My Poems?

            I asked a passer-passing backwards by.                                         

D Vautier

This may sound tiresome but I suppose there is a little poet in all of us.  If we are not made out of limestone and can experience life or football, then there must be a desire to communicate some kind of emotion in sort of a special way--after all that's what poetry is supposed to be--a communication of something special using words.   Nonetheless I remember my college literature studies and its most dreaded "introduction to poetry."  As a tortured student of literature I was expected to write a few poems.  That's one experience that I quickly forgot about.

But my life moved in a bunch of different directions when I was discharged from the US Army and went back to college.  Something happened in the fall of 1967 and I actually began to  write poetry--lots of it.  Don't ask me why.  I don't really know why--just disoriented, or depressed, or alienated or confused, like many other growing people during those 1960s.

Even though the Muse has long ago abandoned me or never really came by I was looking over some old notes and came upon one of my poetry books (the only one I didn't throw away) so I decided to transcribe it's contents to this web page.  Some of the material is sort of good and some not good (after all I never ever presumed to make a living out of this).

Except for spelling and punctuation, this is very much an unedited transcription because I wanted to preserve the ambiance of the time, (you know; Beatles, free love, flower children, war protests, big rock concerts and all the rest).

And here it is.    


Small bee in flashing aura
Now if you land you mar
That jello-like surrounding thing
That musical and fluctuating wing. 

I fell in love one day
And the world moved its way
And I moved mine
I saw what the love songs say

My other self

Entity lurking around the corner
I see you only at right angles

Fingers reaching around
brain’s wrinkled crevices
Searching, Searching
For what?

for happiness?
for an anti-loneliness pill?
for death?
for an end?

Little bird—no wait!
Wings sings of dreams
and schemes


I see people
all walking around like doughnuts.

They have holes in their thinking

Hanging gardens of thought
Endless meanderers musing caught
In gentle vines, magnetic green
Crimson daubs with sharp thorns seen
This is my little castle in Spain
Untouched by cynicism, gossip
and rain.


Ant eking ‘or door-stoop to lunch
On crumbs.
But fool’s foot comes

         Hear the crunch
Ekcto-skeliton collapses in a bunch
Of protoplasmic juices
Of a has-been life

And the wiggling, iggling thing is still.

Don’t dig too deep
It’s much too steep
The price is cheep
I cannot see
It’s not the catch
You want to snatch
No, it’s the chase
We must embrace
But what’s it made of


Once upon a time
Twix here and there
I swallowed my pride
and said a prayer

We grow into
and out of God
Depending upon
our divining rod


Paper flies.
Pull hair and holler.
I could never be a scholar!
When I was very young
And not so very strong
Something or other came along.
And lined
My mind
With feathers
Information tries to creep
Into a mind too deep
I tickles.

My strength lies in a pitchfork
Aimed at a haystack
There is a needle in there
And by God, I’m going to find it.


The Take-off

Plutonian speck climbs
Undaunted whisper
It limes the skyswell
My skin creep-like creature
Doesn’t lie well.

Sort of like a jumping-jack
(I don’t know why I said that)


Slow down jumbling tumbling mind.
Phlegmatic cool was not your kind.
You toss as lover in loveless bed.
Is life more important than love instead?
Love of life, to me is the path unthread.

Not soldered, ordered thought-through things

But wild ideas and crazed imaginings.

We are tree-ish,
leave-ish maze

In our free-ish,
peeve-ish ways.

I think I had a dream one day where all the people were walking around backwards and they had weapons and things of war.

“What is this?” I asked a passer-passing backwards by.

Is the film backwards?

Or am I?

Big 707 wallows like a wounded wading frog.  It asks me

 “What will they do with us
                      when we die?”
Oh they scrap or rebuild you.

“Do they bury us?” it said.

That’s up to you

When the mind goes one way
    And the heart another
         A man is normal.

When the heart goes one way
and the mind follows
a man’s in love.


When the time comes to die
I’ll take me and lay
in a big glass and evaporate.

Everyone else uses an egg beater.


Have you held in your hand pure soul?
I have.
It’s like a tiny sparrow
It turned and squirmed and then lay still.
Not too tight or it dies
And not too loose or if gets away.
Do you hold your soul too tight?

I never was in love before
And now no more
The restless hand and mind
See things course and not so kind
But now it’s different ‘cus I find
You cannot have much peace of mind

Stands he
Triumphant glee
Has he found the key
To success?

In sunrise and unfolding life
I say a prayer for my future wife
Wherever she is I’ll find her someday
Soul-to-soul with love.
                making hey.


Alexander passed crimson shore
He got his world
He set the score
Got his world
And went to bed
I’ll take serenity instead.


Have you heard of the sand
Castles built by children’s hand
Later baron and unmanned
Leveled and whipped and fanned
By monstrous wave.




Nancy makes me care too much
And when I care I try to touch
Communication lines between us.
Oh, that destiny was meanness
Instilling in me restless genius
Ideas fuzzy in their keenness
Bring with it lonely leanness
Of my life that’s still so sceneless

On a stage.

Zorba teach me how to dance
You take failure for its worth
Such people take a chance
Yet the other way is worse


I speak of kings and of heroes
who swell in circumstance and
tailors who kill nasty giants and
old women who turn shoes
into living quarters without adequate family planning.

I charm people by story-telling and
I color the trees to life by metaphor.

I run around in rain barrels and ask embarrassing questions.

If there is a heaven I think it will be a place with a little loneliness.  I cannot imagine a human who is human without loneliness.

Times go by
Just seem to fly
Good times come in keen
With nothing in between

A reckless foolish mind
To leave so much behind
Perhaps so but isn’t it nice
To see good times once
And then again twice

I’m was born under Libra           
When Venus was in opposition
I am told                           
When I was first enrolled
In this unusual game   
 takes fame in hand
And they elope
What a dope
Was he

They sing of love
and talk of happiness

we throw ourselves
into ourselves
by throwing ourselves away

Damned walls facing me in silence
Don’t just stand there
Does my faith in you
Amount to my constancy?

Warn floor treaded by repetitious feet.  Stand up!
Be significant!

This room is like---like nothing

I saw her where aimless planks were tied by nails and rust and paint to the floor.
She spoke to me and we walked somewhere and we talked about something or other.
Night was about.
I could take all
That buzzes around me,
Fold it twice and pack it
Away in my mind’s pocket.
But the pocket has a hole in it.
Big Brother spare me the swell
Of an imagined life.
Big Brother will find me
As if I had another’s wife.

Big Brother tear me into
Sizable digestible chunks
Big Brother come to me
Come over here
And sit on my knee
And tell me your dreams

It mocks me in my sleep
And jabs into my soul’s vein
And extracts blood
Not o
ne cubic centimeter more
For your lying dying senseless war

time was   
 when I met a man
of well-read nature    
we walked and we talked
of docile and perceptible things
and I went my                       way


A table sits upon four legs
some on only three

A man is a two-legged thing
and doesn’t want to be.

I went to sub-urbia today
“open house--hardwood floors--graceful attitudes”

How much?

And what about the neighbors?
Oh they’re already sold.


I saw her many times
it seems long sometimes
when we talked a little sometimes
and saw nothing in the stars.

One night when others were asleep
we played in a raining park
on bars and swings and things
and somehow I changed, inside.

Yet I knew so well of this
that which grew within me
tucking it away with care
like the emotion of a wounded apache who finds friends and spiders in the wide wide desert.

The brain-drainers
And praisers
And the strong wrong word-phraisers

The day when the Vegans came
Everybody just stood around
In drenching rain
And watched the curved metallic hull

“but mama, they have no ears”
So everybody went away
In tears
Mingled with rain


There’s beauty
In the cow on the hillside
In regurgitated unawareness

And large brown eyed submission
Waiting for the milking or the bullet
She waits
But staunchly

Jan has a smile that is disarming
As the hungry rabbit
Or the neglected teddy-bear

We have a common joke on life
And it tears at my innards
Better let it be

Her body sways
In musical ways
as only the fingers live

The rest floats free
In the groundswell.

Oh muses—you never had it so good!!

Not a single cigarette is left
The mind is openly aghast
How can the world go round
When I have smoked my very last

Motion of the smoke stacks reeking Motion of exhaust fumes leaking
Till you’re sick of seeking
Comfort in that little spree
Of self security

Marilyn with auburn hair
Marilyn who cannot look square
At you sometimes
As if her eyes
Had too much to say
And she were afraid
To give it away

Those eyes
I believe not really naïve
But just do not relieve
The curiosity in me


Shut the inside off
Let me grown
And hiss
And cough

Just as others do
When trying’s through


Once I lost an hour
Meaningful (some are)
And it stayed on as a shadow
Or a bad taste in my mind.

My laundry bag is full.

Would that someone set me straight
And just let me circumnavigate
It all

What am I here for?
Educators answer once again
And give me reasons sensible
Grim corner-stoned ideas invincible
But these things
Mean nothing but retreat
When life runs the wrong way
Down a one way street

Standing still
Worthless thrill
On minds beach
Beyond their reach

Formal education
My damnation
And the waves roll in
melting castles where I’ve been pageless books under arm
Hoping that the charm
Will keep me going on

Shameful ignominy
Social indignity
 “What’s your ostracizing fee?”
“That much! Then let me be”

Isolation without preparation
Decision is making
Not just faking
Or schoolmarms shaking
Or speculating

Scientist or charlatan
The waves will still roll in
And shape my castles to their whim

Old professor laid his head and sighed
with book-looking walls that soon died
along with him 

So it irrevocably goes
in his final throes he left a message

I just wanted to be a plumber
You know there’s nothing dumber
I could say

My hands were apt at the trade
But my mind was trapped so I stayed
Yet what a difference it made

To me to be
What I wanted to be
What I wanted to be

Walls knowledge lined
Measured surgings of mind
In lettered fashions
Thoughtful caissons
Of ideas
Pregnant with war and history
Spelling out human misery
Spiteful consistency

However when applied
And keenly eyed
We are more than what we are

I often think of Valentine
 My older brother
Died before my time
A strong child
With flowing yellow hair
In fact I have a lock--somewhere

I think again how fortunate was he
To so quickly find his destiny