1bigblackblog

WALTZING MATILDA


raymond and brigit are cuddling at
one end of a red crushed velvet sofa.
camilla and vernon sit entwined at
the sofa's other corner. i am on the floor
kneeling in front a crate of jazz albums

vernon's mom, mrs matilda, and his
stepfather, mr redding, work until evening.
so after ditching school with camilla and brigit,
exchange students from norway, the five of us
are in vernon's room.

on a glass coffee table is a shoebox lid with
a handful of grass and several used and unused
hand rolled joints. theres also an open fifth of
johnny walker scotch, black label, and a pitcher
of iced tap water and several glasses.

suddenly the door to vernon's room opens
and there is mr redding. he looks around
the room then says " what in the devil is this!
what kind of monkey business and tomfoolery
is going on in my home!! "

vernon, raymond, their girls and myself are all
speechless. mr. redding puts his hands on his hips
" i just said what kind of monkey shines are
occurring in my house!! " he notices me and sees
his record collection " boy, what in the devil are you
doing in my records!! " i try to speak but can only
shake my head from side to side

turning his attention to the coffee table he looks at
the grass and starts to speak but stops when
he notices his bottle of scotch " what in the blazes
is my bottle of johnny walker doing here open
and half drunk up!! "

completed liquored and toked up, first brigit
then camilla burst into hysterical laughter.
mr redding shocked looks at vernon and says
" well if this ain't a mighty fine day in the garden.
my liquour's drunk up, dope is smoking in my
house and half neked girls are fornicating and
having a laugh at me in my own home!! "

vernon sinks down into the sofa, i'm frozen
in place and raymond is trying to shut brigit up
while camilla laughs on. mr redding bends over
and picks up a joint, looks at it for a moment
then says to vernon " boy i am going to smoke
this here funny cigarette of yours. and if i dont
get a feeling to go out of this room and give
a damn good rooting to my wife, i am going
to beat your ass today tomorrow and the day
after tomorrow!! "

he grabs a books of matches from the table
strikes a match, lights the joint, takes five huge
inhalation therapy sized tokes and holds on
to his breath for what seems like a minute.
exhaling mr redding looks down at camilla's
mini skirted legs and then turns towards the
open door

" dad, where are you going? "
vernon drunkingly asks. mr redding
points his left left index finger at him
and wickedly says

" i am going to fuck your mother!! "

GO GREEN GO METRO


after exiting the bus and waving to a woman
seated by a rear side window, i glance at
the intersection then look up at a street sign
and realize i've gotten off at the wrong stop.
briefly irritated i walk northward up
the boulevard.

needing to take a wee, every building
passed is observed for a possible restroom.
nothing. several blocks on i come to
a long alleyway which i enter and locate
a discrete spot to relieve myself

returning to the boulevard i continue to
a metrorail station and descend to the platform.
the metro runs a distance between the left
and right lanes of the 605 freeway and cars by
the hundreds speed in both directions

a northbound train arrives and a few passengers
step off. minutes later the southbound pulls in.
i take a window seat. there are several other riders
nearby and three stations on a man using a cellphone
enters and sits a short distance behind me

i can easily hear him and the sound of his voice
gradually reminds me of a woman i know.
the accent a barely discernible twang thats maybe
one generation removed from rural kansas,
where the reminded of woman is from

he discusses a recent bike accident. there are pain
and financial issues. a best friend whose judgement
is trusted has offered alternative treatment advice.
yoga. he was in the marines corps

the metrorail makes its way towards union station.
overhear him say he's never dated a white girl.
a suprise. isn't he white? raising my head a bit i
listen closely to his voice. its speech pattern, tonality
and his word choice. could he be asian? for a moment
i consider looking at him. no. that's too easy

he mentions going out with a couple of filipinas.
they were cool. again i think of looking at him.
there's one more stop, chinatown, before reaching
the terminal. i'll look if he gets up at china station.
he doesn't, but does continue the conversation
with talk of "hooking up" later for beers at
a bar in little tokyo

the train slowly crosses the east macy street bridge
and eases to a halt. there's an announcement
that this is union station, the last stop and please
collect all bags and packages before leaving.
i slide over to the aisle seat, stand, walk to
the open door and while exiting glance at the man
with the phone. i was right from the beginning

the single stairway leading down to
the main concourse from the rail platform
is crowded. today's newspaper sports pages
lay discarded on a nearby blue metal bench.
i sit and read about the nba playoff games

the lakers lost

MONSTERS

beware and have you heard the news that
there are monsters among us
monsters in florida arkansas and wyoming too
there are monsters even here so be aware
and take care

monsters who will kill and
then kill again and again and again
they will kill for the suv and the ipod
and the dvd too monsters that will kill
for pieces of gold and the price of oil

so i say brothers and sisters please beware
and always take care because there are monsters :

while my across the street neighbor paulino
and i were chatting a man walked up and said
that his 10 year old son had been killed in
a shooting at a nearby fast food shop.
he asked us to watch the eyewitness news at 11p
as there would be a report on the killing and
hopefully the killers could be caught.
the man carried a photo of his son and
a small cigar box for donations towards funeral costs.
i gave three dollars

beware and have you heard the news that
there are monsters among us
monsters in florida arkansas and wyoming too
there are monsters even here
so be aware and take care

a saturday past i decided to watch the tellie.
switching from channel to channeli came upon
the late afternoon news. there had been a funeral
at a church where first a fight broke out and
then a shooting. a young man was killed.
he turned out to be a cousin of the man for whom
the funeral was held. several churches and
funeral homes had declined to hold the service
as they feared problems involving rival gangs

monsters who will kill
and then kill again and again
they will kill for the suv and the ipod
and the dvd too monsters that will kill
for pieces of gold and for the price of oil

after a meal and a chat with my mum
i walked to the area post office for stamps
and to mail the month's bills.
in front of a we-fry u-buy fish shop
which anchors the mini-mall
that includes the post office,
a shrine had been set up.
there were voltive candles and balloons
and ribbons and numerous other items.
above it all a large white cardboard sign
was taped to the fish shop window
and written on the sign in red spray painted letters
was R.I.P. JR. last night a young man was shot
four times from a passing car.

so i say brothers and sisters please beware
and always take care because there are monsters

and they are living among us

IN BANGKOK ONE NIGHT


the night clerk is playing billy idol at full tilt,
"....with a rebel yell she cries more more more,
in the midnite hour babe i want more...."

he notices me. i give a smile. he notices her.
then broadly smiles back. up the stairs, rapidly,
as she might change her mind. women do that
on occassion. i open my door and gently guide
anna k inside. the ceiling fan is turning and a
bedside light is on. two mosquitos buzz about

anna k is from finland. medium height and
medium lenght blond hair. pleasingly plump hips
and a round flirty face. anna k of finland

it has taken three nights of chitting and chatting
to get her here. that, and as a 4th down and 13 effort,
a fine thai agricultural product enjoyed besides
the phraya chao river. throwing her daypack
on the bed, anna k looks around the room.
"hey, this place is nice. how much do you pay?"
i run my fingers through her hair and then
down her back. "400 baht", i whisper into her ear

from the open windows we can hear
the night clerk's music. more idol,
"....hey little sister whose the one you want,
hey little sister whose your superman...."

anna k of finland, whose voice is like natasha
of the rocky and bulwinkle show, suggests
we take a shower. so we do. afterwards
i intendly watch anna k as she dries herself.
she flings her towel at me and asks what
am i looking at. "you, just you. maybe you'll
sit on the bed". laughing she asks, "why?"
i tell her to sit up against the headboard.
"because i've never had a blond before.
you're a blond with matching drapes and carpet too.
in america this type of blond is rare.
our women have upholstery issues". laughing
again she says, "what!?" i reply, "nevermind"

we enjoy a tad more of thailand's finest
as i walk around the room completely pleased
with things. and thing to come. thoroughly stoned
and coming down with a case of the giggles,
anna k says, "how is this possible? how is this
possible that living in the land of the clairol girl
you have never had a blond?" i tell her that's
the problem, it's the land of the clairol girl.
we both laugh. suddenly a serious look.
"but in america there are many true blonds, yes?
you should have tried one by now".
i shrug my shoulders, "well it is america you know"

disco music is now playing from below,
"....you spin me right round baby,
right round like a record baby...."

after a moments thought she says, "ohhhh america.
yes i understand. america has the color bar up.
even in the bedroom. so sad. well,
i am anna k of finland. in finland we do not have
this bar". and with a wicked grin
she opens her legs just so

well spin me right around baby. just like a record.

ITS TYRANNY!

opened wide french windows

brilliant and bright sunshine

flowers on long green stalks

the neighbor parks a sons car in the driveway
then sets a portable radio on a peeling of paint
wooden ledge and tunes into a talkback
radio station at loud volume

"....IT IS TYRANNY !....A STATE OF TYRANNY
ENGULFS THE FREE WILLED INDIVIDUAL !!
....IT IS TYRANNY I SAY !!! "

relocation to a rear quiet and forested garden
with a copy of nathanial hawthorne is disturbed
by the clanking of a gate the stomping on steps
the noisy opening of a ladder and the booming voice
from a talkback am station at even louder volume

"....IT IS TYRANNY !!....THE RESPONSIBLE MAN
THE UPRIGHT CITIZEN THE GOD FEARING
FELLOW ARE TODAY UNDER A DIRECT
AND FRONTAL ASSUALT BY TRANNICAL AND
CRUEL FORCES !!! ....IT IS TYRANNY I SAY !!!! "

a later knock on the front door presents the neighbor
offering a shopping bag of just picked from the tree
avocados and oranges and a smiling request
to give mum kisses and hugs and have a nice day
after which he returns to washing the car of his son
and the booming voice on a radio talkback station

"....IT IS TYRANNY !!....IT IS TYRANNY I SAY !!! "

AN OCEAN VIEW


as i parallel parked into a just big enough space,
a song played on an am radio station.
the beach boys. california girls.
you've heard it before:

"....the west coast has the sunshine, and the girls
all get so tanned i dig a french bikini on a
hawaii island, dolls by a palm tree in the sand
i been all around this great big world,
and i seen all kinds of girls but i couldn't wait
to get back in the states, back to the cutest girls
in the world i wish they all could be california...."

after strolling along the seashore for awhile
i found a spot and settled onto the blond
colored sand. to my left and in the distance was
the santa monica pier with a ferris wheel turning,
the roller coaster hurling, and even
a carousel spinning. the sun hung at mid afternoon,
waves ebbed then flowed, and birds dived into
and flew over a bluish tinted sea on a beautiful day.
enjoying the ocean view i causally noticed
a woman and man walking rightward. a few
degrees of being directly in front of me and
much less than half a league away,
the woman stopped and with her back facing me,
bent over from the waist and moved her fingers
through the sand as if she was looking for a shell
or perhaps a pebble

immediately my complete attention was focused.
her bikini bottom was net like and white.
hiding and exposing just enough to entice
the beholder's eye. smooth legs and a pleasingly
plump youngish body appeared soft to the touch
for roaming hands and rushing fingers.
medium length brunette hair was combed back
into a single ponytail. as she stood erect and
turned towards the man, the view of a bikini top
holding breasts that surely were natural was
very pleasant to my sight. for a brief moment
she glanced at me from her eyes' corners and then
her companion and she continued on up the beach

that evening and during the drive home,
i clicked on the radio. to my suprise the beach boys
were singing again . it was that song.
you know the lyrics

and yes, i wish you all could see california girls.

E


from the footpath the lyrics of the song
were recognizable

" rejoice rejoice we have no choice but to carry on "

a smokey haze overhung the room which was
hot and humid. as i eased my way towards
the kitchen a young asian woman near
the crowd's center raised her arms into the air
and exuberantly sang along with the music

" love is coming! love is coming to us all !! "

many in the crowd shouted their agreement
and joyously waved their arms.
electricity gravity magnetism surged amongst us.
she countinued singing

" where are you going now my love and
where will you be tomorrow

will you bring me happiness or
will you bring me sorrow

the questions of a thousand dreams
what you do and what you see

lover can you talk to me ? "

cries of " yes ! yes ! yes ! "
and shouts of " you can talk ! you can talk to me !! "
reverberated around the room as each
and everyone of us raved and rejoiced

WHISTLING DIXIE


"i wish i was in the land of cotton

where old tymes aren't soon forgotten

look away look away look away....

the road from kampot to bogor turns and twists
up up up the hill to surang #2 the guesthouse of
mr kar chouk. somehow the conversation turned
towards america and american politics and
american history. a comment was made about
slavery. i cringed inside and moments later,
manuela, thin and blond and from latvia
looked at me and said "you're american,
african-american, yes?
what is your opinion about this?"
i thought "bloody damn and hell"

and i thought about the view, a dense undulating
carpet of palm and other trees extending
to the horizon. slavery i dont know,
and maybe the problem wasnt the slavery
but the liberation especially for the slaves.
it was the only economic model they knew
with housing and food and full employment
and now liberated they were thrown into
an unknown economic model that offers only
survival of the fittest where every man is pitted
against every other man and satan will take
possession of the bedeviled

while streching my arms into the air i said
"my opinion is that we're not drunk enough"
and to the housegirl "toi, nam whiskey, ar kun"

....wish i was in dixie hooray hooray

in dixie land i'll take my stand

look away look away

look away down south

to dixie

READING THROUGH
ROSE COLORED GLASSES


diversity and multiculturalism is to be
acknowledged and celebrated in the
unified school district. ending her talk
the speaker asks if there are comments
or questions

there are. many

first this community, then that ethnic group protests
that it isn't right or fair or even cricket.
with rising passion, claims of this and accusations
of that are hurled about. everyone and every group
feels the goring of their own ox

i decide to leave

rising from my seat, exiting the community room,
down the hall, out double glass doors,
onto the street, olympic boulevard and
though now evening, i keep on my sunglasses.
after looking down the street and placing
half a stick of chewing gum in my mouth,
i right turn and walk northward

at the first corner there are five, maybe six people
gathered beside a large chromed metal cart.
heaps of onions are grilling. plump reddish sausages
wrapped in blankets of bacon are frying. garlic, too

the aroma

the vendor briefly places a hot dog bun, face down,
onto the grill. it frys in the liquid of the onions and
bacon and sausages.the bun is transfered from grill
to hand to paper holder after which a bacon encased
sausage is placed on it followed by a generous squirt
of mayo and cheez-whiz

yum. but not tonight

elm avenue, oak street, and pine court are crossed,
as is cedar lane. right before evergreen circle and
next to a beauty shop with a window banner saying
100% INDIAN TRESSES, NO HORSE HAIR HERE!
is a coffeehouse. tonight is "open mic" night

i enter

inside there's a dozen or so young and youngish
woman and men. a tall guy, thin and kitted out
in a black hoodie and levis is emoting a poem.
he says it's rimbaud. i order a black coffee
and sign up for the mic

later, after reciting "The Expanding Existentialism's
Impact On The Inner-Mounted Flame", an original,
i return to my seat, a small table with two wooden
chairs near a rear wall. minutes into mulling over
my performance, a woman with thick and very long
black hair and a youngish soft round face wearing
a pair of black framed glasses sits opposite me

having first placed a cup of coffee on the table, she,
now seated, reaches for a container of cream,
pours some into the cup, stirs it around a couple
of times, looks at me for a moment then says,
"that's odd. that's odd you'd wear dark glasses
in a coffeehouse. at night.
what are you hiding from?"

"what are you hiding from behind those
rose colored glasses?"

her demeanor and clothing suggest a hip place.
a place both hip and cosmopolitan with a
cosmopolitan and hip name like tel aviv or tehran.
i thought a bit of an answer. one that might open
the gate to the garden of heavenly delights

slowly and with great expectation, i tell of a visit
to paris many years ago. two senegalese college
students had befriended me and we were walking
to a bar in the university district.my new friends
said there were girls from the countryside who
are loads of fun. we could pickup several and
go to my hotel room as they live in a dorm
with little privacy

we all wore dark glasses as that would make us
look even cooler and hipper than we already were.
it seems french provincial girls like that sort of thing.
also, they, my new friends,would do all the talking

crazy daddy-o, let's go!

so go we went and there we were and they did
do all the talking and all i can say is

"VIVA LE FRANCE!"

a small smile appears on the woman's face as
she considers my words. "an interesting story.
and a well told tale", she finally says.
"do you have anymore? i'm free for the evening
and live nearby".

PRELUDE TO A KISS

"besame" says she

strolling along the playa
warm water laps at our feet
a warmer sun is browning our bodies

"besame mucho" she says

i unentwine my hand from hers
slowly rub it across a bare shoulder
my fingers disappearing
into a cascade of thick black hair

"besame" "besame mucho" says she

after a meal of pescado rojo
two or three cervezas negras
we stroll along the playa
warm water at our feet
a warming sun on our bodies
my fingers lost in thick black hair

"besame" "besame" "besame mucho" she says

kiss me again and again and again
and then guess what?

"kiss me one more time"

THE MAN

the set:

song for my father

the lineup:

leon thomas - vocals, percussion
james spaulding - flute, alto sax
lonnie liston smith - piano
cecil mcbee - bass
roy haynes - drums
richard landrum - bongos

the lyrics:

"if there ever was a man who was generous gracious
and good that was my dad the man....

the story:

during my younger years dad worked at golds
safe company.downtown los angeles.
he also played the piano and sang on weekends
at private parties. blues boogie-woogie barrelhouse.
fun stuff that made people happy with dancing and
drinking.

he would always come home with a big
smile and a song. there once was a television
program about the frontier days. the title tune was
"davy crocket". and there was a coonskin hat with
a tail. my father would come home, lift me with
my coonskin upon his shoulders and sing
"davy, davy crocket, king of the wild frontier.

we'd march through the house, the two of us singing
until mom would grab an iron skillet and laughingly
threaten to bang our heads ifwe didn't shut up.
mom is now 81 and she can still swing a skillet too!

the lyrics again:

....a human being so true he could live like a king
cause he knew the real pleasure in life"

that was my dad the man

A DAY IN THE LIFE


her name was luba

face soft round middle aged. hair thinning and
various shades of bronze and grey.a thick purple
leather coat worn over two decades old cotton
buttoned sweaters. non descript black wool pants
with the right leg rolled inches above a pale ankle

bright plastic sky blue shoes with diamond shaped
cut outs were on her feet

i noticed that she noticed me. her expression seemed
to say "oh what an interestingly dressed man.
such an appearance". on the sand before her sat a
brown shopping bag with red lettering.smiling i said
"pick up your bag and lets walk along the shore together"

as we strolled beside the waters edge she told me
of her younger years.the youth academy in kiev.
a music and literature conservatory in minsk.
vacations with much loved parents and grandparents
in a forest dacha. winters cooking borscht and
summers hunting wild mushrooms and berries

she spoke of a son leaving at weeks end to marry
a woman far far away.a son leaving the nest to marry
and a mother with a very broken heart.in the brown
bag fresh challah from morning temple. a piece
offered. delicious.her ernest voice flowed and
ebbed like the ocean waves. a tsarina in america

bright plastic sky blue shoes with diamond shaped
cutouts were on her feet

non descript black wool pants with the right leg
rolled inches above a pale ankle.a thick purple
leather coat worn over two decades old cotten
buttoned sweaters. hair thinning and various
shades of bronze and grey. face soft round
middle aged

her name was luba

CLEAN. SHAVEN.

all his gates are desolate
his virgins are afflected
he is in bitterness....

lamentations: chapter 1 verse 4

as she drank and smoked
chitted and chatted
danced and did yoga

a single candle flickered

rising to her feet and with her back to me
she pulled the bottom of her tan dress drees up
and over her head then settled back onto the
blanket covered floor and spun around to
face me with crossed outstreched legs

slowly i ran my hands from ankles to kness
back to ankles before uncrossing her legs
which revealed a dark grevious abomination
that was hurtful and injurious to my eyes....

she was clean. shaven.

GOD MAN ANIMAL

as the yelling shouting and household uproar lessened
la granmadre walked into the sitting room and
quietly told la hija to follow her

out a rear door across the courtyard pass the wooden
henhouse along the right side of the cowpen through
the horse enclosure and on down the footpath to a
fallen tree used as a bench that overlooks the river

after some many minutes of silently watching the
water flow by la granmadre opened her worn leather
shoulder bag pulled out a glass flask and two tiny
clay cups which she half filled with tequila de tipica

an exchange of "con dios" preceeds a single long
emptying sip

" hija, daughter, that was quite a noise you made.
quite a long and loud noise. almost as loud and long
a noise su madre would make over your father.
those days! those days before your mother understood

those days before mija understood what i came
to understand, a husband is both man and animal.
a husband is animal like el gallo el toro el caballo.
the rooster the bull the horse

a husband is also man. a man who keeps the roof
overhead the table with food and loves his children
his parents his wife. hija. mija. this is what you have "

the tiny clay cups were again half filled another
exchange of "con dios" offered and a single long
emptying sip as the river flows and splashes on by.

DEEP EROTICA


the roar

the irritating and agressive roar has ceased. each and
every bajak motoshaw and tuk-tuk is parked in ones
and twos or more. on damp streets, in quiet alleys
and under palm frond awnings they sit with their
owners nestled like kittens and curled as cats on
narrow vinyl covered benchseats

the hotel is old and wooden and chinese. the room's
far wall of yellow and red striped wallpaper has a
window of glassless shutters opened outward in the
dutch style. late night air occassionally carrying a
lyrical " selamat " selamat malam " selamat tinggal"

"from that wall's thin opposite twin the low and
slow tone of a ceiling fan is heard. beneath it
masculine sounds of advice of inquiry of laughter
rise and fall and interspace elongated vowels and
coquettish giggles and moaning verbs from
a feminine counterpart

the dimly electric lighted night responds with
an iron grill pulled once twice and three times
to a closing clank and locking clink. a singsong
voice hails "selamat jalan, peace upon your journey
home, mashall'ah, may god preserve you"

may god preserve us one and all

DIAMONDS, SKY, LUCY


if lucy fell how far could she fall
if lucy fell would she fall in my arms

if lucy fell how far would she fall
if lucy fell could she fall for my charms

if lucy fell with diamonds