Category: Uncategorized

just because i think
i don’t need to do
doesn’t mean
i don’t

nine tenths of laws
are ignorant
so why ignorance
not a defense?

ignorance
sometimes might be bliss
wishful thinking
oft times might be a shocker

take
dying for one’s own sins
(dying =’s atoning)
mumbling words won’t do it
nor fumbling beads
nor claiming belief
in proven lies

why do birds keep on singing?
why do flowers keep on blooming?
they know something we no longer do?
“to every season, turn, turn, turn, turn…”

Abraham John Waian (1944-2012)

John Waian was his show name
pronounced John Wayne he liked
the joke/confusion, i first heard him
playing your song on Cinco de Mayo
in nineteen eighty one
for a street dance celebration

John was a regular at the Drifter
until they banned Rock n Roll
(we rock’n’rollers didn’t drink enough)
oh Sloopy, wish you’d have heard him
singing “Take another little piece of my heart”
and seen him, between lights and stage smoke
ending Janis’ song on bended knee

he asked me to dance and we did
for a few months and here, now
are the stories he told me:

Hang on Sloopy:
you were the girl next door
(both pre-teens)
with a mother who dressed you
pretty, with a long pony tail
when sitting side by side he asked
you to let your hair down, you did
he softly cuffed his hands
and fluffed the ends and oh
it made him feel So good
he wrote this song for you

Fever:
a teenage boy in love with his teacher

If Loving You Is Wrong I Don’t Wanna Be Right:
a 16 year old babysitter…
he had two little children, a wife
and included her in family outings
to a California beach, he told me
his desire for you was only to look
not touch, but his wife asked who
the song was about – he told
she divorced him for this, said she

when John died one month and one day ago
i googled his name with Sloopy to sadly find
credits for his songs live elsewhere
don’t know
if he lied or sold his copyrights
it don’t matter to me
it don’t matter to him now

R.I.P. John Abraham

in the dimming light
only a candle’s throw
from dawn’s lighting early
here comes the sun
some will know it not
having left on an air
we remember for whom
and how so loved

astronomically numbered
somehowwhat’sitferall
find kith and kin
magic or happenstance
tropical mist or desert rain

we miss you dear angels
even as you miss sun
rise
over hill, over dale
we’re still on
ye ol’ dusty trail
and we’re ok cause yer ok+
more – we still hope

the Unbeliever says…
no, i won’t say/tell
if you look for him
look on the side ways

one never knew what she would do
with the gift they gave
thus learning when
giving a gift to
truly let it go

so she held her in her heart
told her of her many dreams
hugs her while children play
the boogieman’s retreat

truly let it go
anger only hurts
forever if you hold it
inside your gut inside your head
implosion is quite fully non predictable

somewhere there’s a daisy a day
somewhere children free to play
over the rainbow is over here
what’s left to say seys Simon

really behind the point of
paternal intrigue
is freedom of women
who have been
caught in any web
created by myths/pathos
family/religions/cultures passed on
for however thousands of years –
closet door wide open now
even the squeaky door of
lives lived in quiet desperation
all have paid the price my Dear
from Virgin Births
to Holy Sluts
and Sisters
re-reminding
of Sisterhood.

blame it on all past generations

to where you have evolved

without which them

never would have happened

now we understand

measures of pain are in us all

honor this or that

when meeting

we all have measured miles to keep

before we sleep in angels tending
all thru all our nights

now and then a visit

shovelling a hole he was
next to the grave of canine Rojo
from my window calling i
“what are you doing?!”
preparing to bury a dead bird
he says, walks to my window and shows me
in his careful hands
a dead Dove it was dead
burial complete he takes his leave muttering
“bad omen”
bad for whom he did not postulate
nor i
i/we wood shudder
enough
at the symbol.

when she smiles
it’s a flitter
when she looks
it’s a glitter
every eye she sees
she’ll be seeing you
in the Rockies
in the Springtime
how
you say
might she retain
in her tiny brain
tinier heart
each and every touch?
a zillion beats per minute
oh human heart that jumps
what lucky good fortune
to know the flittering wings
keep time
with humming bird heart

{..}

it was too good to be true, still
a delight to feel the possibility
a dreamed described lives
if in a distant
past or future
object being
no more important than the subject
the verb remains love

the body speaks louder than words
dear long-hair-operaphila Reading Terminal Market
his eyes, to a non-believer, said
“Yes, I’m real!”
4th or 5th time to watch
esta momenta
still makes me giggle out loud

yet this second day of Winter
and truthiness
what a wonderful gift to we the people
and we who have never been inside an opera house
such joy in many faces, magic in a few
audience as part of the show –
a pleasant surprise

bravo! bravo! bravo!