Sitting in the front row with an ex-con who laughed at the jokes no one else “got” in the film STIR CRAZY (with Gene Wilder and Richard Pryor), and I’m busting out, Blue screaming Meanies, freedom reason season —  time to break on through to the other side, but I wish I knew what the jokes were [all about]…


At dusk this coastline’s quiet; there’s a lull.

We sat on a flat rock – pretense, beach hut!

While we ate, there’s a crash, angels from above.

They’re hovering, fluttering, white Seagulls.

They fill the air; they want food – WHEEDLE!


… except for the one gull who walked back and forth

in front of the of the crowd, beak bent,

barking nonstop, almost regal.


Him I feed.

Pick up!


“…Remember: two wrongs don’t make a right.  It takes two wrongs, a shin kick, and a prank phone call. (Maxine)”

Grass Roots Freud

Little me was known as Winnie’s Shadow;

Baby birds [fledglings] chirping “Mama Whoa!”

Animals dream – I think – kaleidoscope;

Life evoked “me” disappearing…a black hole.

At night, lights fluctuate, dark wall, gravestone;

becoming everyone else’s shadow.

Persevere mischievous Crow, be the flow.

Barefoot in the purple flowers, meadow –

Learning to live and like myself – alone.


Standing on the track, the vanishing point,

Thinking of Jack Kerouac’s “On the Road” –

My grandpa steered a LARGE locomotive.

Got the Urge for Going,” life’s disappoint…

Clackety-clack, rhythmic rumbling flowed

Into my drifting off to sleep focus.

Does Grandfather’s aura bestow, anoint,

Making me restless, irritating goad?

Traveling inspires my inner poet.

Just once before I die, I’ll ride that train.

I wonder who it was…

Speaking of long-ago friends,
as a small child, sitting behind the sofa,
reading the book, THE RESCUERS

When Bernard, Miss Bianca and Niles met with the Norwegian Poet
(who they had saved from an ungodly hell)
to say Good-Bye,
the Poet leaned down and gently placed his finger
on top of Niles’ head. Well, after all, he WAS a Poet,
and Mice who stand on their hind legs
and speak intelligently did not “startle’ him.

Niles, a sailor, was also Norwegian.
The Poet suggested that they meet in Oslo
and “Make a proper night of it.”

Years later, I realized the voice I heard
had a British accent, a “brogue”,
not Norwegian.

I wonder who it was.