gloss in three coats 

The white is stunning above the red floors

He tells long stories

And when I leave

He says. I'm a good listener too

I walk out the door with my red dogs in tow and say 

"maybe over coffee."

What Runs So Deep

He has a smile that belies

Yen Fay always smiles

Has a friendly hello

So very kind

He works hard and continuous 

Shelving, shifting books

A coded page

He runs, with his wife 

The library vending machines. 

He was a software engineer

His wife is a software engineer 

He came from china

Followed his wife

After the revolution 

The cultural revolution

He works so well

Friendly

I have said hello a thousand times

Til today

I asked

Him

How did you come to live in America?

His eyes filled w emotion

Memories like a knife

Shown in the countenance 

Where always there is a smile

My mother had her legs - 

And he shows me a hitting motion 

To the back of his legs -

Broken

My father was sent to jail

They who were once high in

The government 

Became suspect

When no one was safe

When the killing

Lasted 10 years

And starvation

Was not unknown

To millions

And madness ruled

An iron fist

And the country was

Scavenged 

Pillaged

By its own

Offspring  of madness 

Insanity 

Married to suspicion 

Paranoia

Laced with

Savage power

Eating itself

Near to destruction

Roma

My lost gypsy boy found

He gleams an other worldliness 

In his smile

Eyes catching 

That something in you

No one else can see

And the wine is sweeter

The whip cream vodka

Laces root beer almost 

savory

He is a world and a universe

Effervescent yet rich

Dark like muddy earth

Or black coffee 

grounded

In the compost bin

Red crabs on 

Target boxer shorts

Dance/scuttle/dance,

A tiny honey bee

Hovering on wings too small to fly

Yet he flys

Magic

And soul whispers

More its own story

Autumn color

Color deepens it hue

In autumn. 

Blues are more blue

The sky itself leaps out

Empty of clouds

Then darken

Thunder gray covers the blue

And white it's shadow

The air tastes cooler

It caresses 

Holds our face

Kissing cheeks

Lips 

Eyes

Hair whipped wild

The very essential turning

Of light

Feels like an old friend

Returning

Embracing 

Remembering

Showing colors like autumn

The Essence

The essence 

The stillness in a moment

Lasts eternal

The sky sings 

I am yours

The trees bow

An embrace 

I am yours 

The wind dances

I am yours

A smile on my lips 

A laughing heart, 

I answer--

And I am yours   

Fond Resolution

Fond resolution

Resolve we cling to you

Make us 

Define us

Break the tenuous

Grasping

The blight we wear

That which undone

Be it ever finished

Resolve be the resolution 

Be the answer 

Yes

Yes

Yes 

So when the dawn bursts

The starry night

It's resolve that

Is our light

The sustenance 

For which we exist 

Autumn in California

Autumn swift and sweet 

The blaze of maple red yellow golds 

Shock the placid California autumn

Challenge the perception that

Fall cannot stand alone apart

It's own defined

In this

Mild climates call

For uniform forever green

Deciduousness can decide 

To be see

Rising bright and brilliant 

A November rites of passage presentation 

He Has This Way

He has this way 

My cellphone reaches 

Easily from Cali to Dubai 

The sleepy tired garbled English laced heavy with Arabic 

answers 

clear

Surprising me

Like he was still at home

In his morning 

Tea and cigarette voice 

And my heart softens 

I love you honey

I say to him 

I miss you

It's only been a day

And just last night

Feeling free

I was making my plan 

To fly forever free

Pack his old shoes and

Worn shirts into one big box

Away

Where i wouldn't have to see 

His stuff

Where I could say to him

It's good , you should stay there , a world a planet away in 

Babylon 

Gone Iraq 

Hijab-alon

Sunni bomb--alon

Shia bombed alon

Ancient desert spirit strangle on

Then your voice comes from 

Dubai

 satellite Next door, 

across the world away and 

My heart

Softens

Collapses a bit

Losing itself

Again 

To

You

Garage Time Travel

Garage time travel

Midst all the dust and dirt

The boxes lay open

Books, papers, folders 

Writings, spiral notebooks

1992

1994

1997

1983

Gone

Covered gray silt like

Forgotten

Unearthed I wiped

The grit away

See the memories

Wonder at time's

Passing

Where am I ?

Am I here now

Or are these fragment 

Scribbles perpetually

Written  

Or are they forever layered

In gray garage dust?

And I am the one that 

Is all these and that which has

Yet to come?

The something behind the

Writing

That which writes

Moves and stands ever still

Is the constant

A wavering solid

A flying stillness 

The dark and the light

The sweeping dusty

Grit

The clearing beneath

I stand and I am not still

I am this dust

This faded now

This breathing yesterday

This blooming tomorrow