RodWords

Selections From 

WONDERLAND 

July 1989 to March 1990

         SHRUB

i am shrub,

scrub,

flax,

drab,

flub, drip, scrape,

i am flake,

rust, ash, scrap,

i am dust,

dirt, bilge, glower,

i am off-scouring,

rag, snatch, fluff,

drift, dot, spot, non-wing,

i am nothing,

fluxom-clay, 

          anyway,

He is Almighty

I AM.

and here i am,

      

          change

               me.

         PSALM with salt

For the largest rolling

crest of wave,

foaming, surging, roaring

in zestings of spray,

For the pounding rhythms

of waves that play

against sparkling white sand,

Crash-commanding such

englazed stretching shore-lines,

For Sun atop, aglisten, afloat

in salt-over mist, and

tracings of thistle-grist,

the salt-fine lining on

my limber grinning face,

For the tiny red crab

flipped and borrowing

downward in darkness,

tunneling sandy anywhere,

with his never-buried worth,

For ocean's surge and splash,

and the opulent earth,

I praise You. 

These were drawn on the early Pagemaker software. Took forever!

HUNCH OVER

Sometimes my

skeleton warps,

buckles, bends,

twists distorted,

misshapen

and

I hunch over shriveled,

ugly, sinuous, leathery,

I become

the pitted,

the rumpled,

I do the scraggle-crunch,

I, the see-thing, become...

the Glunch.

          IGO

I told Igo, John Igo,

his words came to

me like

scalding sunshine                                             

through cactus,

gritty, unpolished things,

his poems.

"Oh, thank you!" he said.

62.b

"Vacation?"

"Occasionally."

"Voyage?"

"Every day."

         Sherman Oaks '89

Sherman Oaks,

sidewalks winding through

trees and light, shadows, the

shingle-roof houses,

the old street lamps:

bud-shaped glass on

concrete stems,

Sherman Oaks,

nestled in the 

dirt-breast mountains,

houses planted

against their inclines,

overlooking the

San Fernando sparkle-grid,

my Sherman Oaks, with

a few familiar 

store-fronts,

sandwiched

among the sleek, new imposters,

--they gutted the La Reina you know--

the old Sherman is gone,

along with Neff's and Jack Lynn,

and Otto's Pink Pig...

yet the same

Sunshine

splash-paints the

Valley

in

daily colors

of

play.

         Live Long LOST IN SPACE

Long live the travels of the Jupiter II,

The robot, the Space Pod, the crew and Smith, too.

Battling strange "danger!"s both fearsome and fickle,

Protected by B-9 who speaks with claw-tickle.

Long live the Chariot and each laser gun,

Force-field and jet-pack, each flight into fun.

Long live the Keeper and his huge monster-zoo,

Live long each crash-site of the Jupiter 2.

Long may they struggle toward Alpha Centauri,

through hearts Kirk and Rod, in crisp DVD glory.

Long may we star-gaze with smiles on our face,

Long live three short seasons of LOST IN SPACE.

I wrote to 20th Century Fox (or CBS?) and got this in the mail, around 1965.

UP BUBBLES

Up

rubble

the

bubbles,

Oh Effervescence

of Life!