Today is

Today is Thursday.
Today is Thursday.
Today is Thursday.
Today is Thursday.
Today is Thursday.
Today is Thursday.
Today is Thursday,
not Friday.

Morning musing

I was reading today

that seven monkeys

attacked a village

in Eastern Indonesia,

recently, and how

the grandson  of a billionaire

died without explanation

at the age of 21.

This started me thinking

about what a precious gift

life is and how you never know

what is going to happen.

The Hip Doctor said that my hip was hip, today,

and that I could continue on with swimming,

walking the dogs, and tai chi. I forgot to ask him

if I could jump rope. 

1. The Hip Doctor said that my hip was hip, today,
   and that I could continue on with swimming,
   walking the dogs, and tai chi. I forgot to ask him
   if I could jump rope, or jump over tall buildings
   in a single leap. 

What’s up with these guys?

I get invited to the strangest things

on Facebook. Today, somebody called

the Creative Campus Interest Meeting.

sent me a message. Now just what the fuck

is that? I can’t think of all the other stupid

email type things that I get, right now.

I do know that I get  invited to things

taking place in other towns and countries.

Isn’t that rather bizarre?

The Next Note

I don’t cry, or smash my guitar

when I hit a wrong note

playing my guitar. I just play

the note again, or move on to

the next note.

The President of Syria has been fucking

 while he fucks the people of Syria. CNN

 just reported that his wife is pregnant.

The Daily K

January 29, 2013

I am suspending my swimming, yoga, and tai chi until after I get the result of my right hip x ray, tomorrow, at the hip doc's office. I really think that I am headed back for a second hip replacement surgery. I am bummed out about this, but I have to accept things as they are, not as I wish they would be. “If wishes were horses, beggars would ride," my father used to say.

She don’t want to go back

to where she come from,

bitchy self sometimes and all

so she munches on her pellets

and she chews on her celery

strawberries carrots and kiwi.

Little Miss sometimes hard

to handle, every once in awhile

tries to bite the hand that feeds her.

Proceed with caution

He read somewhere

that drinking soup

was a good way to lose weight

so he started pouring soup

from a can into a bowl,

warming it and then eating it.

He didn’t know that cans

caused poison. He died skinny.

It is rumored that the makers

of canned soup were the ones

who put out the rumor that

soup would help you lose weight.

I don’t know if soup cans are poison.

I just supposed so for the purposes

of this poem. Proceed with caution

in all endeavors of your existence.

I can play with the small hurts

Always have. Come to think of it

I’ve learned to live with

some major trauma, also.

What can you do when living

but to go on living no matter what

cards are dealt you?

The Bum’s Rush

My dad used to speak of this.

Have you ever had to give someone

the bum’s rush?

What’s it like?

to have such little privacy?

I watch you eat.

I watch you poop.

I watch you play.

Better Idea

I’m short a light bulb

but it won’t kill me.

I quit smoking almost

twenty years ago.

Gratuity List

It is important to make a gratuity list, be it in your brain and not on a piece of paper. It is important to think of the things that you have, the things that you are thankful for instead of being disgruntled about what you don’t have. Making a gratuity list makes you feel better about life.

Wherever you are

there you are

and you ought to

make the best of it.

Do you really know what goes on in Hollywood’s heart?

He broke her heart

and now I can’t stand him.

That kind of attitude will get you in trouble

It’s about me

My needs.

Me. Me. Me.

Introduction

The dogs are curious

about their new roommate

the bird squawks loudly

when they come near her cage.

Seek Help

Solitaire or solitude; or both?

Depression is no joke.

January 26 2013

The Near Daily K

It’s 4:30 am. Dylan and I are wide awake. My dog is in the corner of this room, that I call my office, staring up at me from the floor. I don’t know what Dylan would do if I wasn’t in his world. Joan says that when I leave the house he whines the whole time that I am gone. He has separation anxiety bad. He has, also, developed a problem in that he runs off into the hood when I let him out, with his brother Morisson, to use the facility at night. I will have to start keeping him on leash for such visits. Joan informs me that Cobb County charges you $241 if they pick your dog up wandering around.

I have Neil Young playing,  and am about to see what poems are in me, this morning. I like this Billy Collins quote that I found yesterday in his introduction to the book “180 More Extraordinary Poems for Every Day:”

“Some poems talk to us; others want us to witness an act of literary experimentation.”—Billy Collins

Collins follows up this statement by saying, “If you need to cut an entrance into a poem, who is going to bother? Why should a reader be asked to commit repeated acts of breaking and entering?”

The funny thing is that I had trouble, last night, accessing the first four, or five, poems that Collins had chosen for his anthology. I guess that one man’s accessibility is another man’s inaccessibility.

I do agree with Collins sentiment, in his statement, though: I don’t want to have to fight with a poem to read it. I want it to be a fun experience. That is my goal in writing poems, also.

I’m sucking down the lousy dollar store antihistamines hoping that they will give me some relief from this shit case of itchy eye that I have today. I love my dogs and cats but they irritate both my eyes and my sinuses. I know that the dollar store crap won’t work, but I am desperate; out right now of the better pharmacy pills.

Seems simple enough: someone once told me that the hardest part of Yoga was getting on the mat, that once you got on the mat, the rest of it would come. Playing guitar is the same way. If you sit and stare at the guitar, you don’t get any practicing in. You have to pick the guitar up to get started playing it. 

January 25 2013-3

The Near Daily K

“Some poems talk to us; others want us to witness an act of literary experimentation.”—Billy Collins

I am not going out in the cold, today; not to swim, not to walk the dogs. My face is wind burned and would just get worse if I walked the dogs. The pool water will be a little chilly, enough so that I am afraid it might give me a cold, today, so I am canceling these parts of my normal day of existence. I was sick with the flu for almost three weeks, recently. One illness a winter is plenty for me.

I’m sucking down the lousy dollar store antihistamines hoping that they will give me some relief from this shit case of itchy eye that I have today. I love my dogs and cats but they irritate both my eyes and my sinuses. I know that the dollar store crap won’t work, but I am desperate; out right now of the better pharmacy pills.

Sour notes

See me bastardize the song.

How could so much go wrong?

“Some poems talk to us; others want us to witness an act of literary experimentation.”—Billy Collins

Hope needs action

I twist and turn

I hope and yearn

for something

to change inside.

But, every night

I lay my head

the same way

on my pillow. 

January 25 2013-2

The Near Daily K

Nothing really matters and everything matters is a thought that just occurred to me. Does it make any sense to you?

You have to have your priorities in check. Say you are diabetic and you ignore the condition because you are pursuing money. You die due to the neglected diabetes; what good did the money do you?

Say you are an alcoholic and going to meetings is keeping you sober. You meet a hot babe, put all your time and energy into her, stop going to meetings, and wham you find yourself with a drink in your hand on your way to being a drunk, again.

Say you have a kid, or two, and you live your life like the character in the Harry Chapin song, “Cat’s in the Cradle?”

Wouldn’t that be a waste of good sperm?

My good friend Dale W. Miller, a very accomplished drummer, as well as a very accomplished father, nothing like the man in the Chapin song, once told me that he was at a drum seminar, where the drummer from the band Journey was answering questions after giving a talk.

Someone asked him what he did when he wasn’t drumming? The drummer looked at him and said, “This is what I do.” What do you do?

Making the best of what is

You were an accident

the condom slipped

but it’s no accident

that you are where you are.

The Near Daily K

January 25, 2013

My body was calling out to be stretched, this morning, so I started the day on the yoga mat. I hope to get back to classes in the spring, but for right now it is home practice solely.

I am fearful that I am headed back for another hip replacement surgery, this time to the right hip. I have already had my left hip replaced and the right hip is starting to give me the same warning signs that the left hip did. With the left hip I did not know what was going on. I thought that I had just pulled a muscle walking the dogs until the pain got so intense that it drove me to the doctor.

It turned out that it was bone on bone, all the cartilage gone in that hip. Ouch.

Man, it is cold out there, today. I thank the Lord for the heat in this house, and for this house itself. I pray for those without shelter. It is a miserable, and dangerous, day to be homeless.

Dylan ran off for about a half hour last night when I let him out to use the facility one last time before bed. I was pissed, and I was tired. I was, also, glad that he came back. Fucker.

I read, today, where Joe Biden has a shotgun. I wonder if he keeps it in The White House. I’ve also read, recently, that he is letting out rumors that he might run for President when Obama is done. Honey please.

That’s just the way it is

I probably kissed a girl

or two when I was drunk

who I wouldn’t have kissed

if I was sober.

And there is probably a girl

or two, out there who wished

that they had never kissed me.

A long walk

I can’t imagine being

anywhere but here

with you.

and if you left me

I don’t know what

I would do.

I could walk from New York

to California and never

find another one like you.

Plunder

You better stop what you’re doing

you redneck fucker,

or I’ll put a bullet in your brain

that’s my wife you’re under.

Well, my momma tried to kill me

 and I can’t say, now, looking back on things

 that I blame her. I took to drinking

 at an early age; did all I could to bust out

 of her cage. Seems she should have

 forgiven me when I put the bottle down

 but that wasn't her style coming from

 her Irish part of town.

Sway

You say you want to run around

I thought that we were on solid ground.

The weather don’t matter

When it rains, or when

it is a sunny day I will love you.

The Truth

When I make a big mistake

there is something that I can’t fake.

You turned me away

but I always knew

that one would come

who would stay.

Love Break Up

Love is breaking

I am faking love making.

Love is breaking

she is no longer breath taking.

Love is breaking

she is faking

I am no longer her man.

Duet

I’m writing songs

and she sings along

I write about my sons

and she sings about

her daughters. We’re

thinking about playing

for quarters on the street.

I don’t want to lose a foot

like Waylon Jennings did

so I’m going to exercise

and watch what sugar

that I put into my mouth.

You’ve got to pick your battles

You’ve got to pick your battles

You’ve got to pick your fights.

Your battles won’t matter

once you learn to walk away.

Hold that tongue, Mister

everyone doesn’t have to hear

everything that you’ve got to say.

Now, love that’s a different matter

pick the wrong one and life will be long

you’ll wake up every morning

and say Lord how did I go so wrong?

(With a nod to Artist Lou Majors).

Her Daddy was a country music freak

G          G             G            G

She’s wild in the bedroom

D         D              D            D

 and amazing in the kitchen

A          A              A            A

 and when she tells her stories

G         G               G            G

 I sit and listen with fascination.

 D        D                 D           D

It’s not my imagination

A        A                  A           A

 the good Lord must have sent her to me

 G       D                 A             G

I must have done something good

G       D                 A             G

 to have karma come back this way on me.

Am    E7             Am           E7

Her daddy was a country music freak

Am    E7             Am           E7

 and she knows the lyrics to

  Am    E7             Am           E7

a lot of them outlaw country music songs.

 G       D                A              G

When Waylon and Jessi sing

 my baby sings along.

She’s wild in the bedroom

 and amazing in the kitchen

 and when she tells her stories

 I sit and listen with fascination.

 It’s not my imagination

 the good Lord must have sent her to me.

Her Daddy was a country music freak

She’s wild in the bedroom

and amazing in the kitchen

and when she tells her stories

I sit and listen with fascination.

It’s not my imagination

the good Lord must have sent her to me

I must have done something good

to have karma come back this way on me.

Her daddy was a country music freak

and she knows the lyrics to

a lot of them outlaw country music songs.

When Waylon and Jessi sing

my baby sings along.

She’s wild in the bedroom

and amazing in the kitchen

and when she tells her stories

I sit and listen with fascination.

It’s not my imagination

the good Lord must have sent her to me.

The way I left you

The pain I went through trying to love you

is now forgotten; but I haven’t gotten over

the way I left you. I should have done it differently,

I shouldn’t have called you all those names,

I shouldn’t have taken your poodle

and fed it to the lions at the zoo.

Nope

It’s just not feasible

although at first it seemed reasonable.

I have come to the conclusion

that to even consider it would be an intrusion.

And then what?

It’s funny: you die but your stuff is still here

and your pets. The stuff sits there. The pets

keep doing what they do, while you are cremated

or buried. 

I’m crawling at a snail’s pace

which is better than laying

in my own puke

and who knows who’s blood.

I’m not sure where I’m going

but I know that I am going to get there.

Tomorrow isn't always better

than yesterday, but I’m glad

that I am still here breathing the air.

January 23, 2013

This one is for Dan Pritchett, who sent me a positive encouragement shout out, yesterday, about the writing that I do on this page. Thanks Dan.

Joan always starts her day with a cup of coffee, and some fruit, which she consumes in front of the television, watching the day’s weather report. This morning she reported that the news reported that, on Thursday, it will be 30 degrees all day with a strong chance of rain.

I hate cold rainy days, and told Joan that I would prefer snow, which I am not a big fan of either, since I spent 17 years in it in Connecticut, as a kid. When you live in snow you learn to live in it, but having not lived in it for so long I do not miss it.

The best part of the snow, up North, was that many of my neighbors paid me to shovel their walkways and driveway. I think I got five bucks a house. Add that to raking leaves in the fall, cutting lawns in the summer, and delivering the Hartford Times year round and I always had money for soda pops and new basketball shoes.

When my kids were younger they used to go crazy when it snowed here in Atlanta. They loved watching it fall, and they loved going outside and playing in it. I loved their enthusiasm but I watched them frolic from behind a window from inside a warm house.Snow ball fights are fun, but they are not my thing, anymore.

I started taking Tai Chi, recently. I found the second to last class that I took very frustrating, and questioned whether I would continue, but I went back yesterday and was glad I did. The moves are starting to make sense to me, the moves are starting to come to me. It’s funny Tai Chi seems so mellow in a sense, like you are not really working out at all, but when I get home I find that my muscles are exhausted. I also find that I have that peace and calm that an hour and a half Iyengar Yoga class gives me.

The old saying, “Don’t quit before the miracle,” which I think may be derived from Grateful Deadheads referring to the miracle ticket that they sought when they showed up at a show without a ticket, applies to many areas of my life. It applies to publication of my writing; it applies to my pursuit of the guitar; it applies to my Yoga, and it applies to my Tai Chi. Let it apply to you, won’t you?!

I am applying to Kennesaw State College for a Masters level certification program in memoir. Vermont State, when they rejected me from their Low Residency MFA Program in Poetry and Memoir suggested that I take writing classes elsewhere before reapplying. I am going to take their suggestion. There is a $60 application fee. If you believe in my writing and have any spare change, please drop it in The K Tip Jar. I will give you a couple of my poetry books E Style in return. Thanks so much.

Throw a dog a bone

Throw a dog a bone

he’ll chew it.

Put an assault rifle

in the hands of some

mentally ill they’ll

shoot it.

Give a kid an ice cream

they’ll, most likely, smile

at you.

You can’t waste the day

 it might be your last.

 You can’t spend time now

 worrying about your past.

Observation at the show

We no longer look

 into each other's eyes.

 We no longer people watch.

 We stare at our cellphones.

January 22 2013

I am very thankful that it is warm in this house, here at 4:30 a.m. on a Tuesday. It was supposed to get down into the 20’s overnight. I haven’t been outside yet, but I trust that the weather is brrrrrrrrr out there! You have to count your blessings, or at least I do. You have to be happy with what you have and not be consumed with what you want, or what you think you want. I have love. I have shelter. I have food. Everything else is gravy, you know?

I have yet to write down 2012 instead of 2013 in my writings, which amazes me, because I think that I was writing down 2011 until almost June last year.

Dylan is up early with me. He is on the floor behind me licking his balls. Dylan really likes to lick his balls.

Money is tight here, for about two weeks, as I am sure it is with you, but if you could hit the tip jar up I would greatly appreciate it and give you an E Copy of my stunning book of poems, “They Shot Bob Marley Outside The Dakota.” Thanks.

I hope that your day is brilliant.

A walk to California

Well I sold my car so that I could walk to California.

I knew that I would find a girl there with flowers

in her hair and a smile on her face.

She thinks like I do that we can change the world

with peace and love.

We won’t watch what they feed us on television.

We won’t buy into their war and money way of life.

I’ll love her forever, no need to have a priest

make her my wife.

Well, I sold my car so that I could walk to California.

I knew that I would find a girl there with flowers

in her hair and a smile on her face.

She thinks like I do that we can change the world

with peace and love.

January 21 2013

I’m starting my day with Gram Parsons, who my guitar playing buddy Bob Genchi turned me onto, along with John Hiatt and Delbert McClinton.

I’m concerned that I may be headed back for hip replacement surgery, this time to the right hip. I am having these weird feelings and slight pains in the area of that right hip, and that is how it started out on my left hip, a few years ago, which eventually lead to the hip being replaced by a titanium one. I know that I can go through the surgery; I understand the process, and have gone through it, once, already, but I don’t want to.

The Falcons loss, yesterday, was disappointing. They were a fumble, and an interception away from going to The Super Bowl. I have been taught to be happy with what you have, and to accept things as they are, so I will just thank The Falcons for an exciting season. To tell you the truth, I don’t really give a fuck about football, but I do like to see my home town of Atlanta do well, and prosper.

My grandson, Elliot, turned 4 yesterday. I remember when the family was gathered at the hospital awaiting his arrival. The dang kid will be going off to college, soon. Happy Birthday E Man!!

Lyric that just came to mind listening to Gram Parsons: “Well I sold my car so that I could walk to California.”

Happy Martin Luther King Jr. day. Peace and love and equality to all.

The Pulitzer could be poison

if you let it get to your head

the work might soon be dead.

January 19 2013

A bathroom after someone else takes a shower is kind of a pleasant place, there is a slight warm mist in the air, the smell of soap and shampoo linger. A bathroom after someone else takes a dookie is a place to either avoid, or run from!

"Once a punk, always a punk...maybe not always in terms of fashion,  but forever in heart, mind, and spirit."--Julie James

Just because

Just because I’m in the kitchen

doesn’t mean I have to eat.

Just because I want a bagel

with butter and cream cheese

doesn’t mean I have to have it.

Just because some fattening

looks good on the shelf

I don’t have to grab it.

A good hat

A good hat

is like a good woman

or a good man,

a good pair of gloves,

a car that starts

right away for you

on both cold and warm mornings

It's fucking cold, this morning.

I'm glad I don't live under a bridge.

Wipe his ass

I do it for the people,” he said,

 hiding their gold in his closet.

 “I do it for the children,” he said

 stealing their future.

 “I do it for us,” he said

 putting their cash in foreign banks.

 “I am a leader of the people,” he said

 the people around him scurrying in fear

 to fix his meals, drive his cars, wipe his ass.

I've come along way baby

These days I start my day tuning my guitar and writing poems

 not eating green bologna on stale bread in the drunk tank.

Shuttin’ you down

Have you heard about

the new government

detection system where

they can figure out what

you are thinking

before you think it?

Shuttin’ you down

Have you heard about

the new government

detection system where

they can figure out what

you are thinking

before you think it?

What a lie

All I got is this grass

and the government says

I can’t mow it.

They took my guns

now I can’t defend it.

My money they say

I’ve got to send it to Washington.

They spend it sending my kids

to foreign countries so big business

can get bigger and my kids can die

in the name of freedom.

What a lie.

Don’t get mad

Don’t get mad.

Don’t get mad.

Don’t get even.

Live in the way

of peace and love.

Bite your tongue

before you ream someone

a new asshole.

Breath in.

Breath out.

Walk away.

Run.

I don’t divide God

I go with the concept of A Higher Power,

who I choose to call God. I don’t go with

Jesus, Allah, Buddah, Krishna.

January 18, 2013

It’s 4:30 a.m. and I am listening to the magical sounds of a hip hop duo called Chapter 13.

I take my pills like I do every morning. I say my prayers. I eat something so that I will not be pouring coffee onto an empty stomach, which is supposed to be a bad thing. I check my emails, check my FB page, and then I turn on music and wait for the poems to come.

The animals are still asleep, Dylan near my feet. When I get up, he gets up and follows me out of the bedroom into my office. His loyalty to me is amazing.

My Love is still asleep. The roads may have iced last night and she is going into work a bit late to let them thaw off a some. I am blessed to be in her presence.

My friend Sloan Carroll Rainwater, got up in the middle of the night and made a post about gratitude. Gratitude is a great thing. When I have it I am happy. I have it, this morning. I am happy.

Are you a germ?

A disease?

 A virus; something

 come to do something

 bad to me? Then

 shoo. Go away. Be

 gone with ya. I don’t

 need you ruining my day.

I have no rhythm, but thankfully my dogs and cats don’t mind. They are all asleep on the floor as I pound it out on my guitar, making noise that could wake the devil. How the animals sleep through this God awful shit that I am creating, I don’t know. I guess they are used to. If I get good will they still ignore me?

Everything is preparation for something else

Even though I'm not going to be A Superstar,

 nothing gets in the way of me and my guitar.

I enjoy learning the guitar because,

among other things, it is teaching me

to stick with things that I can’t do

until I can do them. Learning the guitar

is teaching me that practice, practice,

practice works. Strings that used to sound

dull, or stupid, now spring to attention

at the touch of my fingers. It is very rewarding

to go from not being able to place your fingers

in the position of a certain chord to being one

with that chord. 

Atlanta’s own Poet Natasha Trethewey gave a reading yesterday at the historic and beautiful Rialto Theatre in downtown Atlanta. The reading was sponsored by Georgia State University, which is celebrating its 100^th year in existence, this year, with a series of readings.

Trethewey was breath taking, in charm, and in poetic delivery. She read poems from her most recent book, “thrall,” an amazing work that James H. Billington, from The Library of Congress, says, “Dig beneath the surface of history—personal or communal, from childhood or form a century ago—to explore the human struggles that we all face.”

After the reading, Trethewey, sat patiently with a big smile on her face, at a table in the lobby, and autographed books for the hundreds of folks who had turned out to hear her read.

Trethewey among many, many poetic honors is a winner of The Pulitzer Prize for her book “Native Guard,” and was recently tapped to be our nation’s Poet Laureate. She teaches at Emory. What an amazing thing to have such a huge and pleasant talent among us. We are truly blessed. Good luck to Ms. Trethewey in Washington, and wherever she travels.

You ought to buy one of her books. You really ought to.

"Don't aim for success. If you want it; just do what you love and believe in, and it will come naturally."

--David Frost

Something that isn’t mine

I don’t want to be a teacher.

I don’t want to be a preacher.

I don’t want to drink wine

and go out of my mind.

I don’t want to get caught speeding.

I don’t want to get caught dealing.

I don’t want to get caught feeling

any girl but mine.

I don’t want to work for the corp.

I don’t want to put up with this crap

coming out of Washington.

I want to be a lover not a fighter.

I don’t want to be anything but a writer.

My my my.

Things that seemed important at the time

I don’t know who was right

and who was wrong, but

I do know that it doesn’t matter

that things that seemed

so damn important at the time

would not matter now,

but he is dead

so we will never get it together.

I liked tests in school

like I liked getting handcuffed

in blackouts.

I'm feeding the turtle. I feed the turtle on Wednesdays, and Sundays. I put him in a container separate from his aquarium so that he doesn't poop all over his home, so that I don't have to clean his home out every time he eats. I gave the frog fresh water. I never see the frog, except a couple of times a week when I dig him out of his dirt and feed him crickets. It is too cold. It is too cold and wet to walk the dogs, today. I fucking hate cold, wet weather.

Better make use of them

This moment.

This minute.

This hour.

This morning.

This day

and the day

after tomorrow

are slipping away,

and I can’t catch them.

"For when the One Great Scorer comes

 To mark against your name,

 He writes - not that you won or lost -

 But how you played the Game."

 (from the poem "Alumnus Football")

 By Grantland Rice

(Thanks to Jude Eyre for this).

I am still going to write

I will never win The Pulitzer

for my poems, or my writing.

I will never be named Poet Laureate

of my state, or my country.

I won’t get any big grant money

to exist on while I write.

I won’t teach poetry.

I won’t pay the bills with my poetry.

I probably won’t get into grad school

to learn more about poetry and memoir.

But you know what, I am still going to write.

"Success is not final, failure is not fatal: it is

the courage to continue that counts. "--Winston Churchill

What is happening?

Take our guns.

Take our social security.

Take our tax money.

Build your prisons.

The local cop

is driving a tank.

We’re too busy

trying to pay the bills

to see what is happening.

The last swallow was amazing.

There is nothing worse than

letting the sweet mixture

at the bottom of a cup of coffee get cold.

Blood is thicker than blood

Their resemblance was not incidental;

their behavior not coincidental.

My harmonica is missing, too

Cancel the finest example.

I can’t find my new shoes.

Ghostly Thought

The poltergeist couldn’t fight

my existence was validated by

the utterance of the word, “Yes.”

The Love Combination

I’m guilty of most everything.

The church raised me that way.

I’m guilty of loving you

and that is your fault and mine combined.

Process

The high is writing the poem.

The low is trying to get the poem up in lights.

Country Song

I’m just a wanderer who settled down

cuz you’re the prettiest girl I’ve ever found.

“Take up one idea. Make that one idea your life - think of it, dream of it, live on that idea. Let the brain, muscles, nerves, every part of your body, be full of that idea, and just leave every other idea alone. This is the way to success.”--Swami Vivekananda 

1. I had forgotten my Catholic prayers, The Our Father, The Hail Mary, when in jail for what turned out to be the last time, I decided to pray. I asked the guy in the cell next to me if he prayed. He said yes, and said that every morning he wakes he says, "Thank you, Lord, for letting me see a new day, breath the air of a new day." I have said that most mornings for 20 years now. To this, I added "Guide me in thought word and action Lord, thy will be done not mine." and I top off my top of the morning prayer with, "Please keep me off of drugs, alcohol, cigarettes." 

For the first time in the many years that I have been baking banana bread, I got banana bread dough in my hair, today, as I was baking. Maybe that is why Chefs’ wear those white hats?

Be thankful and give thanks

Nobody owes you anything.

Be happy for what you got.

The grass isn’t always greener.

Saying thanks won’t kill you.

I can’t control what you do

only how I react to it.

Bite my tongue before I open

my mouth in anger.

Don’t forget these things.

Don’t forget these things.

I’m on my way

at least half way home.

I better stop and check out the flowers

The hours are ticking away.

You gross little cat

you just woofed up

a hairball onto my carpet

And now I have to clean it up

unless one of the dogs

gets to it first.

As you think so you are

Think of lying.

Think of dying.

Think of crying.

Think of living

life without trying.

Then think of respect,

and peace, and love.

Is it me or The Lord that matters?

I can’t leave myself.

I can’t believe myself.

I will not die without trying

A million miles away

something exists

that I know nothing about.

Nearby

I miss the sensation of the sea

at my feet, but at least your kisses

are here for me.

I exist

I’m not nothing.

I am something,

even in the pouring rain.

The other side

It’s all or nothing into the pool

I jump and nothing matters

but reaching the other side.

I am not necessarily writing about me

In order to be myself

I have to stop beating up on myself

I have to silence

these voices inside of me

that say I can’t

that say I am bad

that say nothing good can become of me.

I’m going to paint me a picture

It won’t be covered in grey

it will be full of colors that make me happy.

God is a one on one thing

At the gathering he didn't fit in

when they passed the basket

he didn't have the money to pay.

Alone, he talked to The Lord:

guide me, he asked him,

in thought, word and action.

Thy will be done, Lord, not mine.

The Lord smiled upon him.

Screwing them over, again

I got no answers.

You got no change.

It’s raining in Atlanta;

the dogs will have to wait

to get out in the hood, again.

My friend, they look at me

and seem to say why are you

keeping us in?

I’m not keeping you in.

Mother Nature is to blame.

They don’t care. It’s me

old what’s his name

screwing them over, again.

"There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed."

--Ernest Hemingway

Jan. 14, 2013-2

I predicted to Joan that by the time that I got back from my swim that Jaggar would have figured his way through the taped open cat door from the basement back to the house, and, sure enough, when I got home I found my black cat in the kitchen sniffing the potatoes. Though they might still be a bit reluctant to use it, both cats have both been exposed to, and have successfully entered and exited the opening. We are embarking on a whole new cat era here in Mableton.

The pool was a bit chilly, this morning, but not so noticeably cold once you got going. By the second length that I swam, the water, or was it my body, had warmed up? I did 40 lengths in about 35 minutes. Swimming is a great way to start my day.

Dylan is taking a nap. Dylan is a snorer. Snore , Dylan, snore!

The New Cat Door

Soon, the novelty will wear off

of hearing the cats rattle their new cat door.

Soon, they will go to the basement

where their food and kitty litter box are

without me jumping out of the chair

that I sit in at my desk to see if the noise means

that they are coming or going.

Soon I will not drop a poem in mid-sentence

to witness the cats doing something new.

Soon, the cats will not regard their cat door

with suspicion.

Soon using the cat door will be part of

their normal routine, and, soon, I can go back to

my normal routine, also.

The rest of my days

I can’t spend the rest of my days

with no values.

I can’t spend the rest of my days

not following what’s within.

Chin up: things don’t always go

your way. You can still have a bright day,

though. What you started out to do

might not be what you wind up doing.

Maybe it is where you are supposed to be.

Money and Moods

Money and moods

I can’t get my hands on them

I can’t control them

Money and moods

keep slipping away from me.

Money and moods

I can’t move them.

Money and moods

I can’t groove them.

It’s not groovy

when I don’t have money

for a movie.

It doesn’t move me

when I don’t have gas money

for the car.

Money and moods

oh my; what am I going to do?

The powers that be

The powers that be

are amazing. They steal

from the poor and give

to themselves.

You can be free.

Free as a bird.

It’s easy.

Worry doesn’t change

a thing. It’s easy to be

happy, if you smile.

I can’t do a darn thing

about certain things,

and when I try I am unhappy.

The powers that be

are amazing. They steal

from the poor and give

to themselves.

Acceptance is the key.

Acceptance of you.

acceptance of me.

The powers that be

are amazing. They steal

from the poor and give

to themselves.

Peace and love.

Peace and love.

try them on like a glove.

They’ll fit, I assure you.

The powers that be.

The powers that be;

don’t have to be.

Mikel K

Mission Impossible is now possible

I am amazed how fingers that found it near impossible to form a guitar chord, weeks ago, now easily push the guitar strings down where they are supposed to be pushed down. I am talking specifically here of the F chord, which you may recall, I told you was mission impossible for me. My fingers, now, fall naturally onto the correct frets. I am still fine tuning the chord, making sure that every string rings out clear, but my progress is amazing. I look down at my fingers and can’t believe that they are positioned as they are. It is amazing what practice will do. Next: the F barre chord and I become one!!

Jan. 14 2013

Our good friend, Kevin Ball, came over yesterday and installed the cat door in our basement door that we bought awhile back from our good friend Cyndi Craven at her fabulous yard sale. I keep the cats’ food and litter box in the basement. Kobain has figured the door out, and is happily walking back and forth through it. Jaggar went through the cat door, this morning, with Joan’s strong coaxing, but has been unable to figure out how to come back through it, though it is the same going either way.

Jaggar is whining a bit, at the top of the stairs. I am not going to open the door for him like  he wants me to. He is going to have to learn how to use his new cat door. We are looking forward to keeping the basement door closed, and not paying to heat the basement in the winter, and air condition it in the hot months. It is fun and funny to watch my cats learn a new thing. In the long run we will all be so much better off with this in our home. I so thank Kevin for putting it in. 

“At the touch of love everyone becomes a poet.”

--Plato 

Jan. 12, 2013

I was in bed at ten p.m., last night, was wide awake at three thirty a.m., this morning, and here I am starting my day where I used to end it. I’m a morning man, these days; love to go to bed early and get up early. There is something pure about this early morning time of day. It is quieter, somehow. Maybe it is because much of the world is asleep. It is a good time to write. And like we are teaching our bird, Dolcinea, to say, “I am a writer.”

I am listening to some new music. The artist is a fellow by the name of Django Reinhardt. He is a jazz guitarist. He is an amazing jazz guitarist. Joan just woke up for a minute, and asked who I was listening to.

“I love this kind of music,” she said, “Especially in the morning.” Then she went back to sleep.

When I came out of the bedroom, this morning, Dylan did not push his way out ahead of me, as he normally does. I figured that he was still asleep, but when Joan popped into my office, for a moment, she said that Dylan had been pushing on the bedroom door and whining. That darn dog loves me so much, loves to be everywhere that I am. If I am in my office, he is in my office curled up next to me on the floor. If I am in the bedroom, he is in the bedroom. If he sees me getting ready to go out, he gets ready to go out.

Dylan can be a pain in the ass. I really think that he is bi-polar. I once found “a good home,” for him but recanted from giving him away at the last minute. I’m glad I kept Dylan. He is my special needs baby. I don’t think that anyone else could give him the kind of love that he needs.

I love my dogs Morisson, and Pretti Penni, also. I am very blessed to have them in my life. 

Dolcinea, the bird, took to the air, today, flying off of Joan’s hand through the pet store. When she landed, the bird seemed quite surprised that she had taken such a flight. She has only done such one time before. Her wings need to be clipped. She will be home with us in about ten days. It is going to be so weird and beautiful to have a bird in the house. 

Are you superior?

You often do that you try to one up me

after reading my poem offering unasked for advice

about why the poem is wrong. The poem is not

either right, or wrong; it just is. I like you so

I let it go, but it irritates me. Why do you feel a need

to show me that you are a superior thinker to me?

I don’t miss anyone who I’ve said

goodbye to. I don’t look back.

Jan. 10, 2013

I am a slow reader, especially if I am not totally into what I am reading. This keeps me from reading a lot. It, also, sometimes, keeps me from reading at all. These days, I like to read memoirs, in part, because that is what I write besides my poetry. I like it when someone can spin an interesting story about their lives. I feel as if there is a story in all of us, but only some dig down and put it on the page.

My story, this morning, so far, is that it was a beautiful day outside for a dog walk. I didn’t have to wear my heavy coat, my wool hat, and scarf, and gloves. I threw on my jean jacket stuck my phone in the chest pocket, after turning the radio on, and enjoyed not nearly being frozen to death on our walk.

Today, I played the punk channel. Fear, Black Flag, The Ramones, and The Sex Pistols blasted from my pocket taking me down memory lane as the dogs and I walked. I kind of grew up on the songs that these hardcore bands spew. Of course, I am just as likely to play some hippy music: Crosby Stills Nash and Young, The Byrds, America etc. I was wondering to myself, on the walk, what kind of songs will I write, once I have gotten a little further with learning the guitar. Will I create angry punk rock songs, or will I create songs of peace and love?

My harmonica is missing. I am bummed.

Plumber Abstract

Sometimes, I feel like

a flower.

Sometimes, I feel like

a clown.

Sometimes, I feel up.

Sometimes, I feel down.

Compassion

I hate when I get behind a moron in a parking garage; an idiot who appears to have learned how to drive moments before he got in front of me. He moves at a snail’s pace, oblivious to the cars behind him. There is no way around him. You are stuck with his stupidity until he finds a space. The moron just missed a space. Whew. I can finally park.

It’s never over until it’s over

I’m at the end of my beginning

embarking on something

that I should have started long ago.

Some people out here in Mableton leave their dogs in kennels, outside, 24/7, and the dogs howl at night like they are cold and lonely. Their howling kept me awake, last night; there was something eerie about it. It was as if I was part of a horror flick that had no end. Why have a dog if you are going to keep it caged up outside all the time?

The dogs are happy to be fed a bit early, this morning. They love to eat. I dropped two more pounds, down to 233. I can just feel 220, and then 210, waiting for me. The first thing that I do, in the morning, is disrobe down to my socks and step on my scale. I have been weighing my food since Dec., trying to not eat over 32 oz. in a day. Doing this, I have dropped from 248.5. It’s a fun thing to lose weight.

They never did

You put strychnine in your lsd

and then walked a straight line

telling us what the drug would do

if we would buy it from you.

I never saw Timothy Leary or Ken Kesey

the things Jim Morrison said

never came true.

I was just a drunk moron

thinking that the doors

of perception might come down.

“Sometimes you want to give up the guitar, you'll hate the guitar. 

But if you stick with it, you're gonna be rewarded.”--Jimi Hendrix

My thought is that if you can't play the cheap guitar, 

you won't be able to play the expensive one!!

I recently had two animal problems that were perplexing me. First, I couldn’t keep the dogs out of the kitchen when I didn’t want them in there, which was most all times, except for when I was feeding them. Second, my black cat with the yellow eyes, Jaggar, screeched at me all day to put food in his bowl, when he had a large bowl of food ready for him at all times on top of the drier downstairs. The dogs would sneak in the kitchen and steal the little hand fulls of food that I would put in Jaggar’s bowl all day. The cat’s constant screeching was a pain in my butt, so what I did was spray him with water every time he screeched at me, and eventually he stopped begging for food in the kitchen. I started spraying the dogs with water when they come in the kitchen, and now they don’t come in there anymore. I am glad that I found this simple, and painless, solution to my dog and cat woes.

There’s too many F’s in that song

they didn’t write that one for the beginner in me.

I’m determined to make my fingers go

where they say they ain’t supposed to be.

One day me and that guitar chord are going to be one.

Right now, though, playing it ain’t much fun.

Sometimes, I am very glad that I don’t get involved in things that don’t really concern me, especially when I was considering getting involved in an angry fashion. How do you know if things concern you? Well, you just do.

I let my dog, Dylan, take a nice long afternoon nap, despite the fact that he was snoring loudly, but when he woke up and started making the LOUD sucking noise associated with having his mouth on his penis, I said STOP!!

Practice hasn't made me perfect

 but it has made me a lot better.

"When you're fucked up, you're more likely to put up with things 

you wouldn't normally put up with."--Izzy Stradlin

With a nod to Hunter Thompson

In the old days, you might have asked a person what page they are on when they were reading a book. In these Kindle daiz a person tells you what percentage of the book they have read. When the going gets weird, the weird certainly turn pro.

Trying to figure the harp out

The harmonica blows

and it sucks, or rather

I blow it, and I suck on it

learning where each hole is

I am. I am not playing rock.

I am not playing blues.

I am making strange noises

trying to figure the harp out.

Bang bang you’re dead

They took your gun

to save you from you

and then one showed up

with a gun that they hadn’t got.

Sometimes, a broken heart pays off

You broke his heart

but he got a good song

out of it: a song that

has paid his bills for years.

Artificial

Sometimes, you have to fake it

until you make it, and once you have

made it you better hope that that is

what you wanted after all.

There are songs that I have been listening to since I was 12 years old, which would mean that I have been listening to those songs for 43 years. I am listening to one of them, right now: Maggie May by Rod Stewart. I just can’t get enough of Maggie. I can’t get enough of American Pie by Don Mclean, either. Funny how most songs, like most people, come and go, while a few stay.

Early to rise

I was up at 4:40 a.m., this morning, which is pretty much normal for me these days because I mostly go to bed around 8 p.m. I must have gotten old, or something, to be keeping these hours. When I was younger, I used to just be going to bed at the time that I, now, rise. I like these early morning hours. There is some clear, crisp, and pure about them. I can often write well at this time.

Will you ever trust him, again?

Now that he’s been caught

Lance might admit that he is guilty.

“I’ve been a liar all my life,” he might tell us,

but, now, I want you to believe that I am sorry.

His admission, if he makes, such must, certainly,

boil down to money. He and his attorney

have figured that he can make more of it

by coming clean. 

I’m going to be a skinny mo fo one day, soon!

We walked the dogs for the first time in about two weeks; that’s how long we have been battling the flu. It was great to get out on the sidewalks, again. We did a 55 minute walk, which I entered into my, “Lose It,” app where I am also entering what food I eat. Lose it calculates both calories lost by exercising, and calories gained by eating. It is a neat tool. I am, also, still weighing my food, trying to keep my daily intake to 32 oz. or less. My weight, today, is 235 which is as low as it has ever been since I undertook this healthy eating/exercise regimen at 286 pounds. I’m going to be a skinny mo fo one day, soon!

The goal of life is to live

You can create goals. They can create wants, but through it all the goal of life is to live. I have been up. I have been down. Through it all I have been alive; thankfully. Life is our most precious gift with health right there with it in importance. I would rather be broke and healthy than rich and sick. I am thankful for the gift of life.

The Daily Mucus Report

 Around here, recently, we have developed The Daily Mucus Report, where Joan and I check in semi-regularly on the status of the mucus in our nose and throat. This is not something that we do, normally, but recently the aforementioned mucus has been out of control due to the fact that we have both recently endured the flu at the same time. I felt that this was important to report to you.

Is fair fair and what is fair?

On the radio, this morning, The Eagles are singing that they get a, “Peaceful Easy Feeling.” I believe that I first heard them sing this song in 1976. I do know that I first heard their album, “Hotel California,” that year.  Man, how time flies. It has been 36 years since I was a freshman at Florida State University. I kind of lost it for The Eagles when they came out with $500 tickets to their shows. With such pricing, they had eliminated me from their audience.I try not to bitch about things that I have no control over, and I, certainly, have no control over Eagles ticket prices.

My frog, Ringo, just had three luscious crickets for breakfast. I prodded those poor bastards into the vicinity of Ringo's tongue to make sure that he ate. There is one cricket wandering about the tank still. I will let Ringo encounter that one alone, now that I know that he has had a good meal. Ringo has withdrawn back into his precious dirt, hidden, again, like he is most of the time. It takes a special personality to love a frog: they do not give up much in the way of affection!!

This guy in England just got a new hand, somebody else's hand is now his hand, and he said that he, "was looking forward to tying his shoes, and buttoning his shirt." To hear this makes me so very thankful for little things that I don't even, normally, think about.