Freeways And Wildlife Sanctuaries

You can hear the seagulls and the breakers slightly off to one side

While the semis jake brake and the cars whiz by the Amtrac trains on the other

They are protecting several tiny endangered plant species found only here -

In the slope up to the freeway exit behind another new Super Target

The elephant seals have begun to re-appear after being mass-slaughtered a century ago

Priuses tailgate Cadillac SUVs in unending lines through smog-enhanced sunsets

There is a green recycling bin by each one of the many public garbage cans

But, Yosemite valley is a twisty, overcrowded maze of dusty, half-lost traffic

The bread is good and there are organic fruits and vegetables readily available

Stores and houses crowd the farmland down to the tiny coastal butterfly reserves

Progressive is not an insulting word and alternative thinking abounds

The radio dial sports more Christianity than Country but less than Spanish FA-MA

They are protecting the beach nesting areas of the endangered snowy sand plover

Thirty-five million people already live here and more arrive every single day

There may still be good, un-crowded surf breaks just a short ways up the central coast

They pipe stolen water 500 miles to try and quench LA’s vast unending thirst

Chances are a freeway will take you to that remotest wilderness area

It’s all handicapped accessible and the poor earn money collecting all the recyclable litter

The gasoline pumps are fitted with vapor-trapping devices to fight the air pollution

Retirees carefully fuel their 70’ motor homes which tow monstrous SUVs

Bears roaming through the campsites are exciting nighttime entertainment

Having a flat out on an urban freeway might just cost you your life

They got commuter trains and carpool lanes and a host of ecological tax incentives

Quite often you don’t have an average speed, stalled somewhere out on The 5

The economy is hi-tech, service-oriented and among the world’s largest

Swarms of the brown people’s decrepit vehicles surround a myriad of small plots

The climate is mild along the coast, tending towards forgiving and inviting

There really is no end to the traffic but sometimes it’s a little lighter

Volunteer ‘docentes’ help to raise public awareness of the treasures to be preserved

It’s really hard to tell if they are moving ahead any faster than they fall behind

Cute little signs urge us not to dump because these drains all flow into our bay

Still, Tijuana, but 10 miles down, pours all its raw sewage into the ocean every day

These people buy more hybrid cars than any place else on earth

Their mammoth shining RVs consume power like apartments in slow motion

Every owner counts on the high six figures and above from the investment that is their home

The lucky urban poor raise children at campgrounds, fairly near to where they were born

They are protecting the fuzzy otters in the lush green kelp beds just offshore

Their organic spinach infected with migrant E. Coli sometimes finds its way into our markets

Dented Souls

Out of alignment, bent and maybe a bit off-center

Scratched, used and badly in need of being trued

Rolling like dinged hubcaps mounted crookedly upon wobbly wheels

Always pulling towards the side of the dusty roads they travel

Dented souls with heavy parts sliding around inside when you turn them over

Fractured souls poorly splinted up using broken dreams and lame excuses

Lacerated souls oozing a clear morality into the dirty gutters

Bruised and contused, swelling and stiffening up

Souls grown bent from facing an eternal wind of dogmatic religious propaganda

Layers of grease built up on their undersides from long years on the roads

Rusting, unused souls in our institutions and cemeteries

Souls slowly turning to stone at a rate we cannot sense

Abraded beyond their working tolerance, they squeak and complain

Sagging souls still carrying far too much commercial traffic

Used and recycled, gradually losing the elasticity of their spirituality

Souls with broken and missing parts that won’t boot up no more

Lost souls found at last, spinning slowly in quiet, forgotten eddies

Cut deeply into by sharp objects on their tender and sensitive surfaces

Corroding under decades of the musty-smelling sediments of tears

Splintered souls with sharp and nasty looking edges

Squeaking, un-lubricated social joints and broken shock absorbers

Failing cooling systems and batteries that cannot hold a charge

Souls eviscerated and left to dry oiut in a hot wind, under a merciless sun

Crooked going gnarled, forgetful heading towards dementia

Dropped and cracked souls, not thrown away but likewise, never fixed or used

Fuses blown and then simply removed and live wires twisted together

Dusty souls with grime embedded into cracked surface joints

Attacked by parasites and pestered by noisy, biting charlatans

Mass-produced to last ‘forever’ without any provision for maintenance or repair

Clogged, narrowed and constricted and without any warranty

Factory-sealed but broken open to expose the non-user serviceable parts within

Bloated souls decomposing at the high tide mark on cosmic desert islands

This Ain’t No Boating Accident

This ain’t no tv game show

We won’t be back after some brief message

You won’t need no pain relief

Don’t bother getting up for another beer

this ain’t no traffic incident

oh, we’re way past the last exit ever

go ahead and drink and drive

no need to watch the gas gauge

this ain’t no office party

don’t need no burgers, chips or beer

forget about the sexy secretaries

go ahead and wax your boss

this ain’t no tango lesson

you won’t step on no one’s feet

don’t worry about your shoes

for this will cure that loneliness

this ain’t no drinking binge

don’t bother to swear off again

there won’t be nothing you can’t remember

you’ll never have another hangover

this ain’t no clearance sale

you can’t save no extra money

you can just ignore them newer ads

you got much more than you’ll need

this ain’t no dream vacation

don’t try and fit in that new bikini

you might as well kick way back

the flight home never can arrive

this ain’t no midnight snack

you don’t need to hold the anchovies

you won’t get gas in the night

you can’t gain no more weight

this ain’t no boating accident

jesus ain’t tossing you no lifeline

you can’t drown and you can’t swim

you can’t breathe the air or the water

this ain’t no household chore

you can’t hide out in the garage

there’s nobody gonna nag you

there ain’t no mess to be cleaned up

this ain’t no bible study group

that red ribbon won’t hold your place

you ain’t got a psalm to stand on

you won’t testify in the void

this ain’t no boring family picnic

they won’t pass you jello salad

don’t have to kiss some aunt’s hairy chin

they won’t even have to leave you alone

this ain’t no gambling junket

you don’t need to find a stake

forget about free meals in deluxe hotel suites

you ain’t the one who holds the dice

this ain’t no old folks home

don’t try to stay awake for the kids

you don’t need to roll outside

they’ll come get you in your bed

this ain’t no petty insult

don’t get all like quiet and pissy

no need to act like we’re not here

you won’t know you’re all alone

this ain’t no drug support group

it don’t matter if you’re clean and sober

there ain’t another day to take one at a time

don’t have to introduce yourself as an abuser

this ain’t no friggin camping trip

won’t be roasting any weenies

don’t worry about the sleeping bags

don’t even be afraid of the bears

this ain’t no weekly department meeting

don’t bother fabricating any fairytales

can’t use no visual aids

sucking up ain’t gonna help

this ain’t no kiddies bad dream

you can’t hide beneath the covers

nobody’s gonna come when you cry

the monster’s finally gonna get you

this ain’t no benefit dinner

they won’t seek a financial commitment

you won’t be eatin any rubber chicken

not gonna listen to no inspiring speakers

this ain’t no anger management class

we ain’t sorting out your issues

no need to be aware of your body’s signals

you won’t rage and scream or shout no more

this ain’t no construction detour

you ain’t getting back on the freeway

don’t even look for no street signs

it’s gotten way too dark to read

this ain’t no gaming getaway

you won’t need your extra credit card

it’s all going on your tab

you got nothing anybody wants no more

this ain’t no sports report

it’s all about your failing vital signs

it’s almost time for kick off

just maybe you could lift your head

this ain’t no Baptist revival

brother, you can’t hear Him call

judgment day’s been postponed for good

and jesus don’t know jack about it

this ain’t no birthday cake

it ain’t sweet but it’s stale

nobody’s singing happy birthday

them so-called presents ain’t for you

this ain’t no border crossing

don’t bother to try and sneak across

you got no valid papers

you ain’t goin out and you ain’t getting in

this ain’t no Lotto drawing

all them balls got your number

here’s a wad of free tickets

don’t even scratch ‘em, you’re already a winner

this ain’t no commercial message

they ain’t selling nothing here

you won’t hear no cheery jingles

you won’t need no persuading

this ain’t no final interview

don’t bother dressing up

no need to smile and flash your résumé

you’re already ensured a position

this ain’t no military operation

you won’t even need your weapons

you ain’t been trained to get through this

you ain’t got no squad to fight with

this ain’t no wedding reception

you can’t get drunk and spoil her day

don’t matter if you don’t got no ring

this won’t qualify as a honeymoon

this ain’t no family garage sale

leave your junk in the closets

don’t bother laying stuff out real nice

nobody wants that shit, no how

this ain’t no natural disaster

god ain’t smiting them heathen again

stay out of the basement shelter

they’re already tagging your dead body

The Rhythms Of Wandering

Twilight scouting out another quiet place

Untying our knotted hiking laces

Calling of the morning birds

Arising slowly amid a trickling peace

Well-used wool sweater, safe and warm

Our old dog, thick and furly

Quiet Fall mornings strung like amber beads

The warm smell of crusty new bread baking

Simple joy of your soft brown eyes

Breathing gently through restful sleep

Catching sight of forest dwellers

Changing tools and rhythms to make them better

Sloughing off our unused burdens

Sensing the complicated in the simple

Sleeping deeply in big tree shadows

Hearing small creek again as we awaken

Freed at last of choking specialization

Coming slowly together with the dawn,

Neither at work nor on vacation

Traveling widely yet always home

Mending socks and fixing breakdowns

Finding water and planning meals

Picking up yet another’s trash

Retiring early, safe in the darkness

Drying happily in a sunny breeze

Looking forward to our own cooking

Watching bees work on autumn flowers

Lingering where we really like it

Sipping wine and making music

My Most Black Swan Dreams

Black Swan - an unpredictable or unforeseen event, typically one with extreme consequences

If I could apologize to everyone I should, I’d gladly take all the time that I would need

Should there be a way for me to find just a little grace, you can bet that I would surely seek it

Give me but the time to practice a bit of mercy and I would become quite accomplished

If there was a way to thank all those helping me so invisibly, why, I would do it publicly

If I could stop my organic wastes from ever again polluting, you can bet I would

If it could only be, I would not generate any more plastic trash

Were there another way, my car would not belch a single molecule of CO2

If it were possible, these soaps and creams of ours would not harm those graceful fish

If I could stem our swarming, destructive overpopulation, why you know, I just might

I would gladly ban the wasteful, foolish, childlike religious practice known as war

I could happily do without soulless widgets of factory holocaust meat, given tasty alternatives

If possible, I would even turn off every wasteful, paranoid night light, just to see the stars

I would generate my own clean power right at home, given a real opportunity

If I never had to commute to work again, that would suit me just fine

Where can I buy but things not made by far off wage slaves working 14 hour days?

If I could make the choice, my lawn would not be merely an expensive, wasteful, poisonous carpet

If I could only make it so, I would decree that my greed become quite a bit less wasteful

With the right opportunity, I could possibly gain just a touch of humility

Given half a chance, I would tax all forms of noise above a certain decibel

If I would ever run for office, no one else but me would be writing my speeches

If someone like me could become a tabloid star, this would not be the world that we know so well

Should I get elected, neither party nor lobbyist would get to call my dancing tune

When I would finally stop trying to be different, I could start to make a real difference

If I could give up everything, I might finally see how much excess I actually have

If there was a way, I would stop up my lame complaining with a little real work

Should the greedy not take such cynical advantage, I could volunteer more time

You would see a different person if I could just view things in a different light

If I could shed my love of violence, I might find some small trace of tranquility within

If we knew our fathers, generations back, perhaps we would not scorn all the elders

Should I actually find something to say at last, I might lose my fear of silence

Given a new religion, I would put my vast but unused reservoir of faith to some good use

If I had some real reasons, I could dispense with all of my half-baked excuses

If it were just left up to me, I would try and slow this fleeting blur

If I could but begin again, I’m certain I could correct all the errors of my pride and folly

If I finally became conscious, I’d undo all the damage I have so thoughtlessly brought forth

If I lost my voice but had learned but a single song, I bet I could hum it silently, forever

Vagabond Koans (1)

West Slope Sierra

Utterly impressed by their sheer size

They made sure they could cut them down

Now only giant stumps lay decomposing

neither logging nor tourist jobs remain

………

in the land of milk and honey, organic internet

there are still small towns with real people

where a young man might make a living for a family

while thirty million thirsty souls swarm the smoggy cities

………

basso profundo pickup truck

shatters peaceful predawn stillness

dumbass rumble at last dissipates

merciful silence refills his empty space

………

in the creaking breeze awaiting,

the stroke of god in the sunlight

bursting out with pregnant silence

mere sequoia emitting oxygen and grace

………

buying wood for the metal campfire ring

to cook the trout dumped from a truck

locked safely within his mobile modular

behold the happy camper

………

warm against the autumn frost

quiet there beside the lake

soaking in that radiant silence

full moon sets at nearly dawn

………

still gurgling over polished autumn granite

slurping into holes and eddies

sierra stream carries on its business

and then the reservoir

………

from out the wide smog-choked, dusty central valley

sheer sierra wilderness rises to catch the snow

the big trees and bigger mountains soar

barely beyond it spreads that awful desert

Long After One More Lost Holiday

Coming back from some long lost weekend or another,

You asked me did I remember such and such or so and so

It was from a time in a place that I had previously long awaited

But it took me a while to dredge up a couple jumbled recollections

Then I tried to remember the distinct holidays from different years

But there was no ordered collection with little notes and titles on their spines

There was this hazy blur from which things sometimes arose,

Like fish rising from the depths of murky moving water

All those highly-anticipated, well-orchestrated life events gone by

Full of joy and recreation, people and relaxation,

Now tumbled about on my rough journey in a worn out box of memories

Events and details mixed up forever, far beyond any disentanglement

After the holiday, came the realization of the once again onrushing ordinary

I never had time to unpack and to file our time together

It quickly disappeared in our daily wake, right along with your suntan

Sometimes I found its artifacts as I cleaned out the garage

For some reason or whatever we ask each other

Where were we on that Labor Day, three years ago

I could not remember what we had done

You did not recall where we had stayed

The kids do not remember all those special places that we took them

Your mother died 5 years ago asking for you to go and bring you to her

I find another page of recollections that I give up trying to put in order

We both draw blanks and we just look back through each other’s eyes

After the holiday, as I awaken, before the first visit of my morning nurse