CLOSET MASTERPIECES Part 1of 5

Closet Masterpieces {Books One through Five}
Gigland {Epic Poem}
Letters from Ireland {Collection}
A Hippie Diary {Euro Impressions}

EDITOR'S NOTE:

The morning coffee chokes-
All the honesty out.
The scent of this morning
Is a burning bush.

Reading printed page
through drying ink
Information or observation?
The search for clues
in a distorted information station.

Editors that draft from deadline to deadline
Endless thought train of dead lines......
The cluster of events
That seem to be more hastily constructed
And always misconstrued...

I read between their lines
to find relevance
for each day.
possibly,
to glimpse some insight
possibly,
to make sense
of my own words..

I have a deadline too...

SHANNON

Shannon don't run off
Someplace I can't find you.
I know your dreams mean a lot.
I know your mother and father are not,
Always on your side.

But I am.
Yes, I am.

I'll carry you far past,
The Tempest of their scorn.
A warm, protected coast,
A friendly coast-
A magic harbor and a
Soldiers arms,
Await you.

A land you could
Never reach
alone.

Shannon don't run off
Someplace I can't find you.
Don't hide all hope,
In a single lost heart.

JACK FROST

Jack Frost
coats the window-
bites hard on fingers and toes
anything exposed-
Encases our souls
In pure white malice
In a police state of hibernation
The symbol ice stands like a statue
for this Nation.

Nietzches' nihilism grew up here
in an emotional wasteland
common sense has survived but all sense of humor has run dry
Perhaps it never exited -
all the serious and neat
folks don't miss it
The Focus is on the running the machine
and keeping it clean
God had to die-
they didn't need him.

THE GOLDEN FIELD

There is a legend that Midas during his reign
once looked Upon a farmers corn field and all the stalks turned to gold
The farmer cried because he was so hungry,
and now he would have no food...

Soon after -
on a hot day in August, right before harvest
All the golden corn melted
the gold ran down the stalks and dripped to the ground
into a nearby stream.

The Mountain above
blew up with anger at Midas's carelessness
covering the field and the farmer
And the entire town that hugged that steam.

I have such dreams about finding that spot
it's said to be in southern Italy somewhere...

For what else is time for but chasing our golden dreams?

MILWAUKEE

If I drank beer
I sure would'nt drink it here
The water's too dark
and the men all have whiskers
which they curl-
behind one ear-
that way it stays out of the beer.

But I did eat the hamburgers
and drink the milk
cause the cows looked content
fat and full and not too worried about
the stunted economic growth
this is a great place to be a cow
Bovine Nirvana.

And I am so glad the Packers won again
the town needed to have faith and fame restored
Super Bowl Champions
is a just reward
for the patience of saints
long after Lombardi's magical decade
parade after parade
of flowered beer floats
the windy streets filled with
dreamy eyed kids like I was-

Now I get to feel that way again...

OUT OF THE MOUTH OF BABES

Rhonda-
The spirit in his flesh says he loves me-
but the ass-hole nerves that run the rest of him
those dangling demon puppet strings
have no qualms about hunting me down in a fragile moment
when my own angel voices guardians are away.
Then i am not safe from him anymore-
Then my love is most like a disease-
a malady without ease...

Simple remedies like television or alchoholic beds
or phone calls from bored friends,
sympathetic sisters
with kind words mostly felt, not heard,
mostly sought,
but most dangerous to me the lover
of him-
the enemy,
him-
the careless crusher of flowers and feelings
the animal eater the cable box addict.

i, the lonely cracked doll -
in the kitchen hiding to avoid the game -
a silent maid,
hearing mother's advice,
saying-
stay... stay busy and wait
wait for what you need-
he will notice
he will see the trouble in your eyes
that i see-
he will be
affectionate again...

i listen
she raised me to - listen
and Hope... i hope-
he can hear beyond his own sense of well being
for having found work this year
i hope...
he can hear the cracks in my silence
like white noise in the wire
i hope...
he stops for a few -miracle moments-
being content to find me again.
this is my prayer
to him.

MOVIE MAGIC

I shot the flaming arrow straight
from the pencil of my lips
into the bloated Hollywood lie
that held us all like stoic palace guards
sent it with a fury
But it would not burst....
There had to be a scream sent forth
to shatter the darkness
sent forth like a popcorn popping.

The foreign minds seemed unaware
of the deceit behind the deception-
that filled the small screen so splendidly
the expensive catered twisted image erection.

Shipped over to draw the money
out of pocket projection
the budget overblown and swollen
by a party bash given
the studio head cheese mouseman.
Catered in triplicate
by Liberace's younger brother Liopold
entertainment provided by the Senile Sinatra's
who forgot the words to Misty and the National Anthem
at least two decades ago-
but have good agents
and still get paid.

I guess you had to be there,
there, In !#&* usa !@&#*!
there all the sponsors lost their pants
as the critics did a thumbs-down dance
upon the ship wrecked-review....

So here it shows to naive princes
as fresh and green as foggy iron fences
and I fume...

Moviefuckingmagicmyass...

WILLARD

Willard is a rat,
And so am I.
(ask my ex-wife)

Willard has two ears, two eyes,
four limbs and a fuzzy body.

Well so do I.
He's quite harry
and sheds a lot.
And so do I.

He is often times a malicious, cunning,
shrewd and vicious animal.
Well so am I.

He is by nature
a beast,
I am by choice-
and nature.

He is sometimes afraid,
makes rash decisions based on
a kind of
biological panic-

Well so do I.
He doesn't understand many things,
their workings or
their effects-
Neither do I.

Willard will always be
a rat,

I certainly hope I won't...

SUDDENLY

When suddenly is not sudden enough
When to and fro is only fro...
When seasons no longer come or go.

When flies sit entranced and buzz is a word
Then buzz and fuzz make wuz.

When chances got are chances taken
When minding your own business
Is a complicated matter....

When felines and fiends mesh
into a feminine mystique
pry the pandora open and see
That ocean is wide and perilous
And always rocking...

When past meets present and is seeking the rest
And pissing and moaning about that, too
A lost century and a lost mood swings
like a pendulum away-

And Saints barely alive going through the motions
of keeping face-
And suddenly i think I'm finding my place-
suddenly I'm here where I was and where I always end up...
claustrophobic in my six by two space.

PAWN SHOP

Bargains-
Everywhere
you look-
and every one of em
Had a life once...

Handled once with care,
subject to ware
used or abused
Til a christmas wish
replaced, defaced
or made away with-
in a word,
dismissed.

Some precious were admired
bragged about
and never tired
before the demon boredom
got them...

Dragged off like beef cattle
lossed victims in the "will to own" battle
tossed in a bottomless drawer-
a closet prisoner, or dropped hard,
and left there, on a cold basement floor.

Banished forever from the world of men
retired like old generals
when the rifle gets too heavy
discovered once again
in spring lawn sales
an ill-fated pawn shop window decoration-

Goodbye old friends....

NEST EGG

I swear I heard them laugh like witches-
All those silly little birds
Thinking that they were building foundations
forever, on those flimsy branches...
Cutting and pasting homes-
When one strong gust could loosen
And fling them to the ground
Like uncapped acorns...

I heard the wise old trees lament-
At the far away smell of smoke
From their distant brothers
And then fall silent...
And the tractors came kicking-
And pulled some of them away
To make room for more corn stocks
and lesser green beings...

Nature is so patient with all of us
Only God is more patient than nature...

LOST MY HAT

I lost my hat...
but she was so nice
to look at-
I lost my hat...
but she was really nice
to look at.

that hat was old anyway-
and she was so very pretty
the club was dark and the next booth full of laughter
she smiled at the silly english words, I'm so full of-
our nervous inspired remarks made me anxious
she told me to behave, "you should behave" she said
as I threw sugar bricksat the slot machines and
made WHAT IF eyes at the gay waiter
we paid him- then made a quick exit Out
I may have lost my hat
but I've sure got her number...now.

Back to Gigland...

Daniel Sage Poetry Collection (Over 300 Poems)

VICTIM

American tv
justice is-
the opposite of right and wrong....

through distorted camera lens
a million impotent jurors cannot condemn
the criminal,
or the criminal act...

they can no longer spot-
a guilty face.

But can-
harass judge and jury,
throughout a parody of witch trials
media blitzkriegs and movie-right battles-

the cost is as much a crime
as anything on the stand.
human faith and 330 year old ideals-
latrine flushed in Judges chambers.....

gold teeth lawyers make out better than
mafia godfathers-
and get better press...

victims are we all....
victims til' the Real Judge
enters the courtroom anyway...

ALICE OF AMSTERDAM

Master Daylight knew he was welcome-
heard me pleading for the night to end
the smell of Alice
was all over us
I could not pretend
the memory away - the only evidence
of my foolish forray
though I barely spoke 10 words to her
she knew me so well-
knew the sucker
knew the mark of a new sinner
who had'nt really fell-
much...
knew how to touch
the lonely boy inside
who said Alice,
"teach the curious, novice, beginner"
she knew I would'nt tell.

CIRCLE

I am a circle,
A slow spinning dial,
A hollow pipe......
a cylinder,
A broken headlight,
A planet with an orbiting smile...
I'm a old ford wheel,
muddy and worn down.
A rolly plain face
pancake flattened,
in hot butter,
A carousel ride
wobbling off the track.
I'm a pizza, order to go,
nobody picked up.
A busted clock,
disjointed time piece,
Waiting on the repair man....
A carbine muzzle
Wheel chamber,
fully loaded.
playing game of Russian roulette...
a circle is without end
Amen.

SEAMSTRESS

When the seams of his life unraveled...
She stood silently by
with needle and thread in hand.

She sewed up the fraid ends
and patched the many holes...

That's why he loved her then.
That's why he loves her now.

She's always been
the Seamstress of his life...

Without her,
He might begin
to unravel
again.

Under her loving care,
Hidden in the curtain folds
behind the scenes,
Strengthened by a tender loving stare,
Life is revealed for what it really is....

Need...
His need-
Her.
met by Her need-
Him.

DEAD LETTER BOX

{ Sent From my Dead Brother-
sketched on a cloud over a midwest sky.}

Brother, you've done well -
Learn to be content with the decisions-
I can no longer make.

Make Me again
In the strong World Will
that I could neither block or break-
You don't need the drugs - that experiment is over,
Go for it now-
Go forward into shit or bliss
get the fuck out of that damn bath water
whirlpool that you've stepped into.

It's all so clear in deaths eyes
Marriage vows proved too much for the Winderlust
And we both know what is at our cores
is not a suburban mush.
Rock-n-Roll Brothers got too much fire
for the cosmic comatose-
push on for US
Drop the baggage - Carry only the Love
Signed,
"The Jay Bird, Your Broth"

BOND

The sandy haired sisters glowed
from a smooth light thrown on angel faces
from a window smaller than their waists
soundless through the headphone void...

Have given me back a memory.
With those heads so closely
bent forward
together bowed
in the familiar pose of trust
where no secret is allowed.

Cement the bond of sharing all they have ever been
Heads bent in agreement as to what
is beautiful and interesting
and worth their attention.

Like the one mind of love
they have one view of life -
I wish I felt that bond again -

I wish for my little brothers smirk -
That crazy gleam when I knew he was
about to be foolish or a jerk
or go someplace we weren't allowed
just because....
We were as much a "we" as two brothers can get
I miss the "we" of us
Sisters and Brothers
Share with each other even what is hid from
the rest of the race.

WHEN THE DEMON SPEAKS

When the demon speaks-
Louder than Words...
In Deep, Unsettling tones.

It's as though
he were speaking - Only to Me.
As if my heart
He'd always known.

Who gave this Beast such information?
My body lurches at each cantation.

I feel a wrenching from with-in.
Lay waste to all opposing.

A cold, clammy, corrosive
Shadow.
Flaps-
On leathery wings - sounds Hollow.

Calms, then crushes my weak Uncertainty.

Internal coos...turn to squeals, hideous
Appeals.

Screams, lustful,
Indignant - Voices.

Demand gratification,
Incessant, blind and joyless,
supplification.

Like cellar rats
They feed . . . and grow.

Then scurry forth to the hypnotic bell-
Of their Master.

Can the spell ever
Be broken?
Can sacred man tame
The tempest of his tiny lake passion?

I pause, I listen- I dig, I grope-
I touch, I feel, I retreat-
let us Pray...

I AM...
.
I am a by-product of the 20th century....
I am existence becoming essence...
(At least as much abstract as i understand)
I am one to the infinite power....
I am a faded beach boy who left his midwest tan at home,
strolling the sand carpet seaside, picking up loose,
hollow shells and throwing small stones
(Most people are hollow shells, some are prettier than others)
I stare into the hostile foamy brine
A barnacle, I am unmoved...
I am a beached angel white whale
cursing my tormentor Ahab
Ahab's the demon, I am not-
The demon-he would destroy me...
The sea is a roving glass monster that threatens the land....
I am the tempest spirit-
I am the decapitated spirit-
Whose body rots and runs on reflexes
I am the fragmented Frankenstein
all parts self pieced together from bits of misunderstanding-
A biological pulp fiction reduced to physics, logic and tears
I am a clone seeking my source and
physiological meaning in the universe
I am Darwins' buffoon reversing the order...
I am the guillotined mind, a headless
Horsemen haunting deeply superstitious backroads.
I am a red light in a green light world
I am not all I seem to be...who is?
I am progress without observable motion
I am a puppet for fate and the furies
I am non-fiction and truth finely meshed
I am desperate for anything Real
I am sullen on Sundays and God knows why
I am sitting on the bench, it's the last game and I fear
I may never get to play...
I am Lincoln's sadness...
I am MacBeth's madness-
I am Milton's blindness...
I am too far away to reach by phone
I am better off left alone.
I am Christs' shy diplomat
I am Mephistophole's mocker and Wormwood's axe
I am Jesus' struggling disciple, prone to failure
but comforted in hope and Promise
I am Hamlet's solliloquy made flesh...
I am the Raven but don't quote me yet-
I am Mac the literate Bum in Steinbecks' Cannery Row
I am Count Monte Cristoes' righteous revenge
I am the Merchant of Venice Jew pleading mercy for mercy's sake...
I am the wind whistling secrets to the silent soil
I am that I am that I am...
I am living without Fear of my Lord and his FATHER.

RUN

Run through the wet morning lawns
of fertile green and back again.
Run through doors of deception,
Where Morrison got lost....
Run for cover,
Run for health and re-creation...,
Run for heaven in a blazing California sun.
Run for the hills and above the fruited plains
Run up the misty mountains and the radio towers
Run for the money, run for the girl on the cover
of Cosmo Glamour 17 ...
Run to be king of the hill...
Run to reap, harvest and fulfill
Run to stir up the stagnant pool that is your life
Run to meet purgatory faces of fame
All asking for directions to Las Vegas...
Run from Godzillas climbing ghost
Run from popeyes punch
Run from the bloody Indian massacres
Run from poisonous Nevada test winds
Run to the Freudian lies for a sexual revolution
That never came....
Run like a John Lennon bullet to stop the artistic spirit and
crush the next Revolution...
Run to back Johnson as he kills the spirit of Kennedy
Run to the bottle, run to the coke Before it all blows away....
Run to Mickey Mouse when you've outgrown Sesame street
Run to Penthouse when you outgrow Mickey Mouse
Run to work when domestic dreariness
Drowns the rebel you once were going to be....
Run to kindle high school flames,
in a frosty extra-marital romance....
Run from Anne Frank firing squads,
CIA brown shirt goons and inner city drug lords...
Run to pick out the funeral flowers
Casket and plot-your next move...
Run to comedy high jinx and laugh at
Your own satire-laced life...HA,HA
Run scared, run falling down
Run from 30 something to forty something....
Run where no lung dares to breathe
In smoke filled white-trash bar
Run for the Vietnam ghost...
Run for the glory of winning the sweepstakes
Car that will run for the five years or
40,000 miles add in soul tax...
Run for the animal kingdom and the zoo braille boxes....
Run for the phone book numbers
Of a million hoarse voices,
All running together in one massive
distorted wire buzz feedback....
Run to where tidal wave music rushes into Beethovens' dead ears
And through Sergovis' over practiced fingers....
Run to the Lincoln Memorial
To remember where Justice was laid to rest...
Run to the middle class suburbs
To see what happen to the work ethic...
and Manners...
Run to the border to find good tacos
And free trade and slavery....
Run from the drones waiting in the
Bank,movie,ticket,grocery lines...
Without a good book to read....
Run for dead brothers, dogs, and mothers
cousins and uncles,
Grandparents and dearest friends...
Run to keep them vibrant in your
Mourning heart...
Run past the Russian smoke stacks
To the French Nuke-downs,
To the African Euro-slave...
Run till you meet Moa Chang Shek
Laughing in the blood Red Chinese court...
Slaughtering ideals and comrades
Once again with communist vigor,
Condemning students minds and bodies
To years of Temple captivity...
While Ancient cursed warlords reap profits...
Run to capitol hills and lobby for support
For your cause because it has amendment rights
And the infringement on the rest of us should
never stand in the way of juggernaut
runaway government train....
Run for common sense, Mister Paine
Or run your commonwealth, Mr. Jefferson
Run your company, mill, body, job,
To the last breath...if it profits you.
Run from Luther and Calvin
To a dead Catholic Saint not listening anymore...
Run to Bhudda, Confucius, or Toa
Because they ask nothing of you...
but meditate on it first...
Run like a pygmy from the Thunder of the Boomstick,
Run when Gabriel blows his horn....
But remember sophisticated suburban
Western counter-cultural Fifth Amendment techno-junkie...
Remember that these legs...
These fleshy, pink, precocious,
panting, pre-destined legs
Cannot possibly Run - Forever...

THE END (Back to GIGLAND)