Posted herein are just a few random thoughts, poems, witticisms and articulates that occur from time to time to me and my imaginary friend, Boo. I also wrote some lyrics that I posted on

Life and Death

Life and Death are the bookends of my life
wrapping me in a long, technicolor cape,
holding my body against the grain,
helping me find myself in the darkness.
Life keeps my blood from spilling
and my bones from falling willy-nilly.
Death holds my feet against the earth
and promises roots to keep me anchored–
roots to keep my soul from shattering in space.
They have secrets, Life and Death,
and pockets for finding and forgetting;
for collecting river rocks,
the names of old friends,
the fresh, sweet smell of a horses breath.
I’ll wrap life in my arms until death holds sway
and I fall like echoes around the shoulders
of a hero.
Gar Bear…Feb., 2012

Somewhere, out there, an oak is strong and tall
Because I would rather dance than read.
Somewhere. out there, a fir digs its fingers into the soil
where worms play.
The spirit of trees unfolds my heart
like sun unfolding petals
somewhere, out there, a pine is reaching for heaven
just like
Gar, Jan., 2012

Words of Wisdom by Wise folks:
“With the monstrous weapons man already has, humanity is in danger of being trapped in this world by its moral adolescents.”
Omar M.N. Bradley, Five Star General, U.S. Army

Sanctification Blues
Livin’ life on the down low, met a bearded, homeless man who thought he was Abbie Hoffman. I told him Abbie was dead now, for many years. He seemed startled…looked at his reflection in a window, “Well, then, maybe I’m Jesus, and just forgot>” “Yep, you could be Jesus,” I answered, “and maybe you’re just saving souls on the slant now-a-days.” He smiled a two-toof smile and asked me for a couple of bucks for a bowl of chili. “Jesus is getting hungry, Pal, have a heart.” I know what he means.

The Gar Bear
Ol’ Bear was a rounder, a stuntman by trade
Who left headaches and heartbreak with the Hell that he made
Drinking that Cuervo and pink lemonade.
But Bear had an air that was caring and sweet
He swept good-looking ladies right off their feet
and lifted the daylight plumb outta’ its’ seat

Bear didn’t age much, in spite of the years,
In spite of the weed and the blow and the beers
there was something about him could move you to tears.
He could sing a tune so low and so sad
it took away any joy that he ever had–
like his demons and devils had left him half-mad

Ol’ Bear could drink Cuervo, he didn’t like gin,
He had himself a magnificent grin
and the smile in his eyes was almost a sin.
Sometimes he whistled, sometimes he lied,
But he never rolled over, and he never cried,
And he rode wild horses till the day that he died

Ol’ Bear was a rounder, a stuntman by trade
who left headaches and heartbreak with the Hell that he made
Drinking that Cuervo and pink lemonade.
He had a heart full of windows, a hat full of pride-
He took his failings and fury along for the ride
when he rode those wild horses,
—-and he rode those wild horses till the day that he died.


Hey, ya’ know, Francois Pointeau and the gang at KOOP radio are doing a great job of keeping community, art, public, folks in the hood—radio interesting and fun. John Herndon, Drew Thomas and I had a blast talking with Francois and Dillon over “Writing on The Air” Wed. eve. Articulate, intelligent, and as easy listening as Golden Oldies and maple syrup. I need to get a thank you off to the station, eh?

I enjoyed my blog-chat broadcast with 42nd St. Pete very much. And also, Pete’s compadre, Todd. They both have a handle on the timbre and times of the 60s and 70s, plus, in Pete’s case, the Lingo, the patois, the jive of the New York film and theater scene, and the stuff happenin’ on the streets. Todd does the Austin, San Antonio trip once a year, knows most of the L. A. and Texas hang-outs and hide-aways. Like talking to your neighbor who just happens to love and know a lot about film. Life too, I’ll bet, from these two outlaws. I was fortunate to meet them.



Things are a lot like moments, they’re “now” and then, they’re past.
But memories, and memories of memories, these are the “things” that last.


At what age did I find myself? Where and when?
Was I ever Young between the ears? Was it then?
Or was it later, when slick as a river rock,
smooth as years ticking past
Fast as seconds on a clock
Was it then? I can’t recall. I only know it was yesterday
If at all.

The Stuntman

I can swim, I can fly, look a snake in the eye
dive through glass,  whup some ass
and cut the bad guys off at the pass
I’m a stuntman

I can ride every horse that’s never been rode,
throw every punch that’s ever been throwed
I can leap tall building in a single bound,
walk on gravel and not make a sound.
I can catch the ring before the ring comes ’round
I’m a stuntman.
Hey, Jack, I’ve got your back;
I’ll keep you from slippin’ into the crack.
I’ve got the mojo, the juju, and I’ve got the knack
I’m a stuntman.

Old leather, bad weather, throw a punch after lunch,
take a dive and stay alive, got no time for shuck n jive
I’m a stuntman.
I can fit in your clothes better than you
turn red, white, purple and blue.
I’ve got the answer before the clue.
Hey, Jude, look out Dude You’re invading my space
and I’m not in the mood.
I’m a stuntman.

I can jerryrig, be extra big, invisible, invincible
and If I have t0 act, I’m more than convincable.
I like horses and heroes and old dogs named Ned
Bears n wolves, even Crocs, if they’re dead
I love women n children and folks that are kind—
but if you mess with me, I’ll mess up your mind
I’m hard as an oak, I’m one of a kind
I’m a stuntman.

I rock with the clock, roll with the tide,
holding my aces,  along for the ride
Hey, Ray…what d’ya say, get out the pyro We’ll go out to play
Its a ramblin’, scramblin’ kind of a day and
I’m a stuntman.
by Gar/Bear Kent