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.
Monday, June 10, 2013
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
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
Sunday, June 9, 2013
Juice
Why juice
when you can eat the whole fruit?
Have you no teeth?
Have you a barrel for a stomach?
when you can eat the whole fruit?
Have you no teeth?
Have you a barrel for a stomach?
Wednesday, June 5, 2013
Tuesday, June 4, 2013
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?
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?
Monday, June 3, 2013
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
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
Saturday, June 1, 2013
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
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
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