"When power leads man toward arrogance, poetry reminds him of his limitations. When power narrows the areas of man's concern, poetry reminds him of the richness and diversity of his existence. When power corrupts, poetry cleanses, for art establishes the basic human truths which must serve as the touchstone of our judgment." - John F. Kennedy

Thanks for finding me. This is a fairly random sampling of my poetic rumblings beginning in the mid-70s to present day. Not definitive or complete, just things that struck me again for one reason or another on revisiting. There are a couple of previously published collections here which might be good places to start if you are diving in blind from the precipice.

Try the collections MEET THE BEATS or GLIMMERING RAY DUET (both archived in June 2008 in the menu below right) for starters if you are so inclined...

As of 2016, I will be publishing my song lyrics on a seperate page from the more poetic scribblings here. Pieces that first appeared here and then later were arranged for music will remain here in their original form but may appear edited on the lyric page. Check out the links section for the original song blog.

Sunday, June 1, 2008

Gregory & Son, City Lights 1978

Staggering
clown-like
exaggerated doom walk
thru aisle of paperbacks
Beat up racks of verbiage and criticism
Poetic liquid generational ramble.
He crawled in upright,
towhead blond boy,
dirty faced,
on his shoulders.
Kid’s hands full of his greasy, grey streaked
fright wig mussed up head o’ hair
in tiny filthy fists
holding on for the ride
wide smile
dreamy.

“Hey LAAAAARRRRRY…
You know why I’m here...”
Patrons turn to stare eyes squinting in question
Wondering, “Who is this madman?”
Those in close, precarious proximity
keep faces buried in books
pretend to not notice
try not to provoke.
“LAAARRRRRRY, I know you’re UP there…”

Careening past oversize, trade bound books
on tables, on make-shift easels
Swallowing the Eastern Philosophy aisle whole
with one grand swoop
he throws his right arm to the ceiling
pointing
“LARRY. Come down from there. I’m coming up. LAAARRY.
Come on, man. You can’t fool me. We all can feel you, man...
NOW!” demanding.
“You need to hear me out…
NOW LARRY.”

Rising
a pink, bald sun over the edge of balcony rail
the voice precedes the forehead momentarily
followed by the peaceful eyes
staring right at the spot below from whence the cries come
“Come back later, Gregory
I’m busy.”

“Don’t Larry. You’re fuckin’ with me…”
“Bye Gregory. I’ll see you later.”
With that he was gone
but for the smell
of gasoline.


I ask the clerk, who has rung up infamously scandalous
beautifully inappropriate, disproportionately controversial
abundantly righteous literary fodder at this very counter for years,
“Was that who I think it was?”

“For the time being,” he whispered.

- for Pauli & Katie
and Gregory Corso (1930-2001)
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