Tuesday, December 11, 2018

THE DAYS OF TRUMP #13 - JARED


(13)  JARED

Well, Jared,
there you are
and there it is

the face that launched
a thousand lies.

Bonesaws in your eyes.

Jared,
baby rats are cute,
you would be too,
but you’re hardening.

Your normal half-smirk
has evened out, and
your skull is starting to show –

you’re becoming your own death mask.

Ah, Jared,
it was bound to happen,
money and leisure soften

money and murder

don’t.

RW
12.11.2018

(Yer hangin' with a bad crowd, bubalah)

Sunday, December 9, 2018



SEATTLE WALKING BLUES
 (w/locations where inspired)



There’s a hole in the city                   (Red Apple removal – 23d & Jackson)
where its heart used to be
filling up with concrete
deep as the sea                                   

Every rose has a garden                     (Neighbor’s yard – over the fence)
every spider has a web                       (All week - my yard)
But I don’t have a bed to sleep in       (Not true, I do)

Crows are bedraggled                         (3d & Jackson)
pavement’s hot
my engine’s running
and my brakes are shot

Blocking up the intersection               (4th  & Jackson)
bees in my head
pedestrians are pissed
wishing I was dead

Every rose has a garden
every spider has a web
But I don’t have a bed to sleep in

Sure wanna’ leave here                      (Neighborhood)
would really like to go                         (not really)
and believe me brother
I’d go fast, not slow

Million dollar houses                         (Neighborhood)
coming up on every block
people walking ‘doodles
never look to talk

Every rose has a garden
every spider has a web
But I don’t have a bed to sleep in
No I don’t have a bed to sleep in
Don’t even have a bed to sleep in.


RW
Seattle

(photo:  three cranes in an empty sky - 23d & Jackson)

Thursday, December 6, 2018

TWO YEARS FROM PERFECT VISION




bare winter branches
flaming, red-berried cotoneaster
blue sky

This is the world
two years before we’re blessed
with perfect vision

and we’re up to our knees
in everything we never needed.

This is America
where the sacred
has been in the storm so long
our banners are in tatters.

This is Seattle
where you can’t afford
to go home from work
because work
is the only home
you can afford.

And here I am
counting up my years
wondering how much of the future
I’ll be lucky enough to miss.

RW
Seattle
12.05.2018



(photo:  back yard @ 939 and Judkins Park Earth Day)

Thursday, November 29, 2018

LATE NOVEMBER




FOR BOBBY LESSER

Remember that two dollar bill you gave me
with the dime taped to it?

I’ve been wondering for awhile
how to pass it along.

Joey almost got it a couple times
as a love gift – the way I got it.

Tonight, a young guy tossed a two dollar bill
into the basket.  Said it was the last of his money.

I grabbed him after, and gave him our  two bucks with the dime
taped to it.  Said, see that, you came out ahead.

I knew that bill wasn’t going to stay
in my wallet
forever.

***

My neighbor drove by
and waved out the window.

There was a gray smudge over
what I was seeing.

I didn’t think about it
but it got filed.

I waved back.

The next day he dropped over dead.

He was marked, I saw it.

What do I do with that?

***

Kerouac on Desolation:

Hot coffee
and a cigarette -
why zazen?

Remembering my own mountains:

Kick back cigarette
not a care in the world
sweet coffee chaser.
                                                   
***

WINTER
  
Feeling the melt
of that fatty piece of brisket
in my morning pho.

***

FALSE TEETH

on the shelf
grinning like false teeth

My skull
momentarily unfleshed

What an embarrassment.


RW
Seattle
11.24-11.29.2018

(photo:  Judkins Park, Seattle)



Monday, November 19, 2018

CALIFORNIA BURNING



CALIFORNIA BURNING
(on such a winter’s day)

Coyote farts
and the world
is born
along
with

dip-shit politicians
deep pockets
&
special interests

Get on with it
wade
through
the mud
and blood

No one’s
going to save you
now
or
ever

Once you wave the smoke away
smoke will take its place

I suggest
you and the dog
just start walking

You might get lucky –
over there

Don’t bet on it
though
‘cause really
it’s the same
as
here.



RW
Seattle
11.18.2018

(photo:  Brian Bland)

"It's not just "smoke."  It's plastic, rubber, asbestos, paint, lead, hydrogen cyanide, fats, resins, starches, benzene, formaldehyde, heavy metals, PCB's, polyaromatic hydrocarbons, chlorine, arsenic, aldehydes, toluene...and thousands and thousands of other compounds."  Brian Bland




Monday, November 5, 2018

QUICK SKETCH CAP HILL

Wrapped around each other
in November doorway concrete cold
two heat-seeking mammals

Dead soldiers secure the perimeter

Bless us for we have sinned
it's been over two-hundred years since our last revolution
and even then we made a botch of it

For beautiful for spacious skies
for never ending war

Opiates are the opiates of the people -
to each according to their needs.

RW
Seattle
11.05.2018

Sunday, November 4, 2018

COMPLINE




The final bell
calls the monks
to prayer

“For Satan prowls like a hungry lion seeking whom he may devour”

and no better hunting ground
than among
men

who have
denied themselves
touch

who may
embrace
but not caress

and
who enter

The Great Silence

in darkness.


The monks pray
for
a restful night
and.
a peaceful death
while
the lion
pads
beneath
the cross

that savage absolute

hovering

in
every
cell

and
listens

for a
signal
of
flesh

so it may

cull

the herd.


RW
Santa Fe/Seattle
10.17 – 11.04.2018

(photo:  christdesert.org)










Thursday, November 1, 2018

FUTURE TRIPPING




AT THE OPENING OF THE TRUMP (p)RESIDENTIAL LIBRARY™ (at Mar-a-Lago)

(Thanks to my friend and neighbor Chuck for suggesting that such a place may someday exist.)

At the inauguration of the Trump (p)Residential Library™ (at Mar-a-Lago,) I am led past the largest crowd to ever gather for such an event, into a luxurious and chandeliered foyer, and up a golden escalator to the doors of the Trump Grand Ballroom™.  Above the doors of the ballroom is an oversized, black velvet portrait of the great man, himself, surrounded by rococo cherubs who look oddly like flying hairpieces.

My invitation is scanned (for the third time) by an Immigration and Customs Enforcement agent, and upon clearance the ballroom doors, triggered by an electronic eye, open inward to a pitch black, cavernous space.

I enter, and he doors close behind me. I am enveloped by darkness and silence for one moment before a voice rises from a surround sound system.  It is the voice we have all come to recognize as the 45th President of the United States™.  The text is of his remarks at a rally in Illinois, on Oct. 27, 2018, as arranged by students of the ghost of Wm S. Burroughs.

The recording is staggered between speakers to give the effect of many voices reciting an eternal text.

After a minute, a single spotlight illuminates two women in the center of the ballroom, poised to begin a couple’s dance.

The figures are animatronics models of Sarah Huckabee Sanders and Kellyanne Conway.  They sway in close embrace, and over the course of their performance move through various forms of social dance:  foxtrot, waltz, tango, lindy-hop, and a few I don’t recognize.  Neither the rhythm of the soundtrack, nor the rhythm of the dance change.

It’s hard to tell how much time passes in excruciating surreality when the soundtrack, the dance, and the lights end simultaneously. 

As the doors open behind me and light slides to my feet, I hear the sound of one person applauding from the deep.

An ICE agent enters, takes me by the arm, and escorts me from the room.

TBC…

RW
Seattle, WA
Halloween, 2018


Thursday, October 25, 2018

RODEO LOVE





About forty years ago, a friend commented that making love to his new girlfriend was like going to the rodeo.  I wasn’t exactly sure what he meant, but it stuck with me.  This may be a warning to always be careful around writers.  You don’t know what they’ll remember, or when they’ll use it.

RODEO LOVE

I’ve been to the movies
been to a few plays
I’ve been to the opera
and to the ballet
but lovin’ you, darlin’,
is like a rodeo
with a calf half roped
and a buckin’ bronco.

Now, I’ve been to Paris
and I’ve been to Rome
been a hundred places
I wouldn’t call home
I’d take an ocean liner
to the farthest foreign shore
to rope and ride you, darlin’,
behind a closed door.

You are the lightning in my heart
and the thunder in my dreams
you are the final move
in my wildest schemes
you feed me when I’m hungry
give me drink when I’m dry
make me feel just like myself
in the blue sky of your eyes.

I’ll always love you, darlin’
though I roam from place to place
I’ll love you here on earth
or floating out in space
doesn’t matter if you’re here
or if you have to go
I’ll be barrel racing all through life
in our romance rodeo.

RW
Seattle
10.25.2018

(Sometimes it’s just fun to start rhyming and see where it takes you.)

Wednesday, October 24, 2018

COFFEE WITH THE DEAD





I.
                                          
On this
New Mexico
monastery morning

it suits me
to stop and sit
on a stone retaining wall
to have coffee with the dead.

Twenty-six
rough wooden crosses

monks & benefactors
gone to dust

planted
in
rows
&
tiers
fenced
in a
high desert clearing
of
sage
and
chamisa
mowed
low.


II.

Sky
razored blue

clouds
sliding
on & off
the sun

hawks
ravens
&
magpies
catching
thermals
above
neon
cottonwoods

cold breezes.


III.

Twenty-six
crosses

knee-high
dark
&
hewn.

Twenty-three
carved
with
names
&
dates.

Two
left bare

waiting.

One cross apart
inscribed

“For all those
buried
in this canyon”

a
dedication
that spans time
to
reveal us
as souls
in eternity.


IV.

This
monastery
will
fade
&
fall

as will
these
crosses

as will
this
chronicle

as will
the
memory
of

“…all those buried
in this canyon”

as will
this
canyon

Requiescat in Pace, Amen.







RW
Santa Fe/Seattle
10.17 – 10.23.2018






Tuesday, October 23, 2018


SEEKING ASYLUM

is not a crime

Protect those
who come to us
for protection.

Monday, October 22, 2018

BIENVENU BUDDHA





He sits
hears a breeze
pleasing
sweet.

Cocks his head
feels the breeze
across his lip
cool.

Removes his hat
beads of sweat
catch the light
shine like jewels.

Sweat
breeze
light
jewels

gone

and still

he sits

he sits still.


RW

(photo:  Bienvenu Buddha, Santa Fe, 10/20/2018)






Sunday, October 7, 2018

AMERICAN FANTASY IN THE PARENTHESES (…) OF A SONG

 It is strange birth, this writing of a poem.  Usually the first line appears, in this case "All the rapist's children," and the work proceeds from there.  Often there's a direct link to a situation, or a reading, but in this case there's not.   However, this has been a week of vetting a Supreme Court Justice nominee, rife with allegations of sexual abuse, the machinations of power politics, outrage amped up to epic proportion, and unceasing media coverage, so the poem is informed. More often, though, it's like sighting a quark - blip/gone.  I generally build a poem from the first line, and the work is to blend words emanating from depth/intuition/inspiration into a conscious construction.

This poem came, as said, from that first line, and then in images and chunks, with a song floating through, and then shifts and adjustments that may not make sense to anyone but me (and even then, less sense than sensibility.)  Finally, a title in which I try to remove the mystery from what follows.

And, I am totally fascinated that all proceeds from a, literally, dark place, located somewhere in a gelatinous three pounds of meat between my ears...


AMERICAN FANTASY IN THE PARENTHESES (…) OF A SONG

Sometimes I feel like a motherless child.
Sometimes I feel like a motherless child.
Sometimes I feel like a motherless child
A long way from home

All the rapist’s
children
stand around
his bed

There will be no
words of wisdom

No pathetic last requests

Not even death will forgive him
and so he’ll return

Sometimes I feel like there’s no one there
Sometimes I feel like there’s no one there
Sometimes I feel like there’s no one there
A long way from home

Conception is in the darkness of the body

Gestation is life at 5 a.m.

The doctor with too much to do
and something he’s trying to remember
drops his forceps

Let ‘em lay, he says
and kicks them
under the table

His nurse is calm
and holds out another set

Fuck it, he says
waving her hands away

He pulls his mask down
spins on his heels
and boom boom whack a doom
shuffles his booties and booty
out of the room

The nurse is calm
delivers the child
no forceps necessary

I’m going to run, I’m going to run
I’m going to run to the city of refuge

A long way from my home.


RW
Seattle
Columbia City PCC
10.4.2018

Tuesday, August 28, 2018

CREATING CLASSES



THOSE

Those who stand

Those who stand in streets
Those who stand in alleys
Those who stand in doorways

Those who are standing.

Those who wait

Those who wait to see
Those who wait to hear

Those who are waiting for someone, for morning, for night, ‘til later.

Those who are forbidden

Forbidden to enter, forbidden to leave, forbidden to speak.

Those who stand

Those who stand near train tracks, on beaches, in gardens

Those who stand before walls

Those who are standing alone.

Those who came
Those who stayed

Those who are silent

Those who weep.

Those with papers.

Those who have stumbled
Those who have fallen.

Those who stand
Those who stand in line
Those who stand their ground

Those who stand for something.

Those who wait
and are forbidden
who stumble
and will never arrive

who have papers
and are silent
and stand before walls.

Those

Those others.


RW
Seattle
08.28.2018










Sunday, August 26, 2018

FLIPPING THE COIN OF THE REALM



OPEN YOUR HEART

and the world walks in

shattered battered illumined

filthy tattered bloody begging

saints in various ways.

These are your guests and your teachers

the loves of your life and the terrors.

Open your heart

set the table

enjoy the party.




NIGHTMARES

My nightmares are
spit phlegm gunpowder and blood

humid and dark

concrete crazy

rebar and ruined

I’m chauffeured by dogs
or tumble through air
or skid down alleys like newspapers

I end up hiding behind green dumpsters
thinking I’m safe for the time being

Safe as a rat in Chinatown.


RW
Seattle
08.26.2018


Saturday, August 25, 2018

NAMING SOUNDS




1.

Let there be

Then God said
And God called

and God said to them

2.

At God’s funeral
the name itself
will be buried

the name
being
the thing

No God but God

and Moses wrote:  Thou shalt not take the name of the Lord, thy God, in vain.

3.

Nothing is so like God as silence.  (Meister Eckhardt)

4.

Abracadabra:  from the Aramaic, avra kehdabram, I create what I name.

Before humans, nothing had a name
we named everything

Begin naming
you will never reach the end of it

If there’s anything to discuss
we’ve named it
or will –

any second now.

5. 

The sound waves made by your vocal cords travel in dry air at 0.2 miles per second in a straight line until they meet an obstacle.  If the obstacle is soft, the waves are absorbed and vanish.  If the obstacle is hard, the waves ricochet.  An unimpeded wave will join other sound waves until they all die away…

6.

My name is Richard Douglas Eugene Karma Shenphen Namgyal Aaron Wells, a.k.a., O.G.

7.

Ar-tic-u-la-tion

makin’ me late
keepin’ me waitin’ (Carol King)

If I feel
but can’t say
what I feel
then what…?

Give me some words
for how I hurt.

8.

For years, as a regular occurrence I would hear, “Richard,” or “Dick,” being called by my mom, by a friend, or an unrecognizable voice. 

At first, I’d stop in my tracks, turn around, and look to see who was calling.

Later on, I'd just keep walking.

No one has called in a while.

9.

What is the wave length
of the Ark’s big broadcast
of alphabets on fire

letters
I can’t read

words
I don’t understand

names
I can’t pronounce

languages, gibberish, truth

10.

sound of the whirlwind
sound of burning

11.

NASA tells us that in the Perseus cluster of galaxies located 250 million light years from Earth there are black holes.  Sound waves have traveled hundreds of thousands of light year away from the cluster’s central black hole.  The sound is a B Flat, 57 octaves below middle C (our 8 note speech octave,) one million, billion times lower than the lowest sound perceived by the human ear.

12.

Can’t hear the prayers
or longings
of ancestors
more recent than ancient

Radio waves are electromagnetic waves and travel at the speed of light.  Sound waves from radio broadcasts have been picked up 20 light years from Earth.  (A light year is the distance light travels in one year – about 6 trillion miles, or in this case 120 trillion miles in twenty years.

(120,000,000,000,000)

I can hear Hitler
anytime I want

14.

the discordance of ghosts.

Wednesday, June 13, 2018

RECENT EVENTS




REFUGEE LITANY

Refugee, alien, floater, green-horn, invader, migrant, new comer, outsider, squatter, stranger, weed, outlander, not-from-here, drifter, gypsy, wetback, itinerant, transient, outlaw, dodger, bum, hobo, tramp, displaced person, DP, squatter, illegal, stateless, homeless, runaway, boat-person, outcast, fugitive, derelict, cast-away, émigré, deportee, non-person, defector, persona non grata, undesirable, wanderer, fugitive, stray, transient, exile, vagabond, vagrant, drifter, indigent, orphan, urchin, wastrel, stranger

Holy!
All men are holy
All women holy
Holy the Wanderer
Holy the Traveler
Holy the Stranger
Holy the Immigrant
Holy the Refugee
!

SHELTER IN PLACE

In the shelter
shelter of a thought

In the shelter
of a gaze

Who watches?

In the shelter
shelter of your arms

In the shelter
of your heart

Who watches?

In the shelter
rooms & shadows

In the shelter
doorways
alleys

Who watches
watches over you?

In the shelter
words & phrases

In the shelter
silence
breath

In the shelter
life & death

Who watches
who watches
who watches
over you?