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Words without the music by PJ Whitman

this be a time for me
of what I call -excess reality-
something I often not respond
so well to…
my family is saying good-bye
to three good and decent people
in a matter of just a few days
and my thoughts are split
as would be of any soul
to remember each of them
and yet the must to continue
to sort through feelings and things
of my own as others have a burden
and the holes left inside
from the leaving of a loved one
i do not well do this
for my own mortality
spills into back thoughts
and this be a commonality
of which I speak often
and yet a difference be
that sometimes the body fails
and then the tragedy
of a soul taken needlessly
though I perhaps pray
a different way
I pray for peace
these days of many ways
peace for those who grieve
peace for the spirit taken
and peace among all the people
to live better between ourselves
and all i have ever said
is that to each of their own faith
and each of their own heart
to honour that highest power
as each does choose
while to share those beliefs
yet not to force beliefs
upon another
and live in a respect and tolerance
of those who one may find
to be so different from ourselves.
For myself these names be;
Jack and Kathryn and Shelly
as would others grieving
from a long held hurt
or a loss of most recent time
have names or a name
that calls back the simple
remembrances of the laughter
and the tears
and then just those everyday
little things each did daily
whether a joy or perhaps
an unintended aggravation
-well, you know what i mean
those small things
that made a person
an individual among the many-
So let me offer:
A prayer for the living
A prayer for the grieving
A prayer for the passing
A prayer for their honoring…
Pat Whitman 28 June 2007
* * * * * * * * * * * * * *
it always be a new time
mingled with the old time
and hopes and fears of coming time
I know not what of tomorrow
and know too much
and too little of past time
it is the dream
to make this
a better time…
**********************************************
I seem to laugh too loud
and often at the wrong moments
yet again at times I sense
near perfect when another
is within grasp of either
the laughter or the tears
the would-be poet
with a greater surname
than talent…
the dance between
ego and confidence
whether in the poet trade
I have found my voice
or over-search for the words.
whether in voice
or kept within
another voice says
-just shut up and write-
and burn the floral incense
and sip the cooled coffee
and don the writing
grey chapeau
and play upon the keys
as if a piano black and white
eighty-eight
and a man my mind drifts
to the few lovely maidens
I have held
and would have wished
to have held
whether in passion’s pleasure
or as in held in comforting sake
as a she would need
or as I would need…
and then again I drift
to bigger wishes
as would people
rather to choose
to live in peace
whether be they much the same
or be they of great difference
and we tend our little planet
and with its gifts of beauty
whether built or grown
as if a demure yet grand garden
of all hue and tone and texture
and colour
each blessed shade of blue and of
red
yellow and green and pink
and even the moments of the grey
and of the black
the yellow-white twinkle
of distant stars on the
dark canvas of night
so quiet to call me
to embrace the evening…
at moments I drift
as with the lapping tide.
and then again being a man
though aging with little grace
I slip back with thoughts
of the women I have held
or would have held
had the moment been found
the commonality of joy and tears
of hunger and sweet so feasts
that do tease and please our lips
and this moment I pause
and would say only because
it sounds a certain way;
be soft and fragrant the night
as my soul flickers
as a lone candle flame
dances soft in the unseen
movements of the air
this gentle eve to be…
duality in surreality
[days after passing of my father]
-unease this day within own skin
the wrong kind of jangle
the wrong kind of anticipation
the go maybe of the flow
-surreality of calm
after the storm
looking for mental
auto-pilot switch
then finding the one within
and then inner debate
of whether to flick it on
-the inner debate
of the inner debate
then back again
to inner canvas
black and white colours
to shade the tableaux
-though hot june day
would i don the red
furry Claus cap
and shout “A merry Christmas to all
and to all a good night”
or drip the page
deep red with exposed bleeding;
-or perhaps the subtle suggestion
of a Mona Lisa
half-smile
the keeping a story
veiled and open
to interpretation
-momentary jingle-jangle subsides
just the act of writing
not of the definite
but in a damp wrung dry
vagary
-this be part of grieving
acceptance of feeling sad
and to feel at all
to slowly let myself
feel a little joy
-and the work continues
as do the rest continue
and i join the rest
slowly in my own time-
***********************************************
It is Father's Day
2007
And my eyes are still
red
yesterday family and
friends said our good-byes
to my father...
Even better than a
great man
though with his own
human faults
he was a good man
and no better can truly
be said
my much young son
came to his casket
open
though my child was
too young to know
asked him to -wake
up-
and all there would
have asked the same...
i had known someday
this day would come
i so hard tried to
steel my heart
to face this day with
personal strength
and only some little
strength
did this day come for
me and us all...
my former wife and
my young son
[not understanding]
did come
and hold my hand
and try to know and
accept my tears
-for my father was
better than a great man
he was a good man-
A five or ten minute slide show
of photos of my dad
as a boy
in service in WWII
of my dad and mother
married
some 60 or so years
ago
of him with his own
kids
even more of my dad Jack
with his dogs to walk
along
nearby railroad tracks
and then together with
wife,
mother-grandmother Ruth
my father, so well-read,
and yet silly worried
that he held no diploma;
though more well read
than so many of his
time
and those even again
younger...
i cried this day
along with even more
sad
his grandchildren
for they were given
a blessed grace to see
the special love this
man held
for family and friends.
for so many cared of
him
who did not know
he had become so ill
I feel he knew his time
was beginning to come.
And my heart knew
he decided he could
not stay
with us and what he
felt
that it would be too hard for him
to become a burden
for others
for he would rather
keep
his own truth within
that his own time had
sadly come.
he did not want to
go
but it would hurt his
heart too much
to have to stay so
long
as have hopeless time
to have to say good-bye
after his body had
begun to fade
and that others would
be left to care for him
after that time when
he could not do for
himself
as he had always done
before...
and I say again
my father, even better
than
a great man. was indeed,
a good man.
i mean not to claim
anything this moment
for myself
rather only to say
as I did that day:
"It is time old man
to take your rest,
you did good."
For how can a man advance
in years
and be so special a
father
and again a grandfather
and have quiet and
decent folk
step forward and say
in their own way;
"Jack was there for me,
he would tell me the
truth I knew,
and he cared."
I cried and my former
wife
rubbed my back and
shoulders
as pictures of my father
holding his grandchildren
and dancing with daughter's
in law
at their joyful weddings
came to be shown
and the photos of dad
petting his favorite
dogs
after those last pleasant
walks-
my father was a special
man
for being a common
man
of work and faith and
family.
the love all gave that
final sad day
when life and death
finally demanded
we say good-bye...
I tried to steel myself
for that day
but could I not go
beyond
that better love he
showered
upon his young grandchildren
who were not ready
yet
to say good-bye to
as good a man
and even better grandfather
than could ever be…
And this I know
speaks again to my
father
-being better than
a great man
for he was a good man-
and no better a tribute
can truly be...
P.J. Whitman 2002 17062007
**********************************
days some I have passed are keepers
some again I would repaint or toss
sipping some draft
in my writer’s chapeau
and would-be chateaux
I tap away at keys
in pleasant daydreams
of peaceful days
and evenings with a lovely lady
whether be light repartee
or in passion’s bliss
oh my, do the dreams matter?
say I again, do the dreams matter?
I dream of days
when you and I would accept
one another for the good
and even the not-so-good
when anger and dispute diffuse
as long as they be silly and sad
of only the moment
and not because one holds
against the other such basic stuff
as race or creed or national origin
As I age less graciously
and less gracefully
I would beg hope
my silliness and my
less-than-sweetest moments
come from momentary glitches
in character and not
from deeper kept angers.
…and who ain’t got issues?
but let me tell ya a little secret
about maybe doin’ the bad things
or said to be bad…
it be so about intent
and maybe not caring about
who may be hurt
by acts questionable taken
and this be key
we be not perfect beings
and we be all great with fault
and many great with good
and most so in between
-and so it goes-
as Linda Ellerbee said
on the television
some time ago
and still on a warm and still
summer’s day
I dream of peace
and being in a lover’s arms
whether upon a clover filled meadow
by a clear sweet flowing stream
or lying soft and quiet
holding another in my arms
in a candlelit place
with lavender or perhaps
vanilla incense kissing the airs
and what indeed do
the little things matter
at each day’s end?
peace and hope and love
and dreams
so abstract but so real
for what be real
but what we perceive
becomes real -for it all
comes back to each our own thoughts
and what we feel to be real…
the moments of personal nobility
not nobility or advantage by birth
but of momentary crisis
that sometimes a one of us rises
to bring forth a small or great
special act of heroics
or of grace or of kindness
at those moments one does not think
of anything beyond that moment
-a singular challenge-
-a one mission now-
without concern for self
but for who is in immediate need
for those who have walked there
you know and you know
and no thanks be needed for you
though better in your heart
that those you love
saw something in a special light
just the slightest touch of vanity
but for those close to you to see
for you lived it, you did it,
and you know and you know
and so you need not the public award…
oh yes, I be a dreamer
of light and dark heart sometimes
much worse has happened than I have seen
though quite enough I have seen
I pray a universal prayer
not of one faith particular
but of any faith that knows
of a highest power
…that peace and hope and love
do reign supreme;
not particular to any
race or creed
but to the all of us
yes, to the all of us.
I would say a poem or a prayer
or sing a song from any place
from any creed to bring
a little more love
a little more peace
and keep hope alive
and give dreams so precious flight
higher and higher still…
*******************************************
spring warms to summer
humid air juicy with spirit
mid bright blue dabbed with cotton clouds
turning moist and damp
gray and violet dark
and menacing
two layers of purple clouds
slide into one another
in skyward collision
something’s coming
a tease a tensing moment
hail and storms
maybe grand nasty spinning funnels
you want to look
you want to hide
something’s coming
a tease a tensing moment
radio and television
dopple over each other
with watch and warning and maybe
secret wishes of some torn trees
and flooded streets
just nobody really hurt
not too much anyway
ma’am and sir
were you peeking out
or under a table
or in the basement
did the train sound come
they stare with wet fuzzled hair
-it sounded like a train
-gone it’s all gone
-maybe save some pictures
-worse much worse
-than twelve or thirteen years ago
the sky still gray
till bright cleansing morning sun
damp glistening of the rubble
once a house -a two-story home
with more stories in memory
all that is left
governor flies in
helicopter view
of map sectors of nature’s battlefield
nature won (one) people lost (zero)
speeches and tears
and residing fears
do ya look
or do ya look away…
*************************************************
all tired out and almost
nothing going on
except all is going beyond
me for the moment
yet I seem awakening yet
even now
for spring is bursting and
I drink in
the dandelions and purple
wild flowers
and near emerald green grasses
and a new sunny warmth around
me
give it a day or perhaps
two
past the busy-busy
you know the busy-busy…
you know like Dennis Hopper
speeching about Col. Kurtz
in Apocalypse Now
to Martin Sheen
talking all hyper-active
and trying to capture
way too many thoughts
most of them too much noise
to understand for those
who were not somewhere…
and I still yet dream
and yet I still walk
in the real
and separate the two
one of hopes and wishes
the other of the things
that may be or shall be…
and still it is a new spring
with the overcoats and overwraps
hung away in half-full closets
and airy clothes less cover
us
and we walk and laugh and
smell and see the evidences
of spring and summering
warmths
surrounding us.
ever the old dreamer
I see the beauty of young
women
among the other beauty of
the lands
with new blossoms of all
hues
and fresh aromas
the wishes that they who
would struggle
and fight would say no more
and lie in the green pastures
sipping nectars and holding
close
each their own loved ones
so others could do the same
and all would return their
warriors home
to allow rolling mountains
and soft lush valleys to
echo
not with bombs
but rather with our laughters
and the animals calling
to their young
with no more the conflicts
whether sad or deep imposing
pain
upon the all of us…
let me dream a day or two
longer
before wrapping myself in
the duality
of the real and fabric seam
of dreams
though perhaps this be selfish
or just a little foolish
be there times
a bit of foolishness
might just be needed
to allow a breathe or two
between works of the building
whether the tasks hard and
solid
or of the building peace
of within.
though no one lovely resides
now here
I rest with memories of
ones who have
laid softly beside me
and a smile that vague light
smile
of recollections of sweet
romance
and humanly passions
most do build in the course
of life
with the peoples we have
pleasantly encountered
then after a breathe or
two
of more gentler airs
we can build that better
time
we need all pursue
as is the nature of
nearly all of us…
**********************************************
if it be not easy for me
let it be easier for others
like the beauty pageant contestant
'i would like to win the prizes
like the new car
the new house
have a beautiful someone
oh and yes, I want world peace
and see no more of those hungry people-
thank you thank you...'
it's all in the mind
the heart to be happy
take me a breathe
and smell the garden herbs
and sweet perfume
whether upon the neck and betwixt
the lovely breasts of a sweet lady
or the aroma of a rainbow floral garden
it be in the breezes layered
upon a soft clear warm spring day as today...
if it so simple as to say
you need not embrace me or mine
but accept us if we shall indeed accept you and yours
it be such a simple thing
so simple to wish and dream
so much more to bring home
or give to another far away
as i say again
it matter little the messenger
but indeed the message
no magic wand
or spell or incantation
have i to give or bring
to make a little more peace
though if such a spell
i could cast
i surely would
[and don't call me Shirley]
i am all wrapped up today
swirling in the beauty of the day
trying yet again to float above
sorrows and unsweet airs
that i wave away
as best a foolish old dreamer
could do in the glory
of a pleasant spring morn...
and what would someone
have another do
but want better if not for the self
but for-for another
i your dreams cannot easily fulfill
merely blow a kiss upon the sweet breeze
and let you go upon your way
as i go upon this strange small way of mine
[and if perhaps these ways meet...]
and maybe perhaps to work better
for a new peace a little joy
a few more souls free
and life a little easier
for people who need the comfort
and embrace of a happiness
we not all find
though is there for most
if we let it come
as does the warmth of the spring sun
so often come...
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
evening slowly comes on late winter snow
we knew would come one more time
and I am creaky and cranky
and wondering when will finally come
another spring
i look to the warmth
once came a teasing a couple
days ago like
the smile of a lovely lass
on the meadow by the spring
I know not why we must
look for conflict and quibbles
whether in our own bubbles
or across the great expanse
in our earthly bubble
that yet so small
in the expanse of the expanding universe
not by my window
but some calendar it says
the rebirth of the new season is but
a week away
and I seek the sun
the warmth and delight
like the ancients
dancing in the dusk
around fires wearing colours
made of fruit and vegetable dyes
upon their faces
to bring the gods favour
and new births and new crops
and long warm days
for hunting and fishing
and growing all new things
and sweet berries bursting
from the bushes and fruits
from trees and vines
the warmth that heightens
each our senses
as in now and the olden times
in the temperate climates
and the sun returns
and fur parkas put away
and splashing in the waters
of life
and it comes when
the newnesses return
when the buds open
upon the branches
when the animals bring forth
new young of their kind
and gladnesses return
with the blessing of the sun god
who kisses the land
with the new warmth
promises of spring and the summer
and perhaps with the blessing
of the sun god
of the ancients
even for us today
we can share some of the happiness
and have a festival rite of spring
whether hedon or holy
or by whatever name
be serious or frivolous
and joys be shared by all peoples
in like it is Christmas in December
it is the coming spring
and somehow we can bury again
all the old hates and all the old pains
and smile and dance
to the music and muse
of the coming spring…

so much beauty
yet there be
and i fall into trap
of my own pains
real and imagined
the sufferings of others
i do see
the death and destruction
the hunger and the illnesses
the fighting
and why do they need battle so?
and bicker and complain
about accepting help
to stop the misery
there be no common foe
but the misery and the conflict;
is it not so?
though not be
such a great poet
i give easy images
one might want to reach
and grasp for
or suggest a beauty
that you may see
from that deeper within
i the foolish old man
reprise younger days
and celebrate both
inner and outer
feminine beauty
and sweet aromas
and sweet tastes
and the passions
of the red and pink
and white roses
though they be
stemmed with thorns
and skies that float
in blues and orange
and in the night
sparkle stars upon
the black blanketed horizon
and oh my the smiles
yes the smiles
of peace and pleasures
and simple things
all peoples should be
blest to enjoy
i the would-be artiste’
the sometimes prima donna
the male drama queen
singing along to judy garland
somewhere over the rainbow
beatles let it be
in between my own
tizzies and snits
that seldom matter a wit
the silliest things we choose
to speak heavily of
and the necessary
that we choose to let slip away…
i see my littlest travails
and bigger images
of what be and what could be
as i listen
to echoing of enya
a day without rain
drift among the gentle
inward airs
i dwell moments
of soft peace
and soon to nap
as be my aging custom
i float soon enough
above with the doves
after the flickers
of tall candles
slide down and
grows smaller
and then fade
and extinguishes
to the dark.
oh well tis be another day
another way to journey still
short and great distances
sometimes even without
leaving my humble chambers…
***********************************************************
sometimes so low i reach up
sometimes so high i reach down
still the waking dreams
that modern troubadours sing
as the songs with changing
words and melodies
still it be the same song
when john and jane
can home marching come
-when the warriors exchange
their weapons for tools
-when the weak can find
a new quiet resolve and strength
-when the ill of body or spirit
can find a special healing
given or found from within
-when the hungry can find the food…
the soft smile of a familiar lover
as touches exchange
the joys of a laughing child
the wonder of sight
downward from the mountain top
the horizon sight upward
from that same so high top
it be the same
from any peoples
no matter how
one speaks of and to
the highest power
and let the words be
filled with the richness
of peace and hope and love
and not of hatred and war
and death and destruction
and let it be sang
and spoke and written still
to acknowledge the pain
and then to rise above
and diminish and end
those miseries that haunt
and harm us all
i seek be a humble servant
as a single grain on the beach
or a lone small star or one soul
amongst the billions
though sometimes i lose
my humility when splashed
and painted with the higher dreams
or the earthy pleasures
as is with the blessings
and the curses of this
our human mortality and frailty
i can but dream and say
and sing upon the west wind
visions of hope and perhaps
one day the all of those here
and someday to come
will find harmony for all
the new days and souls to come…
****************************************
celebrations of life
i look for my missing brown fedora
still drink the now cold coffee
listening to the symphonies
on flat disks in my near quiet chamber
amongst the lavender incense
and a couple of dancing candles…
smoking the self-rolled tobacco cigarettes
and concerns of artistic freedom
and self-censorship
while in poet persona
and my long plaid flannel robe
while gazing at my writing words
and the walls adorned
with pictures of pretty girls
like my old college rooms.
and would i lie naked
with my aging small body
on warm tropical sands
caressing the flesh of an equally
dressed beautiful woman
with red flowers strewn
and a salted breeze
coming with the blue and white horizon
of a southerly ocean scene.
lost in daydreams of better days
though these days and nights be drawn
with the pen of the good and the bad
as is nearly always to be.
and re-tasting the butter dipped
flesh of the king crab
and sipping semi-sweet white wine
re-playing the words and music
of -les miserable-
as seen from the balcony
of the splendid auditorium
and youthful re-living a few
athletic successes
as another badge of manhood
as years pile into years
and the body de-evolves
but the spirit would suit up still.
the old fool i do become
for you tis like watching
your parents and aunts and uncles
do the fast dance
at the wedding reception
for a glowing pair of twenty-something’s
waiting for the honeymoon to begin.
though my heart is torn
and still beating
and always split between
the mendings and the breakings
my mirror with it no lines
except the ones growing
on my face
and thinning now grey hair
and muscles that be not so crisp
tell me no lie
that i be ageless
as the lavender sweet stick
slowly burns down
and its red ember begins to cool
and whether to re-light the flame
or drift away into soft night
still even about to sleep
i worship at the feet of feminine beauty
with a silly chuckle
that i may be old
-but i ain’t dead-
and thinking i remember a line from a speech
by a kennedy brother
-that the dream still lives
and the spirit will never die-
**************************************
and what is your wish?
your dream… for yourself
a dream by you for another
still be your wish?
once you bring to the world
a child, you know
yes you know
that your wishes mostly change
from self to beyond
at least to your child
but often beyond
for you now see through
many sets of eyes
the eyes of you today
the child you brought
and the eyes of those
who brought you forth
i hear people say
every one should do
some community or military service
also would i perhaps say
a visit to a child care center
or even a birthing place
not to see the mechanics
of a woman’s delivery pain
but rather see
a child introduced to a new mother
and if present be
the joys of the proud father
and then speak to me of war
and poverty and pain
i have myself both
selfish and selfless dreams
and wishes and wants
wants are immediate
some needed
some simple pleasure
dreams go beyond
perhaps beyond one
or two or more lifetimes
for as there be day and night
the seasons of change
one need be aware
of each in its time
as i sing to you
Pete Seeger words
sung by a Roger McQuin
from a biblical passage
the song Turn-Turn-Turn
you may know the words
-a time to be born
a time to die-
- time to reap
a time to sow-
and so much more
at this season
when one reaches
a certain age
it is not about receiving
though receiving be nice
it is that others receive
perhaps a few wants
but more about needs
and nothing replaces
the eyes of a child
on Christmas day
or another gift
receiving day
may what your culture be…
but while here
while walking among us
the greatest gift of all
is peace
let between you and your maker
by whatever name
worry about what gift
beyond life you may receive
let peace among brother and sister
neighbour and stranger
be our greatest gift
-for those who will best
receive this gift be our children
and when their day comes
to see through these many sets of eyes
that they will come to understand
as what most of us see
and our children
will pass to their children
this greatest gift of peace
we can give while our time is here…
-----------------------------------------
sipping the spirits of the season
rum-nog and candy canes
dreams and wishes
of peace on earth good will towards all
beyond ones faith
or race or nation
perhaps this season will be the one
when that breakthrough will come
and the holy lands will rest
from their wearies
tis but a seasonal dream
i carry past the seasons
into the white calm of winter snow
into rebirth of spring
and the summer sun
and bright leaves of fall
i dream of many things
for myself and for others
some of simple pleasures
and more of greater design
tis but a holiday wish
perhaps wrapped in pretty paper
and a bow
or unwrapped as another gift
the smell of pastries and a holiday feast baking
clothed in the warm and comfy sweater
of the season
and an extended hand
in giving and in kindness receiving
and let us whisper
in our own words and beliefs
a simple prayer for peace
for peace for all
and for all a good night...

------------------------------------------------------------
evening beckons with calls for candles
to dimly fray the darknesses
darknesses seen and unseen within
a choral and symphonic perform
handel's Messiah lowly
and I melt a bit each moment
like the candles
faintly lighting my way this night...
a dreamer's part i play
wanting more something
so much more
than something for myself
though for myself
something i would accept
but that be not why
i dream these big dreams
that so whisper loudly
or shout so quietly
within me
for i too have borrowed
the holiday season to dream and wish big
the dream that is wrapped within Christmas
that calls for Peace on Earth
Goodwill toward all...
it seems strange to some
that i claim not one particular faith
for whether one would call
the highest power
Father or Mother
or another name
is not my concern
the path to that higher
by whatever road taken
and serves to better
the all of us
is of a holy nature to me.
and again i say
i know not what came before
time itself
for these mortal eyes
and this human heart
cannot see the eternal
if by your faith
you have given name
to this spirit or being;
that be your faith
and i will respect it
for i do respect that for you
that be your own truth.
though my truth for me
formed from my mortal eyes
and within this human heart
that i cannot imagine
an all-loving highest power
would want his children
to depart a human soul
in his or her name...
this be my over-riding faith
and hope and dream and wish
that the all of us
would find within their own faith
a similar belief
though i be so weak of mind and spirit
at times that i would even
hypocritically ask that others
may do as i would say
rather than what i would sometimes do
and i would even say
that even if there be no such higher
or eternal mother or father
to hear our truthful prayers-
it must be better to utter
sincere prayers that those
who speak and act in hatred
be redeemed from
and lifted up from that hatred-
than to curse them
and return their hatred.
i am a solitary weak man
and often cannot myself
rise to the wishes
of my own words
by some coincidence
my handel's Messiah
concert tape is playing
at this very moment
the Hallelujah Chorus
in both spirit and ernest...
and whether this honest
and lowly offered prayer
for peace and goodwill
be heard on high
or scattered away
upon the cool evening's breeze;
tis better thought and spoken
than to be considered
meaningless and without hope
the old comedian's joke;
that if someone
is going to steal material
at least steal the good material;
-tis better to light a single candle
than to curse the darkness...
so let me light
a candle this night
and yet better still
may you light a candle
for peace and goodwill
where you be this night
and curse ye not the darkness
and may you pray
as how you pray
that those in darkness
hatred and despair
might find a brighter light
this holiday night...
--------------------------------------------------------------
drifting
textures blend awake dreams
hopes and wishes
tossing back and forth
like faint and rich smiles
and devilish exchanges between
lovers
big dreams like the corny
answers of beauty pageant contestants
wishing for a swimsuit that fits
and world peace
and I confess to noticing her smile
and swimsuit
and desire for world-wide peace
and love and happiness…
a beautiful woman in my boudoir
a warm cup of cappuccino
and peace in the mid-east
and looking at stars across horizon
smoking a cigarette
drinking semi-sweet
German Riesling
wearing writer’s fedora
creating atmospherics
within breaks
of daydreams and hopes
lustily for peace and romance
and king crab sweetmeats
dipped in a butter sauce
and another sip of white wine
in candle light barely hearing
Mozart nacht musik…
am I asking for too much
for a deep bank balance
a beautiful -from within- lover
and harmonious peace
among individuals and faiths
and nations
swimming among superficial pleasures
and a sweeter and deeper peace
for all to enjoy
don’t mind me
an aging romantic at best
or silly old fool at the worst
drifting like a wood plank
on a gentle sea…
between earthy and more heavenly desires
-------------------------------------
over-thinking karma
like the christian debate
of faith and works
and believing and doing the right thing
seeking an approach to perfection
for its own benefit
or because you want to be seen
as trying to better yourself
and what is more important
being cool
or being seen by others
as being cool
being a trendsetter
or being seen as a trendsetter
for a man; the anticipation
of being with a beautiful woman
or being with a beautiful woman
or a woman; the anticipation
of being with a handsome man
or being with a handsome man
being saintly
or merely being saintly
because either god or santa
is watching…
taking deep breath
oh for god’s sake
trapped in my own
paralysis by analysis
and then
pulling myself back
into just committing actions
that one believes is right
and doing whatever
in the right way as well
the pause to reflect
is a reward of sorts
to relax and rest
and look forward
trying not to look
behind too much
thinking too much
and not doing enough
oh well, time to drink in the morning
and look forward to the evening
and not dwell on where
and who I might be
sleeping in the arms
of in the long tonight…
------------------------------------------
at least that how I remember…
classic music plays in the background
though my mind hears Bob Dylan
singing “Blowin’ in the Wind”,
and Dion singing “Abraham, Martin, and John”
as I remember the moments I heard the horror
of the shootings of Dr. King and President Kennedy
and Senator Kennedy and former Beatle John Lennon.
in second grade, the quietly crying teacher
asked us to me quiet and place our heads
on our desks as if kindergartner’s taking a little rest.
school was soon dismissed
and we dashed out of the buildings
and the rumours spread
that the president was shot
and I naively said to an older student
“I pray he is still alive”
I was told in youthful candor,
“No, he’s dead. They blew half his head away.”
at least that is how I remember that day…
lying on the floor
watching TV at my uncle’s home
the news broke in
that Dr. King had been shot in Memphis
and that he had died
the grown-ups pretended not to hear
and said nothing.
at least that is how I remember that night.
senator kennedy had addressed the campaign crowd
in California late at night
and said “And now on to Chicago”
and moments later in black and white
the Eugene McCarthy campaign staff was shown
in white flat campaign hats crying and college age
young women with their hands over their mouths
as a spokesman for the McCarthy campaign announced
that Bobby had been shot and taken to the hospital.
New York Senator Robert Francis Kennedy
died in hospital the next afternoon.
at least that is how I remember that night and day.
Howard Cosell on Monday Night football
as I drank an eight pack of Little Kings cream ale
that John Lennon had been shot and killed
near his Dakota apartment in New York City.
slightly drunk and age 25
I ran to the bathroom and vomited
the stale ale from my guts.
just the day before I had heard
Lennon during a taped interview
on the radio say,
“I got tired of being Elvis Beatle”
in the ultimate irony
I had front row seats for a live concert
from four stage performers
hired as Beatles look and sound-a-likes
for a nostalgia show called -Beatlemania-
only three days after John’s death.
at least that is how I remember that time…
Perhaps the Holy City Jerusalem
is but a test
a test from even perhaps
the highest power
the test being asked
of all peoples
is can they live side by side
in that Holy City
to set aside East Jerusalem
for her current residents
and Jerusalem for its population
and the holy sites shared
for all to have access
that when the Holy City
can be shared
the region itself
can be open and shared
it not be for me to say
who be more right
or more deserving
and certainly not to call
or claim the whole
for one or the whole
for another
yes perhaps this be a test
from on high
or just our human nature itself
but it be a test nonetheless
and when this of holiest cities
can be shared and enjoyed by all
who seek her heart
we may know a better peace
and let us know that better peace
freedom and the unfettered imaginary muse
(the imaginary muse indeed reflects no one person, the characterization is completely imaginary)
kris kristopherson and Janis Joplin
me and bobby McGee
-freedom’s just another word for nothing left to lose-
and half o’pot of fresh ground coffee
and Beethoven and self-rolled
tobacco cigarettes in
only my long plaid flannel bathrobe
being my alleged artistic persona
somewhat wishing for an attractive muse
in between the lines
and I see the conflicts about us
that need not have to be
and bobby kennedy quote from George B. Shaw
I often get slightly wrong
-Some people see things as they are
and say Why?
I dream of things that never were
and say Why Not?”
I plop on my old brown fedora
bought for pocket change
from a local yard sale
and switch from coffee to water
and nibble at a quick lunch
and it is all about atmospherics
and perceptions that become reality
and the karma that one exudes
an invisible aura that surrounds us
as perceived by nearly all of others
I take pause for another lunch bite
and glimpse the snapshots
of a lovely young woman
in brief costume
whom I will never meet
as an imaginary muse.
I chuckle silently that
I would hire a live model
to sit quietly nude
a few feet from me
while I wrote poetry
about lying myself unclothed
in a country pasture
near a flowing stream
and white and violet wildflowers
and those high cottony clouds
upon the pastel blue skies
and hills on the horizon
and a lush valley beneath my feet
and seeing myself as if in a painted landscape
and through the daydream’s haze
I return to the conflict again
for this moment.
another of my selves
perhaps another time
would trap myself
in contemplating strategies
and seeing only the war-riddled harshnesses
and the talking heads
talking of war
and rumours of war
and the angry people
shouting about who is right and who is wrong
but that is not the self I am this day
for I want not to see the anger
to see the violence
though I know that it be out there
I want to think not about foes and fighting
for I want neither foes or fighting
and should that not be us as well?
and to be cliché that we must learn
to compete well and be able to disagree
without being disagreeable…
my real sense detects
the reality that some will stop at nothing
in their anger and greed and hatred
and I wish that we and all
would lose all but a token amount of the weapons
for they need not be used in a better world
as I pause again to gaze
at that imaginary muse
and take another bite
of that little bit of lunch
and light another smoke…
and what so much better
we could use the coin
spent on guns and bombs
and all the instruments of death
for I be my dreamer self this day
perhaps much from a little
over consumption the evening before
and a little too little sleep
as is too often my
growing older habit.
and still is not the challenge
be to convince others
we want not your conflict
and we would only defend ourselves;
though strong we may be;
if we be forced to meet a violent challenge.
that we not be dragged
into your angry karma
that we all somehow need
rise above our lesser natures
and now let me for this quiet moment
float back to my softer dream
as this self this day
be as a dreamer
lying in sweet pasture
with that imaginary muse
under an early summer vista
in the moment free
of the moment’s previous attire
wrapped together in the gentlest embrace
as would all unfettered
lovers and dreamers be…
join public television, watch history channel, go on-line and read the Avalon Project on Yale website
watch with quiet reflection the footage from U.S. army liberating the Jews from concentration camps
-watch the smoky remnants of a bombed out church and the four white caskets being carried out of a church carrying the
innocents shells of the four little black girls killed in that bombing.
read the inaugural address of john f. kennedy and Franklin Delano Roosevelt standing with polio braces telling people
that we have nothing to fear but fear itself and later calling December 7th a day that will live in infamy. or Winston Churchill
during the Battle of Britain bombardment of London that -never have so many owed so much to so few- when thanking RAF pilots
for their service defending England against Nazi planes.
read the MLK I Have A Dream speech and see the footage of a quarter or a million people
surrounding the Lincoln Memorial the day Doctor Martin gave that speech
have you seen the footage of Bobby Kennedy telling a small campaign audience that Dr. King was dead?
or seen that grainy footage of someone holding up the head of the same Bobby in the
Ambassador Hotel in Los Angeles the night Bobby was shot and the crying campaign
staffers at McCarthy headquarters when the news of Bobby being shot was announced there.
or how about Martin Sheen as Bobby and William Devane as JFK in docudrama -The Missiles of October-
Anwar Sadat assassinated, Malcolm X murdered, Yitzak Rabin killed while moving toward peace.
Harari murdered in Lebanon.
or the tear gas clouds and four dead in Ohio -kent state 1970.
Ghandi of India calling for non-violent resistance to oppression murdered
this generation has 9-11, the bombs and bullets of the mid-east, 300 killed mostly children in Chechnya, Saddam trying
to steal Kuwait, wars ongoing in Iraq and Afghanistan, terror attacks against Israel, the occupation of Palestine, hezbullah
versus Israel, genocide(s) in Africa.
north korea and iran wanting the bomb when no one externally is threatening them
ya know guys, it is about hate and greed and love and sharing and tolerance. like maybe -I don't like you- and -I want
what you have and don't care how I get it-
-it just plain isn't any more complicated than that-;
the KISS concept (Keep It Simple, stupid) or the very very short book not yet written, called -Conflict For Dummies-
and the silly little generic solution -get both sides to stop at the same time and then either make nice or just put up with
each other-
looking upon beauty
i smile wistful
that half almost mona lisa smile
a lovely woman a beautiful child
crisp clear sunrise
crisp clear sunset
the darkness to light
the light to darkness
violet and white wildflowers
at edge of crisp clear stream
along a pristine forest...
seated on fallen log
without caring if anyone
heard the tree drop
i bathe in the sunrise
in the clear stream
and bathe in the duality
of the moon and sun
under the clear and crisp
same and changing skies
to honour beauty
what else matters
my feet float upon the grass
barely touching lightly pressing
the green blades untrimmed
and seen waving in the breeze
i relish in the calm
honoring the beauty before me
with sweet recollections
drifting within
and above with the stars and clouds...
Valentina and the old fool
-this poem is different for this site
and rated PG-13-
(My apologies to the model
and the photographer. This work was very loosely
inspired by a lovely photo shoot
of a lovely young woman
on an art photography website,
pictures by Maurizo Moro. )
her lips crimson and hair like liza minelli
as if sally bowles in cabaret
and I could envision her
wearing black thigh high hose
and short black dancing shorts
and low-cut tank top
smiling and dancing and strutting
with Joel Grey as the master of ceremonies…
sexy and fun and a little tacky
showing a bit of cheek and some cleavage
and playing to the crowd
a beer hall cabaret
a bend at the waist
from the back
looking over shoulder
and then forward as if to pick up
something on the stage
and then placing a hand
over her almost exposed breast
as if an “oh my, what are you looking at”
then standing and throwing her arms up
and tossing back her shoulders
and doing a little shimmy and shake
and turn of her hips
the audience roars approval
at her naughty but nice joke
some PG burlesque
“a drink-up mein schotsie”
a bow to the crowd
and the hand covers herself again
and smiles and Valentina says,
Oops, I did it again…”
and then another little turn
to show her back and a slight bend
for one more cheeky moment
and then a run off stage waving
her name perhaps staged as Valentina
slips behind the translucent panel
in her dressing room as an old fool,
I mean, gentleman, such as myself
brings a bouquet of roses as red as
Valentina’s full lips
She knows he can see her alluring outline
through the white fabric covering
of the dressing panel
and she smiles as she removes her costume slowly
and then her bra and panties
doing little turns to change the outline
of her lovely form in a near strip
the ultimate tease.
Valentina asks the old fool to hand her
a thin knee length floral robe
over the panel.
As the old fool does
he gulps at being so close
to the now nude dancer
separated only by
the translucent panel.
She faces the panel
and he almost sees
the all of her
as she stands nearly
pressing against the panel
She holds open the robe for three
or four seconds before
deliberately tying off
the sash…
The robe shows her nipples
pressing against the fabric
and momentarily the robe
folds in between her legs
as she appears from behind the panel
the robe is tucked somewhat between
her legs as it molds into a sexy V
right there and the hem
is hiked to her upper thigh
Valentina’s eyes meet the old fool’s eyes
and she smiles pretending to not know
that her tease is going on
and the effect on the old fool
that her performance is having.
The old fool congratulates Valentina
on her performance and tells her
what a great talent she is…
She smiles and bats her eyes
and smoothes her robe
and says with an impish grin
“I would love some champagne, my dear”
The old fool opens the door
to her dressing room
and calls out for a bottle
of the house’s best bubbly…
Valentina says sweetly
“You’re such a lovely man…”
The bottle is brought quickly
and glasses poured
and toasts exchanged…
and the old fool gets no closer
to the lovely Valentina
than to offer a kiss on the cheek
at the end of the bubbly.
And Valentina coos
“You will be back tomorrow, won’t you?”
and the old fool answers
with a slight bow of his head,
“of course, my dear, of course.”
As the smiling old fool leaves
and the door to the dressing room
closes behind him
one can barely hear
Valentina’s laughter
as she then calls her own
master of ceremonies
who works backstage
to bring their own bottle
absorbed in cost
from an overcharge
on the old fool’s champagne…

I hear the somber drums
the cadenced march without words command
to war and the broken return
of those who cannot march.
I am warm just witness to the fever
a virus that is spread and communicated
I know wars by their motive
I know them by their heart
and their heartlessness
I know of answering a nation's call
and I know of duty and when a war
is not of hope and peace and of restoration
wave not a flag of glory over conquest
the glory of war comes when weapons are cast aside
and after all it matters not who won and who lost
but when the combatents can be citizens again
to build and rebuild and make a peace gift
to their children
It is as clear as the light high blue sky
whether from succulent valley to the desert dunes
to calm cool mountaintop that turns a whisper
into an echo
and there comes that time when the horror of battle
thrust upon those who cannot fight
and can only die in its plight
and war without end becomes the saddest folly
it is not that war or this war or any war
it is war without the glory of peace behind it.
it is war to take away what another has
and keep it as a treasured prize.
the glory comes in the peace
oh yes, war is filled with heroism and sacrifice,
but the glory comes in the peace still...
-pj whitman 92704 1108-
-30-
and now i know
in what i hope
to be the middle years of my life.
a special sir name
i possess, shared with poet
of special quiet dignity
watching a recounting of lincoln's life
i sing battle hymn of republic
low voiced in tenor almost falsetto tone
offered as a prayer for peace and freedom
i recited most of the words
of gettysburg address
i claim not the voice of that previous poet
nor the will of his soul, or necesarily his kin
but i know from his words a purity and nobility
must surely have dwelled in his heart.
i write these words in solitude
and very dimmed light
and i absorb those lincoln words
slowly evolved in his time to triumph
the equality of all.
whether black or white,red, yellow;
of all faiths under the great heavens
and the constellations, beneath and within
i ask this humbly of all
as a concession to whatever spirit one holds
within your mind your soul your heart,
that someday soon that each of us
will walk together these lands in a new tranquility,
a new harmony, and in a better peace...
pj whitman 91704 1330
-30-
-----
is it all in the details
as the crimson petals fall
one at a time from dried flower
released from an elderly volume
the tears fallen one salted drop
for eternal mortalized moments
words somberly spoken over
fresh bouquets saying good-bye
bouncing romp of one tiny child
discovering laughter
bowlegged dash with head down
chest out into barriers not seen
and in purity not understood.
pj whitman 91804 1402
-30-
-----
tell me not the mercy or love of your god
with a gun in hand;
i will not the voice hear;
i will not taste the bittersweet;
i will not smell the essence of that scented flame:
i know the flash of powder,
though blest i have not touched
shattered forms left
and in these latter years
will likely be spared
that walk to look upon
that gazeless gaze of fallen who would be foe
or of those lost with the final vestige of innocence
for another's victorious claim.
pj whitman 91504 0945
-30-
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