#werealllight

[senor-plume]

My First

she was my first reader all those many years ago starting out on notes we would hand each other in between classes and then little stories I would write exclusively for her about drunk proctologists and men who were in need of pubic wigs

my main goal was to make her laugh and I succeeded 99% of the time

she’d tell me at lunchtime that my latest letter had her laughing so hard she got in trouble in history class

this was a long time ago

and today she told me she was going to order a copy of my first book of poetry and how cool is that eh? my first reader my very first fan plunking down some cash to read what she used to get for free for love just so I could see her smiling and her calling me a funny fella

I really should have dedicated my book to her for she put into me the drive to get the word down to get a reaction to get a smile a giggle and most of all to let her know that her boyfriend might not be athletic or musically inclined but man, how he could use words to get her going

so tonight I am thinking of her and will make my way into the attic to read all the letters that she wrote me so many “man that last letter was hysterical” praise and I could really live on that for quite some time

[senor-plume]

Offering My Palm

place into my palm one last adventure

push me off (possibly screaming and crying) ((possibly singing and dancing)) to explore things that have never surrounded me

things my old man peepers have never focused on

ah… and throw in one final romance

my deflated chest ..empty for so long.. could use a loving hand

pump! help me begin pumping again

but now …boxed in by books and record albums I am a living, breathing sigh

what could have been has long been ignored

so, let me see what I can do this time around

if it would only present itself to me I am too lazy to fetch it

to open the window ...just a crack and have joy come in on a lilac breeze

with trails of so soft musical notes following behind as a whisper

place upon my lips one more first kiss

open my hand

press yourself ...with fondness, please deep within my palm

my fingers closing slowly around the only grasp I long for

[senor-plume]

Around and Around

behind the bar in the dining room my father kept the record player

I would spend hours there listening to his old 45s and his 12 inch LPS

his Johnny Cash albums were the envy of everyone in the neighborhood

but it was his 45s that drew my imagination the most

strange titles

beautiful labels

the grooves

I'd pick out one out of hundreds

cross my fingers and put the needle down

and out would come some of the strangest sounds I’ve ever heard

there was no light behind the bar but so help me my smile would light up the place

I remember one

by Bobby Darrin

on Atco records (yellow label with black writing)

Splish Splash

B-side

Judy, Don’t Be Moody

I’d play them over and over

tapping my toes and chewing my Bubble Yum (grape flavored)

my father died when I was just 12

so I lost out on a lot

but

in his short time here he gave me the gift I treasure the most

the love of music

and just this morning I go into the bathroom to find my own son taking a whiz and singing "even if you don’t" a Ween song and all I could do was just stand there under the doorway watching him and knowing that wherever my father is he is smiling and perhaps

singing along

[senor-plume]

A Splendid Evening (revisited)

too broke to go out and purchase some wine but I am fully stocked on cigarettes coffee and tea

got Bob Dylan playing now and I am a warm mug of cider with his mellow nasal drawl entering my threadbare soul leaving me in a state of healing

but wine would go nice with his harmonica and sublime acoustics that has never failed to amaze and fulfill me

so I light up a smoke and walk around my record albums to find the next little jewel that will be sure to please

my wallet feeling the pinch of unemployment I try to smoke my butts slowly to make them last a bit longer but in a day I’ll have to figure out how to pay for another pack

ah, why worry about it now?

I have Highway 61 Revisited playing on sweet monaural wax and isn’t that all a man can ask for?

smokes…coffee…tea Bob Dylan and a roof over my head

I would choose music over sex each and every time

I bend down and pull out another Dylan album and decide to get mellow with his New Morning record and I realize that I am quite happy to be alone tonight

solitude can be a bitch but there are nights like tonight when all you really need is a nice sampling of what makes you joyful

I light a candle and curl up on the couch as the music spins and sip at  my coffee content and peaceful on a Thursday night to remember

[senor-plume]

at the record store

fingers deep in the pile flipping through… going faster than 33 and a third

Zeppelin posters litter the walls… Jimmy Page towering above me with that ridiculous double neck guitar and I’m not searching for Stairway anyhow

no

give me some tasty finds

place a record from The Smiths or XTC in there for me

let me come home satisfied with a stack of vinyl and a working coffee maker

the grounds will make a dandy mug of java and the needle will let me know (annoyingly) if there are any skips tucked deep into the wax

but now I stand in front of the used vinyl …the crummy bands are in abundance which makes this lovely Otis Redding album all the more special

I pull it out and inspect it quickly

$20.00

I place it under my arm smiling because Otis and coffee go together so very nicely

I pay and hightail it to my auto where I will break a few laws of the highway to make it home with the Big O

leaping up the stairs

pressing the power button on the receiver

the speakers hum

the needle ready

the first tune ready to impress

I place the arm down to the record and Ole Man Trouble begins and I swear that the clouds parted as I took that first sip of coffee and the guitar work of Steve Cropper blew the books off the shelf while the sun places a white flag above her calling it a day

but I’ll be up

up all night ….alone…. playing my beloved Memphis soul with a cigarette burning safely in-between my fingers and I swear that I saw my other albums bow a bit in the direction of the turntable while Otis does his thing

I’ll be here until 3AM shining in the smooth glow of music and I’ll go to bed satisfied and spent

with my dumb head on the pillow I’ll dream of more record stores …more finds on another day

I pull up the winter blankets to my beatnik chin and banana slip into a deep sleep while blue ballads play all around my resting body leaving me in a good light as I lay spread out on the flannel sheets while the November wind outside huffs and puffs at my window

nothing can touch me now

nothing can spoil this night

not one thing

[senor-plume]

The Dad Is Dead

my father was sick

consumed by cancer at the age of 43

he stayed home with us at home as long as he could but eventually, he had to go to the hospital

I was 12 and uncomfortable seeing him so ill

I didn't go to visit every time my mother and brother would go

I stayed home and thought about bikes and records

the last time I saw him my brother and I were walking out the door of his room

he was propped up on his electric bed

my brother told him a joke:  "What's the last thing that goes through a bugs head when he hits a windshield?  "His ass."

my father gave us a smile and waved to us goodbye

I woke up one August morning and was able to hear my family talking about how they were going to tell me that my dad died last night

I didn't want to get up

I wanted to hide in bed all day

but

my bladder was popping and I had to go to the bathroom

they called to me as I exited

the three of us all went back into my room and sat on the bed

and they told me

and just like that I was fatherless before I hit 13

I don't remember the specifics of our conversation but I left feeling loved yet left behind

after it all settled it was just my mom and I

(my brother went back to college four hours away)

I became trouble and she put up with a lot but she always loved me

the memories of my dad are all foggy now but there is a photo of him and I laying on the carpet in front of the stereo listening to his records

my arm across his back

that's mostly how I remember him now

[senor-plume]

Our Universe or Yours?

where were our lips supposed to kiss?

what alternate universe do we both need to live in where our hands would fit perfectly into each other's?

our lips wild, wet and seeking acceptance

our eyes deeper than peace… sharper than nails connect easily and your delicious face is all I would need to make it through another 48 hour night

and hell yes, it's been weeks since my troubled mind relaxed as illness overtook it and soon I was breathing in and out the truth of the matter which is:

you are there & I am here and no NASA event will tag you with my kerchief

the miles (the stubborn bitch) will not play along, not knowing what love really feels like

nope no rainbow (Or nostalgia rags) to pull you in

no massive moon play to usher you into my bedroom with a velvet rope shaped like a Bo Peep cane

all I do know is I've seen you (and you have seen me) and late last night it rolled into my head that we were meant to be (no we weren't) together (apart) and it’s so simple (Chinese algebra) now (Never) that all you have to do (which you won't…chicken) is call my name (The one that starts with K) and no matter what ( no matter what) I will come to you (Scouts honor)

so lay there among your yellow walls and see if you (and you only) can wait it out and sit on your hands while I make my journey

the only thing to stop me would be

Y O U

and you know it darlin'

so stay seated for the remainder of the night keep your eyes open I may just try to surprise you tonight

the corners of your eyes will see me first and before I come into complete focus do not make up your mind just yet

I bring gifts that you will have to take into account now

a seven inch heart… one finely pumping peach scented heart an eyeball on the ceiling of love hands that will swallow you whole with rough desires the comfort of a thousand flower petals and the strong power of touch from my tongue starting at the hips and following your fingernails until we get to your powerhouse

nothing makes sense when love is smack dab in the middle of our lives and this poem has failed us on many levels but I let go of its damaged and stupid wings to see where the carrier pigeons will find your fat ass tattooed with every poem I ever had the honor to write about you

starting with Tom Lehrer and ending with this poem you are attempting to finish reading now

I wonder what you will think about it and worry that your silence will be maintained despite my best efforts to draw you out now

and so I ask you once again where should our lips meet?

my universe or yours?

it's your call and it always has been

[senor-plume]

Dreaming of Linda

I had a dream about Linda

My friend Robert and I were in school next to a long table …the kind that they have in the cafeteria

we were standing there when out of the corner of my eye and coming from behind Rob she walked up to the table and began going through a bunch of papers that were piled up in front of her

it was Linda

Robert  and I looked at each other with amazed looks on our faces and I shrugged my shoulders as if to say ‘I have no idea how or why she is here’

She’s been dead since December

She died bald and ravaged by cancer but in my dream she had a full head of hair and she looked amazing

she was 16 again pure and clear

she then came to our side of the table and began talking to me

I can’t remember what she said but I lifted my hand and ran my fingers through her hair asking her if it was a wig and she just looked at me as if to say

‘why on Earth would I be wearing a wig’

she had no idea that cancer was gunning for her and that she’d be dead at 42.

for a brief moment in my head she was alive and vibrant beautiful just the way I try to remember her

back when dating and making out on the cot in the attic was the center of our teenage lives

I woke up thrilled to have her if only for a short time and I hope she comes to visit me again

I have so much to ask her but most of all I just want to look at her

the whole dream could have been just her sweet face looking at me

that she moved and spoke was a bonus

Linda Linda you were a beautiful girl a beautiful woman and in my dreams you were simply gorgeous again

and to say that I miss you would be the understatement of the year

come to me again as I fall asleep with my head on the pillow I will pray you enter my dreams again

I had a splendid time

[senor-plume]

..with crossed fingers

Tonight will be It

I will peel open My chest and Let her have her Way with me

She will Squeeze my heart With her so soft hand And it will Feel good

Feel good For the first time in ages

She will pull it out And give it Gentle kisses And with her Hot breath on it She will Whisper little Lover girl Secrets To it And it will Be alright

It will keep its Beat going

Softly throbbing in her Palm

She will place It back In and Close me up With her delicate Sewing skills And I’ll be As good as New

Tonight Will be the night That I let her Have her Way With me

My heart Hers for the Asking

And I Cannot Wait

[senor-plume]

Addiction

sick and blurry eyed like looking down a collideascope backwards where the colors run and then smear into a black and white world

my veins are screaming for relief from this odd sickness and my chest collapses into itself leaving my heart tattered and dying

every branch in my body is broken

I want moonlight I crave the stars I covet the pitch black sky

taking my pills and kicking off the celebration I drown my depression in a glass of vodka and feel no guilt in doing so

the sun is a fucker and summer socks cock in a tight and rancid skirt

I turn away and live by the ticking of my watch

gravity is growing tired so am I and as the music plays softly from my radio I begin to lift and float past trees and skyscrapers bored and ill

the alcohol has safely made it into my body and the moon comes out as owls hoot and holler from nearby branches and all of the stars spell out my predicament

addicted and not wanting to be at all

[senor-plume]

Our Universe

where were our lips supposed to kiss?

what alternate universe do we both need to live in where our hands would fit perfectly into each other's?

our lips wild, wet and seeking acceptance

our eyes deeper than peace… sharper than nails connect easily and your delicious face is all I would need to make it through another 48 hour night

and hell yes, it's been weeks since my troubled mind relaxed as illness overtook it and soon I was breathing in and out the truth of the matter which is:

you are there & I am here and no NASA event will tag you with my kerchief

the miles (the stubborn bitch) will not play along, not knowing what love really feels like

nope no rainbow (Or nostalgia rags) to pull you in

no massive moon play to usher you into my bedroom with a velvet rope shaped like a Bo Peep cane

all I do know is I've seen you (and you have seen me) and late last night it rolled into my head that we were meant to be (no we weren't) together (apart) and it’s so simple (Chinese algebra) now (Never) that all you have to do (which you won't…chicken) is call my name (The one that starts with K) and no matter what ( no matter what) I will come to you (Scouts honor)

so lay there among your yellow walls and see if you (and you only) can wait it out and sit on your hands while I make my journey

the only thing to stop me would be

Y O U

and you know it darlin'

so stay seated for the remainder of the night keep your eyes open I may just try to surprise you tonight

the corners of your eyes will see me first and before I come into complete focus do not make up your mind just yet

I bring gifts that you will have to take into account now

a seven inch heart… one finely pumping peach scented heart an eyeball on the ceiling of love hands that will swallow you whole with rough desires the comfort of a thousand flower pedals and the strong power of touch from my tongue starting at the hips and following your fingernails until we get to your powerhouse

nothing makes sense when love is smack dab in the middle of our lives and this poem has failed us on many levels but I let go of its damaged and stupid wings to see where the carrier pigeons will find your fat ass tattooed with every poem I ever had the honor to write about you

starting with 'Tom Lehrer' and ending with this poem that you are attempting to finish reading

I wonder what you will think about it and worry that your silence will be maintained despite my best efforts to draw you out now

and so I ask you once again where should our lips meet?

my universe or yours?

it's your call and it always has been

[senor-plume]

A Creeper Weed Tale

"I got tanked out on that creeper weed, yo..."

he was speaking to me as I washed dishes over a under-used kitchen sink

"I was six… maybe seven tokes in when I felt …satisfied… and put the pipe away

fifteen minutes into it I got up to grab a blueberry seltzer from the kitchen but upon rising I was lassoed back into the sofa

cotton candy and heavy clouds were violently fighting over who would dominate my cranium..."

I washed the silverware... placing the knives and forks facing down in the drainer for the safety of the curious cats

he continued:

"Never one to fight things I sat back and began to enjoy the music but my cotton-mouth was all badass and bodacious

un re lenting

but I couldn’t get up

I felt as if I smoked something maybe…other-worldly

and wouldn’t you know it… the vinyl record that is spinning is one tune away from completion which, at that point movement would be crucial..."

I dry up the sink with a paper towel and turn to wipe down the stove

“What did you do?” I asked

"I laid there in near perfect quiet just the simple warm buuuuuuumskitchleschitcelbuuuu moaned from the record still revolving

the needle had a kamikaze chance of finding another song on that platter

so, I relaxed and in an hour or so I was able to become… once again… mobile"

“You’re an Inspiration, man.”

"But, I’ve learned… two hits and wait

that’s all I need to remember

Sometimes you have to learn lessons from your pleasant mistakes, too

and the one I’m talking about here was the most pleasurable"

“Do you have some on you?”

"Yeah. Wanna bake?"

[senor-plume]

The Lone Follies

2 a.m. looking at vintage photo's of women from the Ziegfeld Follies back in the black and white twenties

playing The Clash

no, they don't mix but that's ok

every friendly animal here has succumbed to sleep but I'm drinking coffee and kind of wishing I had someone to talk to

someone to share this moment with

but I have no friends (and that’s the truth)

clicking to the next picture with excitement, I notice the flame of the candle (to my left) has gone out and some slight smoke rises to the ceiling fan

the smell of dead wick builds around me

I close out of the computer and think about The Charleston The Fox Trot The Black Bottom

(Julie's working for the drug squad and I light a cigarette)

I lean back in my chair and just watch the echoing movements of silver dancers behind my eyelids

a smile begins to curl

[senor-plume]

The Queen Is Dead

I pulled out an old Smiths record tonight That was a huge favorite Back when I was younger

My girl and I would play it …over and over…

It was kind of like Our Album

10 songs that Our souls both agreed Were something else

I noticed tonight… Under a new light bulb… Fingerprints on both the A and B sides

I got a happy shivering Through my spine Thinking that they may be hers

Proof that she did exists …living again, through oily prints

Proof that she was once on this planet …living again, spinning at 33 speed

I sat on my sofa Alone And listened to the marvelous music

Taking it all in

[senor-plume]

Anxiety Trip

Xanax and beer wiggles... slurs with slow fingers underwater music bubbles up heat and cosmic coma

deep spine melting peanut butter into chair I sit

slouch

touching keys that will have me

writing under haze under Gods holy mitts pressing down

heavy wet sponge chemical brain drenched

squeeze with each eyelid flutter

soon I will balloon up and rise to the ceiling

with my naked feet still weighted down on the carpet

but my head this head with greasy hair will float with a antidepressant cloud and slip and slide through cobwebs and nicotine shadows

and as always I'll come back down to find myself hungry and in no mood to eat

every trip to my moon costs me ten pounds

there's got to be a better way to treat anxiety

yoga perhaps

[senor-plume]

Dead Dad, Tennessee and Why

My father died from cancer at age 43. I was only 12 when he passed on. This left just me and my mother. My older brother was at college 7 hours away.

I didn't cry until a year or so later. But when I did, it was overwhelming. My face, red as a beet and the salty tears covered my face like a porn star taking the money shot.

In the backyard...being teased. I let loose a scream and shook violently. Then the tears. Enough to make a puddle to jump into. I didn't jump in though.

I was verbally abused by my father. But I never let that get into the way of our father/son relationship. I was too young to know better.

I grew up without a dad. My mother overcompensated everything and I got away with murder. I stole her car and drove to Tennessee.  24 hours straight.

My fathers ashes are still in the cardboard box. I never freed him from those confines. I talk to the box from time to time. I didn't talk to it today though.

I used to think that he'd be there to greet me when I die. I no longer believe that.

I'm amazed to still be alive. I thought for sure I would never make it to forty. Let alone fifty. I would die young, like my dad.

Why do I exist? What the hell am I doing anyway? Why me at 51? I offer nothing but cheap wine poetry and napping skills.

How do I end this when I don't know why I started it?