Before I Write

Before I write of second sight or about a sixth sense gained from painting a wooden fence.

I shall sing a song heavenward. It will be long but not absurd. It’s not wrong and yet it’s every word. Is virile and strong, hawklike a bird.

Be there time to concur hereabouts. On matters that are just and for now. If seldom without understanding this will leave you wondering how.

The lonesome cowboy at finding a broken childs’ toy would not just kick it into gear. No he would desire to better his situation. Ya dig, like knowing the real Pink and Floyd.

I used to cuss and really fuss in what I chose to write. Now I would that what I laid down was peaceful, and topical, and bright.

More of my second sight and early sixth sense. Climb a fence, meet a dog. Get mauled, for blood on a towel. Stitches on a jaw, a cheekbone, over my eye, and behind my ear. 47 to 63 stitches in all.

Should I write like a fight? Always running away until I fast. And come into your musing arms to last. To address what are grave derigors of anger and might.

It is there I go and curse with a mourning words thirst. It is not to grab up handfuls of Sun in the club and bring error to some flipped out edge. Going down for the worse.

She’s a girl and you are a boy. But do not let your acceptable love forever cloy. Those amorphous regions of loss and argument and a high helot for a roy.

When the belated want of our speaking tries us with garrots and gins as such our lot. Like tigers in the spotlight their logic has a goose to whisk us out of shape into some twisted helix got. The nether light burns bright at this conflux of our utter midnight.

Carolina sounds like ‘Oh Sweet Lord’ when the bird flies and gives rebirth to her lost chord.

Quick heartbeats connect lines of blood. Holes in the knees of my blue jeans and some mud. What will I have to do around the next corner when I catch up to my buds.

Are You Holding?

The clave horn. The well trimmed board. The spice of life. Some friendly beasts, the canines. The home of a Franklin or even deeper into the well with a bucket plummeting from the common beheld ledge above.

Good company and fine friends. A home in the country. Fine upstarts in offspring. Stables for those beasts whom carry burden. A message from the hall. Dinner will be served on the hour.

A babe in my arms coming up with new ways to express most anything. The call of the Supper bell triangulating. The good company of the fast crew in their implementation of menial slake. Time for bounty on the turn and the sea change.

What is done is done is done. Forgive and forget and in this brave world of commizeration go afield only to come again some day. The blazes are beaten but the impaliar is sound. It is sitting right here on my fess. Cute little thing the way it switches from one to another hopping feet.

Sailors in love with time it takes to put the distances between. The trust in the work done. A one off with no way back in but for getting nasty and drawing marks. A sluice in the byway. Utility hats beckon the shell shocked laird from his ornery corner roost.

Oh I see you Sam. So over my head in Alabama. So ignorant of everything but that Madam Georgian’s new hit song. The thousands lost to pallor for dollars viscount.

A gregarious means to shake off the lethargy of connubial thoughts processii. When an apeshit bum in the garten tries his best to make off with the jackal’s ladder. The only climbing gait a pack of rabid rat racers could have laid out before them in the country.

Downs to await the waters’ course a free meander of able bodied mastheads of cross the paseo reaches. A trafficked palace street of the arid and clement. Where there is situated the respite spot. A glam space of trekless passes of eyes across the plane.

The ignobled stretches of grimacing big cats. Touring the brushy fledges. A house 🏠 for the crazy moon and her lucid manner. To behold the tide of a way through the field of precise star 🌟 laden sky.

A night’s pleasure in slow transpiring glances at the painted mural walls. Depth of field dipstiches of the drumming aptitude for martialing the airs of the tree borne greens. Through Summer and pining to give soil leave and rejuvenation.

The wrap up of a minuteman melee. Fading blue jeans canvas of old Army tents. The scoop of beans given to ward the hungry from the holding commisary. What lays in store and what only remits to entry of a given day’s collar.

The irony of dispatch from a trust back into the mete of the matter. The actual worthiness of viand and calabash as means to carry forth the fruit of the greenwood tree. Sturdy find of the largesse and illuctible.

Treats with a stash of the strong drink. Passersby accepting the good news of a favorable wanderer’s message in having traveled through. No more than metaphysically strange. The real need for familiarity in the circus of estates.

The bridge 🌉 that traverses the skunky stream. A spring feeling for the back meadow passes listing out in frugal new grains. Catching the fine and golden taste for shine. Each newsome bandersnatch to aggress upon the dates of frequency.

There arrives to races the folly gander, the eyefull snooker, and the workable embrace. New to old in a matter of labors. And the success rate of proud mamas and papas with the crest of there mountain ⛰️ home now brimming with caress and touch and holding a swaddling babe close.

Me & My Like

Heart rending sorrow and exercise. The compassion it takes in getting along with those in the manner of life. They whom are relieved to hear of your progress yet to whom one does not ask of the refrain. Courses amongst horses. Making out good and wise sense in the extant of their mind. In there goose fletching and the churches they place on the rock and on the hill.

Secreting a way the vernal axis. Making out a good place to set aside differences and get down to meditation. To come promising. To give to reason and its powers enkind. A veritable tautology of feating glades. A glam exegisis upon the cultured bough. The road is not for the weary my fine camper. No it is rather a conditional peace indeed.

When the leaves on the tree are flourishing. In the spring tide as they call it in the Northern climes. There is an excitement to find out who is the herald of the event. The gopher? The Robin? What about the fox? Up and at ’em babies! The glide of pacified wings checks its Jay at the door. Crossing these streets need have be the bane of the iconoclast. To no longer care for the filcher and the varmint. As quick as a dash and bent to feature it no more. Reduced to b-grade popcorn of the jiffiest kernel and poker’s fork.

If any more tribal lore has need splay my possessions then know I will be at the fly of a feather to make sure the reward is my proper wage. How about $10,000 dollars a show. Just the songs and chords will do ya what is necessary. And when all cheap excuses for vagaries have been exhausted well then end your day and lay ye down and take a proper rest why don’t you.

You have needs do that. See.

Hooks & Crooks

Trees, trees in a forest. The bastes and the herds of the hempen plantum synergia. And then again a banana slips on by. Within the megalopolis of ut garret lookers and seekers after their salts. Owing to the mineral consistency of a piecemeal degree of damasked flora. A legend of vegetal moon endearing bloodlust in the exhaling of toxins. A remove from the grade and cline overhead and toppem on the side of blowing windem seer.

If you wait to see your way down the travail, if your guts extend to the moors of a soluble character in a tolling belle of the libertad. Tied and of no ill refute. A comparison between the long drawn meters of a changing patios. Laughing at the epochial cuniform stratum of telegraph wire and freedom post.

The bluejay of happenstance goes to its hedge and nuzzles a maiden of the secure pasturage. His gal, his girl, his welkin woman of the mayfair sessions. She is industrious, she is a glad walker of the irony and agape. An olden Greek love whereby chum is legion and blowhard is the whalers’ road and good awful lode.

With a spur and chicken cross. The icabod and the caparison. The driver and his monkey say how do. They have met with the stewards of the thoroughfare and they have galvanized their steel. If anything more troublesome comes down this road we will have to abandon ship and head off for the hinterland.

Make good on our prospects and buy a number of cheese sandwiches for the children. Appease the concurrent nations of the captioned garnishment of their stride. Give the daylight hours a cup full of blessings to make good cook of thematic pots. Tbe fulsome foodstuffs and the elixers of a sound pie.

Wise Gymnasium Treats

Once, when I was 21 years olde, I went to sleep on Christmas Eve, in a Gynasium with about 60 other people. It was all gentlemen and we were in Los Angeles and the gynasium was serving as a men’s shelter. I was in the middle of the room. I had an acoustic guitar and a backpack under my cot to worry about but given the general report of murmering voices in the candlelike light and the wealth of good Holiday spirit that all of seaside Southern California is known for, I worried not and slept through the long night. I believe it was about 10:00pm and I think I slept until 5:30am the next morning.

The entire trip I was on had started when heading out of Eugene Oregon, looking for a Thanksgiving Meal to go to with the folks at ‘Welcome Home’, I had misplaced the road I was supposed to be on and was faced with the possibility of traveling quite a bit further and took that opportunity to continue my trek. And so within an additional day or two I hitchhiked all the way down to Santa Barbara CA. I arrived downtown late and caught a musician in need of some help with his gear and to thank me for my service eventually offered me the ride that would be my final leg into the city of Los Angeles.

This was specifically Venice beach where I can remember simply walking out beyond a cement outcropping into the sand to seek my bed. There with a tough camping sack and upon finding a depression in the ground I fell until morning into restless blissful dreaming about Tinseltown and Hollywood. Hearing the waves and some few nightbirds I was able to get to sleeping a good night’s rest before the rising Sun and the sleep in my eyes woke me from my dreams and showed me to a good and really new kind of day.

This is how I began my five week stay around the beaches and on the streets of Los Angeles in 1989

Going Down On The Grange

When Winter tidyness does not the stur assuage. When borderline frequencies don’t make out their want of a king to just any olde day. When the wine imbibes and the ale fades away. Well then how about some heavy sleep. Big time dreaming hum of a bus wold rolling down the great hiway. The dream, the interlude, the bright honors of a psalmody passing through. The rapture of humdrum, homespun, verified downtime.

The freshness of Spring, you see, is a feared thing, a scurrilous far off thing. Let the bunnies and the floral honeys plan for their roosts down in the comb, yeah. But let us not wretch at the fodder of our very own imimitable handles on the hours’ conquest of respite. If nothing is to be planned well then plain and simple nothing is to be garnered from without having its way.

A levee on the honest accords of want. To need to find a taker on by the shot loe tasking of recurrent shift in the pleasures of soon somedays returning to one with the fief of one’s rider. To go out on the lawn with becks and maybe Is and to guest with both the flora and the fauna of Mother Nature’s now open again lodges.

Completely in line with your wishes, mind you, and yet with her head above the waters in a way saying. Take it and take to it well. The wrest is that of sleep and no great and obfusicating burden of redown has need to bring anymore than recourse to the simple need to draw bridges before setting to many of one’s batches out on the tables.

Can you imagine the thoroughfares all opening up, just that famished, and saying Mamma feed me. My belly pocket is so empty I am squimmish to so much as lift the 1st of your wonderful cups of tea. Must have something from the larder to go by. Cereals and their grains. Dairy of cheeses and creams, the carnivore barkers and the fire of their most conditional lights.

Links set up one by one and given to the truck and bumper. A tilt a whirl sound of hot ballsap pine. The broacher in the loping gait of accustomed foggy woodland breakdownd amidst the sunshine. A kind of magic reserved for those things top drawer. The climactic exegisis of one gone tolerant head of the bobs. A booked sooth of mindful ribs and bouts.

The japing old monkey’s 1st Son. Glad to be held up to the discernment of ordinary and enviolate realms of the environment. In both locale and voice committed to the fealty of no such overdrawn solution. To the quick with you and loud. So that you will at least remember having had it as if things or rather familiars were going otherwise.

For the duration and of a destiny to more than survive. To prosper and to let go of and to outwardly receive those gifts in the light of jests. On the floor, between friends and older than the hills in their suggestions that these quips, these pips, should be more than convenient. They should actually in fact be saved.

Courageously and with much vigor. Lest the abased seat of time should have to quake for having not been given proper time to awaken from its lengthy drowse and commit to new joya and daylit productive hours of the steppy and the smiling phase.

Between Stops

If the rancorred out of alms surfeiting quidditch bedlam were, all sudden and joyous, to say we do receive you. Your joy, your pain, your serious examples of precience in your charge. This is the calm repose of an expectant and much concerned citizen. The queries unto the publishing of pride at a time like this is persona non grata at best. There are inequivably straight and narrow passes to roll by but for the inner lambaste of the hilarious ‘five spot’ returned in the middle of a trafficking street.

Why do you appear so full of glee? What does Saturnalia and wassailing must have knitting the psalmody of Providence. Is error to do with going a souling up into the Winters for solistice. The other side of the Moon is cracked open by taxidermist duck waddle. There are schools of ‘Bluebird’ busses that make their way pre-dawn down the same passes as the Roman legions in the Mythraic gear. The souls of Osiris and his children make due on the Summer side.

The tropic of Cancer takes her bath in a wheelhouse. There comes as well the Sud of that once archipelagoic North tolerant transmigrary of nascent love, long under the chase of the quaint and contrapted. The Orient makes final assessment by consensus of the high borne heirarchied repasses going up a frustrate pitch at the sight of a yearling hopping at the door. The breezy fireless equine strength is almost undue the remittance to savagry by the Levant and it’s sequence of events.

This makes most certy the bough is not to go nameless. As at last there arrived the old man with penchant airs. This all culumnating upon the mileu like airborne rectitude and mourning of the esplanade. New days dawn right on up and out of that same get back and stamp enth degree. Same as the time on my travelers’ papers I got a long ride back to tinsel town and Hollywood LA. There’s a tree cutter got to miss his date. And the deserted confab hutch has a few cats’ prints to explain for itself.

With these few time honored figs and mints of my imagination may your calends end upright and your domain get you through the steps your taking in your life today. This is returning and this is awakening. May your songs upwell bright. If the child is a million strong give him the 4th estate for his bearing and moor. The thoughtpot and the ringback vicarious be with you. Live and Let it be lol The BuddyHollyWoodyGuthrie Sign fly bye to you and you and you.

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