Cynical and Possible

Who killed Di?
James Bond, who else!

Who ordered the killing?
My guess, someone close to Henry VIII.

The Horseshit in London

The Scottish song which rings out the old year,
I believe got it wrong. It ought not be,
"Should ole acquaintances be forgot,"
but rather,"May ole acquaintances be forgot,"
otherwise you have a Windsor situation
desperately looking to marry into fresh new blood.

Tender Paring

A wreath of blue grass is all my queenship wants.
I know who I am 'cause I know where I've been.
I've plucked banjo in holier than thou revivals

I've bucked Internal Revenue and Prohibition.
My toes have danced Appalachia and high stepped the Ozarks.
Some might read my sway for swagger.

No such thing!
My name is Carriage.
My occupation is railroad tramnp.

I'm the lady of the bobcat eyes.
I'm a kitten, wearing man-size mittens.
I'm the Cherokee they couldn't find to kill.

The Low Price of Gas

When the price is skyrocketing per gallon,
think of it as a luxury tax for the privilege of driving
on roads less cluttered by those who can't afford to travel.

M over H

Congratulations.
Your name has been added to the list
of people I hope never to hear from again.

No ill feelings.
It's simply a matter of convenience,
a matter of mind over sentiment.

Trapdoor Shoot

May you always have a window with big sky view.
Similarly, let your canvasses be like big French windows.
Boldly, draw open their curtains. Enter into Rembrandt gold.
Into Van Gogh sky slashes enter...into the laughter which is baroque.

I am fullness --- the exquisite model you sought but never found.
If are man enough to shoulder my weight, I will take you to untold works.
When we pause to rest, I will do your feet and make you squeal like a pig
for pleasure's sake. I am the lover you thought could not exist.

Like me, there will never be another.
but if somewhere, somehow she does exist,
she would still be me in different flesh,
yours to dare and yours to dare to keep.

The Virtue of Distance

They tempt me to hate them.
I hate that temptation.

"No friends or relations on weekend vacations."

String Quartet

Primeval energy is in us, behind us, beyond us.
It motivates spontaneity. It projects villages, bridges and byways.
When wars break out, it's primeval chaos seeking expression.
The same is true of sting quartets.

Cereal

Reach deep into your art.
There must be something there worth saving.
You have not lived for nothing.
After all, you are not a serial murderer,
only a serial liar.

Candle Power

A one eye beast of pale luminosity,
an alien spaceship look-a-like,
the street light at my window
connected to worms of electricity
allows me a bit of clarity after dark.

Last Friday, for want of payment,
Georgia Power turned the lights.
Thus, I have been forced me into the class conflict
of what I could not have imagined, me a princess,
now another schlemiel on the welfare rolls.

Damn the three branches of government,
damn outsourcing. Damn the haves of capitalism.
Damn even the Poetry Forum!
I will be pampered
or will endorse anarchy.

Mother

Bound to her because of gravity,
consumed by her because of mortality,
of the same stresses we are fashioned.

She is a funky and pockmarked adolescent;
me --- I'm her not at all her immaculate child,
and in no death shall we be separated,

Me and Earth,
damned
and blessable.

Hawk

What put it in his head
to fly for hours from the coast,
lengths of flotsam in his beak,
with which to build a padded nest
high above the Dismal Swamp?

People Lesson

Walking down Memorial,
a cell phone on his ear,
Trudging to catch the Downtown bus,
pants falling off his waist.

Jesus taught:
"The poor will always be amongst you.
This is just not a teaching.
This is a warning.

Dragon Times

Following World War II and the awakening
as to what constitutes a nuclear nightmare,
a portion of the Japanese film industry
dedicated its resources to Godzilla movies,
a reptilian creature which rises out of the sea,
threatening Japan and by extension civilization.

Decades later, reality has caught up with camp fiction.

Samantha O'Clock

What isn't a clock?
If it breathes, it has pulse.
It it has pulse, it's a clock.
Time is pause. Time, also, is weathering.

When I worked New York,
I'd stare the night long the tower in Lower Manhattan,
the one which flashed its beacons to the 4 points of the compass.
By a week, I missed the fire works on the Hudson.

I was playing a club in Morocco when 911 changed the world.
Through tinkling glasses and nicotine veils,
an expat regular would mumble; "Play it again, Samantha,"
to which I'd reply; "I just did, Mr. Bogart."

From Weehawken to Casablanca;
from Casablanca to Port Everglades,
from Sam to Samantha.
What isn't a clock?
You tell me, Nostradamus.