Vocal version: 

when we walk out this morning
dew drops on the growing green
new and nude day still aborning
like none i have ever never seen

this darling day won’t last forever
it may not even last today
I say never ever say never
it could go the other way

best let’s not waste one more tomorrow
looks like this day we may not change
let’s just smell to hell the roses
that it’s too late to rearrange

here hold my hand and let’s just watch it
until it’s come and long has gone
long enough for me to have told you
i am SO glad you came along

should we be so blessed to see
the evening come around
and you once more lie down with me
count the stars that fall to ground

I will tell you that i love you
maybe you will tell me to
by all the stars that shine above you
darling i love you

when politicians have spent all our money
when the good book has no more to say
and greed just looks so FINALLY funny
we had you and me and the dog and today


audio verson – set volume before clicking: Sun


Sun –by everyman jack

I shine for you
I am a sun
I vaunt not
I boast not
I am one of many suns
But I shine for you

I shine for your mercurial whirl
your effulgence, your brilliance
your quotidian butterfly rush through existence
here today, gone tomorrow
ball of energy
your desire to transmit, emit, remit, and flit
from one space to another but always
communicating and innovating
absorbing and reflecting
and you think I light up your life
but I do it just to see you shine

You are my venus
You are love and beauty
orbiting clockwise
not anticlockwise as others do
because beauty brings its own direction
I don’t ask if love is contextual
I don’t ask if beauty would be so beautiful
in some other solar system
I just shine
I shine for you
That’s what I do

You are my earthy
scratch an itchy back
in a hot sand
zephyr sniffing
hair blowing
water dripping
surf riding
snow angel
You are my optimally heeled
catamaran in a wild wind
You are my texturally consummate
I will never let you go
When you shake off the fleas of humanity
and rejuvenate yourself into the next eon
harmonizing to Joan Baez singing
Bob Dylan’s “Forever Young”
I will still shine for you
That’s what I do

When your martian bellicosity is seen
for what it is, a resentment of the hurt inflicted
by past civilizations that didn’t care about
the hurt they did to you – to their own detriment
I understand and send warm rays to help
you heal and feel again the warmth of your own
rejuvenating heart until your red anger
turns agains to green and blue
because I shine for you
that’s what I do

Your jovian magnanimity
Your saturnine tenacity
Your tipsy Uranus
Your brooding Neptune
Your mysterious Pluto
shroud yet complement the more obvious
All those things even I don’t know about
inspire me to marvel
And yes, the unknown,
the X factor bring the whole of you
into an integral completeness

and me?
I am part of you
You are part of me
We are just holons
holding on and whirling through the
on a joyride

We are a planetary system
to be precise and
I am your sun
I vaunt not that fact
I do not boast
I am one of many suns
But I shine for you

If all the grains of sand
on all the beaches
of the planet earth
were counted
that number of grains
is approximately the number of
suns in our universe
so I am one of many
but you
you are my one out of many
you are my “e pluribus unum”
all my planets comprise one you
I shine for you
That’s what I do

[from candojack.com all righs reserved]


Here is jack’s one paragraph or so guide to creating poetry. 

Beware authorities. If you find yourself in that setting try to stick around a bit for comedy’s sake. 

Don’t try to rhyme if you haven’t a gift for it. Robert Frost (most widely known US poet) though, said, “poetry without rhyme is like tennis without a net.” I suppose a dozen kinds of rhyme exist. I think my favorite is found in Emily Dickinson. She will have a stanza (say four lines) She will have a solid clear pure rhyme in every line but one. Say the last line. It may be a half rhyme: a different consonant, a short vowel,something that makes the line a little different from the rest. So one must ask, “why is that line different?” It is different e.g. to accent meaning. Perhaps like an exclamation point in punctuation. 

I love the hiphop technique of repeating a rhyme sound until it is about to scorch into monotony.

Robert Pinsky, was US poet laureate about a decade ago. He said, “there are no rules.” Some assume that removes responsibility. Rather it increases it. He is saying you can do anything you want with poetry. But, you must make it work. 

For me poetry is best thought of as jazz. That is one of the reasons I think poetry is best when performed aloud. It IS performance. Some really great poets fail in delivery. Not loud enough, poor pitch, poor enunciation, poor timing, well read, flat. The current poet laureate of San Luis Obispo, Jerry Douglas Smith, is notable for his ability to capture dialect. In one of his poems you hear the poet dialing through the radio driving along a road. Different dialects, language accents, attitude. Each voice connects to the overall poem in a vital way. 

Whatever language techniques, poetic devices, word coinage, meanings twists, ah hahs, paintings drawn, are fair game. Here is how you know a poem is good. As you deliver, check the faces of the audience members. When they are smiling, nodding, on the edge of their seats, crying, laughing, laughing and crying, ole, bravo: that is a good poem. No feeling is as great to a poet as clearly discernable audience reaction. That is true sometimes even when they are throwing tomatoes or eggs. Love every smatter, kid. You have the experience of a life time. Twist of thought will come into a vibrant poetry creation session. When you get a good one and perform it, try to play it as a kayaker plays the rapids in swift moving water. Have no fear. You may drown. No problem. You are a poet. Eternally.

In the next node of my stream I will put up a poem called BLUE HAIRED POETRY. I don’t often let this one go out running around. Some myopic people might think it is stereotypical. They may be correct. And they may be right, as it were.

Why West Weng Instead of West Wing


Why did I choose the word ‘weng’ instead of ‘wing’ for my FB blurb ‘West Weng’?

Obviously I needed a ‘close to WING’ word to approximate and distance the blurb to and from TV’s West Wing. ‘Weng’ probably popped into my head from having heard it and words that are close to it in sound in German language countries. It no doubt stuck on the aspirative thorn of a language thorn bush.

It is a powerful little four letter word, especially in Bavaria. You know, of course, that the language of the German state of Bavaria (Bayern) is not German but, rather Bavarian (Bayerish). It means few: more than one, but not as many as usual or as expected. Better than nothing but functionable.

Words live in names and names live in words. In the Bernese Oberland of Switzerland to the west of Bavaria is a city named Wengen. I think no one knows why it is called Wengen. Like many villages and cities in Europe but especially in the alps, Wengen has been there a while. I have assumed the name of the village came from someone among the first ones who went there or lived there.

I mention Wengen, the village, because it was also probably the reason it came to mind when I coined ‘West Weng’. But, now that I have mentioned it, I shall explain why Wengen sticks in my head. It is, like the word ‘weng’, better than nothing because that little bit is the beginning of a great adventure.

Wengen sits above the long east west Bernese valley that runs along the north side the alps, essentially from Bern to Zurich. On the north side the valley is an incredible long, well formed waterfall which you can see from the other side the valley at about 3000 feet high in the little village of Wengen.

Looking southwest from Wengen and upwards one can see three of the most beautiful and impressive mountains in the world. They are the Jungfrau, the Wetterhorn, and the Eiger (Eiger from the Greek ‘akros’ meaning sharp.
From Wengen one can take a very unusual short train up the long steep path through those mountains and along the massif. Along the rail on the level, horizontal, track of the mile high wall of mountain, one can occasionally look out the window of the train through windows in the and see the village of Wengen far below.

At the end of the ride is an ice carved cave. A rather common occurrence in the high mountains of the alps are ice rivers which over the centuries by contracting and expanding formed long caves which are likely to end abruptly on the solid sheet of immense wall of a mountain.

At the end of the Wengen train rail is a perpetually freezing cave where ice sculpture have sat for decades. One of them is the author of Sherlock Holmes, Arthur Conan Doyle. He lived near there and was beloved of the Swiss.

When you descend to Wengen and leave the train you can choose a manner of descent to the valley that, as far as I know, is only available at Wengen. You can take the paraglider taxi. Don your helmet, bundle up, and belt yourself into the harness in front of the pilot and descend to the valley with nothing under your feet but cold mountain air.

I have drifted away from the orignal theme perhaps to illustrate the definition of ‘weng’. You got a little info about Wengen. More than enough but sufficient. Well, no. Let’s add that Wengen has been seen a great deal in film and travel picture of Switzerland. The first time I saw it was in the Clint Eastwood movie, THE EIGER SANCTION. And you can follow Eastwood’s incredible climb to the peak in a really exciting action film.

The composite pic I use for the blurb shows an eagle eye. Through the center of the eye one can see the White House. A short distance from the ring of the eye the suburb of the eye graduates into general underwing and there strung between leading edge wing feathers and the following edge wing feathers is the verbiage of the day.

I have another reason for liking and using the word ‘weng’ for what would be ‘wing’. Id est, the word ‘weng’ has a number of meanings in addition to the slang word ‘weng’ which means “good looking.” As one might guess the Chinese really take wing on weng. Look at them.
1. zhu rén weng = master (of one’s own destiny etc)
2. wèng = pottery container for water, wine etc
3. weng = elderly man, father, father-in-law
4. neck feathers of an old bird
5. bù dao weng = roly-poly toy, tilting doll, tumbler
6. fù weng = rich person, millionaire, billionaire
7. lao weng = old man
8. weng (onomatapeic) = buzz, hum, drone
9. bái tóu weng = root of Chinese pulsatilla or pasqueflower
10. Dà fù weng = Monopoly game
11. zuì weng = wine-lover, drinker, toper, drunkard

So with all those variables, seems to me weng becomes a good word to be a place holder as zero is in math. That is, it can be a word that is real good for the occasion at hand.

So, welcome to West Weng!

I hope you enjoy our West Weng blurb for its keeping West Wing alive, for its meaningful quotes, lessons in life, and point you to good writing.


Iconoclast – AUDIO

Christ Cleaning the Temple


i am still yearning, i am still learning
to choose free of conditioning
to select out of silent consideration
to expectorate sugar coated propaganda
to regurgitate traditional victuals
to make this life my own
no pawn in their game
no name that they name
no same that is their same
my life is my own web site
no templates please
no dreamweaver, no web fusion
let me write the raw code
let me create my own icons
let me compose my own style sheet
let me become my own layout
i am an ancient youth
still yearning, still learning to be free

i am not the sheep
i am not the bellwhether
i am not the shepherd
i am not the wolf who steals the lamb
i am not the eagle who feeds from its carcass
i am not form
i am the infinitely inchoate
i am the always becoming
i am not the “I AM THAT I AM”
i am the “becoming that which i am becoming”
still yearning, still learning to be free

credit card numbers cannot contain me
computer programs will not process me, confess me
big brother will not discover
the secrets of my soul
how i become whole
that spymaster mole
will not unroll
this secret code
because it is not
it is becoming
it is the humming
of the summing
of the me
still yearning, still learning to be free

i am not your nielsen rating
i am not your prophet prating
i am not your flag waver
i am not your citizen
i am not your patriot
i am not your passport bearer
i am not your ballistic
i am not your statistic
for you cannot see this sample
you cannot fathom this six feet under
becoming asunder
the root of the shoot of a tree with no name
the story with absolutely no history
still yearning, still learning to be free

i am not your altar boy to fondle
i am not your poster child for a god fearing upbringing
i am not the blood stained proof of virginity on your white wedding night sheet
i am not the contents of your skinner box
i am not the pavlov’s dog for your ringing bell
i am the becoming of originality
still yearning, still learning to be free




shebrushed = AUDIO VERSION                MINOLTA DIGITAL CAMERA

she brushed a wavy arc
it soon became a bay
a line a road along the park
and it went that a way

it ended on the edge of town
and then became a trail
she brushed it ’til it went around
the bay, a boat, a sail

crested rise and disappeared
into an evening sun
a flick just there a figure reared
a figure of someone

a silhouette on a crest
that one just could not say
was headed toward the west
or coming this a way

it hung on many different walls
each time a different name
when asked what it was really called
she said to me it’s all the same

it is not to take someone somewhere
nor bring somebody back
it speaks of no concern nor care
it is art not artifact