Poem for Amy Winehouse

on your behalf. I don't know if

anyone understood my plea, but I did, I knew what I meant,

heard myself implore the cosmic stuffing we're

all fluffed out of to please give

you a second chance at life's happiness, even

if that's impossible, the sad self invoking

the power of my own being to

befriend you beyond the mortal, so much so

that whatever you are now, wherever you

exist, it can be felt as real,

a gift from a flower, as Donovan

put it, to a garden. It's mine

to give. Last night I spoke your

name to the universe, in a kind

of prayer, for you to find your

way to the place where love lives

in all of us for always. If

it doesn't matter one bit I don't

care. It makes a difference to me.

Last night I spoke to the years

gone by on your behalf. Bless you,

I say, Amy. That's all I can say,

but I say it with my whole

person in agreement. And now I leave

you for my own journey to continue

its own path through my destiny, but

before I do, I thank you so much.

Bonus poems:

Damaged UFO

Came to a full stop. This is

a jarring realization to a pilot as

you can imagine. Flying by the seat

of your pants is not really an

option. It's over pretty quickly. I could

see through the slits for my eyes

you were already walking your way home

without me. This hurt more than a

broken heart. It would take some time

to get up and get out of

there before your men in their white

uniforms showed up. You hear the pocketful

of keys first, like a rattlesnake under

a wooden stoop, then the helicopter blades,

then the cocking of rifles. Better to

disappear than be snagged by one of

your so-called friends for examination or experimentation.

I limped off as best as I

could, but the broken heart wouldn't stop

buzzing inside my chest. Still somehow I

made it away from the crash site

without being detected. My ship was ruined

beyond repair, but something of me lived,

wished to smile again, in spite of

the incredible pain. That's all I can

manage here. There is no magic or

science involved. It's been a day by

day operation. Here's that kiss I borrowed.

The inside hanging universe

 

Is busy thudding its hardnosed blind

Little digits on my swinging

Out of the way muted hat-less

Head. I know this means something.  It's

All part of my sitting here on

This particular red chair I

Suppose. It's always amazed me

 

How the poems will find your space

Even when you're deep inside your

Own mind. I'm not waiting for that

Sign from anyone anymore.

I'm just hanging out with Beirut

And waiting for it to snow like

It means it. When I was in the

Car before it started to sweep

 

A little miniature snow

Across the warm windshield like a

Needy little shake of salt, but

That quickly turned into a soft

Cold walking rain instead. Why this

Observation should matter to

These particular words before

Us now I don't know. Like I said

 

It means something, but I'm not sure

I want to know the exact what

Involved. Does everything have to  

Always be defined? Why can't some

Things just be felt? I don't need an

Explanation for loneliness.

Oh I'm sure that you've already

Figured that ancient clue out by

 

Now. Life is a much better place

With someone there to hold. Still a

Cave is a cave and mine is as

Empty as an abandoned nest

Jammed between the naked forks in

A frozen tree's forgotten stiff

Upper branches. There's sun somewhere,

But not much light. That about sums it.