these pieces on the ground you see
a broken heart that belongs to me
it once was vital whole and strong
‘till one day beauty came along
she reached in and stole my heart
but fickle beauty did depart
she’d found a better heart she said
and left mine hanging by a thread
my heart grew heavy with her farewell
my heart-thread snapped and down it fell
my fragile heart crashed to the ground
these pieces shattered all around
I’m trying to make it whole again
but not sure how, and can’t say when
I’m working on it piece by piece
hoping soon this pain will cease
”Oh man, I miss this titan’s genius, his magic — how I miss his soul!”
Miles Davis
Miles’ Blues
~
Miles’ tone is velvet blue
that cries
sweet as angel’s tears
that seeks
the truth of a hidden heart
that haunts
the bruised soul of loss
that frets
the truths of life
that kisses
tender as a lover’s dream
that burns
with passion’s fire
what’s with all this buzzin’ chatter
you’re bumpin’ and thumpin’ and all a’clatter
frettin’ with the frontporch light
steamin’ on this humid June night
such racket over a minor matter
”A sad contemplation of the current undermining of basic human rights and human decency, as well as the blatant distortion of truth and the outright contempt for the rule of law. This seriously jeopardizes the hard-won freedoms for which many have struggled, even died, and which most in this country have long embraced.”
Hope Shattered
~
we cannot hide
from the great orb
of unquestioning fate
that spins in the spaces
of destiny’s light and dark
days of falter and fear
in this great void approaching
that moves
unsteady in orbit
of unquenchable doubt
what your mind must conceal
from the spirit
of joy and forgiveness
that which is pure
tested by time
and the wanting hands
of the waiting
who cower
yet smile
singing truth
through the hail and barrage
‘cross the bow mast
of freedom
seeking broad measure and berth
as all that you seem to desire
slips slowly away
like rain down a spout
and nightmares plumb deep
the sphere of black dreams
such is the slag-shattered
glass orb of the future
that moves slowly
through the arc of the ages
who’ve waited and watched
‘neath the promised moon
of deliberate ancients
that revolves
in the void of the others
that seek what we know
to be ever
the voice of the lost
in the light of the dark dawning
that heralds the word
of this time that’s upon us
that holds us fast
in the fear of bleak visions
and of longing
for all that we desire to be
here in our heart
so elusive
in this moment
that slips
like a squandered teardrop
were there sun-stained souls
with calypso hearts
that carried this bunch
through the magical sounds
of the tropical night
down to the shore
and onto the banana boats
all the while
were they singing
moving rhythmically
thinking about the freedom of morning
thinking “daylight come and me wan’ go home”
and me wondering here
here in my favorite market
midst the wonderful aromas
surrounded by this bounty
shoppers scurrying about
me with my small shopping cart
black wooden cane
dangling from the handle
eyeing three semi-ripe ones
is that how these got here
a little green
like my wife Kathy favors
so home they will go
then up onto the “nanner-hanger”
above the counter
in the kitchen
and she will eat one
maybe just a half
the other half on cereal
maybe saved until later
and one while gardening
for that 3 o’clock lull
wonder if those calypso-hearted souls
dealt with a 3:00 AM lull
wonder if they had the luxury of time
while loading that boat
to even consider a lull
wonder if they are
anymore
those calypso-hearted
sun-stained souls
but once they were
who toted those banana bunches “lift six foot, seven foot, eight foot bunch”
and they sang “day, me say day, me say day, me say day-ay-ay-o”
and they worked “stack banana ’til de mornin’ come”
when they longed to go home
yes
they lived
and they loved
and they’re gone
so I thank them
I remeber them
and their calypso hearts
now I just wanna remember
to get what’s on the list
list says get bananas
I get bananas
*Got a wonderful surprise text this weekend from a bandmate of mine from 1965. He’s coming to visit! Brought a flood of memories, condensed here to 144 words, from my crazy years in the 1960’s, when my blue-eyed soul band played the all-night R&B clubs in Newport Ky — the ‘wild’, anything-goes world, just across the Ohio River from conservative, hypocritical Cincinnati. His text sparked this piece, which is also inspired by an old poem of mine. Fluffed flashback, not fiction.
Rob on stage with duo partner Dave Oakley in 1965 at age 18.
Doo Wop Warriors
~
Our gig ended at 3:00 AM. Now here we sit with smuggled single malt, and the crusty sunrise special. Me and my band of doo wop warriors are bliss’d out from giggin’, mixin’ ‘mong willing groupies, loud hanger-on’s, and other players — when far away an interrupted cry distracts me. My friend Joey, back from ‘Nam.
I wave him over. We’re sittin’ with steel-heart working girls, soul-bruised painted strippers, burnt drink slingers, tired cocktail mules, hustlers, grifters, gamblers, pimps, pushers — and cops. A strange, wonderful family of the night, hidin’ from those cruel first rays, ready to scurry to dark, well-curtained rooms.
Joey’s diggin’ it, but time to make that final score, to get us through ‘till sundown strikes up the band again. It’s cirque du morning madness, all sneakin’ up on breakfast.
near sober sunrise
lookin’ for a place to crash
ain’t this showbiz grand
Gladiator Restaurant, Newport KY – 1965 “actual site of the all-night breakfasts”
*Famous quote in 1967’s “The Graduate”. Mr. Robinson speaking to graduate Ben Braddock, “One word, plastic! There is a great future in plastic.” …Perhaps then, but now the future is buried in plastic!
“The Great Pacific Garbage Patch” is 617,000 square miles!
There They Are
~
watch them
see them
there they are
dwelling in their shrines of excess
lairs of self-indulgence
altars to waste
their temples of foolish disregard
for our precious planet
observe them hoist themselves
to command positions
in gluttonous drive-time dinosaurs
dreaded treaded behemoths
that bully across the face
of our strained and crippled planet
devouring resources
like a herd
of metallic mastodons
a relentless forage
of fragile fossil fuel
to suck dry
the paleozoic nectar
300 million years
in the making
a fraction of that
to plunder and deplete
with frivolous toys
of self-extinction
that spew forth
poisonous discharge
fouling the choking atmosphere
watch them
see them
there they are
they worship convenience
they shun the conscientious
they create their chemical concoctions
they create their plastics
their plastic bags
their plastic bottles
their plastic packages
their plastic values
disposable and deadly
that offer only moments of convenience
but decades upon decades of destruction
killing the beautiful
the birds, beasts, and fishes
that roam free this planet
struggling to live in balance
with arrogant careless humans
who clog, poison, and pummel
the frail ecosystem
meant for all living things
shoving earth closer
ever closer
to the brink of no return
to satisfy a toxic desire
for bigger, faster, easier
the ever more lazy
hungry to feed a caustic ego
to assert perceived dominion
the special
the spoiled
the outrageously dangerous
