THE THINKER & THE PUPPET


After I  published this last story,  I spoke with White Zen, my palgal in Santa Fe.  She said the last paragraph of the story made her cry.  Juxtaposed between writers Zen of exporting such feeling, and the sadness we both shared. White Zen had a Thinker too. I guess there are more of them than I knew.

Having had six true loves in my life, who impregnated me with knowledge generosity, and loyalty is what made me so unprepared for the Thinker.  He does resemble Macedonio;  the first man to peel off  the woman in me. They both have charisma, mystery and good dark looks,  Macedonio is dead now, and the memories of him still glisten;  like the day in Golden Gate park under the cherry blossom tree.

What I miss most, is the giggling, dancing, folly-maker that the Thinker pulled out of me  as If I were a puppet. He called me Puppet because that’s how he saw me.  I’ve got to get my Jojo  by tomorrow. I live Thanksgiving as a day with admissions of selfishness and greed. I need  to be washed away into thanks that I am here with a mouthful full of food, and a napkin.

Thanksgiving with Rudy and Opus I his brother.DSC00512

THE THINKER – THE IMPROVISER.


I was there a few days before I noticed a figure darting from one sea-lion to another. He gestured for me to follow but I couldn’t catch him.

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He caught me by surprise from behind and wiggled over to me.
‘Let’s eat. I’m starved.” The Thinker dove down then up above my head. He cupped his fins around my head and pulled my hair.
“Where you been my Fins?” I asked.
“Why?” He said as he let go of me.
“ It’s just a normal question?”
“I don’t answer those kinds of questions. I am building my sand castle! Wait till you see it–it’s going to blow you away. Everyone will be blown away!”
“Exciting! I’m so happy for you. Will you show me?”
“ Maybe. Don’t look at me like that. Your eyes, they draw me in. It scars me. I don’t know what to do with you little one. Who are you?”
He lowered his eyes and sucked in his gills.
“I really love you. I mean I want to be with you forever!”
You should make a book of shells and tell their stories. ”
” You’re right! I know their stories too!”
” You could make a lot of money.”
” I don’t think about that. When I need money I just ask for it and it comes. All you do is count what you have. ”
” You think that!”
“Yes I said it didn’t I. ”
We carolled between starlight nights and crimson sunsets on the rock porch exploring varieties of sea mates. He used his fancy fish feet to get us into private ceremonies, and parties. The fish authorities didn’t bother us at all. We crashed into a party of penguins, and we weren’t eaten alive. My eyes were always on the thinker; as pleasurable anticipation bubbled inside.  In the morning he read to me from his bible, and watched the seagulls. He drove me in many directions, unfamiliar ideas, and habits that got me to thinking so when we swam we were always talking.
“You need to lower your voice. Make it deeper.”
“Why?”
“Trust me.”
One day he swam me to a blow-hole.
“I’m not sure I can get through as easy as you do.” I said.
“Don’t say that. Follow me.” so I followed. I’d waited a long time to see the sand castle. As we expanded our gills and soared upward, my eyes searched for the castle.
“You see it? Isn’t it spectacular?”
“I see the sand yes, but where is the castle?”
“You don’t see it? Come on—really. ”
“No my fin. I don’t see anything but piles of sand.”
“ Look beyond the piles. You have to see between the lines. You don’t get it do you? You only look at what’s right in front of you. There’s castles everywhere; huts, hideouts, back alleys. ”
“Is this what you mean by patience?”
“ No! This is conciseness of the universe. We’re not alone you know. The skeletons and ghosts are here.”
“ Have you seen them?”
“ The water of Santa Fe is as crowded as pavement. I’m telling you what no one else will. You should thank me for that. I’m handing you the key to the universe.”
“ How about the key to a warm place to rest and food?”
“ You’re such a brat. Come on. I’ll take you
to shore.”
I met his power posse; and they all assured me they could reverse or  promote anything I wanted.
“If you are ever in trouble call me. I can fix it.”  the Thinker said.
“ Like what?”
“ Whatever you ask. You want to live forever under our safety net. You have to trust me. You’re a city cougar with a Range Rover and a brick house above water. Come on–don’t you see that. Most of the fish hate you. You need me.”
His eyes narrowed into dagger like bits of darkness.
“I’m not a cougar. You are the first young exotic fish I’ve swam with.”
“ Oh really. That’s not what I heard.
“ What did you hear?”
“ I know about you?”
“ Really. Then tell me what they say?”
“ You’re impatient, aloof and swim alone. ”
“ I’m not like that always.”
“ Well I know, I’ve seen inside you.”
One day he emerged as a sea monster, holding empty bottles and wailing. I felt a rush of empathy and covered him with my body. He wrestled in pain for days and then when he surfaced, he was wearing a different face, and his touch was absent. His teddy bear eyes were like bricks of strength.
“ I’m not coming back.” He said
“ Why?” I pleaded
“ Wrong question.”
“ What did I do?”
“ You don’t see my castle. I can’t be with you. All you think about is lobster and hotel vacations.”
“ I haven’t had lobster in years, or a hotel vacation.” He swam away, just as suddenly as he appeared.
It was like a knife severing me from one place to another. He despised me. His curiosity and mischievous cleverness triumphed over affection and companionship. His splashes exploded into monsoons of tears inside of me. I returned to my brick house and closed the drapes. Every night I danced and cooked. I sat on the porch in a spray of solemn sunlight and didn’t miss the waves or blow holes. I’d missed my dance music, old movies, journal and sanctuary of comfort. I made him vanish with a vow.

As I cut his sunflower from my yard, placed it in a vase and said, ‘when the flower dies so does my love for the Thinker.’ The sunflower died yesterday. I pulled off the wrinkled yellow petals and scattered them in a planted pot. Maybe he will come back as the beautiful sunflower I once knew.  But I know he won’t. Love is in all of us. How we give it and cherish it  is unique.  I still have my love. No one can take that.                           20141122_143530[1]

 

 

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GUEST POEM BY RUDY FUNK AKA SOARING CROW, TOMAY6SHOT & FUNKMEISTER


“Message in a Bottle”

 
Floating forever, on the tides of a thousand seas…..
 
With the lives of the oceans, and all that dwell unseen…..
 
Deep in the abyss, a multitude of eyes see unheard…..
 
yet from the fingers of a writer, there echos forth some words……………
 
Words of expression, artistic and true…..
 
Deep in her mind, she writes who is who…..
 
With an internal calling, writing creative and free…..
 
That enlightens the Worlds, of both you and me…..
 
Her thoughts they are written, of magic and spells…..
 
Just open that bottle, she has a story to tell……
 
 
from an admirer of your works

BOSTON BOMBS BACK


IMAGINE, if you were in Boston
On the day of the flare
and it fired your daughter
and you dived in the dare
Hell rises
and heaven opens
the souls are not lost
they are moments to bare
BOSTON, is the angel
that brought the fire to lair.

Cowboy Poet Rudy Funk


There once was a wild one,
given for nuthin,
all alone in the saddle
he journeyed for days.

Once when he went where
he wasn’t supposed to,
up on a mountain,
his horse left to graze.

There he just sat there
his back on a boulder
his face was facing the sun
till late day.

The thoughts turned to no one
he never knew only,
only that someone
was with him that day.

The cowboy was faithful
yet wasn’t so graceful,
on the dance floor he failed
to get even one.

of those long legged beauties
that moved like the wind,
his thoughts returned
to that day in the sun.

Back to his horse
and away in his saddle,
he rode away
to the far setting sun.

That’s when he saw her,
by her garden as she watered,
writing a poem
with her roses for none.

But were these roses,
tended too softly,
were those roses,
really grown for someone?

She straightened herself
and with confidence and poise,
said, “cowboy, quiet down,
you make to much noise.”

It’s peaceful here stranger
you’re welcome to stay,
mind yourself now,
go sleep in the hay.

Well later that night,
when the moon shown above,
and the coyotes all howled
and fearful of none.

That’s when he went
where he wasn’t supposed to,
that’s when he came up,
facing her gun.

He said, “I can’t dance
I can’t talk and can’t sing,
but baby I love you,
and that’s a sure thing.”

She put down the gun,
with a few chosen words,
He smiled, then he told her,
the poem you just heard.

 

FREE STEPS


The ripples of my life.

The ripples of my life. (Photo credit: Athena’s Pix)

 

Unprepared, who knows where

The leaves will fall

They don’t plan

Where to land

Maybe New York

Maybe Los Angeles

The postman can find

The house I live in

It is only walls

That keeps me inside.

Undisclosed strangers will walk in our paths

Cross our hearts and

Tread our minds

Unidentified

We traverse our hearts discourse

Shooting for dreams of undiscovered lands

More weightless plans

I don’t know if I can see ahead

My steps like stones thrown in the river

Ripple on the banks of everyone’s estate.

 

Skipping towards freedom

In summer rays of light.

Like a leaf I break free from the branch of life.

 

WHY IS THE SKY BLUE


Photograph of blue sky

Image via Wikipedia

Why is the sky blue?
It splits the world in two
the womb of nature
where Mother’s hold their babies
And the soil is plucked by crows.
Soaring into the blue
Sculptures in the sky garden
Why is the sky blue?
Is it God’s eyes?

Truth is blue
clouds are puffs of conversation
Sky is language

Answer my question.
Why does my heart embrace the twigs?
The racing fawn wrapped behind a tree.
A couple of strangers crossing the way
The butterfly kisses of sun-rays
A chilling wind opens the door,
to papers, walls, appliances, rules, guidelines, and instructions, newspapers, and advertisements, tapes, and phones, connecting me to all the tears and laughter, headaches, and sprains, all the twisted lives tangled between democratic lines, hate spilling everywhere. All the answers are in the ratings.
But why is the sky blue?