All I Have To Do Is Dream – Everly Brothers

Thoughts from an old song and a quiet coffee..
To be a teenage boy
in a small town,
Early summer warm fades with the sun.
A front porch
in a small town…
and then she walks by on the sidewalk below.
A breeze, new leaves softly rustle
a whiff of perfume as she passes
and a dream…

I made it to another Sunday night.

I made it to another Sunday night.

Another flight, another Airport, another hotel room, another Sunday night.
But I think it ends there.

This is different already. I opened the window in my room, to the night and San Francisco rushed in and filled my room: Herb Caen over coffee & Chinamen scurrying up Grant Ave to an unknown doorway and an unknown meal.

Three Hippies tossed a frisbee on an endless Sunday afternoon while Grace Slick sings “Lather was thirty years old today,
They took away all of his toys.”

Two old men steady their way by holding old hands together, not in love but with fear concern until they reach the edge of the pier.

And the rich full air of San Francisco tossles thinning white hair and fills their lungs with memories of youth and girls, and glasses of wine. They had each felt that air one morning while she made eggs and toast while they listened to San Francisco through the open window.

It is different now. But the air is still full of chill and good cheer and brightens your cheek and lets you think about that one night and that one day.

Just some thoughts, just some things I wanted to say. I can’t talk to my rummy friends about so many things so I just leave these little crumbs, strings of words that might cause a smile or stir an old memory in a good way

Another day ends quietly


Another day ends quiet……ly

Another day ends quietly, everyone with their family snuggled in bed.
Rummys put at ease, hearing the gentle breathing of kin or toss of a family member long since seen.

Some will think forward to the morning as they drift,

some will toss and fret some,
but clenched hands will relax and the worry lines will fade.
Even those RummyHeads most frightened,will take some solace in the peace of sleep.

This is a time of coming together, families circle a table, smiling at a new baby or sitting blue faced and laughing in the flickering TV light.

Some Rummys look out their window tonight.
The silent hush of falling snow smooths landscape to a collage of graceful curves and arcs.
Patience Rummy eyes wait for the lights of loved ones returning late.

We grasp good wishes and thoughts tightly in our minds for the Rummys surrounding us. Some had something good happen today and know our turn will come.

A dayl comes when an old newspaper will be lifted in a dark garage and a sparkle will catch our eye as we say “how much is this?…A quarter!… I’ll take it. and then we rush to our home and cautiously chose the words that will best describe our new found treasure to the throngs of waiting wanters, fighting like King Midas pirahnas over our proud listing…
Shoes ahh new shoes.

Keep in your mind those we have come to know and whose words we love to see on our screens, that for one reason or another are not with us these days.

Pray in the way you know best to cure the failing health, to turn sadness into childish glee, to overflow their sagging coffers and reunite families separated by conflict or economy of those Rummys who can’t be with us now but on the strength of your good thoughts will return soon to our safe and warm harbour.
Beneath the palm, on a white sand beach never wanting for Rum.

Good Night every little RummyHead. Sleep tight…………….

Panging for 1 more Go-A-Round

Panging for 1 more Go-A-Round

Today woke with a smile and I was confused.

I miss someone who is gone.

Whenever I saw her my spirit was filled with smiles. Even at the end, she managed to make those around her spirit smile. You saw the pain but you vision-felt the smile that filled the space around her and everything around her.

Her love filled in the edges and then there were no edges defined.

Everyone seems to have it so together. I chide myself for inner weakness but I know that basically I am OK and I accept that. 


Even this weekend I wanted to be just a little more funky.

I wanted some time back.

I was surrounded by youth and love. But I was there because of every moment that had brought me to that point. I felt all that I felt because I had been down my dark alleys and stood up on my mountains. I wouldn’t have been there then, if it had not all pointed to that collection of moments.

But there was a pang for one more go around.

I suppose we all get that.

I was lucky to know her for much of my life. Even at her end, it almost seemed that she knew that it was not her end.

She knew this was just a stop along the way. If love is perfection, she reached towards it everyday, every moment she existed with us. Today there are few fairytales and I understand and that is OK.

I am not done and I will get another shot.

Today I woke with a smile and I drank my coffee and the exit door didn’t seem so bad. It just leads to the next room and I wonder what I can bring.

Pavement…Pavement is funny and it is hard to believe even Pavement can be a punchline.(* see below)

Hugs from the desert


One day a good man talks to God, Eventually he asks God if he could be allowed to bring one thing into Heaven as a memory of this life. God, in a good mood, agrees to allow the Good Man this wish.

The Good Man dies.

As he is buried, his remaining friends slide his final request into his coffin: a box of gold bars.

When the Good Man reaches the Pearly Gates, St. Peter says “Sorry, you can’t bring anything from your life on Earth. The Good Man explains that he has received special permission from God to bring something with him as he passed from life and into Heaven.

St. Peter says to wait for a minute so he can call and confirm with God that the special permission was given. St. Peter returns and allows the Good Man and his box of gold bars into Heaven.
As he passes, a confused St. Peter shakes his head and mutters to himself “Why would the Good Man want to bring Pavement to Heaven?”


The Bunny can’t drive

At least for awhile.

Chosen driver, I sit outside the Meeting

And watch.

They assemble each in the moment, forgiving of the past, jonesin’ for a future.

The Meeting is about to begin. Funny I realized they remain strangers to each other at the Meeting, but remember inside with the grinning devil buried deep in a crevice of just how it felt.

And with every past loss, the devil’s grin grews. With every numbing swallow or puncture needle stab, more lost like chips on a sculptor’s floor, littered shards of stone marble until only a devil smile is left to reveal

and they face a real choice.

Live in pain release and freedom and die or head to the silence and the Moment of the meeting.

Addicts are so in touch.

Narcissistic, no thought of bugs (unless they were junkies)

Self-possessed, trying to calm and make sense of senseless.

But they still glow flashed electric.

Sparking hot flash fire then cold ash

Repeat until dead.


Some nervously gather in groups

twitch smoking,

Sucking just a bit deeper’

just a tinge of panic.

Remembering the time between sips,

Like it mattered, cursing inside

At promises broken to love and lovers

And suck just a bit deeper.

And at the invisible tick..(pause…wait) tock, it is time to head in for the good seat

Hurry up to get the good seat.

Where they watch and pretend with masked sheepish face

to be called to share what they had practiced between sips.

As lovers left them to the moment.

And then like the quiet brought by an ocean of booze or a mountain of pills or Coke’s snow

sparkle, they are gone.


One late-comer sucks a cloud of vap with a smile. One comes to talk on a phone that never

rung to be joined by another, in bond

Waiting to get back to the sip or the sniff or to reach out waiting to share.

Another spry and clean goes into the Meeting door and before I can look up…she leaves.

She touched the coffin of the saint, she made a noise of one uncomfortable from sitting till a hundred sheepish faces turned

And she left. Church is over another day. Obligation of the few minutes spent with those

trying to kill the screams inside complete.

She leaves and returns to her madness.

The Meeting is over and post-mingle post-nerves hover outside metal doors.

Outside the Meeting, air returns to birds nervous and cars rushing past, late and rushing


And the silence. Inside the Meeting they are quiet. Walls tire and sigh and rinse clean the

judgements of others.

The unknown released from the moment and the Meeting, pause

They pray to take back time lost.

They pray to get back to feeling a tree and a breeze and saying clearly, Hello.

And the door opens and again and again and the birds sit silent.


New nervous ones have started to gather.

And they smoke shakey and wait their turn in the Meeting.




Street Fair in Spring

Street Fair in Spring

(We drove down to the World’s LARGEST Street Fair in Carlsbad this weekend. Met friends and walked and ate and left with tired feet and a quiet ride home back over the mountain to the desert)

Street Fair in Spring

Cool morning start and comfortable shoes
Going to the Street fair.
Early morning Vendors cool buzz chat
Making rounds at the Street Fair.

Excited pockets, nervously empty ready
For ever, come to the Street Fair.

Sunglasses glisten Hollywood signs
Potters Pots thrown out back in a 1000 barns
Rainbow buckets of tie-dye hang on chrome metal racks
Sticky-buns, baked ready shiny sweet
Ready wait for the Street Fair.

Early morning Strollers pick at
Handpainted notepad, carved wooden duck rolling and
Sunglasses sunglasses sunglasses shield a million eyes
and rocks and stones and jewels shine hung on silver chains
Carved by unknown hand

Its handy, its magnetic
Makes it easy
Keeps on shining washable, You like?
Eyes question waiting for flash of green

And a bit of a chew
Of caramels from France and a dream of a place
Sets the People pace
to the Street Fair.


Air warms and rolling padding feet as slap pace quickens, chat shortens
Repeat Incantations of can I help you can I help you
I only have one, this one, this is the best

Smiles migrate from behind boothtable where Vendors sat, stoic
waiting all morning behind grande’ lattes and ready wares

To the chitter chatter, baby holding, pick up put down, pick up put down
Point and point and point and
ANGELA, OVER HERE. They got it here Angela.

And the smiles migrate to people that
came to the Street Fair.

Until a point when the sun is too high
until a pang of hunger not satisfied
By street taco, thai stick lava cone lemonade pizza slice corn dog
teriyaki and a side of curly fries.

And now those that came late aren’t smiling
For baby child fidgets for cool place to put tiny cool head to sleep.
Sun high overhead, no cool shadows, gone for now
At the Street Fair.


Those that smile become those that wander back to
Hot sun cars and crowd trolleys, cool buses or
walk      walk     walk ,hot foot achers burn
tied to the end of aching muscle legs.


From behind now cool 3rd latte, a vendor smiles,
rolling gently left over picked over in cool crinkly brown wrappers,
put away for another late comer

Or the next Street Fair.

Some curse, pulling down floating resin bulgy eye angels, sparkly things shiny
little dog, cat everything

Bright color brochure announced INVISIBLE SCREEN sprinkler solar insurance
Vote for Me Good for you
Taken from dark forest,
wasted now flutter rain down on grey hot asphalt.

Thinning now no talk money counted,
It all ends at 5

moving slow, heading home.

It ends at the Street Fair.

Song outside your window

Song outside your window

(to a sad friend. I am sorry I could not make your heart smile)

To be sad in Paradise
To cry in Paradise
To listen to songs outside your window
running outside, to find the melodies gone,
Flown away is beyond me.

You are there in silence. With only an empty self.

Everyday is giggle and candied jells
Sweet fruit and blue sky
Clearblue to heaven
And below water laughs
And the romance of desert breeze holds you gentle,

Pushed away as if foul.

Yet you sit in darkness, embracing the darkness
Waiting for mutants
Attracting darkness and the mutants to find you
You do not love yourself and the mutants will find you
Cloaked in shawls of darkness, they paw you.

And your heart goes dark
And cold
And empty
And can not feed the soul

Are you deaf to air whispers of love floating ‘round you?

You run to the window and the melody flies away.

You hold sad like crystal, delicate and savory
Pushing away the blue for the blues,
Feeling scorching heat from the sun
And not warmth.

You run to Fantasy Land

You are there in silence.

Finding a spiteful dragon’s dank cavern

And you will still be there


You will never see the love, you will never feel the blue of the sky

and hear the undaunted warble song of a bird outside your window

until you learn to love yourself. You are a Goddess, blessed by the

Muse with the eye and the hand that captures soul but without the love,

you will remain wrapped in a shawl that offers no comfort but weights

heavy on your shoulders