We Clowns, Wee Martyrs

Poets and scribblers, musicians as well,
are sad clowns of red bulbous noses
with a knack for tripping over anything pretty

Have a hankering to explore something exotic?
Try Chinatown eateries before you're tempted
to visit lonely heart web sites

True romance is of the taste buds.

More of Paula and Less of Butter

I will entertain no charge of sin levelled against me
Lies complete are as hard to find as unadulterated truths
Inquisitors want forced confession and feigned repentance

That I once said "Niger" with attitude
does not in itself not make me Anti African
Be happy and  please excuse

Paula D.

Sticks and stones may break my bones
but words can not hurt me.
What sheer hypocrisy in the matter of Paula Deen!

She should have been banned from television year ago
not for using the "N" words but for overuse of butter in her pastries.
By the way, what's the "N" word, I'm not from this neighborhood.

No --- Now Know

I think I've figured out the problem,
inadequate study of human behavior.
Lessons learned I fail to practice,
which makes me dumber than dumb.

Here in capsule
is what I've captured
Never trust anyone entirely.

As to my own trustworthiness
I haven't  been exactly a poster child
regarding the you-know-what
Ten Commandments

A Supreme Decision

The Court has ruled
Man may marry man
Woman, woman may wed

One convention will not be altered

One will be husband, one will be wife
Each pair shall choose, each two will decide
Can't wait to see what happens when polygamy is legalized.

The Quality of Hope

How could it happen
I talked myself into a prison
with no allowance for parole

Shall  I ever stop doing penance?
Will I one day cease sinning?
"The quality of mercy" rain on us

The Hawaiian islands
once fumed, once smoldered
Presently, they are lush and verdant

Maps That Scream

blue green green blue
green blue green through dark
stainglass rose tints flicker
garden shadows recede in wickers

lips pluck and plucker fleshy around a note surpassed
a Dizzy Gillespie b;ast of trumpet which sets me reeling
down the steep canyons of my past
I feel witty, Missy.  I feel  misty, too.

I feel willy nilly, Mister, and silly, too.
I feel like the wabbit in Alice.  Oh, pray, I beseech thee
leave me not feeling wabbit, for my transformer hums
and my loins are firing bolts of lightning.

Kindly understand that as in the building of a wall
first you slap the mortar, then you set the bricks,
so in the stew of chaos music swims.  In fact.
were it not for chaos, we'd have strait silence.

This in brief, this in britches is the swelling
this time of month that bells the weather.
The name is Maps, my thoughts run rampant
my spring runs rampant and crimson, too.

In The Garden of Mishaps

The evil of which I'm capable
I accept as a given
without taking satisfaction in destruction

I do take  comfort
my grit has not diminished
As old as I am, I still have teeth.

I admire the stealth of snakes
I walk with padded feet
as elephants do in their journeys

I  try to refuge like an owl but not betray location
with random and impulsive hoots.  This poem?
A scratch in response  to an itch

Smoking On The Beach

The sea is a non descriptive shade
of smudged carbon hinting green
as dismal a watercolor as the Atlantic is
the grey of weather lays heavy on us

Except for the the blue kite flapping above
except for the brown sand surrounding  us
everything is essentially clueless

In this state of passing absence
a man on a dune takes in the impending rain
he smokes a Camel, a brand whose slogan was
"I'd walk a mile for a Camel."

Smoking on the beach against the drizzle,
the cigarette sputters and one is left to wonder
the lengths people go to find relief

Whispers

Whispers will dress verbiage in fine raiment
Whispers will render more hits than misses,
and whispered joy often sounds like blown kisses.

Yet, in no way is anger downgraded when whispered
but rather as knives on stones are sharpened
outrage whispered speaks muffled and in hisses.

Evil

When not stuffing her face
she's feeding her ego
A monsterous ego is evil

Promiscuity

F -  for la Forza del destino
U - a Universal predictment is libido
C - Consensual does not justify
K - where love lacks, lust Kills

Promiscuity is sick sing
sung slipshod

Longevity Tips

Drive like a senior citizen.
Walk with a swagger
as if you're a kid

By all means
watch out for the speed bumps
and opposing drivers on cell phones

Song of Sums

It smells of curry
It tastes of cumin
"It "being what?  It being informational therapy.
"It" being images which take me back to island roots,
to dancing shadows in the cane rows of when I was young.

The winds gust in the vocals of the Coconut Range,
flapping banners on bamboo poles, fading  farther into evening's blade
the bade of  hours, the bade of dogs till arises the bantam cock once more
who mimics the Sun, that Sun of the  tropics who ruffles feathers everywhere.
I hear a loose galvanized roof flapping in the wind.

A train approaches, on board a beefy conductor of the British Empire
He could be one of the Queen's Guards dressed not in crimson
but in black, in his eye a twinkle, on his cheek the burnished mark
of they transitioning into West Indians.  I hear the click clock
of iron wheels on iron tracks.

The Beef Eater's children will jump Calypso as so do our Children
African and Indians. If one reincarnates 10,000 times,
how profitable is it to recall previous experiences?
DNA tells on us regardless.  Race is culture,
biologically speaking.  I hear the accents.

The some of totals in their particle states continue particular.
Song of Sums is, every living thing lumped together,
every pebble, every man, every woman, every infant
in spurs of birthing I hear.
The loose galvanized roof, I hear

Spoken Softly

Life is simple

It does not need to be complicated
I found a feather on the early
a cat may have eaten

Do not mourn over the lover who left you
Nor begrudge the cat who has to hunt to eat
Be like the morning, rejoice in Creation

Life is simple

World's Tallest Women

She's the tallest woman ever scene,
three stops up the flag pole, maybe more,
not much of a head from that I can see, a  bowling ball
perched pyramidal, a bald headed eagle on top of Mt.Whitney,

We meet at a function for snoots and degenerates.
A fag, who purports to be a fashion designer,
insists he spray my face with his designer laced scent.
I says to him, "How do I know you ain't CIA?

You wanna do me a flavor, roll me a joint,
and you take the first drag... just in case"
At that, Designer (masquerading as a fairy queen)
does a pantomime fade to black.

In the mean while, the tallest woman ever
pulls from the dense of  her undergarments
a wart of drawings as impressive
as impressive (I say) as Da Vinci's  sketched inventions!

The etches, me Lady, skechet were of train stations
and factories East German crumbling, and in the midst
a man in an Abraham Lincoln top hat. This mensch of zilch
floated on inflated pantalones.

This guy of zeros foretold of World Theater's last curtain call;
"...in an orgy of feasting, Planet smittereens into Big Bang retrofit.'
And in the mean while, the world meanest woman
went missing but turned up three decades later in Warsaw.

Surprisingly, me Lady was now a whole lot shorter than formerly.
Thus, no longer would I have to suffer the indignation of  Femme Fatale
towering over me, and  I having to mount a fire engine ladder merely to catch
a glimpse of the interior of her Roman nostrils.

"Dearest,"  I panted "suffer me to read you these hear verses
inspired by your statuesqueness".  She  retorted pissed;
 "Get Ucked, you Oron!  I  take here the license to self censor.
Why, oh why, do I always fall for the wrong length of woman???

I swear one day,
I'm gonna get me the world's shortest girlfriend,
and she best be no bigger than a thimble.
Now then...where did I leave my leotards?

Days on Earth

Whoever thinks the body is not a prison, ignores that the only sure escape
from its weariness is death. Pain and suffering are the acutest reality
because joy is too fleeting  to seriously consider.

What one needs to manipulate reality is a working knowledge
of  problems at hand, because understanding advances liberation
as well was attested by the condemned man in Kafka's "In The Penal Colony."

A third position holes to all fixed positions.
in that every system, every idea is incomplete and faulty,
therefore, debates to establish absolutes are silly.

Finally, do not permit anyone to know for certain either your fixed
or unfixed positions. Seek solely to be in full command of  your flank maneuvers
in that theater of operations which is Days on Earth.

Flee The Flea

Idleness is miser
Illness is misery

Runaway emotions leech you

Keep losers distant
Beeline it to the woods

Betterment

Many things are best left unsaid

Speaking foul of the dead,
will not bring you wealth.
Lamentations over old hurts,
will not make your bones any sounder.

Poem So Called

In 1939, Poland was pushed into the furnace kicking
There was a creepy man by the name of Hitler

No story should start this way...

Out of the ashes a new World emerged
The poem so called is History

Juice

Why juice
when you can eat the whole fruit?
Have you no teeth?
Have you a barrel for a stomach?

Is This A Poem or What?

Is it Trash Day already?
          Yep!
Another week is done.

Village Idiots

The navy man across from me drives an antique car that sounds like a jet plane revving.
In fact, the antique car brandishes the following sticker: I LOVE JET NOISE.
The 8 cylinder is the automotive equivalent of Town Crier.The navy man's kids
scream excitedly over the commotion.  The Neighborhood Watch, the local  retirees,
are undoubtedly communicating to the Base Commander the idiot's antics.
This where I live, the quaint Town of Pongo.

The house next to Sailor Boy belong to an old timer I've named Plutarco.
On Wednesdays, he sits on the porch making spiffy the rifles he fires on Fridays.
P. talks to his wife as if she's a dog. The couple has an elderly German shepherd
that resembles a sausage. Such a  sausage I swear I never saw!  Every morning,
Plutarco walks his property, head perpendicular to the lawn. Were Plutarco avian,
he'd be a wicked raptor.

On my side of the street resides the owner of a calico cat.
The man has an invalid  mother who appears at the window periodically.
The man  has a girl friend, I call "Rope" because her head of red is a monument
to the lines stevedores use to tether boats to piers. Rope and Mr. Bates are hoarders.
Their backyard is a cemetery of spent appliances and storage vehicles they move hourly
one side of the house to the other.  Neighborhood Watch also has them marked..

An then, there's the village poetess who resides in a make-believe ivory  tower.
That would be me ---the former Miss Riot, the present Miss Piety, so far from heaven lives she
and so close to Pat Robertson's Headquarters.  Oh well, all is not lost, we of Hampton Roads
can also boast Edgar Cayce, America's foremost psychic. I love binocularing people.
it beats warming a pew  full of I'm-sorries.  Could a spinster, sorry for nada,
ask for anything more than to observe the human comedy from high up her ivory idiot tower?

Yesterday and Beyond

Mother and Father Geese on patrol
Young ones feed and rummage meadow
as once did ancestral herds of  dinos

Pines shoot straight arrow
into blueeye wishing well
solar bulls eye oversees

Out of genesis of lake front moist,
frogs catch buggards in rambled bedding,
Buggards are wetland's caviar

Across the pond a would be "panther" stretches yoga on a porch,
content she is no more of big cat lineage.  She's okay with that,
the smaller version domesticated man

Behind the barn, a pair of owls clutches
3,000 rodents in bumper seasons
Owls serve us  kindly.

Life feasts
Life celebrates
life evolves with all its tricks

Train Ride

Hatred hurts the hated and demolishes the hater
Before I am brought to hate, before I am baited again
I will distance myself even if it means quitting my job of years,
and joining the Peace Corp in Kenya.

I'll take a hike and won't look back.

Down the tracks across Planet's pock marked, scared face
Imperial wisdom  laid rails, not just to facilitate commerce
but also relieve the congestion in cities
Congestion begets hostilities...

but damn if the Sowetos don't  keep popping up