Best of 2002

Page Poem Index (+ Five Star Rating)
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Japanese Booth Bimbo and Klingon  *****
Neck Bite *****
Day 11 *****
Molly Stone's Parking Lot ****
Moments of Awareness   ****
A Thousand Stars Falling On Our Heads *****
The Tennis Racquet: Poem About Love  *****
Advice to a Friend *****
Sleep Bitch and Dawn *****
Artemis and Beagles in Suburbia ****
Run Silent Run Deep ****
Half Moons on the Bay *****
Sunnyvale ****

POETRY FICTIONS, poems for 2002
Selected poems

 Japanese Booth Bimbo and Klingon *****
Buried underground in Moscone Center
Sucked the energy from my smile
As the bones resettled in my feet
Protected only by Saint Birkenstock

Down the row
Star Trek bimbos
Male and female
Hovered around their booth
Ready to beam customers in

A wandering Klingon
300 pounds of something large
Came by to visit
Apparently, an appealing look to women
Strapped behind him on his Harley
Or so he said

And I exchanged jokes
With my Japanese colleagues
In between the waves
Of visitors and
Software exhibitionism
Unhealthy men
Large from junk food
Thin from nervousness
Uncomfortable with humans
And daylight
In Brownian motion
Back and forth
From booth to booth
Occasionally consenting to be swiped

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 Neck Bite *****
As he walked out
Of my hospital room
My surgeon's words diminished
Like a Dopplered train:
“Many find the fog of confusion lifts…”

I thought,
Unaware of being confused
Of a surrounding fog
That perhaps a fog is only visible
When lifted

I bought turtlenecks this week
On sale at Macy's at five dollars each
Tired of exposing my neck wounds
For biting comments
Walked to and from the mall
Without pain
Perhaps the fog of pain has lifted
With my new chemistry

How do you feel?
He had asked.
I said
Unsure whose authority
Had stilled my mind
My own
His knife
Drug in line
Or little pill.

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 Day 11 *****
Today, I awoke with laughter on my voice
Smiles upon my face
Bandages curling from my neck
My gentle removal of Day 11
Revealed a cute new scar
Concealed in a wrinkle

Sunshine lit my room
Roses smiled back at me
And green leaves suddenly solid
Laughed above my balcony in the breeze

Two glorious mangos
Exploded in my mouth
A divine gift
Without a stone
All fruit and flavor

Putting on layers to guard against the sun
I checked my tires
And rode off into the morning roads
Seeking bicycle bridges, outdoor cafes
The companionship of outdoor tables
Overlooking sunlit plazas
Beginning a new page
In a new book
Highly recommended

And as the sun set
At gate 28
Ocean Beach
We lit three fires
Against the winds of night
Told tales of holding back the dark
I listened, leaning back in my chair
Unable to remove the smile from my face

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 Molly Stone's Parking Lot ****
`Great red shoes.'
“Why thank you. I got them in Germany.”
`Nice how they match the BMW. Must have been hard finding a man with a red BMW like this one to match the shoes?'
“Yes, very difficult.”
`High maintenance too, I would guess.'
“He is, absolutely.”

Her companion
On the other side
Of the bright red car,
Carrying groceries,
And so does mine.
Explanatory note: Molly Stone's is an upscale supermarket in the Bay Area

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 Moments of Awareness ****
I realize I have not been aware
Have been so accustomed to the drive
I rediscovered the commuter fugue
Did not have to think
In order to arrive

Volleys back and forth
Across the net
Every attention focused.
Ball sent back and forth
In surprising, exhilarating grace
Up and down
Between four rackets
Before falling
And we smile, laugh, look up
A moment you could not program
Cannot recapture

Nine iron
A high precise curve
Over the normally magnetic water
A ball that drops
Almost vertically
Four feet
Away from the flag
And the putt is easy
A birdie
My first ever

All attention on the rhythm
Pursuing smoothness
Increasing the speed
Leaving trails of white parabolic powder
Long graceful curves
Heart pounding
Thighs burning
And the clarity of mountain tops

Forgotten rhythms
Then we synchronized
And arrived together
Rolling half apart
Hearts and legs entwined
Much more than aware!

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 A Thousand Stars Falling On Our Heads *****
We are all going to die
But I have lived
One night
When a thousand stars
Streaked orange and blue
White and red
Across my dark sky

We called the incoming
So all could see
The invasion of light
Painting the night
With color
Streaking from left to right
Leaving visions swirling in our heads.

The earth rolled round
Ninety degrees of change
In six hours
As we lay
Wrapped against the cold
Of night
Huddled together under blankets
Sipping from a thermos of coffee
And during the brief fog passing over
In fitful sleep.

Oh, we are both going to die
But we have lived
One night
When a thousand stars
Streaked orange and blue
White and red
Across our dark sky
Bringing in our new dawn.
July 29, 2002, in memory of the Pleiades, last summer.

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 The Tennis Racquet: A Poem About Love *****
It has been suggested
By Greg
That I sleep with the new racquet.
It is untrue.
But I have been tempted

I feel addicted
To the magic of its control
It lets me place the ball anywhere.
I can't get enough.
If this is love, then give me more

But the racquet is demanding
I need to approach the ball just right
Take my arm back
Follow through
Focus upon the ball
And the racquet's sweet center

It almost moans with pleasure
When all goes right
And all the court is mine to measure
Its sound different
Than every other racquet I have owned
High strung
Taking all that I can give
A sweet sweet sound
If this is love, then give me more.

July 31, 2001 Dedicated to a Dunlop 200G
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 Advice to a Friend *****
You paint a pretty picture
Hobbling, unable to take a step
A foetus trapped inside the sofa
Deposited by hopeless long departed regret
And love gone wrong

You stopped talking
Except when checking out
Of grocery stores
And life
Say you have no friends
Just faithful dog.
Half lost
To your replacement walker
At the Beach

Your plan -
Money enough for ten more years
Your pet will last seven
And then you'll go
You say

How silly
To give up on life
When every moment is a gift
That could be your last

Down the street
I used to live by the Beach
Close to the Boardwalk
Upstairs from the tango queen
And her carpenter high tech plumber lover,
And ran on to health

Take your pills!
For little could be worse than confinement
On your solitary couch.

One baby step
A journey of a ten thousand miles
Or maybe ten years
Or maybe more
Begins with a baby step

Take risks and fail and fall and laugh and cry!
Falling is no sin
Life demands you climb
Lying down to wait for death
Is no trip
I would want to undertake.

If you are lonely
Darkness is lonelier
Devoid of love.

Take a walk to the Beach!
And cry to the sky:
“I will not fear the past.
I will not apologize for my future,
For I am alive.”

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 Sleep Bitch and Dawn ****
For some the night is long
They await the dawn
And opportunity for revenge

I have this friend
It always begins this way
With secret stories

He tells:
Today, I met Dement's second generation
Sleep Bitch and Dawn
Or did she say Sleep Witch and Stanford coven?
I dozed and almost missed the Sleep Bitch
Dawn came first
Her diagnosis clear
Unlike my breathing in the night

Sleep Bitch laughed
And checked my mouth
For source of jokes
And pronounced her sacrament
I should not drink and drive with histamine
For fear of highway microsleep
I should not place my faith
In the rhythm of the roads' arousal
Those life saving lane bumps.

They threaten that the face of day
Must wear a mask at night
Darth Vader will my night face be
Unless I am sliced by laser surgery
Or burned and shrunk

It is the revenge of the coven:
Punishment for women long kept up at night
By snoring men.
Sleep Bitch and Dawn
Will fit me in their bed
And measure my consistency
In promise that I may be
Apnea free.

I have this friend
In whose secret story
He puts on his Vader mask
Death to his own sawing of logs
Saving a bundle
No new house
No extra room
He gets to keep his wife
Who has this friend.
Note: Dr. William Dement founded the Stanford Sleep Clinic, the first sleep clinic.

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 Artemis and Beagles in Suburbia ****
The dogs walked past
More interested in the smell landscape
Along the flowered sidewalk
Than the white body lying in the driveway

“Must have been a rough Saturday night”
I commented to my Princess
Our response
From a woman sitting concealed further up the driveway
Hiding behind a shield
“It's no way to treat your spouse.”

On the way back
The body was now upright
Being spray painted
“Whose body's inside the papier mache?” I asked
“If we told you, we'd have to kill you.”
One of the three people spraying laughed
Only slightly threatening.

“It's an archer, isn't it?”
“Yes, Artemis” and picked up her bow.
Prince decided to mark the corner bush
And we walked on
The dogs eager for the coolness of home's wooden floor
Finished with their hunting of the day

Climbed the final steps
As if they were his Himalaya
His short legs weary
From altitude sickness.

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 Run Silent Run Deep ****
She whispers
Later on she moans

She whispers
How it feels inside
Giving words
To his sensation

She whispers
Of how good she feels
How good he feels

She whispers
Of wanting more
And then she moans and cries
At pleasure
Everywhere she feels

She whispers
Compliments to her lover
Like a rider
To encourage her horse
To the finish line

Don't want to arrive
She whispers

She whispers
Wonders and pleasures
To her
Horse panting
Until he foams and neighs
Her legs and arms wrapped around

She whispers
He whispers
Ending his silence
Ready to surface
His emotions

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 Half Moons on the Bay *****
The sumo wrestlers of the vegetable kingdom
Sat on the beds
Of the pickup trucks
One or two concealed in vans
And U-haul trailers
Guarded by proud parents
The role of genetics
And fertilizer
In pregnancies that all began around May.

Colors ranged
From orange to pink
Grey to green
Those professionally raised
With water-bottles attached to their stems

Turn by turn
The forklifts came by
And burly men
Wrestled sumo vegetables
Onto the five ton scales
Some taking eight men to slide

Banters about wives
Beating husbands
Were popular
But the emotional winner
Seemed about ten
Sitting on top of his 860 pounder
Raising his arms to the sky
Bringing a smile to all

was the magic number
for sumo cum laude
and we all went home
leaving behind
large enough to sail
or attach motors
wondering about
and depleted uranium ballast

Explanatory note: Half Moon Bay, CA has a pumpkin festival every Fall.
October 14, 2002 Pumpkin Pictures

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 Sunnyvale ****
I am not sure what a banshee sounds like
But as I walked the dogs in the rain
Relishing its warm unfamiliarity
Four jets
Two pairs
Flying in tight formation
Five minutes apart
Drove a hole in the sullen sky
Ripping molecules
Promising raw and powerful death
Distant from being human
Brutal in their sound
Flying out of Moffett Field
Over ill-named
At least tonight

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