(Cabin Sunset, summer 2025)
The Heat of the Moment
Settling into our new mountain cabin,
Dogs and humans equally overheated
In the shadeless August afternoon,
The only way to be is naked.
Stuff strewn around
Bed to one side, kitchen the other,
Camp chairs with panting dogs
On an old Persian rug in-between.
Cabin with unfinished interior
Waits for insulation, paneling and flooring,
But in this moment nothing is missing
Except maybe a fan.
No water we haven’t brought,
Nor power not in some kind of rechargeable battery,
Yet we find a strong signal FM station
Playing one classic rock song after another.
And it takes me back to another time
Living as a 70’s teen in the suburbs when FM was king,
Then in the 80’s as a young man off grid in the hills
When a stack of cassettes was all we had or wanted.
Those youthful times, family and friends are long gone
And yet here I am in old age,
Living the good life again with new family and friends
Still rocking on, out of time, out mind.
(8/10/25)
never really liked the way I stumble
stumble, stumble
stumble and stumble
where’s the song we used to stumble over the words
because at least i could enjoy the jumping and stumbling
of the tape
it was a red van, not a white one
so we always knew it was him who was giving the good
kind of candy, and not type that makes you fall asleep
you know what i’m talking about
so now i’m stumbling over words
stumbling over people
i didn’t know there was a dead squirrel on the stairs
why is there a dead squirrel on the stairs??
now i’m stumbled and stumped
thinking about that red van
who’s driving it now
does the tape still jump
or maybe it’s jumping back to the same place now that he’s gone
it never jumped like that when we met him for the first time
i guess all of the cassettes had to stumble for a while
now he’s got the unstumbled cassettes of all our little adventures
nothing missing, nothing broken
live on channel 37
What can you save when you go the grave?
The answer, my friend’s, not a thing,
Yet the way we behave (and so few of us cave)
Is to add to mementos and cling.
The clothes out of style we’ve not worn in a while,
The souvenirs bought on a trip;
The bills that we’ve paid and the copies we’ve made
Of each document once in our grip…
The books we once read (not much use when we’re dead),
Aging kitchenware, no longer used;
Old cd’s and cassettes – there should be no regrets
If they’re tossed. (Even thrift-stores refused!)
Once-bright towels and sheets, piles of stubs and receipts,
All the playthings of children now grown
Should be given away, so what’s left on display
Are just sparking-joy things that you own.
All this sounds very nice but to heed this advice
You’re much better than I seem to be,
But just take it to heart and at least try to start
(Or procrastinate – that works for me!)
I am Farrah Fawcett,
Poster on the wall.
I am a rotary phone,
When I made a call.
I am, Boss,
it’s the plane, The plane.
I am Pablo Escobar,
And his cocaine.
I am Queen with
Freddy Mercury Live.
I am the Bee Gees,
Talking that Jive.
I am vinyl, 8-tracks,
cassettes and CDs.
I am, make love not war,
And Hippies.
I am where is the beef?
Don't squeeze the Charmin.
I am Cheech and Chong
and George Carlin.
I am SNL when it
Was funny.
I am Happy Days,
And a Playboy bunny.
I am M.A.S.H. and
A metal Lunch-box.
I am clackers, tang,
And a Pet-rock.
I am American Bandstand,
Peace signs, and the twist.
I am pay-phones, pagers,
and stick-shifts.
I am, conjunction junction,
What's your function?
I am Patty Hearst and
Her abduction.
Turbo1904
Clean your house out – ditch the past!
Get rid of all that you’ve amassed.
VHS tapes and cassettes,
Toys and trophies – no regrets!
Old TVs with bulging backs,
Books you’ve read (piled up in stacks);
Souvenirs from every tour,
Blinds and shades (passe décor).
Piggy banks and pocketbooks,
Earrings meant for younger looks,
Even bunkbeds not in use
Must be gone – there’s no excuse!
Go through closets, clear each shelf
Of former versions of yourself.
Time to bid these things goodbye;
Make it easy when you die.
Purple swirls
The wind whirls
Flipping the leaves
Hanging from the trees
Subtle sunsets
Old cassettes
Crackling sounds
Good feelings all around
Noglista,
Peace gifted
The fog lifted
Humming vibrations
The best vacation
Bare feet on the grass
Memories to last
Pink unfurls
Colors blur
Swelling
Melding
The sight astounds
The sun goes down
We're listening to old cassettes
From when my kids were small.
It doesn't seem like thirty years
(Or more) have passed at all.
My grandkids recognize the songs
And even Raffi's voice.
They'd be content with rock or jazz
But Raffi was my choice.
For now the circle is complete
Though thirty years apart;
I'm listening again with those
The closest to my heart.
Mr Two step in the name of fame
I regret putting a foot onto your set
I should not of accept all the abuse and lies
That came with fame
Hearing your name only makes me upset and a shame
You know when we first met
I had to bend and sweat to pay off a debt
Lord, I regret putting a foot onto your set
You believed you were a vet
You treated me like your pet
You inflicted harm and threats
You even made dirty bets
Played R/B cassettes just to get horny and wet
Mr Two Step now whose upset
These bruises and scars one could never forget
You played a vicious game of roulette
I bet you will now learn to regret
Bringing me onto your set
It's your turn to bend and sweat don't be upset
Just pray and don't fret
Fall asleep
When back to dream land,
Its a hard life...
A life with no rules, it's fun though!
Can't wake up:
nothing but deep dreams and nightmares,
Slopes and pinnacle pins
Chosen kings and jealous men,
O malady... It's a strange world!
Spin in circles and see,
Break through the haziness.
Took shoots but missed-
Just Dizziness and setbacks,
Records and tapes
CDs and cassettes,
Dreams and visions
Death and more death
A sad dream, a blue night
Bloody moon nothing gets
more terrifying than the heavens falling down!
Chaotic energy filling the spheres
Turning the blue to red,
A mash up: a clown season
Hahaha...the laughter
Bye bye...year after!
We’ve introduced our grandkids
To the music we adore –
That’s classical or rock & roll;
They always ask for more.
For Henry’s coming birthday,
I procured a perfect book –
An intro to the orchestra;
A CD was the hook.
Describing all the instruments,
Composers for them, too,
It indicates which track to play
So all will get their due.
I realized, though, belatedly –
You’ll know before I say it –
That Henry’s house (unlike my own)
Has no place he can play it!
We listen to the radio
(Alexa helps, as well)
And in the car, for longer drives,
Some kids’ CD’s do dwell.
But modern homes have relegated
CD’s to the past.
Like hi-fi’s, LP’s and cassettes,
Of course, they couldn’t last.
A 'Good Old Days Market' sign seen
With arrows that point to the scene;
There hidden by wall
Of stone, very tall,
I ventured and found behind screen,
Some tables with items arranged...
Such irony...somewhat deranged!
There spread out in view...
Still wanted by few...
Remains, by new tech, now estranged!
Typewriters galore, 'modern' style.
Old telephones that you must dial.
Flip cellphones that close...
Eight-track videos...
Oh, such a 'nostalgic' junk pile!
Some huge V H S movie cams,
The weight of two five-pounder hams.
Fax senders...hand fed...
Received...in hands read,
And heaps of outdated programs!
Old Apple computers, diskettes;
Recorders with lots of cassettes.
Fat TVs with tubes,
Old Kodaks, flashcubes...
Those 'good' old days? Gone! No regrets!
Sandra M. Haight
Take me back to when
The only price I had to pay
For drinking piss warm beer
Was all I had to fear
Where the clear and present yards
Made yesterday seem simple
Like popping pimples and emphasizing my dimples
Take me back home to Mum and Dad
And the endless fun I had growing up
With my pet pup
That showered me with love
Take me back to me at 17 evergreen
Praying for a kiss
Acting out for girls
After school on my bike
What must I have looked like
Take me back to records and cassettes
That cradled me to bed at night
The soundtrack of my youth
And my changing fashion's
But most of all
Take me back so I can correct my many mistakes
I so dearly wish I could now replace
So that the old man starring back at me in the mirror
Can live out his days at peace
Like back before my mistakes had taken place
Take me back
When we were young
Our expectations were small
A second hand bike
Or maybe A football
No flights to the sun
Or a week on A boat
Just down the canal
On a plank
We would float
No TV,s or videos
CD,s or cassettes
Just a radio playing
And sweet cigarettes
As we grew
We would dream of afar
In place of a bike
A second hand car
No more hand me downs
Or cast off shoes
No pants with patches
Or souls that were glued
Our life now
Is so different from then
More things we have
But I still wish
I was ten,
His groupies were in pre-school
(Or their parents, more the like).
At concerts, all his lyrics
Were sung back by every tyke.
We listened to his records
(Way back then, on small cassettes).
When our kids would clap along
That was as good as music gets.
Now 30-plus years later
With our grandson (just past 2),
We watch a younger Raffi
And his power still shines through.
For with YouTube on the iPhone
There’s his presence in our laps
And as Henry watches, mesmerized,
It makes me feel, perhaps…
Somehow time is at a standstill.
What was new once still feels fresh,
Though in truth I’ve no idea today
How Raffi’s in the flesh.
Greeting cards and broken toys
And yo-yos missing strings
Were among the items ditched
With lots of other things.
Marble notebooks filled with math,
A horn that lost its toot;
Bags and bags of memories
All tossed right down the chute.
I’d emptied out the closet
For emergency repair.
It seemed the perfect time to whittle
What’s been waiting there.
Costumes, masks and crushed up hats
From years and years ago;
Magnets, pistols, doctors’ kits
And whistles that won’t blow.
Dusty dolls and lesson plans,
Cassettes with ripped-up tape;
So much stuff so nice when new
But now in sorry shape.
Finally I called it quits,
The salvaged goods all packed
Until they multiply
Then once again, I will subtract!
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