Shape and Colour
I've got a closet filled with old clothes.
And a leather suitcase stuffed with letters from women I met at sea.
Once I was a handsome sailor. I'd cross deep waters and land in wanting ports. A girl would love me, would plead to come aboard forever, for all our tomorrows together.
At night under the ocean's moon, alone I would sail away.
The Northern Cross was always my friend.
The Southern Cross was stormy weather.
I am old, a landlubber who only dreams the sea.
Years ago I could kiss their Spanish lips.
Now my short breath burns from rolled cigarettes.
My dry thirst whetted by cheap whiskey.
Like an ancient mariner, I got tales to tell, but the smiling senoritas can't hear.
I don't believe in no mystic.
I don't feel any muse can hear me.
I look in the mirror. The old clothes don't fit so well. They no longer have shape and colour, the style is long gone. And paper yellows over time.
Sail away' together to the Southern Cross in stormy weather.
I write a story:
Then I drink and weep for lost ships and women who wait no more for an old sailor's love.

Help Him to Fly
In the darkness of a city night, I remember him lying there.
Sick by dope,
Needle marks in his arms,
He tried to rise up, but fell back down.
The sidewalk was his homeless bed,
The cracks in the concrete, his unconsecrated church
Oh, those strangled veins, like human rope that frayed his breathing soul
I wondered if he would ever rise up,
Maybe flap his wings,
like an angel or a great bird
But he was sickened by dope,
and it would get colder soon,
The snow would be his blanket
The broken needles his tomb stone
Let us pray: Help me make a blood stained cross,
just don't touch the sharp edge
A cut, a drop of blood from man to man,
from person to person can be a deadly sin
Maybe, oh maybe, an angel or great bird will help him to fly...see himself from above.
Together perhaps we too can rise up! Rise up hereafter to see what awaits...in warmth, in shelter, in loving arms? In the athiesim of time?
Let us pray: Help me make a blood stained cross.
Carry his needles. Untie his strangling veins
Put a coat under his fallen head
Another lay a coat as a blanket across his still breathing soul
Together we shiver. Together we feel cold
After time the Angel and Great Bird are here!!
Take him first, and then help us to fly!
In the darkness of a city night, I remember him lying there, and how in my morning dreams our lives took flight.

Benefactor
I walked along Young St. when old hippies yearned openly for the music of Leary's pretended waves:
Some danced;
Some shook old beads betrayed by love;
Some carried grey plastic in their hair;
Others blinked weary eyes; with skin worn like rivulets of dried blood;
Others spoke acid words and sang songs of peace with strings of wind and symbols of drifting sand

We are only a few years apart, me and old hippy friends;
But these feet have never worn sandals;
Instead I walk with heavy army boots,
Not that I make a political stand
I seek peace, too
But thick souls are good for my gait
Strong leather takes time to break in,
But once they are shaped by your feet,
a walk is easy and free;

Please forgive me, when I say farewell;
It is now, and I have to walk in this unearthed home,
I have no roof over my head
Each cloud is my address,
Every blue sky is my ceiling
The sun is my neighbor
The brother moon is my friend

I got thick soles on my boots,
Heavy leather fits snugly on my feet
I have an old canvas backpack,
But no tin pot on my head.

Have I the spirit of a Johnny Appleseed?
Am I as wishful as a benefactor of a wandering heart should be?
I stand on a street corner, waiting for a Young light to change:
green to red, and yellow in between.