THE GIFT HORSE
It is not so simple
If you question every action
you will find forces pull in other directions
If you look in the mouth of the horse
not all teeth will be straight
and many may have been grinding
for some time
It is more likely
that happiness will be found
by looking deep in the mouth of the adage
GOLDIE AT THE HOLIDAY INN
At the Holiday Inn at the Dallas market
They have a goldfish named Goldie
who has his own quarium
and swims around lonely all day
At the Holiday Inn at the Dallas market
You can sleep late
and make love
and eat room service
and light a candle if you bring one
And Goldie don’t care
if you sleep late
and make love
and eat room service
but he sure do like that candle
SHAMAN’S STICK
When dead Shamans spirits
pick a new Shaman to carry the stick
they always start by making them sick
In every tribe in the natural world
they whisper and press the same old trick
you’re gonna be sick till you pick up the stick
you’re gonna be sick till you pick up the stick
Pick up the stick or your relative’s dead
pick up the stick or you stay in your bed
you’re gonna be sick till you pick up the stick
you’re gonna be sick till you pick up the stick
Life won’t be easy if you pick up the stick
life won’t be easy if you lay down the stick
You can’t teach a dead Shaman any new trick
so most times it pays to just pick up the stick
you’re gonna be sick till you pick up the stick
you heal the sick when you pick up the stick
REMEMBERING SOCRATES
Last walk on the Acropolis
Last look at the Parthenon
Last time through the door
of low roofed home
Last glass of wine at kitchen table
the tightness in the chest
Last talk with pupils and friends
comforting around the couch
Bitter taste of hemlock
Dead cold creeping from feet
up through legs, torso, chest
Spots of light leaps upward from brow
Where is Socrates asks the guide
did he die
Socrates is the light I reply
THE MAN IN THE DESERT
The man in the desert remembers
and a tear begins to form
A tear so long unshed
ninety percent of the water is gone
Dragging its chain of crusted drops
it carves a white canyon
down his long and leathered face
A cracked tongue between cracked lips
reaches to taste it – Oh so sweet
BEYOND THE STARS
You took me beyond the stars
If you had not held my hand
I would not have had
the courage to go
Or the strength to return
POET ALL STARS
The odds are overwhelming
Every time we play the game
we find ourselves on a level field
with the all time all world all star team
Homer, Whitman, Rumi and Omar Khayam
Wordsworth, Shakespeare, or whoever
wrote his stuff
It’s like always batting against Nolan Ryan on
his best day
Like trying to strike out Mickey Mantle, Ted
Williams, Babe Ruth without a hangover
and Reggie Jackson in October
Great poets never tire or retire, they just die
and still play with their best stuff
Soccer players today don’t have to play Pele
every day
But with translations and free agents
we write up against Neruda, Viello and Paz
Or heads up against Leo Tolstoy and Anna
Ackmanova
with an East German judge
But we play
FROST BITE
On the prairies they know
that you have to use snow
In January on the Wood River
the laces got wet and then stiff
and could not be untied
Walked the whimpering long mile home
in one frozen skate and one warm boot
part of my foot and all my toes
numb and milky white
On the prairies they know
that you have to use snow
Too much warmth all at once
can bring the feeling rushing back
with more pain than you can stand
I have since learned
and this is the sad part
It is the same way with the heart
BARN SWALLOWS
They swoop
from beneath the eaves
Carving
an invitation
to the big red ship
Come slip your moorings
and follow us across the sea
AGAIN
To look out across sunsets and centuries
to see time as nothing – – – love as all
To touch new skins in wonder
and come together again
Under a sky, dark with a million
ancient stars