Robert Lazaneo: Poetry Page

When the coyotes sing their song in a deserted parking lot/ The shadows dance and moan hungry for what they ain't got/ some automobile cruises by/ somebody givin' the eye/ A lit cigarette flicked out the window/ Glowin', bouncin' end over end/ Bass heavy car stereo bumps/ Vibrations rattle hip hop humps/ Midnight moon shinin' down by the water/ down by the water/ Wake up from a troubled sleep & the nightmare plays out once again/ Switch on the lamp & grab your glasses from the nightstand/Bed unmade non slept in vacancy/ teenage boy gonna be the death of me/ slippers padding down the hall/ phone in hand but the mailbox is full/Premonitions that can't be ignored in a long night of waiting/ Midnight Moon shinin'

Wynken,Blynken, and Nod / Sailed one night in a wooden shoe/ Didn't come back till a half past two/ Around the boulevard a red camaro movin' to the sounds of rock and roll/ One night when the yellow moon was bright and fantastic/ The fog lifted/ Put the foot to the floor and pulled/ The disapearing act/ Wynken he's talk talk talkin'/ Talkin' all the time/ Blynken he's laughin' like Old Laughin' Sal/ and Nod, he don't say nothin'/ Just turns the radio up/ Spining the dial like spinning the wheel and away they went. Heartbreak and changes/ you find yourself in a foreign land/ Get away from the dark shade/ Seems like a reasonable plan/ Just need time to get your bearings/ A change of scene/ Anybody would understand. Wynken, Blynken, and Nod/ Sailed one night in a wooden shoe/ didn'tcome back till a half past two/ I should have read between the lines/ I should have opened my eyes/ Should have read between the lines/ Wynken, Blynken, and Nod.

Johan S. Bakke was sitting at the kitchen table that was covered with copies of the Berkeley Barb and Berkleley Tribe newspaper. Underground rags full of radical politics, sex and personal ads, record reviews and any other news that the counter culture might be interested in. Copious four letter words, grainy photographs of frontal nudity, lewd cartoons, and editorials by Max Scheer and his minions alerting the youth on the evil being perpetrated on them by Nixon/Agnew/Reagon and the capitalist war mongering elite. His curly brown, almost afro styled hair,shook gently as he continued separating the seeds and stems of the marijuana that was spread on the newsprint image of poet Allen Ginsburg. Head bent,his beak like nose and silver rimmed glasses squinted into the bountiful harvest of potent vegetation before him. The pile of choice bud was growing and soon he would be completing the ritual with the packet of Zig Zag rolling papers and the lighter nearby.

Jimmy and Javier slipped through the advancing crowd, eyes alert, to the young females that would appear at different times during their scouting of the people gathered. "Oooh! Look at that one!" Javier grinned,"I think my "thing",..it spits" Jimmy gazed out at the object of Javiers interest and sniffed,"Yeah, she is fine but she's out of your league. Shes got to be at least twenty one, my man!" "You think I can't get her?" Javier replied. "Thats right. I've seen you with chicks and you got no rap, no lines.Always playin' cute with that accent,that ain't gonna work with an older chick." Jimmy began to warm to the subject taking on an almost fatherly tone with the young guitarist. "Take me, first I make my approach, bowl leggedly, so they know what I want, Than I say, Hey baby what's your sign? I'm a Libra, passionate and artistic, do you believe in love? Some kinda shit like that always gets em' in the back seat of the car."

The corner market, all Pabst Blue Ribbon neon blue and green signs flashing off and on, off and on, hero sandwiches made to order layered salami and ham with an RC cola glass bottle pulled out of the icy water cooler. Bespectacled Mr. Wong, behind the counter with blue smock stained with mustard and ketchup fishing out a huge pickle from the tall glass jar on the counter with metal tongs.Three or four boys crouched on the floor thumbing through wood racks of comics;Batman,Spiderman,Fantastic Four, until Wong would growl,"Hey! You kids gonna buy something? What? You think this is the library?" The real action though was at the firehouse across the street from Milos place. During summer, the impromptu baseball games that were a daily occurence would begin usually at 11:00a.m and go until dark and sometimes even after that.