Wednesday, February 29, 2012


.....Like many mornings, I got up and drove to a small town in Arizona to work up an estimate for asbestos and lead removal from some buildings prior to demolition. The town has long been mostly empty with many dilapidated buildings and many of the rest being bought by the government to expand the freeway.  Walking through these houses always smells the same, always looks the same and always evokes some strong feelings in me.  While this was a quick effort, I think it begins to cover some of the feelings.

The dusty hue of the morning sky always settled lightly in Picacho
Cracker box square, the houses long left untended….contents strewn
The smell of rotting wood and moldering plaster, every one the same
Wading through clothes that never made the move, knee deep in panties

Mommy, where are we going?
Look at her eyes, the same color as the dusty morning
Mommy, what about Duke?
A hope and a prayer that the car starts this one last time

The lilt of the Mourning Dove is never soothing, not in Picacho
When you arrive or when you leave the coo is the same
Neither welcoming or desperate, just the sound of suffering
A knowing that when the souls have moved on, the silence takes no prisoners

Daddy, where will we stay?
The shape of his eyes match the dove’s cries precisely
Daddy, what about Teddy?
A shame that never flowers into the sharpness of resentment….for her sake

A better life may wait in the next town, a town that’s not Picacho
But only with help from someone who knows without doubt
What it is like to be human and temporarily misplaced
Picacho was their one true love, left for now to fend for herself

Tuesday, February 28, 2012

The Wedding Dance of Cora Blue ode to the strength of women.

God showered his shards of colored glass
At the wedding dance of Cora Blue
All danced light on tips  and rainbow hues
Riding magic waves of love and sight
Til satyrs whispered, turn out the light

As time wore on, the world loved in mass
To the life and love of Cora Blue
And worked fallow fields the ancients knew
Growing kindness, folding wee ones right
Til times grip became a touch too tight

The destiny of that perfect lass
Loving angel known as Cora Blue
In history books the pages flew
No one human had the reach and flight
That she bestowed on her wedding night

© 2011 Crowley

Friday, February 24, 2012


I celebrate myself, and sing myself,
And what I assume you shall assume,
For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you.
I ate at your brasserie for a month and a day
Wisdom and milk chocolate pancakes with boysenberry
You insisted I knew better and ran your fingers through my hair

Sharing thoughts daily on how to save the world
Over wine and the thinnest slices of carpaccio
I sucked in your available soul and crooned new day songs

When night would fall you would dance in that nightgown
And I would stare with a teenage boy’s delight at the undulations
And sneak a kiss if only in my dreams and taste the faintest of cherry

Grant me one wish and I promise not to waste it on myself
I will carry your vision to the borders of the known world
And tell the winds of my other self, browning in the Arizona sun

The first stanza is Uncle Walt's Song of of my favorite stanzas of all time.

Thursday, February 23, 2012

Words For Your Coffee

Wrap your body in a blanket of your daily successes
And listen to the cricket with a musicians ear
For it is love that he is singing, life that he is crooning
Every line a melody, custom tailored to sooth your brief madness

Take a breath and the toothpicks from your eyes
Let them land softly on gosling down, resting preciously
They will be the windows to your dreams, translucent
Puffing sweet scents and glorious vapors used for flying

If the night terrors knocking at the doors of your mind
Cause you even a modicum of distress, take note
I have left a light on in the bottom left hand corner of your dream
Pass this way and you will be safe, there will be dancing

After catching a glimpse of what the faeries have to offer
Be it cruel or painfully beautiful upon waking to thoughts austere
Just know that you can carry these thoughts forward and blazing
And stir them into your morning coffee….with a touch of vanilla

© 2011 Crowley

Wednesday, February 22, 2012

Inspector General

I love me some Isadora Gruye...she rocks.

I like your hair…..”
“Grease fire….It’s growing back”
You turn and order green tea, no sugar, from the cute organic boy
For the seventeenth time this week
“I like your shoes….”
“I know…who wouldn’t”
You stare at the shoes at least five seconds longer than I did
You turn and look hard into my eyes
“Well as long as we are on the subject of liking things….”
You shift and raise one arm to the ceiling
“I like thick prose written in a junkyard setting….heavy on vermouth”
I stare back, thoughtfully
“Why, whatever do you mean?”

Monday, February 20, 2012

The Wordsmiths Song

He laid her to rest in a bath of his brightest verse
Still growing hair propped under a poetic pillow of Christ and despair
Her fingers circled in the finest agony, neatly inscribed in fourteen karat metaphor
Her bosom draped in sonnets that would make Hera blush

You sleep now love
God save me
And eat in filigreed finery
God save me
I'll weep for your ghost
God save me
And companionship lost
God Save me
Take with you these words that I sing
They are all that I have to give

He kissed her forehead with senryu lip gloss, cherry
And brushed her hair back with yesterdays melancholy sunset blazing
Her skin was as cold as a Russian winter, inked with an icicle
But her memory was as fresh as a teens infatuated lovers glance

Goodbye dear love
God save me
And fly with lightning bug splendor
God save me
I'll toast your soft touch
God save me

And companionship lost
God save me
Take with you these words that I sing
They are all that I have to give

Sunday, February 19, 2012

A Toast

Taking your soul in plain sight
A boundless favor to free you from your happiness
That woman would destroy your mind as was mine
And in your hour of need, you would have only your hands
And as time would show, dear friend, they were too weak

Though her eyes are curved and cut like marbles
She is no more yours than the wind or the rain
Though her voice chases the wild dogs from your mind
She is a woman with only a short time to cast
That which her hips can bear and carry through the veil

Your head isn’t my prize, but more a surety
Your empty stare, shoring for my own angry heart
I can share with you my thoughts, uninterrupted
But how I wish you would comb your hair
And wash the blood from your lips

Do you think that woman misses you?
The same way I am certain mine longs for this touch
Get a hold of yourself, there are ten-fold waiting
To touch those breasts and she will receive
Sooner than you could imagine possible

A man does not do for a woman, but alas, for other men
Taking in glory like the smoothest silk and spinning destinies
Destinies that are lost in an instant to times infinite march
If a man gets lost in the trivets of or his own wanderlust
The pay for such a man is impotent indeed and won't buy bread

One man’s life is a small price to pay my friend
I breathe my last sane thought into your mouth and wipe my blade
Holding the last of my drink to your rigor mortis lips
A toast to your attentive ear and the end to your sorrow
Tomorrow I see her again, and all will not be well

If Jesus Wrote a Poem

For the lack of a better comparison
It would be like the executioners chair
Rabid for truth, beauty and justice
But sad in it's ugly simplicity
You are looking at Nirvana's face
But you can't seem to pull the trigger

Roll on three........

Swellendam Express

I found my love lost in thought
On the tracks of emptiness and volition
Asking spirits if this was the path of happiness
Chug, chug......hissssssss

Come here child and feel this beat in time
With the syncopation of your own existence
Black as it seems, it's just a tunnel
Clang, clang......hisssssssss

Wrap your beautiful arms around me
No one will tie you to the track again
Those bastards are done, I'm iron clad death
All aboard.......hissssssssss

When this tongue parts those lips, softly
These eyes will close briefly in another dimension
And the sparks will provide a refreshing shower
This train is leaving the station.........

Nostalgia for Sale

               Photographer: Mary Ann Potter

You gave me that look, rolled your eyes…chuckling
Your connection to my heart severed wholly with a rusty hatchet
I wanted to buy that house, my house and mend it neat
The one where a young girls dreams warped and waned by day

Nostalgia for sale……ragdoll memories
 “Run to the market punkin’ and get me a beer”
Cigarette perilously close to my hair
“Your mom’s after me to paint the house”
One apple, two apples, three apples, four….

That top step was perfect for dolls, a book, a kiss, a cry
Daddy’s front stoop wisdom, forming misconceptions, but endearing nonetheless
Rodney hiding under that porch when company came…hoping for skirts
Missionaries chased down the block, caught only in the dog’s dreams

Nostalgia for sale……fading memories
“Run to Green’s for me sweetheart, I need some smokes”
Whiskey breath perilously close to my nose
“Your mom’s after me to fix the fence”
Five apples, six apples, seven apples, more….

Locks on teenagers doors kept Uncle Jacob at bay, drunken covert fumbling
Mom seemed to turn the other cheek til’ midnight knife to balls….reformed, Hallelujah
Carport posts destroyed by driving lessons and dad’s not so subtle teachers hand
Tree house porn scattered by the wind, glossy thighs on mom’s windshield, beatings

Nostalgia for sale….so sweet memories
“Run to Grant’s Teddy bear, my oxygen is out”
My first love perilously close to death
“Your mom is after me stay on the couch”
Don’t be in a rush to get out that door……

Trinny Can You Hear Me

Trinny, come and lie down by my side and breathe
Your perfect skin glows as brightly as that star
And you start to speak poetry about the days
When we were clean and the stars were just stars

You'd scorch, you'd melt
The life you were dealt (alas dear child)
Is fraught with white spectres
And full on black tigers
Who'd fancy your pelt

Trinny, don't you fucking cry on me
Your perfect heart like an egg, colored for easter
Fragile, painted upon rooster lips with a touch of fuzz
Speaking tirelessly of making love under the trestle

You'd teach, you'd track
It's mounting your back (heavy dear child)
You wail at the spectres
And stab all the tigers
Who'll pick up the slack

Trinny if you die I'll kill you, I swear
I love the way you feel naked, all consuming
I rub my freshly shaved face on your back, your buttocks
You coo and shiver as you ask me to hand you grandmas afghan

You'd squint, you'd smile
I walked the hard mile (loving dear child)
I'd marry the spectres
And tame all the tigers
Whose life is on trial

Trinny..... Can you hear me?

Friday, February 17, 2012

Always a Teacher

She stood tipped toes on turquoise glass
Asked angels for a backstage pass
The homely one he snatched her eye
And blinked away with no goodbye
She screamed and bled a wailing cry
Her life had been so neat

In two strong hands she came across
The voices there bemoaned her loss
Ethereal air turned cold stone
Placed in front on a gilded throne
A teacher faced a final loan
Confused she took her seat

Two by two wee ones funneled in
One eyed children who never sinned
They would have sat for seven days
Seeking truth from her tortured gaze
“Help them to navigate the maze”
“Your words will be their meat”

The booming voices new her fear
“To teach them you must be a peer”
“In heaven there’s no need for eyes”
“You teach them only lullabies”
“And calm there adolescent cries”
Her heart it skipped a beat

Always a teacher

Sunday, February 12, 2012

Vessa's Meal

The tower eats the the children's dreams
And writes them down in magazines
Bee stung
Man hung
Over Vessa's broken nail

The witches brew from Satan's tongue
Stored in a cask without a bong
Drink deep
Thoughts creep 
Dodging Vessa's dirty smile

Your breasts they never leave my eye
Your sex an ancient lullaby
Hand firm
You squirm
I think Vessa's going home

A tug and tear of rabbits cloth
I fake a flying abott's moth
Cork bark 
Birth mark
Upon Vessa's rounded cheek

The life that formed in mother's womb
Pinned oddly up in sister's room
Evil bitch 
Solo hitch
Leaving Vessa's clammy grip

El Sol

An Aquarius sun not baking, but brining moments
The tide rolls unshaken in quantities unmeasurable 
But the time here trickles over the face of smooth granite
Moving mountains one atom at a time, carving soul canyons

The breeze whispers nautical tales written in artists sand
One million grains to capture the crease in the Captain's forehead
An entire tropical beach to explain his love of drink
Not enough sand in Mexico to calculate the depth of his sorrow

For those unable to still a mind, the battle wages
In between cold beer and a salty sun, it settles in
A death grip released by witnessing necessity in simple fashion
What do I need to get by today, por mi familia

The pelican intuitively knows high tide, boiling waters, heavy meals
Efficiently killing, but murder is not on it's mind
Eat now for tomorrow it storms, empty hearts, hollow bellies
MaƱana brings torturous results for some, bliss for others

Rising, bleeding, bathing
Que pasa El Sol......que pasa