Time Traveling in My Room

When I lived in the orange building

I watched the sun rise over the mountains

the mist come up in the valley

like being in a sea of clouds


My little dog woke me each morning

tail wagging pioneer

I always followed exactly where she led


When I look across my room

at the painting of my home

I feel a peaceful comfort

and miss my dog


Once in Arabia I walked

two days without water

sometimes sliding down the sand dune

enveloped in my white cotton robes


A few people would wonder

about this maybe

but still to drink that fine

water from a pale hand

was paradise at the end


I don't have a painting of those two days

except in the cavern

of my mind

with its fat golden candles

Musings While Waiting for a Friend

1

The green passage
you stoop down
and undulate
the rushes wave
and part for you
faint music
emanates

it's always been there

2

Center plum
black agents
of dawn

We think too much

The drum beats
all by itself
under sporadic hands
cadenced for two
the human way

Forborne / forlorn
eeeeks emerge
along the space
between the ears

it feels good to say that

3

Ummm is a specific
word to use
for conveying
reassurance

4

In my sneakers
under the socks
is a certain memory
when I was young
and thought myself old
I used to push
just one more mile
to please the color red

5

White wine is a
crisp occasion
if jazz
if poetry

(not this poetry
especially but any kind
where you can stand on the
stair step and
look down into dark
fecundity in all its
senses)

if art.

There are Worse Things than Death

So here I sit, while aging gracefully
In three rooms that suit me very well
Wondering what will happen in the years ahead
When Social Security dies or is taxed beyond
The cost of necessary rent and heat
Will we choose between food and vitamins?

When Medicare doesn’t cover a massage
New glasses, reflexology, or natural remedies
Will we sicken soon and die?
When we cannot pay the rent will we go
To nursing homes with chemical food
Stale air, vile medicines and shots?

Perhaps our generation is scheduled to die off
Infected by selfish corporate lies
Working until 70, just to live
And then no recourse but to heel
Beneath the wheel of the AMA,
The FDA and the other evils of the empire

Our ideas have always been too wild
Our passion way outside the box
Once retired, we might actually do some good
Write plays or music, books and stories
Even a well-inspired painting
Can change a world

Maybe I’ll go back to northern India
And live in a one-room shack
Where the nearest Ayurvedic doc is a block away
Where the night is dark and everywhere is music
I shall miss my friends and all the other
Seniors living on the street.