Riders on the Storm

Someone playing Riders on the Storm
on the jukebox with my breakfast.
The early piano run tinkling right into my brain
filling my soul with meadows
and thinking of some guy named Andrew Beddows
I could’ve taken toast off numerous tables
or 1/2-deserted eggs
the place is full in such a way;
like tables full of mostly-finished food
and other tables with people
sitting there, mostly waiting for food
and one or two unhurriedly at the jukebox.
Their breakfast comes and they stay with the box
married to the tunes
It’s a day where people are
flush with money
ready to spend. Pit stop, and then
the everlasting energy to shop for a day

Great Big Swan Eating Grass

Great Big Swan eating grass
Lost Lagoon is where he’s seen
never seen him up this close
walking through for one last swim
I am, at Sunset pool
dear Water: ride me
Ride me till I float
That orange bill on whiteswan head
is like an advertisement
Contrast the green grass he’s chewing
feel the hard gravel walk man has made
around his man-made lake
only a few feet deep
One last swim, but I’m going deep
Deeper to hear the last Rays of Summer
breathe on me from the West
Here an’ there a lazy child. not in school will swim by.

My imaginary children Cinneroth & Rajasthan
are coming through the Living room to play with me
on the carpet, the Persian wing
huge in its flying
like an angel on leave from combat duty

I’m sunk in my soft couch
watch me play
in days of never
All the sunny
smiling leaves
of their adjacent forms
longing for the laughter, the screaming
and stench of baby poo
and bleach, the nausea
of jars of predigested babyfood

alltogether we would sing away
and go on adventure tours thru the wooden branches of the forest,
our hiking sacks sticking to trees
as we walked up the incline
Then, in next generations
trees would bloom
and the plume of the Mina bird would be the resurrection of the proud
louder than Nazareth*
in funky caverns we hid with/our minds as beavers
spanning crevices as spiders
long-legged and black, forgotten
webs of intimacy,
silly creational playing,
sidetracked from lopsided life
supping with the saviour
his hands now flesh and bone
drinking the wine of the Father
his feast in heaven, waiting
pertaining to our collective unconscious.
All trouble is a ceaseless battle here.

*note: a reference to rock group Nazareth of the 70s, purported to have been one of the loudest bands. Had an album in 1974 entitled Loud ‘N’ Proud