And it's been said that after you die,
you go to the place where you where before you were born.
But this is not a particular soothing thought to me.
As I can't remember that long ago - the time before I was born
I can hardly remember --
Heck, I can hardly remember what I did last week.

Because then again, there is the story of heaven and hell
Neither provides a logical answer to the mystery of death to me
I mean how hot--
how hot can hell be?
Heaven on the other hand...
On the surface, heaven does sound like a pretty dreamy place
looking down at you all.
But what happens if I want to look up an old friend?
What address would I give with everyone living on Paradise Street
What activities are there to do at night?
Suppose there is only one kind of beer on tap?
And are we all supposed to sit around and sing hymns about Him?
After a while, if we didn't question it
heaven would just be a nightmare...
but one for all eternity

Reincarnation is yet another theory
It sounds spiritual and all
that we all come back again.
My luck I'll back as a dodo bird, or something worse.
perhaps starting out as some tiny one cell organism
and having work my way up the food chain
living, suffering, dying
living, suffering, dying
living, suffering, dying
over and over again--
over and over again for a thousand years.
Finally becoming a boy again
only to get killed in one of those silly-ass wars of yours.

What will sex be like in the year 3000?
Will we continue to fuck and multiply or do it some other way
to keep our species going
or will we becoming extinct?
We don't know the future--
what science has in store for the living at the time.
Time will tell
because I can't.

One week.
Everything happened in one week.
And, nothing...
nothing happened in one week.
Thousands died
Even more cried.
People ran their lives.
One week flew by so fast,
I hardly recall what I did,
but watch the tv in disbelief.
Life goes on
....
One year later,
Selfishly, my anxiety has all but vanished
But when the earth shakes, I recall Mar. 11
and for a second or two
reflect on my own mortality
One year later,
two minutes of silence is all they get.
Life goes on.

It's a cold, cold world
You don't think so?
I tell you, it's a cold world
especially -- especially when it snows.
I could write about how each flake falls silently into its rightful place.
O me, O Life, what a white peaceful blanket thou make
But does it keep me warm?
Hell no!
Each of us are in the middle of a storm
what philosophers and poets call "Life."
And this storm rages from morning to night
The human predicament that gives assholes like me something to write
Oh, the pain
This cold cruel world invades my brain
a razor's edge
Cliché sharp, and shit like that.
Why be optimistic?
After all, we're all gonna die someday.
blah, blah blah
It's far easier to write a pessimistic poem anyway.
So, I should change my tune
and write about this wondrous blue Earth of ours?
Azure sky,
Billowy clouds,
Vast oceans,
Sandy beaches
Majestic mountains,
Resilient trees,
Roaring rivers,
Babbling brooks,
Birds and bees
but I always forget to add mankind in natural landscapes like these
(I wonder why.)
How about if I write a love poem?
I'll be cupid playing the harp
words tugging at the heartstrings
making the girls weak in the knees
How can I fuck thee?
Let me count the ways
Well here's a start: the original Kama Sutra illustrates 64
though I can watch porn on the internet and discover a whole lot more
So, I just want to say that words--
words don't mean shit
It's how you feel inside.
Either be the poem or
you are just sounding off
that noisy piehole of yours.

My old flame
how it used to burn bright
at least that's how
I remember it.
My old flame
doesn't burn as bright.
and that's what they call
Life.
Now in the morning mirror
I can hardly recognize
I don't want to count--
count the wrinkles
on my face
And I don't want to count
the missteps
I took along the way
I recall when my old flame used to...
oh yeh,
she used to...
well, you know.

I peer down
Smiling at the sight of your open jar
All wet and sticky inside
Waiting to be eaten
golden brown delight
You look to good to be true
My mouth waters
I smack my lips
I'm so hungry for you

Now that I have you in my palm
Soft bread
Naked
And exposed
To eat you. I don't need a knife
or a spoon
no jams and jellies
honey
but I just want to stick my tongue in there
and scoop out some of you.
I have to have you

I will grind you - slowly
You see, common everyday fakes like Jif just ain't my style
Whether you are creamy or chunky,
And indeed Skippy spreads easy
But I read the label carefully
full of fructose and sodium
And stuff I don't understand
I want the real deal
I want the 100 percent organic nuts
I say, if you got it, then spread it, baby
I want you-- I want you like
I want an open peanut butter sandwich
on whole wheat bread and a glass of cold milk
You taste like heaven.

The weather outside has become cold
and inside the television's glow
the forecast of the season's first winter storm
sleet and snow
My priority is heat
various means of body warmth:
heating oil
electric or gas
heating fans and fireplaces
vents and baseboards
But no matter the season--
no matter the temperature outside
my baby, she blows hot and cold.
It's the unpredictability
I don't care for:
this woman thing
Where nonchalantly she says:
"It's my character, that's all."
I make it a point to press her buttons with my remote
dinner and wine
candles and compliments
dessert of course
But, I'm lucky if the light goes on.
I say, "What the heck?"
I swear something--
something must be broke.
Then again
when I've almost given up
thinking: well, I don't have the right stuff
she will unexpectedly be turned on
I'll tell ya this game--
this game with her:
Man, it is getting old
You see, I just--
I just never know
My baby, she blows hot and cold.

So I went see Mr. Satori again, if you remember him from my old blogs. He was there in his shop as usual - off in the far end of the room sitting on his dark purple zabuton in the lotus position on the same two-foot raised tatami platform. His eyes closed with a half-full saké cup in from of him.

He didn't sir as I opened the old-fashion sliding wood and fogged glass entrance door to his coffee shop - appropriately named Zen Coffee.

I stepped in. Paper shoji covered the two windows letting the outside light in but blocked out any view to the street Four tables and stools for unlikely customers fit in the small room. And where the tables were, the floor was concrete. This was not that unusual for a Japanese mom-and-pop shop serving ramen or drinking spot "a snack" for salarymen. But then again, Zen Coffee is not a usual shop either.

The room was nearly barren. You see Mr Satori's Zen Coffee shop had to be that way. His shop doesn't even serve green tea.

Over the years that I have infrequently visited this shop, Mr. Satori has looked pretty much the same - very little change with age. Perhaps he was always already old. His long white beard was a little longer, but not much. I wonder if he ever trims it. His long white hair pulled back - looking like an eccentric brother of Mr. Miagi in Karate Kid.

Mr. Satori served only one kind of coffee - black, served in a small cup with no handle. You might say Zen Coffee is 180 degrees from Starbucks which has at least 20 different flavors of coffee and 5 different sizes - plus all those scrumptious expensive snacks. But it is also often hard to get a seat at Starbucks.

Zen Coffee is unique. Coffee served with koans, not scones, if you get my drift.

Either something had been bothering me or I just wanted to see the old geezer for some odd reason again. Anyway it was I who came to him and not he coming to me. Or simply I was looking for something different from the usual Starbucks and the like coffee shops clones.

My eyes scanned the room looking to the best seat in the house, not that any particular one table would have made much a difference in this one small room. Anyway, I chose the table sort of nearest to where Mr. Satori was sitting and parked my ass down. Mr. Satori continued to sit in the lotus position. Eyes closed.

I was always pretty much amazed by those people you can sit in that zazen position - A. I'm not that flexible; B. the position is not natural; and C. I just can't do it - never could, never will.

After I picked my seat and settled in, Mr. Satori opened his eyes. and recognized who I was - or maybe not. I was just another customer - though perhaps he has very few customers these days. In those few times I have gone there, I've only ever seen one or two customers.

But before I could say a word or order my coffee. Mr. Satori asked, "If you were to find enlightenment then what would you do?"

It was unusual for him to start of with such a question - a zen koan if you will. In the past, before bringing the coffee, he would first come over and whack me on the head with his bamboo stick and call me "Stupid boy". So, I was a bit surprised by his new shop's strategy.

OK I'll play. I thought to myself. I mean, how can I be one with the universe and everything in it? I can't grasp the Milky Way which our own galaxy let alone trying to get a handle on infinity and beyond. Also I have no interest in becoming one with my cat's litter box.

"A coffee" was how I replied to his question about enlightenment.

I thought for minute before asking, "So Mr. Satori, so how do you become one with the universe?"

Mr. Satori came bearing my cup of coffee. He put it down at the table next to were I was sitting and in a flash pulled out his stick which he had tucked in is obi belt, and whacked me on the head.

"Stupid Boy," he said.

Frankly at that moment I was a bit pissed off. The customer is always right. And this is Japan.

Then I thought about Starbucks around the corner and down the street, and their coffee served in paper cups with plastic lids.

I reached over to the next table and picked up the black coffee in the simple cup he had purposefully prepared for me.

Golden brown leaves
on stiff autumn branches
rustling in the wind
I stop and take notice
to watch them fall
without feeling
She came in the spring
stayed though the summer
but left in the fall.
Button my winter coat
and turn away
the wind in my face.

Don't take the Lord's name in vain
Some even command it that way
But God damn it,
If I open my eyes
I see sickness,
old age
Even Siddhartha couldn’t escape his demise
I swear these worldly things don't –
don't impress me
Not one bloody bit
I figure, you've got tell the truth
even if it is to your
coffee maker.

A good amount of suffering in the world
is caused by man
as if the already God-given misery needed our helping hand
war and strife
pleasure and pain
the enduring the smiles and cries of everyday life
Birth and death
The struggle between our first and last breath.
We do everything to cope
Accumulating material wealth
blind faith
living on hope
praising the Pope

If there is indeed a Hell below
Well, it’s one place I don’t want to go
Oh, hell no!
Actually I wouldn’t mind the heat,
But I'm quite choosy about the company I keep.
And if there Heaven up there,
seeing that it is supposedly created by the same architect
who created this uneven Earthly mess,
then I would guess
that heaven wouldn’t be any different
than right here - right now
Otherwise, the whole thing just doesn't make sense.

I don't know about you, but I've got a big pile of bills to pay
Not like the bankers who took the money and ran away
Bailing them out was bonkers
But we didn't contest really
Now that's what I call grand larceny!

It's a crises -- a financial global meltdown
A global sell-off,
A global hell-hole
Sub-prime, derivatives and swaps
The real estate bubble
All our fault
What a bunch of SHYTE

Now it's those fucking Greeks
Italy will be next.
Wow! How can moussaka
And pasta carry so much weight?
Blame those dumb Europeans
Who just can't get the Euro right

Meanwhile, credit card debt is at max headroom
Surely the next shoe to drop
So why can't I get some sleep?
My brain bubble is gonna burst.
And what's worse
Nobody has a job
but everywhere is occupied

Gas prices are high, but I'm not.
And Warren Buffet may be up for the year, but I'm down.
And all these so called economists are a bunch of clowns.
The rich get richer and big corporations pay zero
You would think Geithner
Would be brighter

We cry foul, but we learn to live with it with a little lubricant.
So to pay for their mismanagement
the government will raise our taxes
Were are all bunch of dumb asses!
1-2-3
Let's all fall down

Poetry is innocent, not wise. It does not learn from experience, because each poetic experience is unique. - Karl Shapiro

I took a fairly interesting picture today
or maybe I took it yesterday--
or was it the day before that?
Hell, if I know since everything is a giant blur.

Finding myself alone to think
staring out from my blue window
I push the shutter
my eye blinks
to capture the scene

Picture taking -- making a visual record of my life
which too will someday pass away
an unsteady stream -- a short film
perhaps it's all just a lost and lonely dream

A pair of warped lenses
call them the maker's defect
out of focus, out of touch
with reality

I'm just an observer
in this world of make believe
And you might say, the whole thing is so funny --
so funny that it's killing me

Each click before the next
with a degree of innocence
each image unique
And no one to share it with me

One kiss
We aren't in love
but we sure are in deep like.
And from that one kiss
I haven't been right since.
We both had too much to drink that night.
All the conversation thereafter
innuendos and
the flirting back and forth.
So here I am
chasing after you
like a dog
chasing a rabbit
to its hole
It's not fair
to put me on this way
I'd love to know
where this is going.

They say there are many fish in the sea
But on tonight's menu, you are the one for me.
You see, I ain't no slimy squid
no clown fish
no big dumb tuna
And I'll forgo the expensive sole
cuz some cross-eyed fish
just ain't my style, you see.
And for your information,
I ain't no shrimp neither
just check out my size.
Even the boiled red lobster bores me.
I'm a barracuda
a shark
circling above you
wanting to come crashing down
breaking you open.
You pretend to be hard and tough
such a cool cold mollusk
iced and waiting
but I know what is inside.
You are so sweet and juicy
my little cute oyster
as I go down on you
and place you slowly in my mouth.
I am your imaginary lover
like Charles Darwin might have been
how we all evolved from the sea.
Your milky juices bring out--
you bring out the beast in me.
Oysters are a God-given oral treat.
And they make you horny
as horny as a man can be.
Your taste explodes in my mouth.
I bite, chew and swallow
My tongue now stiff
and goes back to lick your shell
still searching for your pearl
But wait . . .
I haven't even ordered yet!
Anticipation can be as erotic as the act.
But by any chance
you are to not available tonight
I'll go find another.

"Waitress"
"Sold out?"
Then, I'll have the red snapper.

I happened to stumble upon
the moon reflecting in the dark of night
as we were both up quite late on such a lonely night
I suppose you could say we happened to meet--
the full moon and me
A chance encounter
One round white spot
a concentration of light
A moment to look down and stare and ask
"So people actually walked up there?"
Then, my gaze naturally turns upwards
to get a better sight
at the moon's glow --
at the wonder of it all.
I also spy a few bright stars
those few visible to the eye
But it's moon's fullness that fills my mind
I'm talking to the moon
but hearing only
the voice inside.
Time for a short cosmic journey before sunrise
after which such thoughts
are overtaken by daylight
when time is measured by hands of the clock
when we are too busy--
no time
to explore within.

These blues keep swirling--
swirling around in my head
These are the same blues
I had yesterday
and the days before that.
And everybody says
"Joe, you should wear a smile."
Well, I try
I try to paint on a smile on my face
that is, once in a while
and to hide any tears and the tears deep--
deep inside.
So I'm just sittin' here imagining
what would be like
if the hand of cards
had been dealt--
dealt with a different deck.
You see these blues
Yeh, these blues never leave
have never left me, not since the day
not since the day she went away.
It wasn't and it really wasn't fair
the way Love slipped--
the way it slipped through my hands that way
I didn't say so,
and neither did she.
When she left, the blues wasted no time
and came rushing in
filling my heart
And since then, the blues keep rolling--
keep rolling-
like the waves
at the sea shore
And I should--
I should thank her for that.
It's been a scenic sight.
and how these blues became my friend.
how these blues
stayed and stayed
You see these blues
never left me
not since the day--
not since the day she went away.

So selfish
I know
I should have left you alone
Adore you only from a distance.
However, careful of your thorns
I picked you
hold you gently in my hand
and closely examine your pink petals
So delicate
I wonder
who made you?
Who made such beautiful being anyway?
I am drawn closer to your beauty
to discover what is inside
As the sweetest smell
touches my senses -
surely there must be a perfume named after you.
Up close I see nothing else
but a flowering rose
In my mind
I trip and fall deep inside
landing on a stigma,
sliding down your style
the tube-like path
to your center
Unlike many other flower species
the rose flower possesses several ovaries
located within your rose hips
My presence
to impregnate thee

It must be
the Italian blood in me.
(Zanghi - the family name my father gave me)
Because when I see you
I begin to salivate.
You are so hot!
You hot tomato
Baby, I dig your saucy ways -
and the way you seem to melt
all gooey
lying there
waiting for my mouth.
And if I don't watch out
I'll burn my tongue.
Oh, how I want you--
and get myself a piece.
I pull you apart,
so I can take my the first bite.
Hmmmm
you are tasty -
such oral pleasure.
nibbling at your toppings
I work my way up
to your soft crust.
And as Dean Martin used to sing it,
"When the moon hits your eye like
a big
pizza pie
That's amore."
Well to conclude,
all I can say to all of you is:
"Get you own piece."

You know the girl
ain't right for you
when all you do
is be polite
and apologize.
She has me on a rope
leading me down the wrong path
Don't chase Alice
into the hole
It's not the only Wonderland

I know I should leave that girl alone
you see, this girl spells trouble for me
Trouble with a capital T
So I'm trying
trying to shake this girl loose
get her out of my mind
think about something else.
Trouble is
I can't.

So which is your favorite doughnut?
Such a variety on the shelf
isn't there?
Various shades
from white
to chocolaty brown.
To be honest
I'm sort partial to old-fashioned
but I'll give others a try
And ya see
long, stiff crullers -
well, in this doughnut shop
those just ain't my style.

Ah, look at those sugar-glazed
truly soft and sweet
and right next to the sugar raised -
when you eat,
the sugar
around your mouth
remains
BTW
I'm very fond of a jelly doughnut
or cream filled
wiggling my tongue around inside.

But, I don't mean to get to philosophical or nothin'
about the meaning of doughnuts
but as my daddy used to say,
"Life is like a big doughnut shop:
a bunch of sugar-glazed
holes."

This is a little universe
because actually, how high
do we ever really get?
I'm eyeing the stars beyond
like our dreams deferred
Then I look down
at what appears...
I suppose,
like ants
on the ground
going about
their business -
so that's our world.
And I can only wonder
how much
do We love?

You think you are
the King
larger than Elvis
especially when young -
green and hard
cocky and confident
boastful and adventurous
exotic
erotic
When I pull you out,
you invariably make
people chuckle
or even blush.
To have a sense of humor
is important -
girls like that.
You're such a jokester
such a Romeo.
You ripen with age
big and sweet
her oral treat
and to satisfy her deep
True, a diamond may be prettier
but a big
banana
just may be
"a girl's
best friend."
Bananas are
a ridiculous fruit
with no brains.

I know
I shouldn't have you
But you always
make me
smile
You don't look cold
Oh, no...
you are my favorite flavor
Most of all
I love the way you drip
waiting
as my tongue goes
down on you
I know you are not good
for my health
Ice cream
whether in cup
or on a cone
You
are so
deliciously wrong.

Life is not so precious
why would I think so?
It doesn't look so precious
on TV
We get sick
some terrible disease
We crash
accidently
We kill
war and
genocide,
starvation too
While for too much for a few
much to little for many others survival
We take a life
or don't give it a chance
murder in degrees
Lucky to get old
I suppose
Die
call it Life
All content for the daily news
and hapless poems
until one day I am the one
in the ground.
But in meantime
Don't touch my television screen

Long before
the dinner and wine--
setting the mood
just right
To see your face
To feel
To touch
Anticipation
Wondering
how long
one can wait

It was a slow goodbye
retreating slowly
seemingly unstoppable
a sad sunset
Where passion’s fullness
like the sun no longer high in sky--
no longer generating such intensity

Love’s falling
now evident by the angle,
an accompanying coolness
What was it that chilled our embrace?
Our kisses no longer the same.
Instead locking tight,
our lips have turned loose--
meeting on occasion, yet distant.
Our tongues unable to mingle like times before.

We sit together
Shoulder to shoulder
Not much to say
Nonetheless,
a goodbye

I just talked to a girl
She told me about how her life was--
How everything was fine
How hard her husband worked every day
how their two kids are growing up just fine.

I just talked to a girl
She told me "times are tough"
complaining about having to pay
taxes, health insurance
mortgage payments
and so many other bills to pay
revealing her feeling of unease and uncertainty.

I just talked to a girl
She told me about her dreams
how she hoped to earn a living as writer one day
and to live near a beach
to wake up everyday and be able to tap her fingers on the keyboard
to the motion of the tides and the sound of crashing waves.

I just talked to a girl
Who said things will get better
How she loved her family
and her country
And how she is waiting for things to change--
when they can sell the house and move away.

She expressed confidence that they will
before saying good night.

Tonight
on this Ise* mountain top
In the pitch dark of night
everything is oddly motionless--
surreal stillness
for this otherwise spinning Earth.
Above - at least a billion stars
And below - the void of night
The stars and insects sing to me.

And shining in the distance
I can clearly see
something
surely exists--
the yellow lights of houses
filled with the lives of
a thousand faces
tears and smiles
those centuries past,
and those present--
Japanese people I'll never know.
What do you think
should I thank their gods for electricity?

*Sacred Ise Jingu (shrine) where according to ancient Shinto lore, the gods created Japan.

No matter all your wishing upon a star
or how many coins
you pitch into the well
No matter how many prayers
you say on your knees
No matter how much fire and brimstone that you hear
or the righteous words in books
or sung in hymns—
No matter how bad
you want God to be true--
acknowledging anything less
makes little sense to you
And how living without faith
secretly scares you to death
No matter all your hoping
all your believing
Even a total devotion
Or any euphoria your brain gets
Whatever….
Doesn’t necessarily make it so.

I want the bottom line,
without all the fine print
no hidden agendas
no mysteries
no excuses
I don't have time for plastic hearts
that melt and burn--
those that can turn south on a dime
I'm looking for the real beat
so that my heart pounds
like a Miles or a Coltrain.
or a Patti Smith--
to rattle my brain
I want some real action
causing my senses to come alive--
my skin to tingle
my groin to throb
I'm looking for the real thing
to challenge my mind and
lift me up while this world is falling down
I'm not looking for hot air,
but a hurricane--
no cheap thrills
no half measures
no phony baloney
no false promises
no fake hopes
no half loves
and I dream
it's you

Yesterday is like death
Face it squarely-
it's gone

Tomorrow?
True, tomorrow will most likely come
but the days after
who knows?

And to be sure the final day will come.
And after that?
I'm just not --
Well, I'm not
a betting man