Saturday, June 13, 2009

Poem 1

"Cocktails at the Roosevelt"

Empty after all
Chasing victory
Beyond spring
Into early fall

Gentle souls
Lost midst recurring story
(sans glory)
Where lines blur
With indecent word
In polished stalls
Where 'suits' press thighs
Of children chasing highs.

Loose tongues roll
Sprinkling alabaster advice
From 'Atelier de Souls'
'Straight up, or over ice?'

Friday, June 12, 2009

Poem 5


I could slip into a black silk dress,
Rush into the streaming neon night -
Into the red streets,
Where danger winks 'round corners,
Beckons from doorways-
Calls us.

I could go there
And find you -

Poem 4

"Red Raw Love"

Show me the way
Into the night
Beyond moonlit parks
Into the night

Take me there
To the stillness
of love's landscapes
Where slow hand
Of artist's brush
Caresses pure white canvass

Into the night
Where time's soft tears
Fall upon white canvass
Pushing past raw red
Leaving palest pink.

Take me there-
Into the night
Show me the way
Into the night
With you.

Tuesday, May 26, 2009

Observations at THE MINT w/ H.D. Stanton and Dennis Quaid

Sitting at "The Mint" waiting for the traditional Saturday night performance by Harry Dean Stanton, I caught a glimpse of Dennis Quaid with friends in a shadowed booth. Soon after Harry Dean's usual entrance, balancing a cigarette in one hand and tumbler of booze in the other, he noticed Quaid. Not unaccustomed to fellow actor's catching his act, Harry Dean invited Dennis to share stage with him for a couple tunes. And perhaps, like others in the audience, Stanton was aware of Quaid's recent unsettling breakup with longtime love, Meg Ryan, during her highly publicized fling with Russell Crowe. Whatever, the two artists warbled through a duo before Stanton sensed the audience mood and generously stepped aside, handing Dennis an acoustic guitar and leaving him in a single, smoke-filled spotlight. As Stanton nursed his bourbon in the shadows, Quaid's glistening face dropped as he hit a few chords. Then he looked into that light that seemed to touch his broken heart, and soloed with ease into the opening lyrics of "Gloria." It was, as they say, "a moment" not missed by anyone in THE MINT. The room fell silent as we watched a simple man sing a simple song with cracks of pain etched between the lyrics. Nor was the moment lost on on Harry Dean, whose keen sense of "playing a room" overtook his artistic generosity as he prepared to reclaim the spotlight. At the final chord, Stanton took stage, took the guitar, and invited Quaid to enjoy the rest of the show. For myself, I couldn't help recalling the last time I'd shared terrain with Quaid in the early stages of location casting for COME SEE THE PARADISE in Portland, Oregon. Shari and I worked in the Japanese community taking polaroid shots of potential background players. We worked long hours to organize faces from which Alan Parker would eventually populate the Dennis Quaid film. And it was at this time, in Portland, that I first read my friend Jenny Wingfield's script THE MAN IN THE MOON. The script was in its final option year with producer Mark Rydell, who originally optioned the script as a vehicle for a young actress now too old to play the lead role, Dani. From that initial reading of the poignant story, the overwhelming reality was that the young actress who would portray Dani would have to be amazing. And so it was, that on that night at "The Mint," watching an older, wiser Dennis Quaid open his soul through a gentle song, I arrived full circle from my initial encounter with THE MAN IN THE MOON and with the amazing young actress who portrayed "Dani," an unknown 14 year old girl from Nashville, Reese Witherspoon.

Thursday, January 22, 2009

Poem 8

"Memory's Dare"

A rose resides
Flat on parched page,
Withered brown
By tears and age.

And the girl who gently
Pressed it there -
Resides far from the rose,
From it's luring dare.

Wednesday, January 14, 2009

Poem 6

"Wanton Ways"

Blue black malaise
When love rolls in
At end of days-
Wanton ways may win
The race lovers run
Scorched in white-hot sun.

So hold me tight as we trip
Beyond fantastic light's glare
As we stumble and slip
Through mid air
That knows no ledge
For us to share
Like a sharp, sharp edge.

Pleading, you beckoned me
Follow your lead to wanton ways
To the blue black sea
Of our destiny
Through end of days.

Tuesday, January 13, 2009

Poem 3

"Striking Distance"

Part 1
With a lover's kiss
Sealed inside her thigh
Comes his haunting kiss,
Awaits her aching cry.

Heed their story's moral-
So entwined they are,
He a swirl of coral,
She a winsome star.

Through night hills they creep,
Clawing toward black skies-
In vain, she pleads for sleep,
He confirms his lies.

Comes dawn with mystic dews
Steeped in lurid scent-
Glowing headlines? Wild reviews?
Not a mention; not a hint.

Part 2
White sun dries pain
Leaving red-raw space.
Gentle rustling rain
Erasing each trace.

On streets below
From a dark dank corner,
Hear again - faint hiss,
Smart rejoinder.

Crushed midst no moral,
Lost, they are.
He, a hissing swirl of coral,
She, a winsome star.

Poem 2

"Tragedy for Sale"

puzzle of lanes
littered by sound
city of cruelty -

blur of color
asiafrolatina chatter
scatters streets
boys! haveatter!

asphalt curves
sidewalks vibrate
hit high verve
with white hot hate

Saturday, January 10, 2009

Poem 9

“Uncle Love” - A Eulogy

Memories of Uncle Bob run far and deep - and he is forever laughing. He wears a short-sleeved shirt that hangs loose around his tanned arms. He clamps between his teeth, a thin cigar that he taps, to free an ash or to punctuate a Kentucky tale. Sleek hair peaks from beneath his wide-brimmed hat.

One summer day, he stands on his father’s lawn laughing with us children and watching his Elizabeth Ann. God, how he loves his “Lizbethann.” And his great love spills out so that all we children scoop handfuls and toss it to one another. This “Uncle Love” - this dream dust - touches us all and we laugh with our uncle - the Puck of our childhood.

If we catch this dream dust again and toss it back to him, surely he will laugh again for us when day grows dark. Oh, his laughter and his blessed “Uncle Love” will reach out to carry us back across summer lawns, all the way home.