Contemplations, Love, Poetry, Prose, Reflections, Social Commentary

YOU’RE SO COOL

“You’re so cool” she says, sipping her vodka martini

and smiling seductively into my eager eyes

“How cool?” I wonder as I stumble home alone

A few days later I find out on Facebook

 I am as cool as stale beer

on a cold day in Seattle

Contemplations, Justice, Nature, Reflections, Social Commentary

URBAN RIVERS FLOW

I sit behind my shelter savoring my puro cubano

and cannabis sativa while gazing into the valley below

where urban rivers flow with gas guzzlers flowing south

to la frontera and north to La La Land 

polluting the air and  warming the climate

until we suffer a fatal collision 

and suffocate from fossil fuels

Contemplations, Justice, Love, Nature, Poetry, Prose, Reflections, Social Commentary

TO THE GRADUATING CLASS

Turn of the century siblings

weaned on virtual reality 

and a high-tech breast—

buffeted by bubbles

on Wall Street and endless

unwinnable wars waged 

by patriots and profiteers—

We salute you!

and challenge you 

to rescue Mother Earth

from Global Warming

and the powers that be

in Washington D.C.— 

We Black and Brown Power

Women’s Liberation 

Peace & Love 

Baby Boomers

stand before you 

bowed and bruised 

by selling ourselves

to Reaganomics          

and Casino Capitalism

Forgive us

our betrayal

of Martin and his Dream—

and you become

The Beloved Community

 paz y amor

Contemplations, Love, Poetry, Prose, Reflections, Social Commentary

TED JOANS

NON-CHRONOLOGICAL 

One Sunday while strolling in Seattle’s Pioneer Square

I run into the aging bohemian poet, Ted Joans

sitting with his Canadian sweetheart at an outdoor café

on cobblestones, chatting between sips of coffee

I last saw Ted at the Beat Conference in Greenwich Village

sitting alone in the amphitheater’s upper section 

while I stood at the podium  reciting BLACK POW-WOW 

and  Allen Ginsberg was frowning in the front row

because Amiri Baraka didn’t cross the bridge  

Ted invites me to sit down and introduces me to

his blossoming rose petal whose smile warms

me like melting honey on wheat toast

Now I know what Ted meant when he told me 

years ago in Paris that he is “non-chronological”