This week I started using a microphone and an amp and doing poetry along with the music. It was really taking a big step. No longer hiding behind the accordion, playing Christmas carols and other recognizable songs. I had music already sketched out for Frost's "Road less Traveled" and Dylan Thomas' "Do not go Gentle into that Good night", but decided to improvise instead and "That has made all the difference."

This is a really unique experience and you never really are sure what will happen. A homeless person gave me a really nice new sweatshirt someone had left at the train station. A group of college kids sat behind me and listened for an hour, lighting incense. A couple of college students seriously waltzed in front of me for a couple of songs. A blonde Betty slowed her stride and blew me a kiss as she walked past. I get notes in my box from other musicians offering to to come down and jam with me. I love the notes, the interaction.

DREAM OF THIEVES

The January cold just held the ghost
of motorcycles tearing streets apart,
when every avenue and boulevard
would rip this town with sound-
right on that seam.

In May the devils' wind cuts east and sharp
and streets resound with the brapping, grinding wails
awakening desires to slough the tarp
beneath which hides the chrome and iron dream
to steal and ride again with asphalt thieves.

YOU DON'T LIKE IT THAT WAY

There's a killer in your house
you cry for the shepherd
but he doesn't hear
and the rest of the flock
has long since disappeared
You try to reason
but his mind is only the fang
of an insatiable soul
and you were never accustomed
to getting down on all fours
on the floor
like an animal.
Pity.

I will be starting a new project soon as a street poet down by ASU on Mill Avenue. I will be reading my own work, as well as the work that my friends have written and poems made popular by Frost, Dylan Thomas, Shakespeare, etc. I will improvize and accompany myself on accordion, as well as enjoying the unique opportunity of having some really fine musicians also sit in with me, who have already enthusiastically stated they want to be a part of this.

I will be posting the stories and interactions, etc on this blog as they transpire.

ACCORDION CHRISTMAS CAROL

On the last Sunday night before the holiday, I was playing Christmas carols on accordion down on Mill Ave. I played for about 4 hours, and about 2 hours into playing I noticed a homeless man about my size standing off to my side, leaning against the post office building, just looking out at the busy street. As I was re-arranging my music to stand up to the December wind, he said that he really liked my playing. I thanked him for staying and listening. At that time he had been there for over an hour. At the end of the night, another hour later, as I was packing up, again the man spoke. I was surprised that he was still there. He had ducked further in the alcove to take refuge against the wind, which had even become more bitter. He asked me what size sweatshirt did I wear. I didn't think twice about my answer and told him large. From his pack he produced a very expensive sport sweatshirt, one that a sports enthusiast with money would not be without. He looked inside the collar and, with eyes with a sadness averting mine, extended the garment to me. "Here" he said. "Someone left it behind at the train station. I...well...I liked your playing and...well... I don't have any money..."

I told him that it was real nice, but I couldn't accept it. This was the nicest thing from what I could see that he owned, although I couldn't tell him that. He knew the value of it both in money and, more importantly, possibly survival in these winter nights. "Besides," he said, "It wouldn't fit me."

I could have easily argued the point, but his demeanor, that of almost embarrassment but with also with such humility, choked the words in my throat. "Thank you" I said, extending my hand to accept the gift. It was then, and only then, did his eyes meet mine and he sighed and smiled.

This was the quick charcoal I did to get an idea of values. Not too much detail, just light and darks...

This is the finished pencil sketch

D'FORCE


A bottle tips over
and rolls
smashes when it falls.

You're long gone
and I'm smashed
but it isn't that easy
with kids involved.

When bottles fall, they don't usually smash.
They bounce around a bit
then roll
and end up settling
settling against the wall.

They only smash
when they are thrown.

THE DRUNKEN RAINS OF DECEMBER

My baby and I went to the fights one night so she could bet the sure thing
The reigning great white hope whose golden robe read "Security"
But I took her change and the bet I placed was on the contender
Brooklyn trained, by those drunken rains of December

I spent my time down at the bars at night while my jellyroll stayed home alone
I stayed out a little late one night and when I got home I found her note.
She left me then for reasons that most men seldom remember.
No one to blame, but those drunken rains of December.

Well that was too long ago to harbor regrets
she always did what was right
I always did what was left.

When Gerty wrote Ernie*, her old writing pal, for a token to remember him by
he thought, "Why Ms. Stein do you need a token? Parisian memories should suffice."
So he started to think that the next best thing that he, as a writer could send her
was a letter
stained by those drunken rains of December.

As close to religion as I ever come, is playing Thelonius Monk
but I know of Jesus' soft spot for lost puppies, old pickups and drunks
So when death comes to call I know my next high ball
will flow from heaven's blender
and bongo's will play
like those drunken rains of December.

*Gertrude Stein and Ernest Hemmingway

Copyright 1996 Crissum Publishing Iswingswide@yahoo.com

WILD ASIAN ORCHID
(for you)


I'd like to put it on my table.
Where it is closer
but soon
it will die there.

It is much better
to spend the time
and the effort
and slight inconvenience
to travel

in whatever way
to see it alive
blooming
where it is happy
where it is healthy
where it will last

where it belongs.

THE FILE


She says that she has a file on me
-unlike the one I used to get free
from her, her's had teeth
that can still make me bleed

Sometimes
Sometimes
when I been out drinking
on a bar crawl
or walking
slower than reality
-or so it seems

Or some windy night
long past midnight
going home
I'll hear a newspaper roll
down the street
and I'll start to think

maybe it's a page
that was able to escape
from that mysterious file on me
A file that I've never even seen

It clouds my heart and sometimes I feel
that no matter what I do, she'll
have a hold on me
cause she's
got a file on me

WALLS


She's going to call again
I can feel it
Just like back East
how you can feel it in the air
when it's going to rain
and all of the leaves
on the money tree
turn inside out

The walls
want to do the money tree on me
but I keep watching them
hard
they're whining
Just one wall"
No
The one with the window and the door-
No!
it's not a big wall-
No!!
Just a little corner?
No!!!
How about the baseboard behind you?
NO!!!
Please?
NO!!!!

The phone rings
startles me
breaks my concentration
I pick up the phone
that I forget is connected to the wall
as they curl and turn
-laughing.

ADMINISTER


She says:
I don't drink anymore
and I only smoke once in a while
I see the kids at least once a month
Remember the car that we thought had caught
on fire out in the desert?
Sold it.
I work as an administrator now.
Moved into a place with more light.
Got married.

---figures.

REQUIEM


Light milks forth from a hole in the basement
I hear you clog down the stairs
walk through the light
and disappear
into the sound of a closing door

close my eyes
sleep
again
the door scrapes open
and I imagine
you in the light
of when you once believed
in me
and we slept together
sharing the same dream

Now off
More out of fear of my anger
than courtesy
up the steps
more unsure than before

Hesitant Requiem
postpartum thuds
of a wooden chamber
of an empty gun

THE PROPHET AND THE KING


Define the beliefs of a people and you are a prophet,
Assemble them and you are a king.

MIDWAY


I'm only here to break up your sight line
a side line on a carnival of dreams
Merry-go-round and the Ferris wheel dance
I wish I was a midway and you-
the eternal last chance.

SONG FOR GISELE (1979)


The lights go out on the Sante Fe
The moon's still there, it's all that remains
and the night wind tells me to take it on home
-but I don't want to go.

Thinking about you
and all the grief that I put you through
We quarrel through the night
-try to win all the time-
or we don't talk until we do.

I told you that I love you
and I meant it for more than just words
but now that I see
us falling apart at the seams
I'm feeling a bit insecure.

I said I'd be yours forever
but you know how those forevers go
it was fate that cast us together, babe
but you know fate just loves a show

So if we can make it though this night time
on this never ending flight
though I'm feeling confused
I don't want to loose
this feeling for you that's my life.

The lights go out on the Sante Fe
moon's still there, but there's more that remains
though the night wind tells me to take it on home
I still don't want to go....

*The Sante Fe is a train I used to try to hop after she and her family were transferred to Charlotte with IBM. The part about fate and casting refers to the Senior Play we were both in and how we met.

TOOBLACKEYES



It's always 2 Black guys. I knew a girl who
was raped by 5 Black guys once. She was riding
the bus late at night from downtown to the edge
of downtown and these % Black guys got off when
she did and took her in an alley and did her.

It was an incredibly sad and personal story and
I hate to say it, but I doubt that it really
happened that way. It wasn't the fact that she
was a low cost call girl making money so that
she could take her acting classes, or that she
had a natural flair for the dramatic that made
me question, it was the fact that she said it
was 5 and not 2 Black guys.

The phrase is so common that, in the near
future, it will be just one word. Then there
will be no police graft, gangs, drug dealing,
no bigotry, racism, or any type of prejudice.
By then, we would have forgotten where the word
originated from, just like so many other
colloquialisms and, because of our declining
educational system, our use of adjectives will
have decayed to only one word for ill-fated
circumstance; tooblackeyes.

BECAUSE I CAN'T HOP THE MOON

I'm feeling the need to jump a train again.
I want to ride my motorcycle until I hear a train,
race it,
pass it,
park,
wait for it,
hop on.

Just go for a couple of miles,
knowing that I could go farther.

THE NIGHT AND THE SEA


I can watch the sea
but it will never call me
and never stop me
from falling--

As the night calls
I know not how to answer
in a way so I will get an answer
from my father
for I am Night's bastard
and yet I scream
Why won't he reveal himself to me?

"I am your father," the Ocean said
"the Night is your Mother, though we ain't
never wed
and although she blankets you and comforts your head
I want you to know, and never forget
that in me are all of the tears that you have
not yet shed."

I finally understand
what it takes to be a man;
and just as the night shows the emotion
vast as her sky
as she cries
the tears for the ocean;
My Mother will always govern my sleep,
knowing my Dad,
though strong,
is full of tears
but will never sea him weep.