Difficult the sun
on its sunny route
saw the news today
and it made me pout
the forests are all gone
the oil is but a piddle
I think I'll take the day off
and sleep right thru its middle
it's yet another day
crystal in gown
the sun is coming up
the sun is going down
and when the moon rises
and whn the clouds go gray
I think I'll think just of you
while lying in the hay

Silly Again

The nights of the Nightengales
also sing off key
They too are bored and lonely
of doing imitations of poor me
so feather up the sack bed
so unlimb the backyard tree
so listen to soul music
and answer yes to the big SHE
for if I had my druthers
I'd swim out to sea
and make all the dophins
report home at three
yes laughter still reigns
with hardly any fee
so practice up your gold swing
and we'll meet on the first tee

The clouds are taking their cloudy bath
the sun behind them like a God of wrath
but the man who handles all the soap
goes by the name of venerable Pope
and he scrubs for all the golden path

Union Square

Today, clouds like racing tractors
plow the sky and bury the sun.
Skateboards dip, trip and turn--
and even squawk like gulls, their
riders poised like cranes.
Tomorrow farmers will reclaim the
space. But today there is no market,
no buck of common sense, only the
youths trying to soar.

The woven parts of dreams
that camp in tents by a lake
with their pockets of voices
in the early morning silence

Night drifts in like a fishing boat,
one trapping minnows against the beach.
A book of the poems of Robinson Jeffers
lies on my floor. Like him, I reach for the stars.
Unlike him, I catch minnows. But they are
silvery minnows.

Gaudy peacock,
icy in your tree.
Are you afraid of love?
Are you afraid of me?

So glorious moon
despite all your barren rocks
usually you shine