in the shadow
of olympus mons
there spins
an old romance
the wind and sand
become as one
when arm-in-arm
they dance
under the pale
light of earth
their silent vows
are sworn
and every time
they bump and grind
another devil’s
borne
(orig. posted 3/17)
We were only two ‘ludes
Or so out of Minneapolis,
When we came upon the
Old St. Croix River bridge
Bringing us to Wisconsin.
We were really pumped
For our first Spring Break
And just couldn’t wait to
Arrive at Daytona Beach.
Well, just then we had a
Spring break on my old
’53 Chevy pick-up truck,
So we sat there a while,
smoking a couple joints
While we contemplated
The fate of the universe
And our latest situation.
Then, the acid came on.
I do vaguely remember
The six of us wandering
Around amongst some
Very freaked-out cattle,
With Dan blowing cows
massive shot-guns until
They were quite baked.
Meanwhile, the rest of
us were singing, I think.
I laughed so hard, my gut
Hurt for a couple weeks.
None of us can recollect
How we’d made it home.
We never did make it to
Spring Break back in ’74,
But my only true regret
Is that I lost my custom
Hippie ’53 Chevy truck!
With our words
On the page,
We outpour
Who we are:
Some are birds
In a cage
While the door
Stands ajar;
Other’s words
Burn with rage
Like the core
Of a star.
We’re songbirds
On stage —
We outpour
Who we are.
sunset offers us
a momentary glimpse of
heaven’s golden streets
–photo by me
Crazy Carol is the most beautiful girl
I’ve ever seen, yet she is very alone.
She slinks around town with her dog
In that same old Goodwill ensemble
And is quite confused that everyone
Acts so nice and friendly to her face,
Yet no one wants to be a real friend.
Standing before her spider-webbed
Full-length mirror, she sees herself
Broken up into all those pieces and
Asks aloud, “Could it be the cracks?”
Well, maybe I’m crazy too, because
I’m falling for her, craziness and all.
I remember when as a young boy
playing house pilot in my F-16
I would throttle back and
rapidly descend into
my mom’s junk
jewelry box
where I
would
glide
over
the
odd
world
of metals
and watches
and alien stones
and was so bewitched
I had to fire the afterburner
to make sure I’d clear the far wall
–photo by me
make sure you
write rite right,
don’t misspell
oar or ore,
don’t mistake
fore for four,
and check your
mail at noon,
and at twenty
to two too
at forty below
a cauldron of swirling snow
simmers underfoot
and stars burn fiercely above
yet neither offers me warmth
–photo by me
when day turns into night
and dark defines the light
imagination gladly serves
to commandeer our sight
we might see gory goons
or birthday boy balloons
intense phantasmagoria
or disneyesque cartoons
since all we see rewinds
soon every person finds
there’s consequences to
what we feed our minds
I’m home for the day,
And my cat starts to purr;
She’s so well-behaved
While I’m stroking her fur,
And when I’m out walking,
I still think of her:
She’s stalking and knocking
Down chessmen, I’m sure!
michaeljordahl 