Down The Endless Streets
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Those pale evening days in Ligoneer when I was a child. Lying on with skyward with my back to the grass and feeling the warm sunshine beat down on me like the hand of God. Counting clouds and letting dreams drift away like dandylion seeds into the wind. Mysticalistic visions of childhood bliss stareing as far as I can see down the endless streets. Looking back at myself in the face. Those hollow honly grey masses of nothingness that just lead on forever. And I was somewhere down there, though it remains vague for obvious reasons, where I fell and got a stick stuck right in my eye looking at some ants. And finally rushed to where dad worked, ices packs on my eye with a pain unlike anything I had known... until now. Until now, when I sit back with flooding memories upon my like the ocean. Wave after wave of sentimentality. Lady Love plants many a big passionate overbearing kiss upon my lips whispering, "You're still... just a child feeding at my breast. Without me you are lost and alone." All only a dream, or was it? Maybe it was just the lighting of the same old scenes and backalleys of my perception. Just a dream, to think of it all... only a dream. Maybe I am wrong about all this, and there is no birth and there is no death in the most exagerated passion that we can only call real life... for lack of a better word. Are we just children with out hands behind our backs in the dew covered crabgrass... just dreaming our own existance? Open eyes upon the sky, your daughter is a woman... your woman is a baby and hold her tightly unto you. As if you could be like Teddy Roosevelt and be your own liberator. Dream, sweet child of mine, dream. Dream as I did so many years ago in Ligoneer, chasing butterflies across the yard. Go, dream, never stop... hold tight to chastity belted innocense of dreams with virgin simplicity. Yeah, virgin simplicity like something you were born with and never meant to lose. Those are the sweetest kisses. Sit alone as the liberated child who became a liberated man. One who was born crying, the one who loved laughing and needed held in oh so soft arms. Dreaming of days gone by with a heart open even to pain. Who raised his cup unto strangers, bidding them to drink forever... forever walking alone to find the end of the street... as far as he can see. Into another's eyes. As if sacred, every tear and drop of blood undocumented, like the far off bells that call him home. Ever calling him home. ommmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm |
Buddha sits with big belly and smiles warmly as he gazes in the golden bliss of a world of nothingness. And I the king of nothingness indeed. And the secret to that only I know. Three dollars will get you a cup of coffee or a rub of the buddha's belly boy. Step right up... walk into this world with your eyes partially open. Go and be born you stubborn mule and sit though it all and tell me that it's still worth it. Tell me that you know with an empty stomache, soaked with rain... your cries unanswered... dreams untold in the void... tell me that you know who you are even after there is nothing left of you but exactly what you are. Stand alone with your soul to life's door and gaze in the buddha's smiling eyes. This moment of enlightenment never happened. You are the buddha and you are the light that shines in the lives of others. Buddha say It takes a void for light to shine through it.
Westmoreland Blues
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Oh, and there I stand with my eyes gazing down the open doorway into the land of the old people. A place of past glory and memories, and I just a shadow in all of this. I think of Gary and bam there he is right there just walking down the steps, head down and humble. Call him a wiseman my brothers. And we walk together, telling each other about the past few months of our lives. Life has weighed heavy upon his shoulders, his eyes are like the sunlight when the dusk reaches it's point. Yeah Gary, the maddest man I know with his great godlike image. It baffles me that people don't even notice him and walk their way not looking him in the eyes. "Here is your hero in jeans and flowing cape with the wisdom and the solace to lift you all up. What's the matter with you people? Oh go throw stones and doves and go home then." I feel like shouting. Why should they care, long ago they used to tell us that we would never amount to anything... my generation. The generation to love too hard and to be totally sweet and gentle with tears held back and all those words for the same feeling. Criticize Gary because he doesn't care anyways. That's they beauty of it because he knows that he can do better. The maddest man I know who could draw circles around these walls and burn with fire his name into the textbooks. Ah... throw your life out for others, the thing I admire most about Gary. Looking onward like the setting sun and talking and laughing, a modern day wiseman. Ah Gary, you are so sincere and may thunder crush those who would take your meditation away. I look at him and soon have to go, though I don't want to. I laugh and talk about the past a little more and then it is on the road... goodbye or see you when I see you. More than once has the sun set on the dreams of men and kings. Let the fires of heaven burn for you Gary Cramer, for there has never been another like you. There has never been someone so mad to walk and to suffer and to know what it is to be human. Payed the price to be human and to know exactly what that price is in everything. Gary Cramer, the great wiseman of quiet temples that most never dream. |
Random Thoughts Of Latrobe
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The people and the city of Latrobe, made famous by Arnold Palmer with his soft smile and golf clubs, and the Rolling Rock that fills the gullets of the men and women of America. The envision of Latrobe is like dust on your great grandmother's only clothes that mildew in your attic. The streets of Latrobe with their brick encasements and the long skies that glow and show all of the muck and dust and rust of so many years. The city of Latrobe, where nothing happens, you know you gotta leave it only to find out that it is where you've always been. The world is full of cities, with sky scrapers and little girls with lacy eyes that scream for dolls in store windows. The world is full of dreamers in soft wool coats covered in street salt and fingerless gloved sincereity proclaiming to the world like the prophets of old. And in Latrobe there is the Loyalhanna Creek with it's sulfury banks that flow orange and sickeningly right by your eye, by old busted up bridges of railroad cars that still flow and go on forever and never get anywhere anyhow. With street cops that clean glass from streetwrecks like sanitation inspectors telling me that I can't do this in public... write poetry honestly and pure that is. Straight from the heart, they want some kind of softspokeness that only exists somewhere on that brick building that was build in 1895. All the streets in Latrobe are one way and I sit at the bank and all over Latrobe and dream of the day when I will leave it behind. But leaving Latrobe behind is impossible because it is a part of me. Leaving Latrobe only shows me how much I miss it when I am gone. And the joy or returning to the shallow sacred stones that don't care anyhow... anyhow, I know them all by name. It's good to see familiar faces when you are so so far from home. |
Love's Reincarnation
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The window is shaking, the shadow of your dreams. Dear lady, it is you that this means. Sometime I wonder, and I wonder again and again. Why do you stand there and not reach out to me. You are yourself hon, and that's all I need. You came into my life like the wind in the willow trees. Every kiss of your lips was like the sea's breeze. I remember something that you told me but it all just blends and fold. With all of your pains and I love you just the same. You wrapped my in silk you wrapped me in lace. You held your broken heart close to mind and you kept it in place. Burn your name right on the seam of my soul. Left your mark on me where only the angels know. You're never alone, never meant to be. As long as you stand alone you got a part of me Burning like embers colors red and blue. Darlin ya know that the one that I love is you. The good Lord knows, the one I love is you! |
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