for: Virgil Earp
I never wanted to be
On the wrong side of the law
That's why I became
City Marshall of Tombstone
I wanted to be a poet
Writing words to inspire
Tell my story
Share my feelings
But it was something
Difficult to accomplish
With a Colt 45 on my hip
Drawn too many times
Searching for a meaning
In life and death
How I wish I could replace
That gun with a pen
Write sonnets like Shakespeare
About love and understanding
Wyatt was my brother
Doc Holiday an acquaintance
Never liked the son of a bitch
Always gambling and drinking
Fucking things up
But I will be misunderstood
In my life
As those buried on Boot Hill
Can testify
I am not a poet
Just a gunfighter
One of the Earp boys
She worked the night shift
Winding her life
Down a dusty Wyoming road
She was a numbers person
You are Wyoming 4-23k4
It was the license plate number
On my car
Never could remember my name
I am not interested in names
She would say
I am a numbers girl
I told her
Numbers are for mathematicians
And mechanical engineers
She laughed and said
They do not understand numbers
Always trying to solve problems
I keep my numbers simple
Always looking toward the future
She would dance
And whisper numbers
Keeping rhythm with the music
I valued the seconds
The minutes
And hours
We spent together
Don’t worry
She would say
Time is only a number
Uncle Sam
Sam lived on a ranch
In northern Wyoming with his father
Went to war in ‘65
Fought with the infantry
Came back wounded, shell shocked
A hero
Used to lead the Veteran’s Day parade
Called him Uncle Sam now
We used to fish on his property
Chase a few squirrels
After the war he put up
A no trespassing sign
We used to sneak in
Billy and I
Hide in the willows
Catch a few brook trout
Maybe a pound or pound and a half
One day he caught us
Ran us off with a gun
Said something about “fucking communists”
We stayed away for a while
Then went back fishing
Uncle Sam came down screaming obscenities
Billy and I ran
Billy dropped a brookie
Two pounds maybe
A nice catch
Stopped to pick it up
Billy caught a shell in his back
While going over the fence
A brook trout wiggling
In his now still hand
Uncle Sam’s in an institution now
Tells other patients about the war
And how he killed a prisoner
Trying to escape over a fence
Says that war is hell
But someone has to fight it
Einstein said
That the amount of stress
In a situation is equal to
The amount of effort
And energy
Exerted in the situation
Divided by the
Amount of satisfaction
Gained or lost
By the results
Of the situation
Fuck
Einstein never said that
I did
I felt smart for a minute
I guess every minute counts
She was from
South of the border
A raving brunette
With dark mysterious eyes
I am like Tabasco Sauce
She would say
I will burn all night
And you will
Think of me
Long after I am gone
Heat comes in stages
I am the main stage
The fire in my eyes
Is only a flash
Of what you will find inside me
The deeper you go
The hotter it gets
Remember
Tabasco Sauce goes with everything
Take a deep breath
And enjoy
It wasn’t a different sunset
It was the same colors
The same beauty
The same image
Across the sky
But she saw it differently today
The beauty lifted her spirits
Filled her heart and soul
Until she was overflowing
With emotion
She looked at him and said
“I’ve changed”
He said, “What are you talking about”
“You look the same”
She said, “It is not in how I look”
“I’ve changed on the inside”
He said, “Inside?”
She said, “I am complete and
I can dance!”
He said, “You always could dance.”
She said, “But now I can
hear the music”
He said, “What music?”
She said, “You can’t hear it!”
As she went out the door!
He thought
And said “What the fuck” to himself
As she drove away
She was always too rough
For me to reach
Out and touch
The darkness of her tan
Followed her
Like a shadow
And her eyes saw
Through so many
Restless visions
I found it hard
To communicate with a girl
Who didn’t hesitate
To say fuck
Or talk about her
Orgasm last night
When she was
Home alone
Silk
She was silk
Smooth
Untextured
Sleek
Flawless
that is all
I have a friend
It is a tree
With branches that reach
Toward the sky
It has strong roots
Can withstand storms
The perils of man
I talk to it
Tell it things
That I cannot tell
Anyone else
It listens
Never gives advice
Sometimes when the wind
Blows it talks back to me
But it has issues too
"Too many birds build
Their nests thinking
They own the tree
The bees placed
A beehive in the tree"
It bothered the tree
"Fucking bees they have
No right to be in my branches
And the birds shit all over me
The dogs piss on me
Cats climb all over me
Squirrels think they own me
A tree's life
can be pretty fucked up
That wind tore one of my
Branches down
It hurt like hell
God damn broken branch
Fucking wind anyway"
I always feel better
After talking to my
Good friend the tree
For: Hank (Charles Bukowski)
There are times when poetry
Is sweet and smooth
Like a swallow of Southern Comfort
You hold it in your mouth
Let it slide down
Warm and calm
Other times I want poetry
To kick my ass
Knock me down
Like moonshine whiskey
Fresh from the still
Spit on me
That’s when I pick up Bukowski
Read what the old man is doing
He knocks me down
Steps on me
With his wild tales
Of living and dying
In bed
On the floor
In the kitchen sink
I wake up with a hangover
And swear
I’ll never read his poetry again
Give me T.S. Eliot
Or EE Cummings
At least until the lights go out
And my head stops aching from the sun
Or from the poetry of the night before
Hank had a little lamb
As white as fucking snow
To Whom It May Concern:
I read too many books
finding knowledge in sentences
ending in question marks
Writing too many poems
and losing myself in the works
of Hesse, Brautigan and Snyder
I needed to experience life
away from the pages of a book
feel it
smell it
taste it
I wanted the reality of life
Suddenly you opened the door
And my life would never be the same
I remember your lips
your caress
your breasts
Eyes looking through me
The way you took my breath away
It was more than a song
by Simon and Garfuncel
It was more than a character
from The Graduate
It was the reality of you
being there within my reach
My senses came alive
and my mind would never be the same
You gave me a dream
and a memory
I will remember
forever
This poem is no longer a mystery
It was found in a Goodwill Store
For 50% off
It originally began its journey
In a Costco
With a hotdog and coke
Found its way to Wyoming
Where it skied down Teton Pass
Rolled into Jackson Hole
Where it was picked up for
Indecent exposure
In the middle of winter
The judge gave it probation
And an ankle bracelet
It left Wyoming for Kentucky
But got lost along the way
Found in Tulsa, Oklahoma
It was misplaced in the U.S. Post Office
If it only had a stamp
It would have found its destination
Instead it ended up in a Goodwill Store
Now we wonder if it will
Ever get to Lexington
Where it will be delivered
To an address that has been
Forgotten in time
Hank thought it was a dream
But it wasn’t
He was wide awake
Thinking about his past
People that drifted in and out
But it was really
Thinking about Harmoni
How she came into his life
She was young
Beautiful
Fearless
Daring
He wrote a poem about her
Then another
And another
The poems flowed like
Water down a mountain stream
Once he held her
Caressed her
But she slipped away
Now the distance between them
Was filled with time
Time of not being together
Time can bring people
Back together
Or keep them apart
He wrote a poem about time
But did not give it to her
Time for her was beginning
Time for Hank was running out
He wrote another poem
About her
Closed his eyes
Sipped his wine
Waiting for his dream
Before time comes to an end