Poetry | JW Winslow

Sacto Whacko

Somethin’ strange
goin’ on here:
been dragged
over the coals
and revived,
slapped up
and written down
till I’m barely Alive,
the sun and
moon are just
spooning
soaring in
the Heavens
as I hightail
it home,
scurrying away
from the
strangest days,
people mad
at me
and then not,
never really
sure about
the plot,
characters
weaving in
and out of
a silly game
nevertheless
it’s all the
same old
same old,

Truth be
told, seeing
my brother’s
best Friends
again
was a hoot,
photos of me
as a tiny little
Bee, was I ever
that shy,
surrounded by
the big boys
of High School,
at my own party
they sit and
listen to me
read my book
and speak my
lines, smiling
at the proper
and correct moment,
the time warp
has made a full
circle, kindness
returns, in a rerun
the boss man is
nice after all,
now it’s my call!

©J.W.WINSLOW 9/1/10

Exile on Main Street: Second Act

Ya wonder where they
Came from,
Got their groove:
Listen up, hot
July day
EXILE smiling
From my mailbox
Jumping onto
The turntable
Sliding out
Of years ago
When they
Were so hot
And so young
Not afraid to
Try anything
Sure they
Could do it,
And the result
Is this nasty
Fabulous beat
Recorded in a
French basement,
Truly exiled
From Mother Brit,
They dig into
The blues, a very
Expensive garage
Band on the Riviera

High on life
And drugs
And local thugs
Who bring the
Color to the devil,
If you ever wondered
Why they are
Still around,
Listen up, kids:
Here are the seeds
Of great rock
And roll,
Smiling at you
From a new disc
And an ancient
Time steeped
In tight skinny
Pants and
Quick romance,
It was the way
Of the world,
They got it
Right, with a
Touch of sorrow
Plaintive in between
The beat, horns
Wailing, musty
Old walls reflect
The sounds of
The Stones,
Wishing they
Were home…

©J.W.WINSLOW 8/1/10

She Wonders

She wonders
why she is
still here,
climbing into bed
exhausted
after a long
dinner with
her kids,
laughing
teasing
full of rancor
and silly puns,
scolding and
yarns about
the past, that
only we know
and understand,
while I tuck
her into bed,
she bemoans the
length of her stay
on this planet,
and why she has
endured so long,
while I smile
and tell her in
a very loud whisper
(she cannot hear
without her aids)

that she must
accept her life
these days,
given as a gift
because I have
no idea of the
answer: SHE IS
HERE BECAUSE
SHE IS HERE,
only God knows
when that
will end,
so until then,
watch the sunrise
and the moon,
breathe deeply
the flowers
of the garden
lush with summer,
eat with relish
and drink with
joy, and feel
your children
love you,
she nods and
closes her eyes:
She is ninety six!

©J.W.WINSLOW 7/1/10

Plan B

Standing at
the curb
beside my bag
packed up and
ready for the
Big Apple shag,
planning to
Knock ‘em Dead,
but Instead:
NO DEAL –
they screwed me
bigtime,
rolling the wheels
this big fancy
Airline
no flight
to be had
no seats saved,
it was kind of sad
they lost me in
the shuffle,
a last minute
blow off
in quite a tussle,
the only option
was to fly another day,
or more to the point,
DO IT THEIR WAY
whatever that
IS, GEE WHIZ,
it’s pretty lonely
in a taxi at Dawn,
returning to the
house where I belong
secured at any cost,
wondering exactly
what I’ve lost,
but my my
it’s good to be Home,
with the sun blazing
over the hills,

while a bird sits inside
on the window sill,
he arrived when
I opened the door
ready to swoop
around and explore,
so I sat and watched
this brand new day
come to bloom
in a wonderful
way, and thought
to myself
this is what
I’d have missed,
suffering through
the airport Tryst,
grinding, running,
squeezing into a seat,
trying my best To find
something to eat,
watching the miserable
traveling souls
waiting for something
beyond their control,
So guess what I
did with my
newly found play…
I took it to mean
I was meant to stay
And plant the new bulbs
my mother sent
and walk the Wild Road,
(My magnificent
And splendid
best friend)
you just never
Know how
these things
will end.

©J.W.WINSLOW 6/1/10

Rogue Wave

She came at me
from nowhere
slip sliding
easing into
the shore,
ramping up
from behind,
I was mistaken
when I thought
it was a game
and then the
second shot,
the ROGUE WAVE –
the one that
rushes from
under the first
loaded with
kelp and
power,
hurling into
shore at
breakneck
speed,
I was lost
in the glee
of the moment
thinking
it would be
OK to wait
stand still
let her swirl
around me,
But suddenly
I was down
covered by
cold white
foam and
launched into
the rocks of
the devil
pounding from
behind,

It was almost
over before
it began,
I cannot describe
the pain
the amazement
the sheer hell
of gasping
for breath,
the tide pulled
out and my
visitor with it,
leaving me
strangled in
seaweed, soaking
wet,
shocked that
it could happen
to me, the little
BEACH GIRL,
the walker
the lover of
the sea,
She had come
after me
with a vengeance
that betrayed
the tales
we have
heard forever:
Never underestimate
THE POWER
OF A WOMAN!

©J.W.WINSLOW 5/1/10

Connection: By Wrote

The musician
never knows
the song
or the writer
the words
or the poet
the thought
the dream
that sinks
into the mind
of the listener,
on that cold
rainy night
or day of fear
when things
are brilliant
and love
is near,
in the most
private times
we turn to
the genius
of artists
imagined
secretly,
in a fantasy
world, they
become our
friends
when no one
else is around,

seeping into
the soul
looping in
the brain
the soundtrack
of our lives
words to live by
art to inspire,
they are skilled
ambitious, and
often for hire,
I wonder if
my admiration
is of any
consideration
when they
create the
rhythms of
the world,
probably not,
it’s about
the work,
the voice inside
the shining
pride
of connection.

©J.W.WINSLOW 4/1/10

The Mindful Life

The tiny peanuts
contained in a
small gift bowl
needed a warming
after twenty five
hours in the air,
smashing about
in my suitcase
through the x-rays
and various scrutiny,
but they seemed to
be vital and tasty
after a turn in the
oven, rolling around
on my tongue,
a sandy tasting nut
from Africa,
unusual in size
and shape,
would it make
miniature peanut
butter for little
sandwiches,
oh, now you’re being
silly, but yes
the Mindful Life
has been a suggested
title for the new
way of believing,
following each
thought through
to the finish,
slowing down long
enough to breathe
and smile,

and laugh out loud
while listening
to my own words
recorded in digital
fantasia and
accompanied by
the rock god of
all time,
how foolish I
would be to dream
of such a life
and yet I have
rearranged my
fastidious loggia
into a studio
for painting like
a madwoman,
it’s as if there
is not enough time
in the day to
express myself,
and I wander back
to the land of
giraffes and elephants
to find a center,
for they know
no boundaries,
these creatures of
the wild,
and that’s where
I’m headed,
a newly
minted
mindful
child.

Mokolodi

A sunset trails
between the
trees as we
load up
to ride into
the bush,
the place
called MOKOLODI
which houses
many local
stars of fashion,
some with tusks
and ivory,
some with stripes
and hoofs,
some with tall
necks and big eyes,
some with funny
names like
warthog,
and then there
are the cheetah
who fly past
us, and the
monkeys that
play with our
heads as they
swing from
the trees,
our guide commands
attention by
shouting loudly
to stay in the
bus, but not us,
we squirm and
pitch back and
forth, cameras
clicking, eyes wide,
no place to hide
not that you would
want to,

it’s just too cool
for words, this camp
we return to,
lit with candles
and a feast for the
eyes and empty
bellies, drink for
the thirsty
laughter for
the hungry souls,
wedding plans
and silly jokes
while native
costumes are
presented to the
white guests,
perhaps we will
not be so very
obvious now,
doubtful,
but they don’t care
they love us anyway,
and what can you
say, but love you back
while the crocodiles
slither past in the
waters of Africa,
kings in the country
of the wild animals,
we watch in awe
singing as we depart,
disappearing into
the night.

At the End

Big Sur
lived up to
its reputation
today,
beaming out
from under
a silky mist
that hung over
the coast,
upon the first
whiff of trees
and forest,
the mood
went to sunny
and stayed
there,
perhaps what
they call
Chamber of
Commerce
weather, but
around here
we call it
weather
for the locals,
one of those
rare times
when nobody
else has the
same idea
of sneaking
away to play,

leaving clear
roads and
light hearts,
snapping snazzy
photographs
breathing in
that salty
air, while the
booming white
water blasts
the rocks with
spray so high
as to reach
the sky,
where else
on earth
is such glory
that feeds
the spirit
with mainline
happiness,
forget about
success and
all that money
this is the real
thing,
honey,
the last thing
you might want
to do…
at the end.

Magical Thinking

I have landed
in the world
of MAGICAL
THINKING,
I wonder how
long I can stay,
it occurs to me
without a word
that this is
the only way
but why is
the path so
hard to find
why can’t I
simply open
my mind
whenever the
urge
to merge
into the light
of fancy flight
that carries
me over the
doldrums
and sparks
the creative
smoldering
flame
that started
this mind blowing
wild-ass game,

for today I feel
as if I could
and will
and might
and maybe should
do all those things
that seem unreal
when all it takes
is just the skill
to climb into the
wizard’s ship
and hold
on tight
for the
magical trip,
but you can
have it
either way
it’s really only
the price you pay
to just survive
or celebrate
BEING ALIVE!

Archives