Thursday, December 21, 2017


jenny was a girl
who lived on a hill
i loved her once
and i always will

i loved her like a river
a river so deep
“stop following me,
you disgusting creep”

jenny was a girl
who disappeared in the mist
went to the city
and became a feminist

love is a street
than can run one way
but it still burns bright
no matter what they say

i look at the sunset
and the midnight sky
i will always love jenny
until the day i die

i loved jenny
but she didn’t love me
that is just the way
it was meant to be

i wrote this poem
from the heart
is it a “good” poem?
- don’t start

Tuesday, May 16, 2017

a sad case

long ago and far away
i had nothing much to say
my head was largely void of thought
and ambition i had not

i cared not for wealth or fame
or whether anyone knew my name
my brain was not consumed by fire
i had only one desire

and that was never to be tossed
with all the other damned and lost
into society’s swirling deep
and have to - earn my keep

o my fellows, can you say
who invented the working day?
who put chains upon our souls
and cast us in these rigid roles

i should have lived on grass and seeds
hidden in society’s weeds
slept in benches, or in a box
rather than endure the pox

of rising every day at six
to perform employment’s tricks
in a cage of glass and steel
lashed to mammon’s iron wheel

the wheel once started, how to stop?
turn, turn, until you drop
like a feather into the abyss
was there something that i missed?

Saturday, March 25, 2017


last night i played chess with my brother
he always played white

he could never understand
why he should not always play white

he had one oreo cookie left on the board
and i only had a chocolate chip cookie left

he asked if i conceded
and i did

he suggested another game
and i agreed, if i could play white

he got up angrily and left the room

outside, the red sox were playing the giants
and a plane flew low overhead

under a few thin clouds

i wondered why i had returned to san francisco
as it had changed so much from the days of ambrose bierce and jack london

Thursday, September 8, 2016

daniel boone

daniel boone was a mighty man
a mighty man was he
he carried a long long rifle
and slept beneath a tree

daniel was not as one man
but had the strength of ten
he marched all through the wilderness
and marched back out again

some say he never did the things
that he was said to do
but i believe he did them
because his heart was true

daniel boone killed indians
like you and me kill flies
who knows what scenes of hate and death
passed before his eyes

Wednesday, September 7, 2016

benjamin harrison

spencer perceval was prime minister of england
but nobody knew who he was

benjamin harrison was president of the united states
but nobody knew who he was

they were pious men who knew their bible
and took their responsibilities seriously

sometimes benjamin harrison would get up
and look out the window at the white house lawn

and think, i am president of the united states
but nobody knows who i am

sometimes i think i am just like benjamin harrison
and i am not even president of the united states

Monday, March 7, 2016

jerry the human and spot the dog, part 4

for previous episode, click here

to begin at the beginning, click here

as we previously mentioned, jerry was descended from many other humans.

how many, he couldn't say. determining exactly how many was difficult. few humans cared to investigate the subject, or found it interesting.

at first glance, the math was easy. each person had two parents, therefore four grandparents, eight great grandparents, sixteen great great grandparents, etc. so by this math every person is descended from about 1,500,000,000,000,000,000 persons after sixty generations.

this is obviously untrue as there have never been so many people.

in jerry's time he could have gone to a library and found books which would have told him that therefore every person alive in his day was descended from every person alive sixty generations (twenty centuries) ago. but obviously this can not be true either. they might be related to every person alive then, but they can't be descended from them all because many people live and die with no descendants.

and many others leave descendants but their "line" dies out when their descendants leave none. and the "line", once broken, is never picked up. and nobody can be descended from a person who has no descendants.

because it is possible. though unlikely, that one person could be descended from another after sixty generations but only inherit 1/1,500,000,000,000,000,000th of their "genes".

there must have been a lot of people at the time of john the baptist or nero who are the “ancestors” of an awful lot of people walking the earth today. or - maybe there are only a few of them.

and what about pockets of “primitive” people who hardly had any contact with the “outside world” until the 19th or 20th century?

take anybody alive today - might there have been only about ten or twenty people at the time of the pharaohs that they are descended from?

and here is something else - everybody has a string of male descendants - father’s father’s father’s etc - and female descendants - mother’s mother’s mother’s mother - going all the way back to before “homo sapiens”.

think about it! somewhere in the world (africa?) in the year 3,000,000 b c there was a sort of human who was your father’s father’s father…. and a sort of human female who was your mother’s mother’s mother… did they meet? did they mate? if there was just one little tribe or just a few tribes raiding and fighting each other, maybe they did…

jerry would get to thinking about these things and forget where he was.

“why are you sitting in the dark, jerry?” his grandmother asked him when she got home from work. she had a big brown bag of groceries in her arms.

“oh — uh — i guess i kind of dozed off.” jerry mumbled.

“your eyes were wide open,” his grandmother, whose name was pearl, said as she took her coat off. “you must have been thinking about something.”

jerry started to explain to pearl what he had been thinking about.

“why do you think about stuff like that?” she interrupted him after he went on for about minute and a half.

“it just interests me.”

“you shouldn’t be interested in stuff, it’s a waste of time. you should do stuff, that way you make can money and support yourself,” pearl told jerry, in a kindly voice.

pearl picked up the bag of groceries and headed for the kitchen. “come on, help me make dinner. i got some nice potatoes on sale, you can peel some.”

jerry got up and followed pearl into the kitchen.

“i hope you like potatoes because we are going to be eating these for at least a week,” said pearl.

“that’s all right, i am used to potatoes,” jerry told her.


meanwhile, back at the animal shelter, spot was alone with his thoughts, after a meager dinner of very dry dog food and a little water.

contrary to jerry’s theories, spot knew very well why he had been put in the shelter and had some very definite views on the subject.

spot knew other things, too. things of which jerry, and the rest of the human race, did not dare to dream.

to be continued

Wednesday, July 1, 2015


worse than anything that has gone before


i as no go fu the pogiz ded man - no way


no mo sef steam


when they got back to the hideout, they laughed their asses off


shine the light


everything is more real after it already happens


after the other side beat the shit out of him, he had trouble thinking and talking, and his own friends lost interest in him


he didn’t mind the constipation - that was between him and god - but not fitting into his uniform made him lose his self-esteem


almost thirty years old - and no war in sight! he wondered if he would ever join the hero’s hall of fame


now that he was locked up, and would be talking to interrogators instead of to his victims, he would need a new vocabulary


the guards were not bad guys after you got to know them. they were all perverts too.



somebody tried to talk to me the other day


quite an experience


short attention span


i just like to watch the red sox games and not get too alive


you know


jack didn’t like to talk but he was easily enraged


there was this guy


when the missionary saw the volcano looming through the mist, his heart began to beat rapidly and he forgot to pray


that’s a dirty shame


george brady had mores jokes to tell than any man in the county. you name it, he had a joke about it. where did he get them?


it all started in the schoolyard


god was watching, but he wasn’t listening


even then, when they were just starting out, they specialized


everybody has their own style - it can’t be learned or unlearned


speak up, young man


Wednesday, March 25, 2015

like a movie

you know how
it is when

you just

to see

you know from
a second

or third floor
window or

from a bus
window it’s

like they are
in a movie

and they don't
see you and

they don't know
you see them

and even
if you don’t

like them or
forgot them

and never
want to talk

to them again
they look so

sad and lost
and alone

Saturday, February 14, 2015

lunch hour

the maidens who work in the miasma of moloch's malaria
move their feet slowly
and their pocketbooks calmly
in the pure blue afternoon of atlantis

the flower seller has survived
but the man who sold newspapers (printed on paper) is history
and the shoe shine man has been written out of the history
which has itself been burned in the blast furnace of buck rogers's blueberry pies

i would like to ask the flower seller
the secret of her enduring fame
but the curtain of caution falls over me like catwoman's caressing camellias
as don fernando tunes his piano for his final performance outside the newly opened panera's

someday - very soon
savants will remember panera, and ruby tuesdays, and dunkin donuts
as the flashing emblems and impregnable strongholds
of a lost empire

and nothing , not even the smiles of aging maidens
opening their pocketbooks to buy flowers in the blue afternoon of betelgeuse
from the last flower vendor in the expanding universe
is so sad as a lost empire