Michael Seeger
IN ROOM EIGHT AT THE JOSHUA TREE INN
(for G.P., Death by Overdose in ‘73)
I
In a motel called The Joshua Tree
Country legend Gram Parsons met his fate
For Gram, there was no other place to be—
Breathing his last on this bed in Room Eight.
Country legend Gram Parsons met his fate
Among pinyon pines down long roads of dirt
Breathing his last on this bed in Room Eight
In the cooler air of the high desert.
Among pinyon pines down long roads of dirt
One can hear what sounds like stolen cars passing
Miles away out in the open desert
At night ‘neath a dark sky of stars massing.
One can hear what sounds like stolen cars passing
And the songs of which many are au fait
At night ‘neath a dark sky of stars massing—
One can see why Gram wanted it this way.
II
And the songs of which many are au fait
Sprung from his two 33 rpm—
(One can see why Gram wanted it this way)
Cast a shadow on so much more than them.
Sprung from his two 33 rpm
Albums: GP and the Grievous Angel
Cast a shadow on so much more than them
Gram was the very essence of country soul.
Albums GP and the Grievous Angel
Though not as strong as his sum work with others
Gram, the very essence of country soul
(playing with both Birds and Burrito Brothers).
Though not as strong as his sum done with others
But I guess one might say he could’ve done worse
(Playing with both Birds and Burrito Brothers);
Gram’s body was stolen with a borrowed hearse.
III
But I guess one might say he could’ve done worse
He played with the Stones and Emmy Lou Harris—
Gram’s body was stolen with a borrowed hearse.
Unlike Jim he never went to Paris.
Gram played with the Stones and Emmylou Harris
And personified everything cosmic
Unlike Jim he never wen to Paris
Coming here to where no one hears a clock’s tick.
And personified everything cosmic
I think now lying back on the headboard—
Arriving here where no one hears a clock’s tick
Lit aflame in this land he so adored.
I think now lying back on the headboard
In a motel called The Joshua Tree
Lit aflame in the land he so adored—
For Gram there was no other place to be.
THE SAN ANDREAS FAULT
runs east of Palm Springs on it’s way
up north to the Tomales Bay;
some deadly dates held in its length:
1906; eight point two strength.
The eight point three Fort Tejon quake
left broken earth within its wake
from Bautista’s Mission to Cape
Mendocino County’s grape.
It’s dark green canyon east of here
a palm oasis of calm, or fear
lying out there building strain
with a silent, foreboding reign
of death and destruction for all
in California’s urban sprawl.
Michael lives with his lovely wife, Catherine, and still-precocious 16 year-old daughter, Jenetta, in a house with a magnificent Maine Coon (Jill) and two high-spirited Chihuahuas (Coco and Blue). He is an educator (like his wife) residing in the Coachella Valley near Palm Springs, California. Some of his poems have appeared recently either published or included in print anthologies like the Lummox Press, Better Than Starbucks, and The Literary Hatchet.
© 2020
