Listen to Cannonball

in Frisco and Japan

swing and blues with

bebop in his jiving style.

The atmosphere’s just right

earphones cut the daily nag

around my sole domain.

Drifting into a groove of

artistic intuitions

take sketchbook crayons

ballpoint pen and paints

let loose the inner happy


For it’s a celebration of

eroticism and as such the

viewpoint of each individual

responding to the vision of

an artist and his poet.

From Plato to Bateille

From Leonardo to Dali

From Schiele to ZG

Viva le arti.






She came like a breeze

danced into the gallery

a friend

I found again

one could talk to frankly

one feels at home with

who had been thru’


ups and downs as a soloist


someone I’d like to hear

playing one day.

She brought me lunch

we ate and talked

for nearly three hours

on end

from music to fine arts

from common friends

to Jesus of Nazareth.


Mary Magdalene.

Fritz Kreisler to Menuhin

Carlos Kleiber to Barenboim.


Pure and beautiful

with eyes like Mitsuko

I once exchanged love letters

as a student of art

in a romance

of cherry blossom white.

How love’s circles come back

over time.

I like her.

I liked Mitsuko Utimura.

We’ll talk again.







You might dream

of times in love

remembering Ann of Athens –

Your great love –

Traces of physical feelings

have still remained

chiseled into your memory banks.

And even on days of

deeper meditation

energies of passion still flow

as if kindled by a strong

inner yearning

for a woman you truly loved.

In a shocking drama

she passed on…

You could not save her body

but you grieved for her

like Orpheus did for Eurydice.

Since then you have descended

to the underworld

through your art

depicted your own nightmare

of great love and loss.

You had lost a battle on the

mountain of emotions

but won the rich green valley

of her soul.

When your spouse will

rant and shout

caused by her pains

of disintegration

you have to endure this load

of negative emotions

from a once lovely woman

who turned Xantippe.

You have won the battle

of staying alive perhaps

but then lost a woman

you’d lifted up from depression

but then queried your whole life

with her.

Is this how all love is at end





The Storm

It’s suddenly cold and

The rain is spluttering down

The body shakes inside

In spite of warmer clothing.


You read the signs of streets

As the bus passes down

Familiar empty streets

Once you’ve been in

Somebody’s thoughts.


Fears of a storm in the

Coming have scattered

People and their pets

Yet we don’t have

Devastating tornados

You wish to be in

somebody’s prayers.


Time to flee from an

Invasion of people

Interested solely in food

And drink. At golden age

I’ve been in somebody’s



The storm you fled from

Is a storm inside you

Just one unjust word

One odd twist of tongues

Will be the cause of flares

That cut you in half.






What I see each day

experience around me

observing people from

many nationalities

especially veiled women

who carry long black clothing

day in and day out –

the more that specific culture

is being forced upon us –

the more local people will

turn to secular humanism.

It happens progressively

yet few will fathom the flux

of changing societies.

The battle for so called

religious tolerance has

created a garden of chaos

with trees carrying strange


I notice at times statistical

reports about splitting-up

of families

separations of married


Mrs IRA said there’s a time

for everything –

With partners that means

accepting the flux physically

mentally and emotionally –

A change.

The search for the right partner

at one’s specific station in life.

We all are here for a reason

within the flux.