Poetry One

Time Winds

Monterey, 12/86

eighty six winds dry leaves swirling

covering our paths

blindly turning to new unknowns

change, yet unchanged


Blue Lake

Red River, N.M. 7/93

blue lake I fished before

deep patterns

of old friendship


Two Haiku

Monterey, 7/09


Oak tree

ancient oak

graceful centurion bending down

touch my soul



wind-chime laughter

your eyes soften the years

pressing me down



UCSD graduate school, 1976

not knowing
the beginning
of knowing
the beginning
of not knowing


Squadron Mate

Chemult, Oregon, 5/87 


Cluttered asphalt strip of a town

Tattered businesses alongside

the passing confusion of progress


Marie’s cafe featuring homemade peach pie

and brass nameplates in the bar

one bearing Mike’s name


Across the street a memorial park with crude benches

and inscribed words

about freedom


We reach out to our heroes




Back Porch

Monterey,  7/84



watching the sun retire

behind blackened oaks

where swallows sail

thatch weave

Tiny crickets

rasp triple-time phrases

erasing dead monotone

traffic din

from beyond

Quails call

fervently, to yet unknown mates

while listening for hints of love

and new life


moments of cool dusk air

day’s quiet ebb

sweet peace


An Interview with Bach 

Clear Lake, CA, 6/86

So tell me John…

Do you ever get tired of people

constantly begging your autograph?

Clamoring in public?

Crowding your soul?


“Well you see…

It’s the price one pays for fame

but I try to protect my private life

Even a Ba-roque star

has rights.”


Hmm yes…

And what about recent rumors –

The criers around town say

you are being seen frequently

with the Countess.


“As I was about to say…

I’ve got these little concertos

I wrote over in Brandenburg the other day

You really should hear them.”


Of course John, but…

Your public is naturally interested

in more than just music.

After all you’re bigger than life.

So why not enjoy your rep while you can?


at Camelot 

Monterey Camelot, 12/82

Cold silver rain falls to earth, shivering,

drenching, sudden recovery and new life at Camelot.


Cool grey fog slips through the trees, oppressing,

enveloping, sweet solitude and old times at Camelot.


Hot dry wind blows across the land, rasping,

disturbing, molded sculpture and art form at Camelot.


Warm gold sun shines with its radiance, burning,

bleaching, exploding energy and life miracle at Camelot.


Rain, fog, wind and sun, we and they, beating,

pulsing eternal drama and mysterious plot.


Resilient mind-power and creation’s lot,

spanning two lifetimes, or more, at Camelot.