Let it be the given, the acceptable and the private
that my greatest success with expelling demons
was keeping restrained those within me
Saturday, January 31, 2009
Friday, January 30, 2009
Holy Snakes
Be advised; my spit is anti venom.
My lips drop blessings like rose petals.
Fear not, I will not grab you by the waist,
and bend you backwoods with a pastoral kiss.
I will not jeopardize the pulpit and the plate
In principal I am celebrate.
My lips drop blessings like rose petals.
Fear not, I will not grab you by the waist,
and bend you backwoods with a pastoral kiss.
I will not jeopardize the pulpit and the plate
In principal I am celebrate.
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
Johnny Two Bows
He's fishing trout in icy waters
he's watching snow flakes fall through the ceiling
has the Milky Way for a pillow,
but from his back, he's sweating peanuts
in a ward for seasoned veterans
for the loud and silent screaming
for the terminally burned to a crisp
Tomorrow morning,
he's headed to Las Cruces
where he'll run the marathon
the marathon he should have won last yeat
into the arms of his Dolores
pledged to marry when returns from war
which he shall, but more like toast
He's headed home on an Amtrak
chugging southward to Colorado
to the love of the high plains desert
to sights he's known when he was young
but now the bitch returns with vengeance
it's not Dolores who he's cursing
but the smashed ankle up to his groin
the searing pain of wounded knee
the very leg in action missing,
the one he swore they sewed back on,
but truer is a stump than all a world of wishing.
Thus, Johnny Two Bow insanely tortured
hallucinates to distract himself,
and visits Frost in A-Wishing Well
"A poet would a wishing go..."
but then falls back to shitty combat,
the smell of napalm
in the linings of his nose,
and a philosophical expletive explodes like shrapnel,
for every sorry Dick to hear and feel
"What the fuck is poetry?"
With that, sounds a gong epiphany
like that of feathered ancestors
hooping round him with beating drums,
like a rainbow trout netted on last gulps,
like one more marathon to run before departing
the voice could be of Frost himself ---
It's not so much what you're saying, Sonny
as how you turn a chosen phrase,
and that is poetry, now and forever
as snow flakes darken one by one
and lids sink deeper than any night,
and winds whip out of nowhere,
across the high desert country
of Johnny Two Bows, RIP
he's watching snow flakes fall through the ceiling
has the Milky Way for a pillow,
but from his back, he's sweating peanuts
in a ward for seasoned veterans
for the loud and silent screaming
for the terminally burned to a crisp
Tomorrow morning,
he's headed to Las Cruces
where he'll run the marathon
the marathon he should have won last yeat
into the arms of his Dolores
pledged to marry when returns from war
which he shall, but more like toast
He's headed home on an Amtrak
chugging southward to Colorado
to the love of the high plains desert
to sights he's known when he was young
but now the bitch returns with vengeance
it's not Dolores who he's cursing
but the smashed ankle up to his groin
the searing pain of wounded knee
the very leg in action missing,
the one he swore they sewed back on,
but truer is a stump than all a world of wishing.
Thus, Johnny Two Bow insanely tortured
hallucinates to distract himself,
and visits Frost in A-Wishing Well
"A poet would a wishing go..."
but then falls back to shitty combat,
the smell of napalm
in the linings of his nose,
and a philosophical expletive explodes like shrapnel,
for every sorry Dick to hear and feel
"What the fuck is poetry?"
With that, sounds a gong epiphany
like that of feathered ancestors
hooping round him with beating drums,
like a rainbow trout netted on last gulps,
like one more marathon to run before departing
the voice could be of Frost himself ---
It's not so much what you're saying, Sonny
as how you turn a chosen phrase,
and that is poetry, now and forever
as snow flakes darken one by one
and lids sink deeper than any night,
and winds whip out of nowhere,
across the high desert country
of Johnny Two Bows, RIP
The Hunt for The Fox (draft)
Ten thousand hounds without a backup
could not in a dog's age have ever trapped me.
It took the Queen of Hearts' blooming baboons
in high hats, trumpets blaring, fully armed
on the snorting chargers of The Light Brigade
troopers of dandified britches
of godawful effeminate ways,
their ladyships in tow,
the whole of England it took to hunt me.
Here will I be bloodied
here will I be murdered,
and butchers of the world get this ---
not even will they fillet me
could not in a dog's age have ever trapped me.
It took the Queen of Hearts' blooming baboons
in high hats, trumpets blaring, fully armed
on the snorting chargers of The Light Brigade
troopers of dandified britches
of godawful effeminate ways,
their ladyships in tow,
the whole of England it took to hunt me.
Here will I be bloodied
here will I be murdered,
and butchers of the world get this ---
not even will they fillet me
We're Running Out of Land Fills (draft)
The world's biggest problem
is in us and surrounds us
is indelible like sin itself
stubbornly resists solution.
How can we hope ever to resolve it
when state and commerce willfully conspire
to update and to keep current
that which has no real purpose
but to self perpetuate ?
We peoples are sardines in the nets of power brokers
who switch and bait us as they please
thus conned, we're canned and finally stuffed in coffins
we who clutter ourselves are clutter,
in or out of mausoleums.
is in us and surrounds us
is indelible like sin itself
stubbornly resists solution.
How can we hope ever to resolve it
when state and commerce willfully conspire
to update and to keep current
that which has no real purpose
but to self perpetuate ?
We peoples are sardines in the nets of power brokers
who switch and bait us as they please
thus conned, we're canned and finally stuffed in coffins
we who clutter ourselves are clutter,
in or out of mausoleums.
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
Fairy Women and The Gangster (draft)
She's a fairy woman whose name of fiction is Oregano
a class act is she, of picky intelligence like chop sticks
who else would name herself for a herb
it's why I guess I'm so taken by her.
I like rare more than the weird.
Call themselves after lowly plants?
Ladies of the night would not.
Those heavy on makeup
prefer standard trade names
like Brandy Lilly or the like.
Transvestites call themselves
Cumin, Clove or Garlic?
Don't see it. Maybe Cleo
maybe Nefertiti
maybe Catherine The Great of Reno.
Nuns call themselves, Nutmeg
Cilantro or Cracked Pepper?
No way, Jesus, Mary and Joseph!
Their predilection is virtue
like Faith, Hope and Charity
which reminds me of my fourth grade teacher
Sister Chastity --- a 6' 4" lumberjack
who tried to cut me down to size
when I was already dwarf enough.
And the nightmare would've succeeded
had Chastity's authority extended much deeper
than Convent Avenue and its parish.
But there in the mean streets of Vinegar Hill
where its gutters are hardly ever dry
I found comfort and redemption
in the underbelly of petty larceny
By 15, I had murdered any vestige of law-abiding.
Have no fear, I've been retired for almost a year.
Spend my free time in the garden
and around noon I post my musings online
where I have acquaintances throughout,
and that's how I met Oregano, the Fairy Woman
We live in opposite time zones.
When I'm dreaming, she's composing
when she's sleeping, I'm hard at work
fixing to bomb her neurons
by the time she gets up and opens her eyes
and peeks into her e mail account -
She in South East Cape, Tasmania
Me in Chicago, Al Capone's old stomping grounds
Obama's, too, before he moved to Washington
a class act is she, of picky intelligence like chop sticks
who else would name herself for a herb
it's why I guess I'm so taken by her.
I like rare more than the weird.
Call themselves after lowly plants?
Ladies of the night would not.
Those heavy on makeup
prefer standard trade names
like Brandy Lilly or the like.
Transvestites call themselves
Cumin, Clove or Garlic?
Don't see it. Maybe Cleo
maybe Nefertiti
maybe Catherine The Great of Reno.
Nuns call themselves, Nutmeg
Cilantro or Cracked Pepper?
No way, Jesus, Mary and Joseph!
Their predilection is virtue
like Faith, Hope and Charity
which reminds me of my fourth grade teacher
Sister Chastity --- a 6' 4" lumberjack
who tried to cut me down to size
when I was already dwarf enough.
And the nightmare would've succeeded
had Chastity's authority extended much deeper
than Convent Avenue and its parish.
But there in the mean streets of Vinegar Hill
where its gutters are hardly ever dry
I found comfort and redemption
in the underbelly of petty larceny
By 15, I had murdered any vestige of law-abiding.
Have no fear, I've been retired for almost a year.
Spend my free time in the garden
and around noon I post my musings online
where I have acquaintances throughout,
and that's how I met Oregano, the Fairy Woman
We live in opposite time zones.
When I'm dreaming, she's composing
when she's sleeping, I'm hard at work
fixing to bomb her neurons
by the time she gets up and opens her eyes
and peeks into her e mail account -
She in South East Cape, Tasmania
Me in Chicago, Al Capone's old stomping grounds
Obama's, too, before he moved to Washington
Recrimination DRAFT
If I had a battle ax
right here, right now
I would not wield it
At core, believe me,
I am no Amazon
If I had a joint
right here, right now
so help me, I would smoke it
and as much as I detest
the wicked cartels of narcotics
No man is perfect
and man of womb?
(or be it woman)
we try to be,
but you males spoil us
right here, right now
I would not wield it
At core, believe me,
I am no Amazon
If I had a joint
right here, right now
so help me, I would smoke it
and as much as I detest
the wicked cartels of narcotics
No man is perfect
and man of womb?
(or be it woman)
we try to be,
but you males spoil us
Histrionics
Me a mud man
sometimes cross dresser
a wash woman now and then
From on high you see more distant
my preference is to establish altitude
but because of my loneliness, I am messed with
Now enjoy the payback
what goes around
does the rounds
sometimes cross dresser
a wash woman now and then
From on high you see more distant
my preference is to establish altitude
but because of my loneliness, I am messed with
Now enjoy the payback
what goes around
does the rounds
Bumble Bee Biggazzi's Bewitchment
Not allowed to verbalize,
her husband shouts her down and out.
Thus, she writes and writes and writes
to whomsoever might read her distant
And glad she is
when they write back,
Were it not for occasional escapes to chat rooms,
she might take scissors to the bedroom.
her husband shouts her down and out.
Thus, she writes and writes and writes
to whomsoever might read her distant
And glad she is
when they write back,
Were it not for occasional escapes to chat rooms,
she might take scissors to the bedroom.
The X Factor
Singer Janice used to bellow,
freedom is just another word for nothing else to lose
Mapovia does not agree,
freedom is everything to gain
free is freedom from bondage
the silence in the coffins of my former handlers
is the heaven hell I wished them
freedom is just another word for nothing else to lose
Mapovia does not agree,
freedom is everything to gain
free is freedom from bondage
the silence in the coffins of my former handlers
is the heaven hell I wished them
Chronically
She can't help it,
he talks a lot about the Heavenly Father,
which for some reason, makes her cringe.
She believes.
He believes.
Who of the two true believes?
It's early Tuesday morning,
and one more time, from his lips
a Heavenly Father makes her cringe.
he talks a lot about the Heavenly Father,
which for some reason, makes her cringe.
She believes.
He believes.
Who of the two true believes?
It's early Tuesday morning,
and one more time, from his lips
a Heavenly Father makes her cringe.
Monday, January 26, 2009
High on Chatham
As to the voyages, I kept no log
Snapshots and letters might still exist somewhere in Weehawken
The clearest recollection is the sway of the ship
the sound of creaking rafters, the rocking underfoot,
60 days of storms and wonder and then on pulling into ports,
the action in the pubs across the wharf
and the taste of blood of getting hit between the teeth,
the free fall because some guy did not like your accent
So you shake you head and proceed to bust a bottle upside his head
because no book ought to judged by its covers nor a pussy by his funny accent
I remember a cafe in Port Louis,
a portly lady bidding me to follow her up a stairwell
into a scarlet parlor, perfumed like a pagan temple
Had I inadvertently asked to tour the kitchen
when I merely asked to see the menu?
The ambiance was baroque and smacked a bit of cowboy drama.
Like the Hotel California, this could be hell or this could be amusing
And there she lay in the bloom of youth, the nude Goya painted,
except this one three dimensional and laced up to her neck.
In French she requested I turn around,
Cognizant that it was an the inspection and willing to comply
I offered to show my teeth, for if a mount is to be stabled,
best check for foot and mouth disease
From Mauritius (where used to live the dodo bird)
we sailed due east across the Indian Ocean
I recall distinctly the smell of barley blown from inland,
a day or two before we berthed in Perth, known as "The City of Churches"
a girlie told me in yet another pub
From Perth we sailed south,
to another 60 days of iceberg enchantment
Then up the other side, we arrived off the Chatham Islands
where we lowered a boat to visit Pitt,
or maybe it was Chatham, the larger of the sister islands
And there in Pitt (or maybe Chatham)
I walked black sanded beaches,
up some cliffs to emerald pastures
where grazed flocks of sheep (New Zealand's most numerous inhabitant)
A tame people are sheep, reserved and very fearful
In the distance, through rising mist,
I saw the continuance of the idyllic setting,
and thought to myself, how lovely. This could be utopia
In the first cottage that I came upon, I was greeted by friendly folk
who when I told them about our anchored vessel, the mates on board
including a female crew member, they pleaded she visit,
for it would be a first for them to meet a skirted sailor
especially for young Stanley, a shepherd lad,
a bachelor nearing 25 who in all his days ---poor thing---
had only "known" sheep (in King James speak)
I humored my hosts that I was neither buccaneer nor pimp
That night, they wined and dined me royally,
and I got goodly stoned
but not so stoned as to not keep a wary eye on Stanley.
Snapshots and letters might still exist somewhere in Weehawken
The clearest recollection is the sway of the ship
the sound of creaking rafters, the rocking underfoot,
60 days of storms and wonder and then on pulling into ports,
the action in the pubs across the wharf
and the taste of blood of getting hit between the teeth,
the free fall because some guy did not like your accent
So you shake you head and proceed to bust a bottle upside his head
because no book ought to judged by its covers nor a pussy by his funny accent
I remember a cafe in Port Louis,
a portly lady bidding me to follow her up a stairwell
into a scarlet parlor, perfumed like a pagan temple
Had I inadvertently asked to tour the kitchen
when I merely asked to see the menu?
The ambiance was baroque and smacked a bit of cowboy drama.
Like the Hotel California, this could be hell or this could be amusing
And there she lay in the bloom of youth, the nude Goya painted,
except this one three dimensional and laced up to her neck.
In French she requested I turn around,
Cognizant that it was an the inspection and willing to comply
I offered to show my teeth, for if a mount is to be stabled,
best check for foot and mouth disease
From Mauritius (where used to live the dodo bird)
we sailed due east across the Indian Ocean
I recall distinctly the smell of barley blown from inland,
a day or two before we berthed in Perth, known as "The City of Churches"
a girlie told me in yet another pub
From Perth we sailed south,
to another 60 days of iceberg enchantment
Then up the other side, we arrived off the Chatham Islands
where we lowered a boat to visit Pitt,
or maybe it was Chatham, the larger of the sister islands
And there in Pitt (or maybe Chatham)
I walked black sanded beaches,
up some cliffs to emerald pastures
where grazed flocks of sheep (New Zealand's most numerous inhabitant)
A tame people are sheep, reserved and very fearful
In the distance, through rising mist,
I saw the continuance of the idyllic setting,
and thought to myself, how lovely. This could be utopia
In the first cottage that I came upon, I was greeted by friendly folk
who when I told them about our anchored vessel, the mates on board
including a female crew member, they pleaded she visit,
for it would be a first for them to meet a skirted sailor
especially for young Stanley, a shepherd lad,
a bachelor nearing 25 who in all his days ---poor thing---
had only "known" sheep (in King James speak)
I humored my hosts that I was neither buccaneer nor pimp
That night, they wined and dined me royally,
and I got goodly stoned
but not so stoned as to not keep a wary eye on Stanley.
First Light and The Fallen Angel
In from the sea blows the gentle,
full of wet and etched in gray
wrenched by currents and duly tortured
aerial rivers ripped apart
churning and tethered between two poles
two lungs; the one expelling fowls and drizzle
the other; jelly fish and deep sea troves
Mirror, mirror dead set center
slants in the pupil of the one-eyed god
from where glows an emanation
in the forest that is dark
whereto flee scattered beings
to crooked brooks and mocking creeks
where I, worm and snake,
choose to abide in the garden of my mind
the garden of my delights
pay dirt, let it be...
full of wet and etched in gray
wrenched by currents and duly tortured
aerial rivers ripped apart
churning and tethered between two poles
two lungs; the one expelling fowls and drizzle
the other; jelly fish and deep sea troves
Mirror, mirror dead set center
slants in the pupil of the one-eyed god
from where glows an emanation
in the forest that is dark
whereto flee scattered beings
to crooked brooks and mocking creeks
where I, worm and snake,
choose to abide in the garden of my mind
the garden of my delights
pay dirt, let it be...
Sunday, January 25, 2009
Civility Is Awfully Nice
In a white, white world
you elect pragmatism
or vote for extinction
there's no room for dialectics
the hand you dealt
is the hand you play
survive or perish, all must eat
Igloo structures are stout
houses of ice, blocks cut precise
allow no draft, a couple can even strip,
and as warm as an igloo is inside
Eskimo society is cool --- that is to say,
as civil as you could expect,
and civil is nice, especially considering
that survive or perish, we all must eat
Whether whale blubber or polar bear
chew your food well in order to ensure proper digestion
and as sure as the above true,
true as well is what follows:
That if do not eat, you will not shit
and if you do not shit, you will die
(I would've said it in French,
but there, I said it in Anglo Saxon)
In the white, white world of Eskimo olden times,
the general code of civility was understandable
when senior citizens could no longer hack it
you built for them a final igloo
to die in private and in dignity
so that as many miles as had to be logged
the hunt could continue unimpeded
a bon voyage not as harsh as it may seem
as previously stated, an igloo is warm as toast
and simultaneously air conditioned
and no less so the final igloo resting place
Thus as you entered it, so you exit
the plainest theology under heaven
breath and transfiguration under the Northern Lights
that colored undulation which vaults nature's spirits
the wolf's, the salmon's and the seal's
Now for a moment
let's venture southwest to Kansas
where the Family Livingstone Family face a situation
similar to our furry friends in the Arctic
two sons and two daughters, and what to do about mother?
78 years old and aging faster than a prairie autumn
Soon she'll be bound on that midnight rocket to Valhalla
and the truth be told, the sooner the better
Why? 'Cause she's born again, why else?
And the sooner, the swooner she'll be with precious Jesus
And the sooner we'll be bequeathed the farm, the pickup truck
and the thousand shares of Ford Motors which were Daddy's
Two sons and two daughters and a bunch of grand kids
and the whole of Midwest beginning to look again
like the Dust Bowl and the Great Depression, deja vu
you elect pragmatism
or vote for extinction
there's no room for dialectics
the hand you dealt
is the hand you play
survive or perish, all must eat
Igloo structures are stout
houses of ice, blocks cut precise
allow no draft, a couple can even strip,
and as warm as an igloo is inside
Eskimo society is cool --- that is to say,
as civil as you could expect,
and civil is nice, especially considering
that survive or perish, we all must eat
Whether whale blubber or polar bear
chew your food well in order to ensure proper digestion
and as sure as the above true,
true as well is what follows:
That if do not eat, you will not shit
and if you do not shit, you will die
(I would've said it in French,
but there, I said it in Anglo Saxon)
In the white, white world of Eskimo olden times,
the general code of civility was understandable
when senior citizens could no longer hack it
you built for them a final igloo
to die in private and in dignity
so that as many miles as had to be logged
the hunt could continue unimpeded
a bon voyage not as harsh as it may seem
as previously stated, an igloo is warm as toast
and simultaneously air conditioned
and no less so the final igloo resting place
Thus as you entered it, so you exit
the plainest theology under heaven
breath and transfiguration under the Northern Lights
that colored undulation which vaults nature's spirits
the wolf's, the salmon's and the seal's
Now for a moment
let's venture southwest to Kansas
where the Family Livingstone Family face a situation
similar to our furry friends in the Arctic
two sons and two daughters, and what to do about mother?
78 years old and aging faster than a prairie autumn
Soon she'll be bound on that midnight rocket to Valhalla
and the truth be told, the sooner the better
Why? 'Cause she's born again, why else?
And the sooner, the swooner she'll be with precious Jesus
And the sooner we'll be bequeathed the farm, the pickup truck
and the thousand shares of Ford Motors which were Daddy's
Two sons and two daughters and a bunch of grand kids
and the whole of Midwest beginning to look again
like the Dust Bowl and the Great Depression, deja vu
A Long Tail
Nyack, Rockland County, Empire State
Roman Catholic mass jam packed
the Mazzaratti twins become May brides
Rosemarie to Brian, Camille to Rob
by wedlock joined
to the inner circle of 120 O'Malleys,strong
come by marriage or through the uterus,
several choosing to keep their husband's name post divorce
have also been invited
as often they are to family wakes and family balls
If you count the O'Malleys in the other states,
thousands of O'Malley's there might be US of A
and if you tally those in Canada down to Jamaica
and further south to Tierra Del Fuego
and east across the Pacific to Australia and New Guinea
and throw in Asia, Europe and Africa
the O'Malleys could number in the hundreds of thousands
some as black as Wesley Snipes
some as white as Nicole Kidman
though it's doubtful, that the O'Malleys
could be more numerous than the clan of Chang
a 100 million on the Chinese Mainland,
and 30 million in Hong Kong
Well, the O'Malleys have their history
as does every species except those extinguished
like Neanderthal and other creatures
the dodo bird in Madagascar and in Tibet, the Yeti
in Scotland, the Loch Ness monster
may by now have also been extincted
The first O'Malleys came to America
fleeing the Great Famine which had its origins with the Spaniards
returned from Lima, taking with them potatoes to Europa
where studs before were unknown but soon became the diet
It wasn't just Mr. Potato who drove the Irish out of Ireland
For centuries, there sat upon the British rump seat
a lineage of Herod who routinely bayoneted Celtic babies
Life became too unbearable and America a siren's call
for the bravest and the most desperate
and here and there, a hardened criminal
Genocide is the sewerage of remembrance
water under the bridge long after it's run its course
The Mazzaratti clan their own Sicilian mess
But that was when, and now is now... 20o9 Anno Domini
The world awaits dramatic change, BHO in the White House
the SOBs finally gone, good riddance to them one and all
particularly the Vice President and his Secretary of War
Cheney and Rumsfeld, who if they were to go to a dance macabre
as Heinrich Himmler and Eichmann dressed
they'd sooner cut the mustard
than me in drag, hair dyed and pressed
could ever pass for a Valkyrie
Change is coming?
Like it or not, it comes like the dawn
I've seen Lennon rock and blown away
I've seen moon walks, and a Michael turned into alien
I've seen parades, ferocious dogs
their owners growl and rave Confederate
and the National Guard march as to war
all for the cause to integrate a girl
not much older than Little Orphan Annie
I've seen Twin Towers go puff the magic dragon
Me and the A bomb were dropped together;
the bomb on the Japs, me on the Bronx
Bet your bottom dollar, I've seen change
coming and going
Roman Catholic mass jam packed
the Mazzaratti twins become May brides
Rosemarie to Brian, Camille to Rob
by wedlock joined
to the inner circle of 120 O'Malleys,strong
come by marriage or through the uterus,
several choosing to keep their husband's name post divorce
have also been invited
as often they are to family wakes and family balls
If you count the O'Malleys in the other states,
thousands of O'Malley's there might be US of A
and if you tally those in Canada down to Jamaica
and further south to Tierra Del Fuego
and east across the Pacific to Australia and New Guinea
and throw in Asia, Europe and Africa
the O'Malleys could number in the hundreds of thousands
some as black as Wesley Snipes
some as white as Nicole Kidman
though it's doubtful, that the O'Malleys
could be more numerous than the clan of Chang
a 100 million on the Chinese Mainland,
and 30 million in Hong Kong
Well, the O'Malleys have their history
as does every species except those extinguished
like Neanderthal and other creatures
the dodo bird in Madagascar and in Tibet, the Yeti
in Scotland, the Loch Ness monster
may by now have also been extincted
The first O'Malleys came to America
fleeing the Great Famine which had its origins with the Spaniards
returned from Lima, taking with them potatoes to Europa
where studs before were unknown but soon became the diet
It wasn't just Mr. Potato who drove the Irish out of Ireland
For centuries, there sat upon the British rump seat
a lineage of Herod who routinely bayoneted Celtic babies
Life became too unbearable and America a siren's call
for the bravest and the most desperate
and here and there, a hardened criminal
Genocide is the sewerage of remembrance
water under the bridge long after it's run its course
The Mazzaratti clan their own Sicilian mess
But that was when, and now is now... 20o9 Anno Domini
The world awaits dramatic change, BHO in the White House
the SOBs finally gone, good riddance to them one and all
particularly the Vice President and his Secretary of War
Cheney and Rumsfeld, who if they were to go to a dance macabre
as Heinrich Himmler and Eichmann dressed
they'd sooner cut the mustard
than me in drag, hair dyed and pressed
could ever pass for a Valkyrie
Change is coming?
Like it or not, it comes like the dawn
I've seen Lennon rock and blown away
I've seen moon walks, and a Michael turned into alien
I've seen parades, ferocious dogs
their owners growl and rave Confederate
and the National Guard march as to war
all for the cause to integrate a girl
not much older than Little Orphan Annie
I've seen Twin Towers go puff the magic dragon
Me and the A bomb were dropped together;
the bomb on the Japs, me on the Bronx
Bet your bottom dollar, I've seen change
coming and going
Evolution = Progress
Beneath the veils and petty skirts of mystery
believe me Uncle Bob, lie mother lodes rich and fuming
which hardly anyone can touch
if the pre-destined time has not yet arrived
Still, every so often comes an awakening
a stirring across the orbs
an unpretentious, unstoppable curiosity
which lifts the curtain that is the fabric
of the leaden weighed hems of science,
and oh boy, watch out! The world will never be the same!
Such restless stirrings begot Darwinism
which reasons on rotating species
such vexing curiosity begot the science of relativity
the sciences of military industrial complexes
the sciences of x rays and atomic fissure
the sciences which probe and plow exponentially
which affords us leisure and the secret formula of Coca Cola,
and well sheathed belligerence, and not to mention ---
Excuse me, what was the question?
I'm afraid we're getting a little ahead of ourselves
believe me Uncle Bob, lie mother lodes rich and fuming
which hardly anyone can touch
if the pre-destined time has not yet arrived
Still, every so often comes an awakening
a stirring across the orbs
an unpretentious, unstoppable curiosity
which lifts the curtain that is the fabric
of the leaden weighed hems of science,
and oh boy, watch out! The world will never be the same!
Such restless stirrings begot Darwinism
which reasons on rotating species
such vexing curiosity begot the science of relativity
the sciences of military industrial complexes
the sciences of x rays and atomic fissure
the sciences which probe and plow exponentially
which affords us leisure and the secret formula of Coca Cola,
and well sheathed belligerence, and not to mention ---
Excuse me, what was the question?
I'm afraid we're getting a little ahead of ourselves
Friday, January 23, 2009
Theory of Subjectivity
First impressions belie layers of complexities
that could you see people skeletal
you'd be an odd one to wanna sex them
Carmen tried to kiss me,
I retorted, not with those kissers painted red
will you kiss me, for well I'd deem it the kiss of death.
Said Tisha semi shocked,
what in blazes are you implying?
Said I to Lora,
one of lipstick's main ingredients
is placenta and ground abortion fetus
Said Alicia, does that mean
you favor capital murder over pro choice?
Said I to Keisha,
an intriguing inquiry
but on another note
how do you feel about feeding beef to chickens?
that could you see people skeletal
you'd be an odd one to wanna sex them
Carmen tried to kiss me,
I retorted, not with those kissers painted red
will you kiss me, for well I'd deem it the kiss of death.
Said Tisha semi shocked,
what in blazes are you implying?
Said I to Lora,
one of lipstick's main ingredients
is placenta and ground abortion fetus
Said Alicia, does that mean
you favor capital murder over pro choice?
Said I to Keisha,
an intriguing inquiry
but on another note
how do you feel about feeding beef to chickens?
Thursday, January 22, 2009
Come to Mommy
I don't understand how eternity
is envisioned as something different
than the immediate here and now.
Let's say eternity were an ocean
and the immediate here and now
were in the ocean a drop of water
could that or any particular drop
be extracted from the ocean
the degree of its diffusion
near impossible to exact
I'm getting dizzy, baby
so let me cut it short
Mommy believes in big, bigger and biggest.
not that God could not make Godself
tiny, tinnier, tinniest
if Godself wills it
So, here's the question, honey
could space and matter be so simple
that if on the left, there were a telescope looking out
and on the right, a telescope looking in
(you know what I mean, a microscope)
could not the distance at either end
double back upon itself and meet dab center in the middle
the belly button of the universe, so to speak
could, would space time be so simple
as to be a silly limerick?
I'm dizzying, again, I fear
and heck no, forget it!
Mommy will not loosen her asteroid girdle
nor her queen size bra and garter
a woman has to stay in shape
it's why our eyes we twinkle
and rouge our lips and flirt
and rouge our lips
is envisioned as something different
than the immediate here and now.
Let's say eternity were an ocean
and the immediate here and now
were in the ocean a drop of water
could that or any particular drop
be extracted from the ocean
the degree of its diffusion
near impossible to exact
I'm getting dizzy, baby
so let me cut it short
Mommy believes in big, bigger and biggest.
not that God could not make Godself
tiny, tinnier, tinniest
if Godself wills it
So, here's the question, honey
could space and matter be so simple
that if on the left, there were a telescope looking out
and on the right, a telescope looking in
(you know what I mean, a microscope)
could not the distance at either end
double back upon itself and meet dab center in the middle
the belly button of the universe, so to speak
could, would space time be so simple
as to be a silly limerick?
I'm dizzying, again, I fear
and heck no, forget it!
Mommy will not loosen her asteroid girdle
nor her queen size bra and garter
a woman has to stay in shape
it's why our eyes we twinkle
and rouge our lips and flirt
and rouge our lips
Love's Last Sighting
It was just one of those things
one of those irresistible flings
a holding of hands
a stroll through the park
a mid day nap in late September.
it's never too late to spark romance.
though it could be too passed
to stoke a fading fire.
Unbeknown to each other
they once lived blocks apart;
she in ritzy Central Park East
he in the ghetto adjoining the park
worlds apart in class and breeding,
and breeding engenders clout
and never the twain should have clouted
and intertwined like vines in a garden
It was just one of those silly things
youth wasted on the young.
the coming of age too late in the game
the persistence of lust, or could it be
the need for human warmth
when it's too passed to stoke the fading fire
She was Lorna, prim and proper
whose ancestry were founding fathers
of the Bronx, Yonkers and Staten Island
she a graduate from Barnard, top ten percent
became a literary person,
proof read many an aspiring author
wrote and published the novella,
"The Sexual Exploits of King Kong"
and its sequel, "The Kong meets Jane"
As to the last ding-dong in her multi lover experiences...
well, if a book can be judged by its cover
he was either Moroccan or Puerto Rican,
the latter of which was the factual
the former, would've been more like a fairytale
As to that Jose Vega
(which at the time, they still had not met)
after the war, he set his foot to wanderings
became in time fatigued and
finally altogether despondent
drugs can do that to a man
so can two failed marriages
Bankrupt emotionally and financially
he took a chance and held up a bank,
and had the sense not to try to outsmart beginner's luck
he disappeared in deepest Bolivia.
but home sick after years of jungle training
he returned home to East Harlem
thus, retired in the prime of life
he became intrigued in commodities
and made out fine, better than the holdup
one of those few Wall Street types,
who actually began his career with a revolver
He always feared, however,
one day he'd be discovered,
the gnawing of an elementary Catholic indoctrination
"What the heck,the more you worry,
the more likely the cause of worry is bound to catch you"
So, off he goes to yet another hiatus ---
better safe than sorry ---
this time to Upper Egypt
where he'll study esoterica,
like that of Madam Blavatsky
19th century Russian mystic
and author of "Isis Unveiled"
Meanwhile during some of the above
(and still she had not met Vega)
Lorna became terribly addicted
to cocaine usage, ironically, originating in good part
from that same region
where Vega had worked part time liaison
of course, the reference is to Bolivia
not Egypt where cotton's grown
not Andes highland coca
Now, once again stateside,
senior citizen and respectable
Jose meets for first
the socialite and socialist leaning Lorna
which had they met a generation or two before
they would have had less to converse
Indeed, youth is wasted on the young
you get smart too late to benefit from chance encounters
but better late than (as they say in Spanish) "nunca."
As they are, they are a pair
of cheerful though frail canaries
Joe Vega and Lorna Wooten
in Happy Meadows Assisted Living;
he 105, she a sprightly 97
who in full moons he dares to kiss
to which she responds, pink and blushing;
"Just you wait, you little devil
till I slip into something less constricting."
one of those irresistible flings
a holding of hands
a stroll through the park
a mid day nap in late September.
it's never too late to spark romance.
though it could be too passed
to stoke a fading fire.
Unbeknown to each other
they once lived blocks apart;
she in ritzy Central Park East
he in the ghetto adjoining the park
worlds apart in class and breeding,
and breeding engenders clout
and never the twain should have clouted
and intertwined like vines in a garden
It was just one of those silly things
youth wasted on the young.
the coming of age too late in the game
the persistence of lust, or could it be
the need for human warmth
when it's too passed to stoke the fading fire
She was Lorna, prim and proper
whose ancestry were founding fathers
of the Bronx, Yonkers and Staten Island
she a graduate from Barnard, top ten percent
became a literary person,
proof read many an aspiring author
wrote and published the novella,
"The Sexual Exploits of King Kong"
and its sequel, "The Kong meets Jane"
As to the last ding-dong in her multi lover experiences...
well, if a book can be judged by its cover
he was either Moroccan or Puerto Rican,
the latter of which was the factual
the former, would've been more like a fairytale
As to that Jose Vega
(which at the time, they still had not met)
after the war, he set his foot to wanderings
became in time fatigued and
finally altogether despondent
drugs can do that to a man
so can two failed marriages
Bankrupt emotionally and financially
he took a chance and held up a bank,
and had the sense not to try to outsmart beginner's luck
he disappeared in deepest Bolivia.
but home sick after years of jungle training
he returned home to East Harlem
thus, retired in the prime of life
he became intrigued in commodities
and made out fine, better than the holdup
one of those few Wall Street types,
who actually began his career with a revolver
He always feared, however,
one day he'd be discovered,
the gnawing of an elementary Catholic indoctrination
"What the heck,the more you worry,
the more likely the cause of worry is bound to catch you"
So, off he goes to yet another hiatus ---
better safe than sorry ---
this time to Upper Egypt
where he'll study esoterica,
like that of Madam Blavatsky
19th century Russian mystic
and author of "Isis Unveiled"
Meanwhile during some of the above
(and still she had not met Vega)
Lorna became terribly addicted
to cocaine usage, ironically, originating in good part
from that same region
where Vega had worked part time liaison
of course, the reference is to Bolivia
not Egypt where cotton's grown
not Andes highland coca
Now, once again stateside,
senior citizen and respectable
Jose meets for first
the socialite and socialist leaning Lorna
which had they met a generation or two before
they would have had less to converse
Indeed, youth is wasted on the young
you get smart too late to benefit from chance encounters
but better late than (as they say in Spanish) "nunca."
As they are, they are a pair
of cheerful though frail canaries
Joe Vega and Lorna Wooten
in Happy Meadows Assisted Living;
he 105, she a sprightly 97
who in full moons he dares to kiss
to which she responds, pink and blushing;
"Just you wait, you little devil
till I slip into something less constricting."
Little Girl Talk (II)
You live the life of traveling salesman.
You say you're a unionizer and a teacher.
some even think you're a preacher
But what's the fundamental difference
between you and the enemy?
Commitment? How nice.
Commitment to change?
Or as I suspect
commitment to revolutionary fun and games?
I heard the other day, you assaulted a garrison
and executed 15 soldiers without so much a prayer
mark my words, they'll catch you one day
be prepared , carry poison
else caught alive, they'll electrocute your balls
You say the people need a wake up call
you say they need to rise up now
and raid and riot quick time
because corruption is rampant
because the country is a jungle
and history is a mess
and someone's got to right it
lest it go from bad to worst
that's almost true, darling
and all in all, not a bad excuse
but why must it be you, my revolutionary saint,
don't you realize you're putting me at risk
that caught alive, it's my nipples and vagina
they would wanna fry?
Best translation I can render
under the circumstances
From east of Chiapas,
the Guatemalan army closing in
an Apache gunship hovering overhead
You say you're a unionizer and a teacher.
some even think you're a preacher
But what's the fundamental difference
between you and the enemy?
Commitment? How nice.
Commitment to change?
Or as I suspect
commitment to revolutionary fun and games?
I heard the other day, you assaulted a garrison
and executed 15 soldiers without so much a prayer
mark my words, they'll catch you one day
be prepared , carry poison
else caught alive, they'll electrocute your balls
You say the people need a wake up call
you say they need to rise up now
and raid and riot quick time
because corruption is rampant
because the country is a jungle
and history is a mess
and someone's got to right it
lest it go from bad to worst
that's almost true, darling
and all in all, not a bad excuse
but why must it be you, my revolutionary saint,
don't you realize you're putting me at risk
that caught alive, it's my nipples and vagina
they would wanna fry?
Best translation I can render
under the circumstances
From east of Chiapas,
the Guatemalan army closing in
an Apache gunship hovering overhead
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
Mashed
What ever happened to pretty women
not one in sight
What happened to handsome men
we've all grown bald and fat
What happened to our savage instincts
whose razor fangs glowed in the dark
What civilization has brought us to
in the year 3031
not one in sight
What happened to handsome men
we've all grown bald and fat
What happened to our savage instincts
whose razor fangs glowed in the dark
What civilization has brought us to
in the year 3031
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
The Dynamics of Commotion
A birth pang is a distance breached
between what is and what was not
those inclined to believe in reincarnation
might say, Abigail is ignorant about karma
yes, perhaps, I am ignorant of karma,
as ignorance is the common denominator
in all speculative beliefs.
This how Abigail sees it:
The cosmos may have been released
in a moment of internalized compulsion
like momentum pressed against inertia
or the surrender of a super ego
to an irresistible connection
as egg opens to sperm
as water breaks in womb
and out egresses toes and fingers
and eyes tightly shut
the miracle, the daily occurrence
which is birth and life
the reduced and minuscule Big Bang
that makes you think a bit
and makes you utter "Wow."
between what is and what was not
those inclined to believe in reincarnation
might say, Abigail is ignorant about karma
yes, perhaps, I am ignorant of karma,
as ignorance is the common denominator
in all speculative beliefs.
This how Abigail sees it:
The cosmos may have been released
in a moment of internalized compulsion
like momentum pressed against inertia
or the surrender of a super ego
to an irresistible connection
as egg opens to sperm
as water breaks in womb
and out egresses toes and fingers
and eyes tightly shut
the miracle, the daily occurrence
which is birth and life
the reduced and minuscule Big Bang
that makes you think a bit
and makes you utter "Wow."
Across The Straits
Bony index finger invites
to forest of fallen mammoth bones
here earth's skin is flint,
deeper yet ovens roar
I speak of the straits of Siberia
the migration of flocks, herds and men
I am the breath of winter
snow has fallen through the night
I am morning, I am first light
you are not the first causality of blade
in vulnerability to exclaim
Why me, dammit, why me!
If you knew you the answer to that, my pretty one
I would hold in ssuch disdain your slacking jaw
your protruding forehead,
your calloused knuckles down to your knees
I could look the other way at your language of grunts
You would not be as brutish as you appear
Alas, be a dear and disappear
others wait on line
you wouldn't be nearly as brutish as you appear.
Therefore, be a dear and disappear.
Others wait on line.
to forest of fallen mammoth bones
here earth's skin is flint,
deeper yet ovens roar
I speak of the straits of Siberia
the migration of flocks, herds and men
I am the breath of winter
snow has fallen through the night
I am morning, I am first light
you are not the first causality of blade
in vulnerability to exclaim
Why me, dammit, why me!
If you knew you the answer to that, my pretty one
I would hold in ssuch disdain your slacking jaw
your protruding forehead,
your calloused knuckles down to your knees
I could look the other way at your language of grunts
You would not be as brutish as you appear
Alas, be a dear and disappear
others wait on line
you wouldn't be nearly as brutish as you appear.
Therefore, be a dear and disappear.
Others wait on line.
Can Cook, Could Marry
The beginning of romance
freaks out friendship more often than no
platonic goes when beast gets its rocks off
these are curves hard to negotiate
the loins of man and woman
the gap hard to bridge
the door half opened
the one no one has locked
Oh for a welcoming lap to rest my head
one lucky poetess would be I
but man is man and that is tragic
conceit and mainly penis is
Ode to the friend indeed,
who never asks for much
there in need, thick and thin
ode to the man or woman,
if ever such existed
they did who were once called mothers
And no soon posted
e mails fly from every continent
even cruise boats in mid passage
A congress of senior citizens dispatches
a petition marked extremely urgent:
We, the undersigned, have age to proof
and smarts brewed from our tested vats
and though we be short on testosterone,
our collective wisdom more than compensates,
for wisdom, Miss, has technique too
we'll soothe your woman's bottom so smooth
you'd think the hand that strokes is demigodic
In briefs, we're 50 horny retirees
you can be the first to own us
a harem of grandfathers, imagine!
stable, pensioned and insured.
could you wish for more!
no risk at all of abuse
of formidable health
our average age 58
none over 92
none with Alzheimer, God forbid
none with venereal disease that's for sure!
Replies Abigail:
How kind of you to want to help.
have given the matter due consideration
If you, fine gentlemen, would --- I'd appreciate
You Fed Ex me at your convenience a lap dog
preferably chihuahua.
freaks out friendship more often than no
platonic goes when beast gets its rocks off
these are curves hard to negotiate
the loins of man and woman
the gap hard to bridge
the door half opened
the one no one has locked
Oh for a welcoming lap to rest my head
one lucky poetess would be I
but man is man and that is tragic
conceit and mainly penis is
Ode to the friend indeed,
who never asks for much
there in need, thick and thin
ode to the man or woman,
if ever such existed
they did who were once called mothers
And no soon posted
e mails fly from every continent
even cruise boats in mid passage
A congress of senior citizens dispatches
a petition marked extremely urgent:
We, the undersigned, have age to proof
and smarts brewed from our tested vats
and though we be short on testosterone,
our collective wisdom more than compensates,
for wisdom, Miss, has technique too
we'll soothe your woman's bottom so smooth
you'd think the hand that strokes is demigodic
In briefs, we're 50 horny retirees
you can be the first to own us
a harem of grandfathers, imagine!
stable, pensioned and insured.
could you wish for more!
no risk at all of abuse
of formidable health
our average age 58
none over 92
none with Alzheimer, God forbid
none with venereal disease that's for sure!
Replies Abigail:
How kind of you to want to help.
have given the matter due consideration
If you, fine gentlemen, would --- I'd appreciate
You Fed Ex me at your convenience a lap dog
preferably chihuahua.
If Darkness Were A Dragon
The purity of light is such
its virtue needs no dress
Truth is light that makes naked everything
To note, Christ Jesus
naked was crucified.
In medicine, naked cures are sought
ideal for those ill at ease,
the idea being to strip oneself of malady
too much of a good thing
makes the glutton deadly sick
famine turns us skeletal
The persistence of naked light is such
that stars long deceased,
their radiance endures awhile.
Be then luminary and transparent
naked in art, naked in truth
the stage persona clothed adequately
its virtue needs no dress
Truth is light that makes naked everything
To note, Christ Jesus
naked was crucified.
In medicine, naked cures are sought
ideal for those ill at ease,
the idea being to strip oneself of malady
too much of a good thing
makes the glutton deadly sick
famine turns us skeletal
The persistence of naked light is such
that stars long deceased,
their radiance endures awhile.
Be then luminary and transparent
naked in art, naked in truth
the stage persona clothed adequately
Seek and You Shall Find
Sell all you own
house and furniture
your latest De La Renta evening dress
donate the proceedings to victims of disaster.
Volunteer your room mates, too
If you have pets, eat them!
It's the perfect practice of Feng Shui.
house and furniture
your latest De La Renta evening dress
donate the proceedings to victims of disaster.
Volunteer your room mates, too
If you have pets, eat them!
It's the perfect practice of Feng Shui.
Joan and The Roast
Assemble the army, Woman!
You're the general of these sorry bastards.
We have a war to wage without further ado,
Englishmen to send home packing
back to their vixens and whores.
Viva La sovereign France...
Afterward, we'll celebrate
with song and dance
and, of course,Texas style barbecue.
You're the general of these sorry bastards.
We have a war to wage without further ado,
Englishmen to send home packing
back to their vixens and whores.
Viva La sovereign France...
Afterward, we'll celebrate
with song and dance
and, of course,Texas style barbecue.
Monday, January 19, 2009
Wayward Groom of 20 Years
Post me your verses like withered blooms
under the mattress I hide them
to sue for justice in my cause
you wronged me, son of womb
you took me virgin at 15
you weighed me down with 13 kids
and when you saw me country plump
your eyes wandered to city girls
who knows what plagues were stored in their loins.
As certain as after drought that's long,
storm and flood is released
your time will come, you son of sperm
boulders grow in your latrine
a bad bird roost upon your nose
may you have a shovel for a tongue
camel hair grow in your teeth
regret be your final passion.
As the Prophet commands,
I forgive
under the mattress I hide them
to sue for justice in my cause
you wronged me, son of womb
you took me virgin at 15
you weighed me down with 13 kids
and when you saw me country plump
your eyes wandered to city girls
who knows what plagues were stored in their loins.
As certain as after drought that's long,
storm and flood is released
your time will come, you son of sperm
boulders grow in your latrine
a bad bird roost upon your nose
may you have a shovel for a tongue
camel hair grow in your teeth
regret be your final passion.
As the Prophet commands,
I forgive
Skinny-dipping The Market
Study the patterns, they are thrilling.
Look for opportunities to engage
that once established, claim.
Take the piggies to market.
It's not about kosher,
it's about pork chops.
In skinny dipping Wall Street,
to play it right is in and out
before the herd stampedes.
If you're nervous,
master first the tool of cool.
And if you're bleeding, please ---
don't go swimming with the sharks.
When you clean off the table of the chips,
do it with humble spirit.
God bless the happy loser,
and thrice as much the pure of heart.
For love of money, do nothing.
It's not about greed, but gamesmanship.
For love of art, give the bestest,
less is wrong and fraud.
Look for opportunities to engage
that once established, claim.
Take the piggies to market.
It's not about kosher,
it's about pork chops.
In skinny dipping Wall Street,
to play it right is in and out
before the herd stampedes.
If you're nervous,
master first the tool of cool.
And if you're bleeding, please ---
don't go swimming with the sharks.
When you clean off the table of the chips,
do it with humble spirit.
God bless the happy loser,
and thrice as much the pure of heart.
For love of money, do nothing.
It's not about greed, but gamesmanship.
For love of art, give the bestest,
less is wrong and fraud.
Sunday, January 18, 2009
And Now Forever
This is how she sleeps
this how she awakens
you tell me if she's crazy.
In the stillness of snow flakes
tossed outside her window
in somber light before the day breaks
she twists in sheets
moans, groans and whispers
in Sanscrit no, in Spanish not
it sounds to me like gibberish.
I put my ear to her throat,
neither is it German. Further down,
between her heart and navel,
I note, indeed, it's English
mantra of senseless repetitions
the groans and moans a dozen times
clarifies, intensifies, the bed posts they go shaking.
"I love you, dearest, with all my soul...
my being being being."
A mystery, who she addresses.
Her husband dead, her children gone
the one remaining might be God
and, then, her breathing ceases.
this how she awakens
you tell me if she's crazy.
In the stillness of snow flakes
tossed outside her window
in somber light before the day breaks
she twists in sheets
moans, groans and whispers
in Sanscrit no, in Spanish not
it sounds to me like gibberish.
I put my ear to her throat,
neither is it German. Further down,
between her heart and navel,
I note, indeed, it's English
mantra of senseless repetitions
the groans and moans a dozen times
clarifies, intensifies, the bed posts they go shaking.
"I love you, dearest, with all my soul...
my being being being."
A mystery, who she addresses.
Her husband dead, her children gone
the one remaining might be God
and, then, her breathing ceases.
Saturday, January 17, 2009
We Have Balls For You
The creator of the brassiere,
could he or she have imagined
the impact their invention
how elevated would rise the cost
of cloth and elastic suspensions?
You buy Victoria's Secrets
you've made a sizeable investment
to keep in perfect form, round and tight
the way you always want them.
But they need washing,
they need drying in tumbling drum
which makes the cups a little sad
and flat like punctured tires,
or worst like a stale tortillas,
horrendously unseemly.
What's a gal to do!
Tell you what my Sister,
we in The Mall of Virtual Shopping
are here to restore your confidence
We got balls for you.
Entrust your Victoria Secret to our globes.
put it in a fool proof ball and pop it in the dryer.
Out it comes, spanking clean as brand new
smelling like a rainbow. A thing of beauty
never more to ever go undefined and shapeless.
We have balls for you
$14.99 a pack of two,
includes a month supply of Tampons.
(Poem inspired by product in Sky Mall catalogue)
could he or she have imagined
the impact their invention
how elevated would rise the cost
of cloth and elastic suspensions?
You buy Victoria's Secrets
you've made a sizeable investment
to keep in perfect form, round and tight
the way you always want them.
But they need washing,
they need drying in tumbling drum
which makes the cups a little sad
and flat like punctured tires,
or worst like a stale tortillas,
horrendously unseemly.
What's a gal to do!
Tell you what my Sister,
we in The Mall of Virtual Shopping
are here to restore your confidence
We got balls for you.
Entrust your Victoria Secret to our globes.
put it in a fool proof ball and pop it in the dryer.
Out it comes, spanking clean as brand new
smelling like a rainbow. A thing of beauty
never more to ever go undefined and shapeless.
We have balls for you
$14.99 a pack of two,
includes a month supply of Tampons.
(Poem inspired by product in Sky Mall catalogue)
Friday, January 16, 2009
Moore on Rabbit
The rabbit foot you gave me,
I wonder should I keep it.
We know mummies' wraps
should not be desecrated.
Should not than the rabbit's feet
be treated with similar deference?
What if it's severed owner
should resurrect tomorrow
a most annoyed Adolf Hitler?
I know not what to think,
even Stonehenge scares me.
A monument to multible erections
to honor obscene pagan rituals
surely nothing to take lightly
or dare to wink at.
To stroke a rabbit's foot, likewise,
how can you be so cocky
as to, at least, not consider the possiblity
that you may unleash on all mankind
a curse of biblical proportions
Oh no, not me, I'll play it safe
and keep for pet, instead,
a 10 foot boa constrictor.
I wonder should I keep it.
We know mummies' wraps
should not be desecrated.
Should not than the rabbit's feet
be treated with similar deference?
What if it's severed owner
should resurrect tomorrow
a most annoyed Adolf Hitler?
I know not what to think,
even Stonehenge scares me.
A monument to multible erections
to honor obscene pagan rituals
surely nothing to take lightly
or dare to wink at.
To stroke a rabbit's foot, likewise,
how can you be so cocky
as to, at least, not consider the possiblity
that you may unleash on all mankind
a curse of biblical proportions
Oh no, not me, I'll play it safe
and keep for pet, instead,
a 10 foot boa constrictor.
Thursday, January 15, 2009
Tripping in New York
Sleet in my face, gales in my nose
I limp alone the flashing billboards of Broadway,
My leg is hurt and I am weak...
the chasms of Manhattan.
Is it to know exquisite pain,
the reason I am marching
or punishment I'm wanting?
Why stop to hail a taxi ?
More times I care to count,
LSD'd and libertine, I walked the extra mile.
Through sheer exhaustion, I've since repented.
Why bother to take E-Train ?
Unless you're born of woman, spotless
from broken sinner you are fashioned.
I limp alone the flashing billboards of Broadway,
My leg is hurt and I am weak...
the chasms of Manhattan.
Is it to know exquisite pain,
the reason I am marching
or punishment I'm wanting?
Why stop to hail a taxi ?
More times I care to count,
LSD'd and libertine, I walked the extra mile.
Through sheer exhaustion, I've since repented.
Why bother to take E-Train ?
Unless you're born of woman, spotless
from broken sinner you are fashioned.
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
Christ In The Saddle
My handsome warrior of scarred hands and feet
of wooly hair, defiantly crowned
jack hammered to the depths of brow
the thorny gift from whence ran streams
bloom now roses in diamond nights.
My Prince of War, sword in hand
my Prince of Peace on steed that snorts
Halo Master, Verb made flesh
My kingly hero, Son of God
Son of Man
of wooly hair, defiantly crowned
jack hammered to the depths of brow
the thorny gift from whence ran streams
bloom now roses in diamond nights.
My Prince of War, sword in hand
my Prince of Peace on steed that snorts
Halo Master, Verb made flesh
My kingly hero, Son of God
Son of Man
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
Trust and Diagnosis
They have a high stake in your illness
they give cures that last a life time
worst than dieing patients -
the ones who never visit
there's more to being a doctor
than hanging a sign on a shingle.
There are loans galore to refinance
mortgages and country club advisers
divorced spouses and high end lovers
toys and Rolex watches
It's the profession Hippocrates built and spooked
tricky craft, the likes of fortune tellers
the likes of bloody butchers
but far away more perilous.
There's hell to pay the wicked healer.
they give cures that last a life time
worst than dieing patients -
the ones who never visit
there's more to being a doctor
than hanging a sign on a shingle.
There are loans galore to refinance
mortgages and country club advisers
divorced spouses and high end lovers
toys and Rolex watches
It's the profession Hippocrates built and spooked
tricky craft, the likes of fortune tellers
the likes of bloody butchers
but far away more perilous.
There's hell to pay the wicked healer.
Hackers and Plotters
National diversity is such a fling.
In stereo discussions, it keeps us so diversified
I stroke you, you stroke me,
but what about the ying yang?
If it's made in China, forget it!
I won't buy it, I won't use it.
In stereo discussions, it keeps us so diversified
I stroke you, you stroke me,
but what about the ying yang?
If it's made in China, forget it!
I won't buy it, I won't use it.
Monday, January 12, 2009
The Inscrutable Husband
Ours is the kitchen, the bed rooms, the sheets.
The closets, how many?
I lost count five houses back.
I can sit for hours watching you
watching you like a clock
as clocks watch surgeons
as surgeons look at their hands
you who unhinge garlic cloves
as were they little brains.
you who talk the holy storm
and greet the morning glory,
talking the kindred wrong.
I who listen like butter
or the wall on which hangs the clock
or the door knob slowly turning
or the little boy as husband looking how to run away.
Were I as good an actor as you a nightingale
were I as good as man as you the truest woman a guy could find
we two would've been invincible, a drill sergeant and her baton
we would've never argued, indeed we never do
when you're convinced you have me squarely
between your violet lips and your teeth
but being I am man and at that, a healthy spouse
I suffer attention deficit, chronic round the clock.
Always I got something cooking in my pot
a poem, a silly plot, a scheme just down the block
Oh, do not woe for me, Rib of mine, but rather for thyself .
Be accepting that man is man to roam about,
whereas women only other women and felines understand
cravings for attention more than balls of purring fur can have.
Were I a bar of chocolate, cut flowers would be my name
were I the wiser, the romantic game would be my scam.
Blame no one for my wiring, though.
In Hebrew it started, Adam and Jane
then Eve meets Tarzan in another epic film.
It has little to do with biology.
It has everything to do with steamy novels.
If ignorance is bliss, we'll all be blessed or likely damned
hope it's not as bad as it seems.
wish I knew myself for sure.
but, perhaps, I do know of what I speak
not by intelligence but hunch.
You, give me much to crunch;
thorns that prick and daffodils to pick
chain gang rocks to crack...
"She love me, she loves me not."
The closets, how many?
I lost count five houses back.
I can sit for hours watching you
watching you like a clock
as clocks watch surgeons
as surgeons look at their hands
you who unhinge garlic cloves
as were they little brains.
you who talk the holy storm
and greet the morning glory,
talking the kindred wrong.
I who listen like butter
or the wall on which hangs the clock
or the door knob slowly turning
or the little boy as husband looking how to run away.
Were I as good an actor as you a nightingale
were I as good as man as you the truest woman a guy could find
we two would've been invincible, a drill sergeant and her baton
we would've never argued, indeed we never do
when you're convinced you have me squarely
between your violet lips and your teeth
but being I am man and at that, a healthy spouse
I suffer attention deficit, chronic round the clock.
Always I got something cooking in my pot
a poem, a silly plot, a scheme just down the block
Oh, do not woe for me, Rib of mine, but rather for thyself .
Be accepting that man is man to roam about,
whereas women only other women and felines understand
cravings for attention more than balls of purring fur can have.
Were I a bar of chocolate, cut flowers would be my name
were I the wiser, the romantic game would be my scam.
Blame no one for my wiring, though.
In Hebrew it started, Adam and Jane
then Eve meets Tarzan in another epic film.
It has little to do with biology.
It has everything to do with steamy novels.
If ignorance is bliss, we'll all be blessed or likely damned
hope it's not as bad as it seems.
wish I knew myself for sure.
but, perhaps, I do know of what I speak
not by intelligence but hunch.
You, give me much to crunch;
thorns that prick and daffodils to pick
chain gang rocks to crack...
"She love me, she loves me not."
Sunday, January 11, 2009
The Wilds of Minnesota
For majesty Andean peaks
and wisps of clouds risen featherweight
across ridges of pastured fields,
of hay and plow and cow dung heaps,
these happy clouds of mine drift north
commingle with the Caribbean.
The mountains are grand but the sea's my land
and neath my fragrance, 14 summers hardly ripe,
I was and am an Arawak
on strands of sand collecting shells
before arrived the billowed sails
of three hard woods and three strong captains
The Nina, the Pinta and the oh my goodness,
they really do smell of Spaniards.
Days like those you don't forget.
But in the soon-time, in the swoon-time
You were and are a Venezuelan.
Four centuries of fight,
of love of life, of food and easy money,
a thousand years more to fart
socialist arts and progress,
you call it quits and go into self exile,
beneath a habit loose and black,
the mourning dress of nunnery
of rosary beads thumbed over,
and nights of haunting doubts,
and still you do and still you will
Remember Venezuela,
where leaves keep true to green,
where the moon's perfumed the year round,
and the sun forbids she be iced,
the angel groom on a three tier cake
both of you in bridal dress
of murmuring nuns, this convent place
The wilds of Minnesota.
and wisps of clouds risen featherweight
across ridges of pastured fields,
of hay and plow and cow dung heaps,
these happy clouds of mine drift north
commingle with the Caribbean.
The mountains are grand but the sea's my land
and neath my fragrance, 14 summers hardly ripe,
I was and am an Arawak
on strands of sand collecting shells
before arrived the billowed sails
of three hard woods and three strong captains
The Nina, the Pinta and the oh my goodness,
they really do smell of Spaniards.
Days like those you don't forget.
But in the soon-time, in the swoon-time
You were and are a Venezuelan.
Four centuries of fight,
of love of life, of food and easy money,
a thousand years more to fart
socialist arts and progress,
you call it quits and go into self exile,
beneath a habit loose and black,
the mourning dress of nunnery
of rosary beads thumbed over,
and nights of haunting doubts,
and still you do and still you will
Remember Venezuela,
where leaves keep true to green,
where the moon's perfumed the year round,
and the sun forbids she be iced,
the angel groom on a three tier cake
both of you in bridal dress
of murmuring nuns, this convent place
The wilds of Minnesota.
Saturday, January 10, 2009
An Eye in The Palm
As water reflects,
the mind thirsts
the heart is a pond
the illusion is steep
when I was a child,
I thought a puddle could be an ocean
Illusion?
Could be the rotating door to other regions.
the mind thirsts
the heart is a pond
the illusion is steep
when I was a child,
I thought a puddle could be an ocean
Illusion?
Could be the rotating door to other regions.
An Emancipated Woman
We single woman, divorced or never married
living alone in suburbs or in cities
have to put up with a lot of nonsense.
I'll give you an example.
Today's one of those days in Baytown
when there's not a cloud in the sky.
A blue northern swept them beyond South Padre Island.
And so I take the opportunity to relieve myself of cabin fever,
tan my face, and manicure the lawn as I may be inspired.
Two houses down from where my homestead sits,
there's a couple, who between them,
should weigh no less than 50 Cambodian orphans.
It's just a fact, I mock them not. We all must bear crosses.
Still, it should be fun to watch them,
shoulder to shoulder attempt to exit the kitchen.
What he has in gut, she has in butt, a lot of lard overlapping.
In Australian, the little lady would be described
as five ax handles across the acre.
They do not say hello to me, we do not greet each other.
It may or not have something to do with color
as they are gray and I am red, add an infusion of hot cocoa.
Be that as it may, I'm happy to be an introvert.
Well, this is the deal. Can not say for sure
if it be lust, prejudice or neighborly curiosity,
but every time I step into my yard,
it seems the male of the pear is there to watch me,
his arms akimbo, a stance that strikes me rather weirdo,
Or is it me, paranoia the product of my hermit living?
How nice the weather, disregard.
Today, I'm feeling edgy.
It's happy birthday time. At midnight, I'll turn 37.
No cause to be alarmed, I'm hoping to reach a hundred and something.
Age and wrinkles I do not fear, it's the period that's gone missing.
A fortnight and not a drop of blood,
and no man on whom to blame a pregnancy,
for my maiden head is still intact and I may well die cherry.
I'm not complaining and sure as hell neither am I boasting.
So here's the deal,
Fatso two houses down,
the creep, he still is staring.
I've mowed the lawn. I've said my prayers,
and now I'm feeling kinda crazy.
"Genug ist genug," Enough is enough!
Alright, already... to give it a Yiddish accent!
I rush back into the house,
bound the stairs up to the linen closet,
where I keep a snub nose 38,
and with it, take another accessory for hunting.
Back out to the yard as quick as I left,
I take my post to see how the action might develop
Yep, he's still out there in fascist pose a la Benito Mussolini.
The gun is just in case the gentleman thinks of playing silly.
This is the West where cowboys ride
and up to recent we had lynchings.
I have a clear advantage, though.
This I know, his four eyes are no match for my Japanese binoculars.
So here we be, the pig and Gwen,
a face off in East Texas.
Let's see who's dignity faints.
It surely won't be the Steel Virgin's,
who the puts the target in her sights,
then flags him ladylike,
"Howdy neighbor, behold the royal finger!"
The view is clear,
the chap is clearly twitching.
or as I said it might be paranoia
living alone in suburbs or in cities
have to put up with a lot of nonsense.
I'll give you an example.
Today's one of those days in Baytown
when there's not a cloud in the sky.
A blue northern swept them beyond South Padre Island.
And so I take the opportunity to relieve myself of cabin fever,
tan my face, and manicure the lawn as I may be inspired.
Two houses down from where my homestead sits,
there's a couple, who between them,
should weigh no less than 50 Cambodian orphans.
It's just a fact, I mock them not. We all must bear crosses.
Still, it should be fun to watch them,
shoulder to shoulder attempt to exit the kitchen.
What he has in gut, she has in butt, a lot of lard overlapping.
In Australian, the little lady would be described
as five ax handles across the acre.
They do not say hello to me, we do not greet each other.
It may or not have something to do with color
as they are gray and I am red, add an infusion of hot cocoa.
Be that as it may, I'm happy to be an introvert.
Well, this is the deal. Can not say for sure
if it be lust, prejudice or neighborly curiosity,
but every time I step into my yard,
it seems the male of the pear is there to watch me,
his arms akimbo, a stance that strikes me rather weirdo,
Or is it me, paranoia the product of my hermit living?
How nice the weather, disregard.
Today, I'm feeling edgy.
It's happy birthday time. At midnight, I'll turn 37.
No cause to be alarmed, I'm hoping to reach a hundred and something.
Age and wrinkles I do not fear, it's the period that's gone missing.
A fortnight and not a drop of blood,
and no man on whom to blame a pregnancy,
for my maiden head is still intact and I may well die cherry.
I'm not complaining and sure as hell neither am I boasting.
So here's the deal,
Fatso two houses down,
the creep, he still is staring.
I've mowed the lawn. I've said my prayers,
and now I'm feeling kinda crazy.
"Genug ist genug," Enough is enough!
Alright, already... to give it a Yiddish accent!
I rush back into the house,
bound the stairs up to the linen closet,
where I keep a snub nose 38,
and with it, take another accessory for hunting.
Back out to the yard as quick as I left,
I take my post to see how the action might develop
Yep, he's still out there in fascist pose a la Benito Mussolini.
The gun is just in case the gentleman thinks of playing silly.
This is the West where cowboys ride
and up to recent we had lynchings.
I have a clear advantage, though.
This I know, his four eyes are no match for my Japanese binoculars.
So here we be, the pig and Gwen,
a face off in East Texas.
Let's see who's dignity faints.
It surely won't be the Steel Virgin's,
who the puts the target in her sights,
then flags him ladylike,
"Howdy neighbor, behold the royal finger!"
The view is clear,
the chap is clearly twitching.
or as I said it might be paranoia
Friday, January 9, 2009
We Sentence You To Write
To tell the truth, I write a little better than I speak.
Convention and verbal intercourse
leaves me little room to hide.
An utterly silent citizen is not beyond suspicion.
Certainly, not beyond reproach.
As I am neither preacher, lawyer or politician,
I prefer to speak only when spoken to.
But write I must forever
or risk losing more gray matter
than I've already lost.
To say it right,
when I write, I do not stutter.
But when I talk, I draw a blank.
Writing,
on the other hand, is therapeutic and long suffering,
and best of all, slight of hand.
Writing does not impose impossible rules,
nor impossible time constraints.
Take a year to compose a sentence.
Take ten if you think its crap.
What's the rush, amigo!
There will always be readers.
As to listeners they can sue you.
Just let their patience run out.
The written rules of grammar, indeed, empower.
Ignore them or break them if you like,
especially if you're rhyming.
Not so when you speak.
Proper delivery hath priority
over matter of heart and mind.
When I'm gabbing, I'm easily spooked,
but when I'm blogging,
I'll only give you enough to tease you,
and never rope with which to lynch me.
When I write, I could be Buddha.
At dinner parties, I suddenly turn Woody Allen.
When I attempt to speak convincingly,
good conscience warns me,
"Hush, they'll think you're with Bin Laden."
When I write, however, I'm the man!
Good conscience takes off her mask.
Tells me that if she's not my sister,
she's got to be my long lost lover.
Ms Write is right!
What's written is written.
She who guides my hand,
further admonishes me to cut it straight.
Polite is for the birds.
If it's polite you want to be,
turn to The Book of Etiquette by Frederick Hanson;
Chapter 17, verses 1 through 33
On The Whys and Hows of When to lie,
and make it sound as if you mean it.
Convention and verbal intercourse
leaves me little room to hide.
An utterly silent citizen is not beyond suspicion.
Certainly, not beyond reproach.
As I am neither preacher, lawyer or politician,
I prefer to speak only when spoken to.
But write I must forever
or risk losing more gray matter
than I've already lost.
To say it right,
when I write, I do not stutter.
But when I talk, I draw a blank.
Writing,
on the other hand, is therapeutic and long suffering,
and best of all, slight of hand.
Writing does not impose impossible rules,
nor impossible time constraints.
Take a year to compose a sentence.
Take ten if you think its crap.
What's the rush, amigo!
There will always be readers.
As to listeners they can sue you.
Just let their patience run out.
The written rules of grammar, indeed, empower.
Ignore them or break them if you like,
especially if you're rhyming.
Not so when you speak.
Proper delivery hath priority
over matter of heart and mind.
When I'm gabbing, I'm easily spooked,
but when I'm blogging,
I'll only give you enough to tease you,
and never rope with which to lynch me.
When I write, I could be Buddha.
At dinner parties, I suddenly turn Woody Allen.
When I attempt to speak convincingly,
good conscience warns me,
"Hush, they'll think you're with Bin Laden."
When I write, however, I'm the man!
Good conscience takes off her mask.
Tells me that if she's not my sister,
she's got to be my long lost lover.
Ms Write is right!
What's written is written.
She who guides my hand,
further admonishes me to cut it straight.
Polite is for the birds.
If it's polite you want to be,
turn to The Book of Etiquette by Frederick Hanson;
Chapter 17, verses 1 through 33
On The Whys and Hows of When to lie,
and make it sound as if you mean it.
Thursday, January 8, 2009
A Midnight Note
Explanations merely provide possibilities.
Answers prompt further questions.
In every search, not to forget
we use about 1o per cent or less of our intellectual muscle.
The rest might be excess baggage or baby fat.
Answers prompt further questions.
In every search, not to forget
we use about 1o per cent or less of our intellectual muscle.
The rest might be excess baggage or baby fat.
To Burn or Bury
Much is made of corpus homo
dead or alive
therefore, death is far and away the kinder
than were we to live a thousand years.
As Jesus said, "Let the dead bury the dead."
In the case of cremation, it may suffice to change the verb.
Let the dead burn the dead.
dead or alive
therefore, death is far and away the kinder
than were we to live a thousand years.
As Jesus said, "Let the dead bury the dead."
In the case of cremation, it may suffice to change the verb.
Let the dead burn the dead.
Sally and The Still
I hurt no more.
Desire overcoats it,
and taint wall paper I am talking.
When I want it, I gotta have it.
Were my soul a drink, it would be bourbon.
My barrels are smoked and aged.
My mash is heavy duty.
If you're a tea toddler, you'll bake in heaven.
If you're a drunkard, you won't survive me.
Look into my eyes, they're a far cry from the porch.
Look deep and tell me what you think is missing.
My barns are dark, my back and arms are strong,
my calloused hands are quick sand.
I'm like no woman you've ever known.
I'm not a woman to mess with.
Desire overcoats it,
and taint wall paper I am talking.
When I want it, I gotta have it.
Were my soul a drink, it would be bourbon.
My barrels are smoked and aged.
My mash is heavy duty.
If you're a tea toddler, you'll bake in heaven.
If you're a drunkard, you won't survive me.
Look into my eyes, they're a far cry from the porch.
Look deep and tell me what you think is missing.
My barns are dark, my back and arms are strong,
my calloused hands are quick sand.
I'm like no woman you've ever known.
I'm not a woman to mess with.
Wednesday, January 7, 2009
On My Word
I love you with every bit the love that's in me,
admittedly not much, what to expect!
Liar nor charmer I am not.
I could be instead the hump on the back of Quasimodo,
or the dredges of late November.
What's a miser if not a hoarder.
If anything, the lady is a silent beggar,
a weather vane in the morning glory,
a Weatherspoon attempting levitation
admittedly not much, what to expect!
Liar nor charmer I am not.
I could be instead the hump on the back of Quasimodo,
or the dredges of late November.
What's a miser if not a hoarder.
If anything, the lady is a silent beggar,
a weather vane in the morning glory,
a Weatherspoon attempting levitation
A Toast to Happy Endings.
Half blind we see, half deaf we hear
enlightened though we wish to be
it's sometimes just pure chance.
when the clearest issue is I wanna live,
there's still so much to tickle.
I walked in weekend stupor into an alley,
a 9-foot monster waiting there,
wailing there, foaming at the lobster there,
gnashing his fangs,
an almost pitifully sight
had he only been imagined!
Make believe is every horror
until it manifests itself as brutal.
As I said,I walked into this cannon
half doused, half awake
but in the fright regained sobriety,
I see myself in Cyclops' pot
an almost hapless situation
my bongos wildly skipping parts,
I turn albino, no easy feat
'cause I'm dark but comely.
Admitting my fate is sealed,
somehow in the quirky game of odds,
I sense a shift in my direction,
and silently say a prayer, a "let it be,"
the Amen in liturgy and common language.
And so it was that something invisible and voiceless
said to me, dance the dance of The Seven Veils only make it fun
And dance I did, at first a shy and half ass jig,
until the needle fell in the groove,
and jig I jigged the jigger up at least by several notches,
which caused His Monster-ness, to pause,
emit a hiccup, then a giggle
one giggle leading to another
he split right down the middle
and then erupted into a frenzy of insane laughter.
What sweet relief
to see the beast upon his back
in stitches rolling and roaring
while I zip through his haunt in sonic boom
in leotards and slippers.
Out of sight is out of pot till he sees in fact
his supper has gone missing.
Call it fate, call it heart,
call it what you wanna
fate and chance is neither deaf nor mute
who having fingers ten in all,
use twelve to commune in obscure signals
the day I jigged in the face of death,
and lived to tell the about it.
enlightened though we wish to be
it's sometimes just pure chance.
when the clearest issue is I wanna live,
there's still so much to tickle.
I walked in weekend stupor into an alley,
a 9-foot monster waiting there,
wailing there, foaming at the lobster there,
gnashing his fangs,
an almost pitifully sight
had he only been imagined!
Make believe is every horror
until it manifests itself as brutal.
As I said,I walked into this cannon
half doused, half awake
but in the fright regained sobriety,
I see myself in Cyclops' pot
an almost hapless situation
my bongos wildly skipping parts,
I turn albino, no easy feat
'cause I'm dark but comely.
Admitting my fate is sealed,
somehow in the quirky game of odds,
I sense a shift in my direction,
and silently say a prayer, a "let it be,"
the Amen in liturgy and common language.
And so it was that something invisible and voiceless
said to me, dance the dance of The Seven Veils only make it fun
And dance I did, at first a shy and half ass jig,
until the needle fell in the groove,
and jig I jigged the jigger up at least by several notches,
which caused His Monster-ness, to pause,
emit a hiccup, then a giggle
one giggle leading to another
he split right down the middle
and then erupted into a frenzy of insane laughter.
What sweet relief
to see the beast upon his back
in stitches rolling and roaring
while I zip through his haunt in sonic boom
in leotards and slippers.
Out of sight is out of pot till he sees in fact
his supper has gone missing.
Call it fate, call it heart,
call it what you wanna
fate and chance is neither deaf nor mute
who having fingers ten in all,
use twelve to commune in obscure signals
the day I jigged in the face of death,
and lived to tell the about it.
Oyster
Beyond the faintest trace of the sub atomic,
the essential remains intact.
The pearl's origin is grain of sand,
which could lead a pearl to speculate -
The oyster must be god.
the essential remains intact.
The pearl's origin is grain of sand,
which could lead a pearl to speculate -
The oyster must be god.
Tuesday, January 6, 2009
The Creaky Tower (Don't lose sleep)
We choose our obsessions randomly.
Maybe diligently they choose us.
I have this problem at bedtime.
I become what I detest.
I turn into the bride of Dracula.
Maybe diligently they choose us.
I have this problem at bedtime.
I become what I detest.
I turn into the bride of Dracula.
The Honeymoon Was Over Before It Ever Started
Except on Sundays, the day of rest and church.
he's up at four and from under the sheets pontificates to his poor spouse
subjects of social import, Wall Street imploding,the new tenants in the White House.
Should she dare raise a question,
he takes it as an affront to his integrity.
A monologue is not a conversation.
She tries her best to lock him out,
but somehow the words get through,
though little else of him has hit the mark.
They have no children, and who's to say
if it's because of him or it's because of her.
He's an eagle scout attendant,
a certified micro manager of minutiae.
Has even marked the carpet
as to where each piece of furniture should sit.
As to her, she's an unfulfilled artist
who used to paint landscape in delicate day breaks,
but ever since the goddamn landscapes reached her uterus,
she paints them abstract and furious.
How long can this keep going on?
Perhaps, till death pulls them apart.
He thinks himself a martyr.
She promised her mother she would not leave him.
he's up at four and from under the sheets pontificates to his poor spouse
subjects of social import, Wall Street imploding,the new tenants in the White House.
Should she dare raise a question,
he takes it as an affront to his integrity.
A monologue is not a conversation.
She tries her best to lock him out,
but somehow the words get through,
though little else of him has hit the mark.
They have no children, and who's to say
if it's because of him or it's because of her.
He's an eagle scout attendant,
a certified micro manager of minutiae.
Has even marked the carpet
as to where each piece of furniture should sit.
As to her, she's an unfulfilled artist
who used to paint landscape in delicate day breaks,
but ever since the goddamn landscapes reached her uterus,
she paints them abstract and furious.
How long can this keep going on?
Perhaps, till death pulls them apart.
He thinks himself a martyr.
She promised her mother she would not leave him.
Monday, January 5, 2009
The Isle of Jade
New heights appear,
with every thought and the least of provocation.
The noise is much from which to cross.
The other side has spoken.
Wherefore, my long lost friend and I,
are headed now in this uncertain emancipation.
And, then, he points and so do I.
The farewell is just breathless.
with every thought and the least of provocation.
The noise is much from which to cross.
The other side has spoken.
Wherefore, my long lost friend and I,
are headed now in this uncertain emancipation.
And, then, he points and so do I.
The farewell is just breathless.
The Leaky Issue
I dreamt you held me tight
words thick with internet vibration
when suddenly thunder roared
and blinked the lights
and with it our conversation
too steamy for fleshy lips
were it knot
for almost there
and virtual proliferation
Do call it what it is
sex a la hyperlink
collective masturbation
words thick with internet vibration
when suddenly thunder roared
and blinked the lights
and with it our conversation
too steamy for fleshy lips
were it knot
for almost there
and virtual proliferation
Do call it what it is
sex a la hyperlink
collective masturbation
The Leaky Issue
I dreamt you held me tight
words thick with internet vibration
when suddenly thunder roared
and blinked the lights
and with it our conversation
too steamy for fleshy lips
were it knot
for almost there
and virtual proliferation
Do call it what it is
sex a la hyperlink
collective masturbation
words thick with internet vibration
when suddenly thunder roared
and blinked the lights
and with it our conversation
too steamy for fleshy lips
were it knot
for almost there
and virtual proliferation
Do call it what it is
sex a la hyperlink
collective masturbation
Sunday, January 4, 2009
An Unerasable Adultery
It's the remembrance of things past
that makes us who we are.
Jules forgives, Edna will not.
The quality of mercy is that ray of hope,
the tortured mind will not admit.
The tortured mind winds up cemented.
Jules says, let's start anew, shall we?
Edna, 50 years his bride, the 21st of February,
looks strangely at him and stony says,
"Did I ever know you?"
A pebble in the ocean.
that makes us who we are.
Jules forgives, Edna will not.
The quality of mercy is that ray of hope,
the tortured mind will not admit.
The tortured mind winds up cemented.
Jules says, let's start anew, shall we?
Edna, 50 years his bride, the 21st of February,
looks strangely at him and stony says,
"Did I ever know you?"
A pebble in the ocean.
An Unseasonably Warm Day In Winter
The fog is her envelope this morning
she moves mulch in it
she moves rocks in it
she turns the earth to prepare for seeding
She and the fog are on intimate terms
this half acre is their moment
Bubbles surface in the pond
she moves mulch in it
she moves rocks in it
she turns the earth to prepare for seeding
She and the fog are on intimate terms
this half acre is their moment
Bubbles surface in the pond
Saturday, January 3, 2009
A Place for Us
The love of God which folks hold true
do not stop us from committing blessed homicide.
God, at best, is like Robert Frost's Mending Walls
of which good fences make good neighbors.
You and I,
here in Topeka,
me a Jew, you a Muslim
are we polite and very congenial.
I would not dream of bombing your mosque
nor you of tearing up my Torah,
unless we were back in the Holy Land
where the more things change,
the more they march steadily backwards.
do not stop us from committing blessed homicide.
God, at best, is like Robert Frost's Mending Walls
of which good fences make good neighbors.
You and I,
here in Topeka,
me a Jew, you a Muslim
are we polite and very congenial.
I would not dream of bombing your mosque
nor you of tearing up my Torah,
unless we were back in the Holy Land
where the more things change,
the more they march steadily backwards.
The Lunatic About To Be Lobotomized
Give me thy soul
I have no ring with which to bed thee,
except it be this ball and chain to which I'm shackled.
Therefore, while I'm in prison
bring me bread or bring me pizza
and in it hide a hack saw, pretty please.
Yours sincerely,
The Animal
I have no ring with which to bed thee,
except it be this ball and chain to which I'm shackled.
Therefore, while I'm in prison
bring me bread or bring me pizza
and in it hide a hack saw, pretty please.
Yours sincerely,
The Animal
Pontius Pilate on The Stand
Some might see it as a black obelisk
floating at the end of time and space.
Truth exists, we've been told.
The skeptic asks, "What makes it believable?"
Truth does not argue its cause,
may not reply save to send history crashing upon on our skulls.
I know little of what is true.
I know much more of what it's not.
I once hoped and that is true.
I tell lies...not always nice.
In war, I was Pontius Soldier;
in peace, Politician Pilate.
Take it or leave it, I rest my case.
Believe it or not, I speak facts.
floating at the end of time and space.
Truth exists, we've been told.
The skeptic asks, "What makes it believable?"
Truth does not argue its cause,
may not reply save to send history crashing upon on our skulls.
I know little of what is true.
I know much more of what it's not.
I once hoped and that is true.
I tell lies...not always nice.
In war, I was Pontius Soldier;
in peace, Politician Pilate.
Take it or leave it, I rest my case.
Believe it or not, I speak facts.
Friday, January 2, 2009
Post Mortem Possibilities
Churchill had one bodyguard, Hitler had thousands.
Is it possible that Churchill and Hitler are in the same place,
bodyguards und alles?
Is it possible that Churchill and Hitler are in the same place,
bodyguards und alles?
Oh My Lust, My Golly
Come out, come out wherever you are.
It's hide-seek game of love is blind.
The question is, does love bring peace?
Piss on peace,
you're 17 just only once,
and (of course) once is enough,
for love dies but love lives on.
It's hide-seek game of love is blind.
The question is, does love bring peace?
Piss on peace,
you're 17 just only once,
and (of course) once is enough,
for love dies but love lives on.
Eve
Work and turn towards me, my dear.
You're the shoulders, I'm the hips
who works by your side this parched field,
no longer Eden nor free ride.
Still, hope we still in Paradise.
Remember, you chose me to be your darling bride,
and you, in turn, guaranteed me fidelity forever.
Shall I, then, bury you unblemished or disgraced?
Or shall we both recoil upon the sad remembrance
of who bit the apple first and felt the sharpness enter?
You're the shoulders, I'm the hips
who works by your side this parched field,
no longer Eden nor free ride.
Still, hope we still in Paradise.
Remember, you chose me to be your darling bride,
and you, in turn, guaranteed me fidelity forever.
Shall I, then, bury you unblemished or disgraced?
Or shall we both recoil upon the sad remembrance
of who bit the apple first and felt the sharpness enter?
Thursday, January 1, 2009
Strumming
I seek a friend in every poet,
a lover in every word of truth.
Across the billions upon billions fields of stars,
I know there's one who thinks it through.
a lover in every word of truth.
Across the billions upon billions fields of stars,
I know there's one who thinks it through.
Before I Arrived
The rain rang long and hard, soft and hard.
Its trail blurred to the window.
The limbs of trees hung low and weary.
Or was it just those lids of mine,
and in me an uneasy feeling.
Its trail blurred to the window.
The limbs of trees hung low and weary.
Or was it just those lids of mine,
and in me an uneasy feeling.
So Straight, So Stoic, So Elegant
If ever a flower there was, that flower was you in girlhood.
Everything in you was flowery, your lips, your dress,
your manners.
It seems to me I knew you once,
but was it memory, vision or hoax?
None of the above, it was the mirror talking back.
At 15 she was married, at 17 widowed
to never again (by oath) to gaze into the looking glass.
She ties her hair by touch.
For 70 years into a bun.
Then one day, by chance this time,
while passing the new ten story store in town,
she sees in its window, her reflection.
And unbeknown to her that it's her own,
she muses, "My, what a pretty old lady!"
Everything in you was flowery, your lips, your dress,
your manners.
It seems to me I knew you once,
but was it memory, vision or hoax?
None of the above, it was the mirror talking back.
At 15 she was married, at 17 widowed
to never again (by oath) to gaze into the looking glass.
She ties her hair by touch.
For 70 years into a bun.
Then one day, by chance this time,
while passing the new ten story store in town,
she sees in its window, her reflection.
And unbeknown to her that it's her own,
she muses, "My, what a pretty old lady!"
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