Famous lines from
a Nobel Winner
say a man
leaves the room
as a saint
not a sinner,
without the debris
of the recent past,
while a woman’s
role is always cast
in the female
fashion, she
embraces the story
with agonized
passion, taking
each detail
of the soul along
with her,
suffering the
push and
pull of
Come Hither:
a call to arms,
(regardless of
notions or
firey devotions)
the facts
remain clear,
I admit to
be fond of
having
you near,
while changing
my life with
your charms,
and having
disarmed
the barriers of
history
my life is
a mystery
of fathomless
depth, unknown
and alone
until now,
for a light
has broken
the ceiling
and walls
my barriers
are crumbling
and liable to
fall,
the wonderful
warmth of
the human touch
sways the heart
to burst with love,
impossible
unspeakable
a dangerous glove
that fits despite
your tender
embrace
I close my eyes
and I see your face
no expectations
no harm done,
the promise of
more
has me undone,
is there time,
and another sweet
chance
for tender
forboding
and exotic
romance?

 

©J.W.WINSLOW 11/1/13

It would seem
that the stage
is set
for a spectacular
stream of events
but don’t be
fooled,
the golden rule
goes something
like this:
it all comes
in waves, the
good and the bad
depending on
whether you
are righteous
or sad,
the sadder you are
the worse it gets
the sneers are
saved for the
hypocrites,
who slide past
the dreary
and stomp
on the weary,
for they can
be such a bore,
best to hang
with the winners
the ultimate sinners
they are so hard to ignore,
so remember to
smile when that
snapshot appears
even if you are
screwed up to your ears,
nobody likes
what everyone fears:
whining and crying
and crocodile tears,
the winner takes all
the wheel spins
alone, racing
around in the
enemy zone,
you gotta be
fast, you better
be quick,
to beat up
the blues with
a terrible stick,
the light will
remain, the
shadows will clear
and the world
will be better
without any fear,
take up the
flag, please do
not wait,
the angel of sorrow
is close to the gate,
now it’s your
turn to make
him a saint!

 

©J.W.WINSLOW 10/1/13

They waited to
surprise me,
the fabulous
beautiful
NAKED LADIES,
hiding beneath
the ground
for years, I have
never before
seen them in
the old garden,
but this summer
the apple tree
was fragrant
and bountiful,
roses flourished
from beyond the
overgrown bush
and earlier a
Calla Lily popped
up, leaving behind
sad wilted leaves,
so I assumed that
we were done,
and yearning for
the chance to
snatch a few of
those pink lilies
that grow in
abundant wild
here on the coast,
appearing by
chance wherever
they please, the
original pods were
probably loved by
the natives at
feasts of abalone
and fish,
my gift of the
first bloom was
there today,
gently reminding
me of true Nature,
not the fancy
or proposed,
but a secret
smile from beyond
in a moment
most needed,
now I cannot
wait until
tomorrow comes
and I awake
to the scent
of a blush morning,
racing with the
Hummers for the
first breath of
Heaven…

 

©J.W.WINSLOW 9/1/13

He joins me
in a cosmic
accident,
walking by
the sea
the master of
The Mermaid
House,
just him and
me, by surprise
and fate
we are racing
along against
the wind, admiring
his fabulous abode,
the one I would choose
if able,
standing like a
queen on the shores
vines in the
courtyard, a hint
of water sounds
out from a fountain
unseen from the
street, it’s meant
to entice behind
the gate, perhaps
he peeks from a
shuttered window
engaged in some
quirky business,
he doesn’t tell
much, only about the
legacy, the wonderful
Mr. Morse back in 1926,
making rules for the fine
homes of the forest,
my companion knows
all this and more,
he sleeps in the room
facing the ocean
and dines at the table
of waves and mating
seals, banks of fog
rolling in over the
Pacific, he sits and
studies the tales
of the mermaid,
posting flags outside
while I walk by,
intrigued, yearning,
learning,
a heart burning for
the first visit, will
you ever see me
once I pass the doorway?

 

©J.W.WINSLOW 8/1/13

She was the apple
of his eye,
the little house
at the end of
the freeway,
tucked into
a neighborhood
with others of
the same bent,
it was 1957 and
My dad was
buying his first
and only dwelling,
a place he would
fall in love with,
having been on
the road most of
his playboy
gypsy life,
and lucky to
find a home
of his own
with a yard
the size of a
football field,
he took a few
more wives
and added a pool,
a suite for his
first daughter,
skylights and
palm trees,(while
saving the plum
and apricots for
wife number five
to make some jam),
the times changed
and his family grew
while he became
quite the movie
guy and other
secret talents,
lining the
fences outside with
Disney Posters,
dice from Vegas set
into the shallow end
of the splash,
thriving on the
one thing he
could call his
own, never before
and never again,
it was his last
passion, leaving
the remains to
a family who has
now divided itself
into parts that
he would not
recognize or approve,
NO MORE FIGHTING
he would say,
You should be here
now, soaking in
the rays with
a frozen daiquiri,
stop arguing, please,
can’t you see the
beauty of life,
it is so dear to me,
remember my smile
and embrace your
time, for it will
all pass too quickly
and soon you will
be joining me,
wishing for one
more swim,
within…

 

©J.W.WINSLOW 7/1/13

Your Media train
leaves at 4 AM,
bound for the
Left Coast and
pure mayhem,
(the land of
fruits and nuts
and glow,
plus the grand
movie daughter
of Dick Winslow),
the Conductor
Calls every
twenty minutes
with a bucket load
Of questions,
playing from
a cheatsheet
full of factual
impressions:
all those things
people want
to know,
while the sun rises
there are many
surprises, from Fargo
North Dakota
and chilly Minnesota,
Queries in lovely
Southern diction,
wanting details about
fact and fiction,
all the stories
the amazing glory
of being a writer,
way before the
clock ticks six
you gulp some
caffeine , stand
strong in the dream,
chugging along toward
Denver and Kentucky,
This locomotive tracks
fast and lucky,
and a little complex,
with the questioning side
from the opposite sex,
curious about the
Big Sur tricks
the fog in the air
is misty and thick
these would-be world
travelers do their work
from the chair, without
a care for the prurient
soul who paces
the opening hours
of sensual spaces
With much to inspire
with her fabulous list
of ardent admirers,
it’s the world of my
acting father, my
singing mother,
my curious brother,
all bound up in
a live conversation
broadcast before dawn,
flying the airwaves
to the drive-alongs,
commuting,
wondering what
that woman might
be wearing,
is she commanding
and overbearing,
where has she been,
what shape is she in,
what next of kin
will pick up the pieces
after all these
brand new releases?

 

©J.W.WINSLOW 6/1/13

The skunk
and the Dove
cross my path
it is a Void
Course of the Moon,
my love waits
for a sign:
(something to
show the way)
while aphids play
in tiny circles
on one rose, the
others having escaped,
a sure sign that
the world is
changing evidenced
by odd little fluffy
green balls
hanging from
an ancient tree
parked next to
my door, it has
seen many come
and go, and still
surprises with
these blooms
in the Void
Course of the Moon,
when nothing
is supposed to
happen, but
everything does,
ten spanking
new easels
fresh from the
writer’s eye
will hold the
first of Dyanna’s
Dream Shows,
secret art that
materializes
now, as it must,
evidence of
something more
than a longer
ray of sun
or the shy little
kitten who
hides in my garden,
but the belief
of the tide rolling
in to my Butterfly
Beach, promising
something special
always in tune
even thought it
is a Void Course
of the Moon…

 

©J.W.WINSLOW 5/1/13

WE DID IT
IN OUR OWN
SWEET WAY:
THE SECRET
WEDDING
THE GOLDEN DREAM
I WORE A DRESS
OF MY NANA’S,
LONG AND FABULOUS
BLUE
AND GLAMOUROUS
IT FIT LIKE A GLOVE,
A PERFECT GOWN
FOR A DAY OF LOVE,
THE OUTCASTS
GATHERED, THE
HOT AND THE NOT
A SELECTED FEW
AT DUSK, IN
THE GARDEN THAT
NEVER WAS,
A NICKNAME FOR
THE PLACE WHERE
WE FELL FOR
EACH OTHER,
HOVERING OVER
LIZARDS AND
BUTTERFLIES
IN A CLOUD OF
THAT FUNNY
SMOKE, WE
AGREED IT WOULD
BE A JOKE ON
THE WORLD
TO MARRY OURSELVES
ON CHRISTMAS
EVE, AND TELL
NO ONE: THE EXWIVES
THE SLAIN BOYFRIENDS
THE NOSIES ~
MY DAINTY POSIES
WERE A TESTAMENT
TO ANOTHER TIME,
WOUND AROUND
LONG GOLDEN
LOCKS, SNUGGLED
NEXT TO MY
BROTHER, WHILE
THE SCANT FEW
WE WANTED
STOOD IN A CIRCLE
AND WE JOINED
OUR LIVES,
FOR ONCE MY HERO
WAS DUMBSTRUCK
WHISPERING HIS VOWS,
PROMISES TO BE
GOOD TO ME,
HE COULD NOT
FORESEE THE END,
THE WAVES SLIPPING
OFF THE SHORE,
WAITING TO TAKE
HIM HOME, IT
WOULD BE A COMET
OF A TIME, FAST AND
FREE, BORN INDEED
IN SILENCE AND
SEXY SMILES,
ALL ROSES
AND GUILE,
NOW ME AND
MY BROTHER
ARE THE ONLY
ONES LEFT,
A STRANGE
DISTINCTION
FOR THE
RUNAWAYS,
HARNESSED BY
SHOOTING STARS,
WE NOW
EXIST ONLY
ON MARS!

 

©J.W.WINSLOW 4/1/13

Today my new
Baby was born
and I celebrate
her shining
presence, not
as you would
suppose, she
is 382 pages
and very slick
all green parts
and words
from the heart
of Big Sur,
what a ride
it has been,
music from
New York,
art from the
masterful
Nepenthe genius
everything changing
from day to day
I cannot keep up
time to sink
into D. Matthews
he knows my
soul, not so much
Rock and roll,
more like a step
into the far
reaching universe,
“Do what you know”
he sings today,
“Do what you love”
and it is the way
of my world,
running upstream
unanswered dreams
oceanic schemes,
if nothing is what
it seems, then
what is it,
(just wondering)
while I cradle
Volume three
in my arms
next to me,
waiting for the
eyes of perusal,
there will be
no refusal of
this gait,
she is worth
the wait, I swear…
bounding across
the sea, she will
find the African
veldt, the tigers
and lions, the
shores of wild things
fingers reaching
out to all the sisters
and brothers,
finally the book
dedicated to my
favorite man,
my hero in secret
my friend,
to that end,
he will be surprised!

 

©J.W.WINSLOW 3/1/13

The light of
America
shines late
at night,
we hold our
breath at
the sight
of people
come to
celebrate a
great patriot,
turning into
his second
term of office,
we may not
recognize
the jolly
fair thee well
fellow of
yesteryear,
this man is
serious and
gray, with
the same quirky
smile and
a strong step,
he wears it
well, this
mantle of
leadership
despite the
naysayers
we all see
the beauty
of presidency
the pride and
determined
actions, dancing
with a woman
he loves,
holding the family
close, it seems
to be a pattern:
STICK TO
YOUR GUNS,
even when the
odds are against
you and you are
Black, a man
unlikely to be
where he is,
yet he speaks
not of that,
but of us,
and where will
we go as
citizens of
the most beautiful
country on earth,
may we be
reminded in the
hours of celebration
that we are one,
And bound to support
Our leaders,
the work rolls
on long after
others are asleep,
It’s our watch
that he keeps,
guiding a
nation of
individualists
and rebels
can’t be easy,
but he asked
for the job and
now he must
show us his stuff,
isn’t that
enough to
write
home about? 

 

©J.W.WINSLOW 2/1/13