Auld Manhattoe

Real

2009-06-02T17:00:00.000-07:00

He told her there was no reason
to fear clouds would
destroy the sky,
or trees weigh so on the mountain
that it would collapse

not that she said
that was her fear
but I saw it that way

as is said,
it cannot be
stained by confusion
nor exalted by
realization

so why do I find myself
yelling at the clouds,
losing myself among
the trees?

and why do I find myself
thinking there's any
problem with doing so?

what I love
cannot be hurt
by my mad dance.

Overheard in Bruce Lee Movie

2009-03-15T17:25:00.000-07:00

And I heard him answer
the wise old white bearded
Chinese teacher
(whose voice was overdubbed
with scary Western intonation)
when he asked the young warrior
big spirit question.

And I heard him say
"There is no opponent."
And he said a lot of
other things, too,
before he flew off
to battle a whole slew
of people.

I dig those scenes
where the collision
of yin and yang
knocks my brain out,
TKO, TKO,
and another
consciousness
arises.

For Valtin

2009-03-07T16:43:00.000-08:00

Because I came to post
after a while of nonposting
poems, that is
and saw
your question

good question!

shall I be a bard?
something heavy
for heavy times
ha ha
not likely

nor even a troubador
come from troubled plague-ridden lands
to sing their lives to kings
who for some reason
wanted to hear them.

poems for now when
ecstacy and despair do
braided dances
shall I join in
the sarabande?

You, mad warrior
who defends the sacred psyche
in bold words of rue and rage
in puissant tears
and stony silences
amid the rubble.

Fires are lit in the spring
on strange and lonely
fields.

Beat Evolutions

2008-07-28T18:19:00.000-07:00

imitators
spontaneously
obscured them

form trumped
substance
so

you'd hear
wall street
suit and tie man
saying "far out"

see children
in junior high
wearing
blue jeans
and smoking dope

madison avenue
pounced upon it
like hawk on
dove

suburban housewives
viewed sex and
janice in feathers
with dismay

while human
manifestations
on the haight,
in East Village,

on roads
across america
in every small town

beaten and bludgeoned
and fired like ancient
porcelain

flashing through america
with young legs and
long hair

their stories
still untold.

Other than Blue

2008-07-26T23:55:00.000-07:00

Three ayem ,
feeling
worn out as
old shoe.

Red satin,
rhinestone
stiletto heels

That kind of
worn out shoe.

Got my burden,
like every
living soul's,
it grows heavy

Violet clouds
and emerald
leaves on
summer laden trees

Beat
but
other than
blue.

Up and Up and Up

2008-05-29T16:24:00.000-07:00

Up and Up and Up,
the three of them sang,
it was all the same to them
welcome or not

he told them to leave
and so they left!

someone else told
them to return
and they did!

up and up and up
they walked,
back to where
they started out.

a fine time
either way.

Memorial

2008-01-29T16:40:00.000-08:00

Beat, oh hammered and beat like brass like brass cymbals, those big ones, I saw a movie about Charlie Parker, Bird, they used big brass cymbals making their big brass sound for some symbolic artistic meaning, about how he was treated, beat like brass like heavy cymbals, hammered into the mortal form, why not?

Towered over with skyscrapers and cloud formations in the blue, rattling in subways through dark tunnels and on broken sidewalks in big crowds, ascending in high speed elevators to luxury carpets of the workplace and to Duke's deli on 51st Street with big steam tables and giant salmons both hot and cold, beat by the metropolitan hammers of modernity with new TV screens in the high speed elevators seducing the attention with stock market reports and showing eastern standard time, hammered and beat like brass cymbals clashing metal sounds of neverending mortality.

Unadorned

2008-01-05T18:16:00.000-08:00

not polished stone
with bright reflections

but rough and ragged rock
of its own nature,

unadorned by intent,
rich in dominion

it does not
catch the eye
in magpie tinsel

of more than that
I cannot say

(Inspired by Chogyam Trungpa Rinpoche's video teaching, http://www.shambhala.org/teachings/category.php?media=video "The Ice Cubes of Bodhi")

Seasonal Ribaldry.

2007-12-24T14:17:00.000-08:00

Wrote a tune the other night. Work hard, play hard, all that. Here's a gabcast version (reminder: turn down sound to avoid distortion caused by phone recording - and yes, again, no music, just me, sigh - choose "episode 6").

Gabcast! Auld Manhattoe #6

The Lyrics:
15 Men in 30 Days, by Nightprowlkitty

she was a terrible woman
the way she loved her men
she treated them like candy
oh yes, she did, and then

she'd toss the box aside
and catch another ride
and when I asked her
to explain,
she sang me this refrain

I want 15 men in 30 days
girl, you're asking me why?
cause I can get 'em
and I can love 'em
till the day I die.

I want 15 men in 30 days
And I'm not playin' you wise
cause I want 'em
and I can find 'em
like a crackerjack surprise!

She was a terrible woman
the way she loved her men
but when I listened to her story
I remembered way back when

I'd toss the box aside
and catch another ride
and when they asked me
to explain,
I'd sing the same refrain.
(back to chorus, etc.)

Is it ribaldry or ribaldery? And how does one pronounce ribald? rih'-bald? "rye'-bald"? Don't hear folks say that word very often.

'Course I am but a mere amateur in this field. Here is a maestro!

Bull Moose Jackson "Big Ten Inch Record"

Rachel

2007-12-12T17:35:00.000-08:00

The story so incidental to Akiba's that I had to look up her name, it was Rachel.

He began his studies late in life and he married her, her family had money and her father disapproved of slacker husband starting school at 40.

She saw something she dug in him. So she married him and suffered poverty as he wandered looking for teachers as was the way in those times.

She did stuff, who knows what she did, the story doesn't say much, I don't even remember if they had children. She had to make ends meet, I guess. I wonder if she had a reputation, here was the daughter of a wealthy man, probably had some sophistication, she did dig Akiba before he was even noticeable to be dug, she must have had a sharp eye for the wise guy. Though in the story it is a disapproving neighbor ridiculing her for her husband's 12 year abdication of tilling his turf.

And so he comes back to her after long times of study, and passing by the window before entering the door ("Honey! I'm home!"), he hears her respond to the mean neighbor (and what kind of neighborhood was it, I wonder, and did Rachel do anything, make anything, to make her place look or be different than the others?).

"Well if I had my way, he'd study for another 12 years!" Rachel's pride and woe and rue and glooms all poured into passionate renunciations and declarations and such, her annoyance at folks not digging what was so front and center to her, all that.

And Akiba hears it and goes back to study for another 12 years.

The story is sparse. Because in the end when he has won all the glory, wisdom prizes and entourages, and she reunites with him, he makes her contribution clear, two souls like two eyes seeing same vision, moving toward it on separate and solitary paths.

What happened to Rachel, I don't know, Akiba met a martyr's end, it was wild and savage times with occupations and empires and rebellions.

New Rich Text

2007-12-08T18:06:00.000-08:00

Turned the wheel
and whirled
into the karmic dance

having chosen this,
evoking the common spell
with my own pledge.

Still, I shall dance
with whoever asks,

Still, I am bound.

Now I add
this new picked
flower
to the
mad bouquet

And, decadent,
enjoy its
perfume.

Auld Manhattoe's December Jump and Jive

2007-12-02T14:48:00.000-08:00

Wealthy in the good life,
like owning palaces
in every beautiful
spot on earth,
Mad overflowing abundant
jewels and diamonds
overflowing golden chest
kind of riches,

While at the same time.
the wolf is at the door.

It's all love and the mad life
Dakini dance.

Audioblog - Lady Be Good

2007-11-21T19:17:00.000-08:00

This one's to kick off the holiday season, festive or not as it may be. I even scat -- not very well, but it is Wednesday, after all.

If you are going to listen, remember to turn the volume down, as this was recorded over the phone sans music and there is some distortion.

Auld Manhattoe #4

Realm of Desire: Part 2

2007-11-15T20:51:00.000-08:00

Strength of jaguar,
majesty of wild lion.
Sacred wrestling match
on lush battlefields,
in all seasons.

Garuda will fly,
soaring through
every conceivable landscape.
It is the journey
of wild yoginis.

Chutes and Ladders

2007-11-05T10:07:00.000-08:00

Funny trying to explain
Being in the moment
When I’m anywhere but
In the moment!
That’s how it goes,
And even to write about it
Would mean not being in the moment.

Though perhaps that’s not so.
Some writing is very much
in the moment,
Tibetan dohas, for example
Or Kerouac’s spontaneous prose

Like wading through water,
Thick, rich, awareness,
Everything is there and
You can want nothing more,
You can see it, like water,
Transparent, but thick,
Everything is there and
You can want nothing more.
And it’s always there,
Always there, but our awareness flees,
In terror or ennui or stubbornness

Read a quote somewhere, talked about
How we see a fish writhing about
On the hook,
We don’t see the hook,
Only the fish writhing,
And people are the same,
We only see the struggle,
We miss the hook,
And so we see others
All wrong.

In the moment
There can be no hook,
Maybe we like the hooks,
For we so cling to them,
Maybe we think
The hook is some kind
Of brass ring.
Ha ha ha.

Fourth Line

2007-10-21T20:05:00.000-07:00

Wind of confusion
hiding simple truths
I gave my heart to
long ago.

Not forgotten,
only briefly clouded
by floating dust
of old temptations.

And by tears
that blur my vision,
summoning fantasies
long abandoned.

I turn away,
in solitary stillness
of my own
free will.

Treasure found
yet never held,
only in the giving
is there joy.

Thirst

2007-10-12T19:59:00.000-07:00

When I was very little and got thirsty, I'd imagine I was in the desert, parched, staggering amid the dunes, aaaaah, for some water! I'd wait as long as I could and then fill a glass from the tap (my oasis) -- it was so delicious, so precious, and I appreciated it so much.

Still do that every now and then.

Audioblog

2007-09-27T20:48:00.000-07:00

Wrote a new tune. Title is "Carry On." I suggest that when you listen to it, you turn the volume down - it's a'capella and sung over the phone so there is some distortion.

Here goes.

Auld Manhattoe #2

Realm of Desire

2007-09-18T22:30:00.000-07:00

Wanting, wanting,
waves of desire,
and in its own fulfillment
wanting to want
yet again.

Caught in net,
useless struggle,
net tightens,
no escape,
no surrender.

Puissant wisemen
laugh at my tears,
seeing only
pure sweet
bliss.

Heart Moves

2007-09-06T11:45:00.000-07:00

easy to drown
in the sea of love,
wave rises high,
decending in force
upon the open heart,
and in the struggle
oh it's easy to drown
in the sea of love.

easy to flow
in the sea of love,
riding high wave,
resting in its wake.
rhythm of emotion,
rising and falling,
flowing free
in the sea of love.

Treasure Hunt

2007-09-03T21:54:00.000-07:00

Lay back on soft grass
and look up at the stars,
on a late summer evening,
hearing frogs and
cicadas, owls, small
creatures, music of the night.

Spacious ease,
vast vault of sky above,
welcoming earth below,
stars mesmerizing the eye,
such great nurture
and consolation.

And perhaps nearby,
the sound of water,
lapping at the shore
all the elements
laying richly
before me.

Seems so simple,
but here in eastcoast clutter,
not so easy
to find.

Piper

2007-08-31T18:49:00.000-07:00

High times, mad carousing and utter belonging, oh spiteful joys of the inside we parvenues from outside, grinning cruelty of our new coronations, he said "if only someone would tell me what I was doing wrong I could change," and we hated him for that, so freshly out of the despised life ourselves, and he was cast out.

Smoothing ourselves out we became mirrors glinting bright stars and in our sparkling hysteria we felt free as the bars descended upon us, fools in paradise, hearts grown hard and makeup thick, layers of velvet and brocade, oh finally the belonging and we were inside only by virtue of their being outside.

Breaking free, breathing cold air of disenfranchisement and possibilities, loneliness a balm, a guide, now all existence is mine, all belonging to everyone and everything rejecting nothing, accepting dirt and diamonds all the same, paying the price with my last thin dime.

Fatuous

2007-08-30T11:56:00.000-07:00

must be this damned cold
or whatever it is that's
laying me low

like two seasoned warriors
they argue over hopeless battles
where dirty deeds
were done

in mad queenly delusions
I throw my royal sash
to one I believe
the victor

in rhapsodies of
senseless lust,
over this hero
I roll my eyes,

yes, I throw my sash,
and it lies, wanly
on the ground,
unnoticed.

Toast Triangles

2007-08-26T10:14:00.000-07:00

Sick, head feels stuffed with cotton, can't think, when I was little my ma was my nurse, indomitable, nothing could hurt me, it seemed, as long as she was there, she'd bring me meals on trays and all I remember was she'd cut my perfectly buttered toast into triangles instead of squares and that would comfort me. Best toast in the world, cut into triangles.

Confusion

2007-08-22T21:16:00.000-07:00

ought to be asleep, it's late, the weather has turned goofy, cold days in August, makes me disoriented, knowing by the weekend it'll be back up in the 90's. good sleeping weather tonight, but here I am, awake, aah. this time so confusing, big loads of knowledge poured into me, not knowing whether it'll take or just pour right back out of me again, so many people, retreats and advances, oh I got nothing to write, just big confusions and encounters, esoteric conversations as he painted my white hutch red with white lotuses and green leaves, swirling blue waters, golden decorations on the corners, smells of turpentine, he left an empty box of pringles potato chips, I've never eaten them, they scare me with their perfection. I like my potato chips individualistic, each one different, like snowflakes. and today, on 51st Street I was having a smoke with Nancy, we were talking and all of a sudden we saw a big red tour bus, every seat filled with Santa Clauses. and later I saw 4 of them on the corner of 51st and 6th Avenue handing out flyers for the Radio City Music Hall Christmas show. I wish the seasons would not be rushed that way but the mad advertisers will not be stopped. my upstairs neighbor has a black cat, her name is Buster and I pet her through the spokes of the staircase every now and then as she wanders the hallways. oh confusion, wouldn't know clarity if it fell on my head and knocked me over. clouds in the blue sky, they are temporary but they feel like forever.