my first punk rock show

 

los lonely boy

 

                [watching los lonely boys perform at the ca state fair]

home front

you know you are home 

when you settle in

take a deep breath

& say to yourself

i can write poems here

pre-spring haiku

a walk thru midtown

                    still wrapped up for winter

i sweat my ass off

* * *

                     cat on the sidewalk 

rolling onto her back for petting

                     a meow friend

* * *

the city turns on her lights

neon rouge & streetlight blue

* * *

bradley pear trees in bloom

a taste of cum

* * *

hey fat rat in the bushes

                    i lost my way home too

* * *

the streetman pushing his shopping cart passes

you look familiar 

he says to me

                     

have a coke & er, um. ahem, lemme clear my throat, a lopez!

 

quote unquote

the poet who is not sensitive to the enormity and complexity of our historical and intellectual predicament is not worth reading.

--charles simic

* * * 

no man whose sex life was satisfactory ever became a moral censor.

--mina loy

dancing on valentine's day

not me.  i have no rhythm.  or groove.  at all.  but i love music, esp. live music.  & as a veteran concertgoer i am happiest when the music, musicians & audience become a sinuous fabric of pure unadulterated joy.  when your body becomes a fleshy river & the sounds from the stage are its banks.  transcendence in its most primal form.  it is a state i call ABSOLUTE MUSIC.  

which brings me to this evening's show.  i am at that stage of my music-loving life where, as a gent of a certain vintage, i love cover bands, tribute bands.    i seek them out on youtube.  & i have discovered that some of the most talented, passionate musicians are individuals who might not ever become superstars.  as a poet i can relate cuz a being famous poet is an oxymoron.  even the famous of the famous of poets like allen ginsberg of the last century could go to the corner bodega unmolested by fans.  not so if you are madonna or bad bunny.  

still, talent does not equal fame.  nor does passion for your art.  but so fucking what.  if you can make an audience groove, dance & sing along with you as you perform my fucking gawd that is a great gift.  so it was tonight.  anna purchased tickets to an ABBA cover band a couple nights ago.  ARRIVAL FROM SWEDEN, from sweden, natch, performed all the songs & the hits at the Hard Rock Casino Sacramento.  they were great.  they had the sound, the tone, the phrasing, the costumes & the charisma to honor the music they played.

when ARRIVAL FROM SWEDEN returned to the stage for their encore the song was, you know it, 'dancing queen'.  i fucking love that song.  wholeheartedly & without reservation.  ARRIVAL had the audience on their feet & everyone, even me a little bit, was dancing.  i sang along.  my two wooden left feet was doing their best to stomp in time with the beat.  while anna was beautiful & made it seemed like her dancing was like an angel.  call me biased for i am her hubby going on nearly 30 years of marriage, but i am trying to be objective.  when i glanced at her during the finale she was an angel.

after the final song the houselights turned on.  the 2000 people or so of the audience began to shuffle to the exits.  we made it to the parking lot & found our way home about 45 minutes later.  for the Hard Rock Casino Sacramento is actually in wheatland, a rural community that is famous for its pumpkin patch.  &, once again, i am reminded that life is beautiful.

absolute music

quote unquote

there's no such a thing as good art.  there's only art & the other shit.

--billy al bengston 

[check out this rad short docu for more of the laid-back cool california vibes & art of billy al bengtson art & the zen of motorcycle racing]