ASKING

Asking the Beat poet
on a November night
by a back up singer
of the blues
if he would voice
the words
of the speechless.

AT GREENWICH VILLAGE

Sitar playing
Ginsberg reciting
his words in the light
of a raspy echoing voice
as I'm playing smooth jazz
on my tenor sax
by the sister and dancer
with her yellow blossoms
here for jubilee
from my Sixties memory
in the Big Apple corridors
as a Japanese actor
does kabuki.

AMERICAN SUNDAY NOON

A running back
watches a spaghetti Western
in black and white
the baby turtles escapes
from the golf fish bowl
the guy next door
named Guy
turns the adult channel
where eventually
an ex con becomes a pro
and concludes the hour
with a new age service.

NO ONE

No one expects
the wind
in the crimson flowers
or morning glory
to tell us on Sunday
by the church pavilion
to what search
is our life time story
as the breeze shines in the sun
from a vermilion garden.

THE INSPECTOR

The inspector general
generalizes
and surprises us
even recognizes minerals
in stones at the beach
reaches the seaweeds
by half open wild flowers
at the shore
where he locates
the dance of the hours.

INNOVATORS

Innovators
and creators
serve the earth
with an unknown
secret language
in a new birth
that opens a shroud
of words, critic's notes
composed in poetry, music,
plays on our heart- string
in a cloud of love letters
like in Georges Sands,
let's go to the Chopin concert.

THE WANDERER

Playing Schubert's
"the Wanderer sonata"
a Russian musician
waded in this fantasy
on the solo piano
at Symphony Hall
when I was eleven
on a November night
after I ran a marathon
on the esplanade
resting before the recital
over the blankets
yet under covers
of "The Possessed"
keeping away
as a guest from the  rain
eyeing flirts and lovers
a poet composes his quatrain.