Thinking About Buies Creek

Thought he couldn't remember my name
and that he never liked my songs
but one night drinking whiskey
we talked all night long

he said Amir
sometimes I can't stand up straight
long enough to carry my weight
and last time I turned my back in trust
man I got betrayed

and the air was cold
the fire was safe
we talked all night
about everything
a couple of cowboys
from two different worlds
thinking big
in a little ol' place

we lit up cigars passed the bottle
and the world made sense a while
he held his guitar like a man in love
but something sad seemed inside him

the moon was full smoke flew up
our spirits I must say were high
too lonely cowboys from two different worlds
getting along at the Creek tonight

and the air was cold
the fire was safe
we talked all night
about everything
a couple of cowboys
from two different worlds
thinking big
in a little ol' place

Equal Chance

The simple facts
of living seem
to elude those lost
in hate,

how sweet the sound
of peace, sound of kids
playing, sound of Sunday
morning alive
with chance,

hands in gardens, arms
around each other, Black,
White, Middle Eastern, Latin,
Asian, enough hate, we're
brothers and sisters, we're
in this together,
enough hate,
people are scared
to say Muslim or Arab?
(there is no Z in Muslim)

let's listen to the blues
and drink a cold beer,

come on people, the action of
many out weighs the action of
a few,

about twenty two percent
of the world's population
is Muslims (more than a billion people),
about thirty three percent
are Christians,

now do you believe
there is any logic
in hating all Muslims?
is Mohamed Ali a terrorist?
wait, his first name is Mohamed,
no, wait, Obama, his middle name is Hussein,
no, wait, he might be Muslim,

Islam is the second largest
religion in the world,

so now, somebody's name dictates
what kind of person they are?
it's beyond embarrassing
the state of racism and lack
of intelligence, still,
in the year two thousand eight,
these are easy questions
with easier answers,

the generalization of people
is an old ploy by racists,
with very serious
psychiatric problems,

the simple facts
of living seem
to elude those lost
in hate,

how sweet the sound
of peace, sound of kids
playing, sound of Sunday
morning alive
with chance.

South Beach First Floor Balcony 1992

The sweat
of loneliness
corners,

blue water dancing
silent, I watch
through my bed
room window,
Miami hot,
inviting
sexy bare
feet to feel
the water,
as delicate toes
point, insteps curve,
wrinkled soles
tease wet
in the sun,

lust loses a shirt
watching it's paradise,
sweat filing a void
in my belly button,

wild flowers
caressed by lotions
shine and glitter,
long legs,
pointed toes,
belly's inviting
as grass under a
shade tree,
body's that
jazz,

shorts fall,
as lust climbs,
hand slides down,
pulsing,
lusting,
to kiss soft
lips,
and fall
deep
deep
in
love
with
Miami.

Majesty

Peeling
a cucumber
starring out
the kitchen window
it's 92 degrees
but all I see
is snow

falling down
on sculptures
fountains
gargoyles
angels
black iron fence
calm
silence

it's spring
in my snow

red roses with
white flakes
blue butterflies

humming birds
kissing honeysuckle
rows of purple lavender
arbors of climbing
white roses and
orange morning glory,

I light
a lilac candle
pour
a glass of red wine
put a pillow
behind your back,

I gently crush
a cucumber
with fresh mint,
sage, jasmine,
and rose petals

to massage and
kiss your feet.

He Was An Artist

Time still,
my friend in
his coffin,

he's dressed in
black shoes
black socks
black pants
black Hendrix T-shirt
black jacket
black shades
black blues cap,

so am I.

Nobody ever understood
us, and now the wind
is silent, the cold
could almost freeze
my tears
but Jim Beam lets
them roll,

his parents and
their friends
thought we were
all lost souls,

they didn't know
we were writing
poetry, symphonies,
songs, painting
the world through
eyes of fire,

they all slithered up
one at a time
searching for a
final rumor
as the Cadillac preacher
preached about
misguided youth,

I whisper as he's
lowered,
I'll be back
brother
when all the killers
are gone,

he smiled,
winked.

Life + Love= Threesome

She took my hand and spit,
she said: you handle it baby,
I gotta go to work,

last night I got two acceptances
in the mail, and she got a twenty
dollar tip,

we cooked pasta, drank wine,
we danced as Coltrane rose
from the grave, she started
a painting, while I sent off
two thank yous and more words,

we lit a few candles in our
bedroom, she painted nude, I
wrote, watching her, she looks like
Picasso's "man watching a sleeping woman",
and I fell asleep watching,

in the morning life had her
back, and I, spit and all,
took a shower, made a cup of
coffee, sipped slowly, staring
at her empty black heels,

wishing I still had
her spit.

Light Ahead

This darkness
in the sun light
rain,

flowers waiting
on a drink,
weeds crawling
like shadows
in my mind,
on the look out,
cautious,
experience
has scared my heart,
declared war
on my mind,
left me above
what I can not climb
and I jockey for a moment,
a rare magic,
smell of gardenia
to shoot through my heart,
to be heard
uninterrupted,
as Poe from the grave,
as the pyramids speak
majesty,
the sun rises in souls
strung out on instincts,
refusing the easy wine
for a warm beer,
neon for candles,

one must fly
on one's own wings
and disappear we must
into our own sweet fate.