Wednesday, July 23, 2014

No Middle Finger Required

Jerry Can

with a touch of grey you painted vivid colors in blacks and whites
in skeletal closets of reflective mirrors
to dark hollows of enlightening rays
comes your haunting voice of uncooked rawness
asking hearty queries of How Songs Are Supposed To Go 
picking in a thumbed-forefinger
three fingers licking the blues
one stump leaving mysterious clues
from a grateful grave of cheery choruses
comes your lively death of living verses
asking pointed questions
to straight curses
freeing trespasses
taking one pick at a time
poking one stick at those pennies and dimes

stroking another with mayhem hymns and electric rimes
each track leaving tread-mark trails on the road you rode

clearing the bush
cutting the weed
leaving tell-tell signs for those who would follow
making us bewildered dead-heads questioning philosophical pragmatism
like Chaucer's Pilgrims you led the band and gave folks a hand
implanting the musicality of the open road
truckin' golden roads with uncle john's band
in tow with casey jones and st. stephen's hand
you did right with the left
befriending friends of the devil as well as savants of the lord
song to song
album to album
Jerry my dear Garcia
when push comes to shove you're Sugar Magnolia
tons of steel
hell in a bucket
whether throwing stones at the Corps
or doin' yer Mexicali Blues

Jerry Garcia Band - colorful hand dealiei'm tellin' you man- tho' you didn't need one, here's my hat and thumb, to your Invictus hand!
(in truth and tribute, i'd have given you the Left-Finger, but you never needed nor raised one)
and in that most telling of tales
you called yourself gratefully dead

rather than being sad and alive
now here's my gratitude
to that fortitude
as well as to your crowded solitude
and that Thumbed-Upped Middle-Fingerless attitude 


this weathered poet
seeks the mercy of the elements
in seasonal lapses
momentary rushes
daily dashes
looking for a comforting nurse
forgetting to step back and surrender
to natural pendulums
and personal perils-
this weathered poet wants to forecast the coming storm
but first things first
this wanna-be weather-fore-teller must sing duets
take dueling
welcome duality
or in company
through thoroughfares
neglected paths
whether there be ifs 

or buts
crooked bows
straight arrows
saying go poet go; take a bow, aim an eye, shoot ahead- free that tension-

weather this life
feather that quill
dip nip in that ink
see what dies

witness what rises and flies


make up
go cosmetic
do bandages
first aid kits
and damn that original face
make bargains

trade compromises
tuning in a key
stretching out a string

singing I Made Up


cater-pillared butterflies
groggy tadpole morphing s
enlightened fools
and wise ignorant s sprout in the same gardens
pooling resources
battling gulfs
in branching canopies
waiting for Godot
the Woodcutter
and his axes
becoming fuel
and warm meals

Excuse Me:

gotta love tomorrow- 

its the perfect excuse for today

along with that priceless yesterday

What's Up?:

right now's the time
to do whatever's next
in motion
or in chastened gestation
as one just follows another
in neutral urging s

prompting "now brother, now"

                                                                                    Arrowed Instructions

past amnesia
forwarded turbulence
present interference
gather in useless omens
most meaningfully
yours truly
yours sincerely
citing witnesses
such as raindrops
in polite post scripts
that are
and above they come wrapped in clouds
floating in skies
attaching secret messages
where carrion and homing birds meet
as you read out notes of love
longing cries
want of companions
need of mates
wherein the skins peels off
bones crack
blood bleeds
and the human emerges
in humanity
seeing butterflies for caterpillars
shunning none
welcoming all
in brave vulnerability

in fragile bold letters
words of the state of the contents
as in-
"Handle With Care"
"This Side Up"

Ps: YourLustForLifeStartsRightNow!

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