Sunday, February 28, 2010

Dictation for The Occassion

Has anyone ever told you:
You look like a baboon when you pout

3-Word Poem, Excluding Title

NEST

fly or die

Saturday, February 27, 2010

Painter Prayer

She contemplates the Palisades,
while rendering its structure in mid grays and black;
the weathered cliffs, the new condos upon them built.

She pauses from the canvas,
an exercise which for her,
displacement of inner turmoil
through mind set changes.

The other end of the George Washington Bridge,
the opposite side of Hudson's discovery...
She imagines the ancient canyons neath the river's silt.

Take a break to light a pipe,
but don't delay to return to the Palisades
where she'll be emptied in the painting.
Be mindless, then, but be centered.

And here's the question:
Might the universe be a shell game -
its final mystery,
God's crossword puzzle?

She hears the report from the oven
of popcorn popping
microwavable.

Earlliest Memories

The primary question is survival; Initially,
the distinguishing of edible berries from poisonous ones,
and how to make a more piercing spears.

Art and ritual , I reckon, developed shortly afterward.
I would think that man always had it in him to be poet and brawler.
The sky must have always called out to him.
His reflection in water must have startled.

As language evolved, as he fell down more often
and suffered mishaps, surely, he must have asked himself;
"How did I get in this mess?"

It was then he invented God-Wills-It.
Other possibilites were subsequently explored,
including the quaint one of spontaneous evolution
of the non supreme intelligence kind.

A Useless Argument

Why try to convince the atheists God exists?

They are more than certain,
and so it should stay,
God of Creation does not exist for them.

The Heart of Science

Phenomena of any magnitude may be viewed
as emanating from events rather distant,
or by contrast, related to circumstances more immediate.

By force of imagination, you reach those realms.
By consistent observation, familiarity grows.
In becoming familiar, gaps are closed.

Thursday, February 25, 2010

Brain Jar

One day the grass will be virtual
the difference between virtual and real - similar
the distinction being presence of mind,
and hardly a thing to finger

God Is Good

Who gives cool air to drink
and bonding bodies

Who has studied geometry,
and not seen God's signature in arabesque?

Tuesday, February 23, 2010

Man of The Year

Obviously, someone thought him deserving
to rent a space over the corner of Independence and Providence
and plaster his face on a billboard as big a barn,,
and pose him for the photograph, chin resting in hand,
his cheeks like maraschino cheery-filled chocolates
his hoary head, the touch of cotton.

Based his mischievous smile alone, I would have nominated him.
Man of The Year? Why not Man of The Century!!!
The glow from his sparklers, what fire!
A guy you'd wanna play golf with,
who'd banter you from hole to hole,
swigs of brandy, between the irons to ward off cold.

Willie A. Jerkins, dressed in suit of shiniest cloth
Man of The Century, wearing a tie like a flag worth dying for
Thank you for over three decades of service
Trust and respect
Founder, Director
Jenkins Family Funeral Parlors

Cause and Effect

In me they stir
frantic schools of fin
crazed and shark driven

In me they blend
pain and satisfaction in realizing,
cause and effect, neither one shall suffer fraud.

An opportunity can be lost
as quickly as it was granted
To lie to self, redemption is neither sold nor bought

When then forgiveness...
where in God's creation, amazing Grace?
To sin no further... to live and love forever

Sunday, February 21, 2010

So Be It

I sensed it would go down this way.
The house groans like a woman in labor,
but it is not delivery but damnation.
The concrete slab is fractured
The walls crumble
The ceiling cracks
Hate consumes this house
Hatred brings it to the ground
I can still run but I choose not to
I choose destruction

Saturday, February 20, 2010

Frothingham's Frame

There's a certain deja vu called "holiday spirit."

Throw care out the window with confetti and sparkler
Tomorrow, we return to the hamster's wheel

Neil Frothinham's girth has expanded since new year's counter resolution
He tips the scales at 366

No wonder half the planet is starving

It is Best

It is best to speak sparingly
The trapper tracks your words

We Drinkers

We drinkers drink to punish ourselves

If we are smart enough to know
relief is brief in getting plastered

Scottish Symphony Sketch

Last night I spoke to God,
and said, "i know You speak to me."

And then I dreamed what I should not.

I slept 15 hours soaked and soiled,
then awoke to hear what I would speak.

Amends

To the child in me abandoned
I seek to make amends

There is no reward in being selfish
There is only grief in ignoring needs

Extra Terrestrial

I look forward to leaving soon
I find no gladness on this planet

Thursday, February 18, 2010

At Walmart

When I was a Marxist,
every commie was a comrade,
even the Maoists raising a stink.

When I converted to flower child
LSD was my pledge of allegiance
to love to love --- no money down.

When I converted yet again,
every tea toddler was a friend
Bible carrier, especially, my holy siblings.

Now that I'm senior and wholly retired,
greeters and clerks over age 65
are my true people at you-can't-get-it-cheaper

than at the beautiful and expansive Walmart.

What and How

I know what to do
but I don't know how to do it

Thesis on sainthood

Wednesday, February 17, 2010

Friends and Enemies

Enemies may be made effortlessly
The forging of friendship requires finesse

Sunday, February 14, 2010

They Live

Only should his sonnets never more be recited,
his characterizations not ever staged again,
all traces of his verses erased from books and memory.

will Will Shakespeare become irrelevant,
the same for Moses and Jesus Son of Man.

Saturday, February 13, 2010

Eureka

Enlightenment can come in an instant
So too can perdition
depending on to what you surrender
depends on how well you listen

Freddy Fickle

He who impulsively, compulsively talks
is likely to over indulge in other things
till his mouth fills up with earth forever

Kurayakete

All of one's earthly possession in a shoe box
one's mortal remains scattered to the wind
no greed, no want, no fretting
freedom total and complete

Post Apocalptic Snow

Tiger patrolling in the snow
grub and shrub under paws

From overnight roosts
birds have not yet ground

Only Lover and I around
to praise the year to date

The Lure of Money

Why do I always have an erection
whenever the subject of money comes up?

Wednesday, February 10, 2010

How Many Meows In A Box?

Returning home from work place misery,
as I round my parked car, and stagger to the front door,
a stray cat with a tail like a fur-lined lamp post
sashays pass me like a Las Vegas hooker

I try to shoo it away, but instead she rubs up against my leg
What cruel human abandoned this calico wonder at my doorstep?
Cat, you have a problem, I don't believe in housing hairy creatures.
Call I Animal Control, practitioners of final solutions.

On the other hand, maybe just maybe I can use her.
You see, a rat has invaded my kitchen.
Two days ago, I spotted it, huffing and puffing
struggling to carry an apple towards the chimney.

"Tell you what, Cat, room and board
in exchange for use of fangs and claws."
A win-win deal for Cat and me. Even the squirrels head for cover.
Make no mistake about it, squirrels are tree rats but of higher intelligence.

In January, the weather turns colder.
So, I move Cat from drafty kitchen to warmer quarters.
However, as with human daughters,
Pussy, sadly gets pregnant.

Damn, how many meows in a litter?
This puts me to think again of the merciful exit option.
Call I, Animal Control, practitioners of "no choice"
for 4-legged people?

It is said that cats have psychic abilities.
Tonight, when I get back from work I'll call Animal Control
But just as I round my parked car Lady Terminator greets me at the driveway,
flag pole-tail standing tall

This time, She has in her choppers a rodent more cuddly than rats,
as if to underscore; "The Rat may be gone, Chump,
but you still have 5oo chipmunks
in and about the castle grounds"

Blanket Snow

It unfurls and passes through the open gate,
powdered descends in steps,
floating down through membrane lengths.

It glides across towns and fields,
and thrusts upon me now its first
each flake mountain size

Crystal laced, crystal keyed, geometric sandwiched
in clogs devised, from troughs released
of spills and mills of water wheels.

Its hands are dials of clouded clocks
It puckers up an angel mouth
to kiss a kill with breath of ice

The toothy grin is all of her
The frozen cotton is hers as well
as is the pubis of undergarment

Sound then crisp, but with not alarm, yonder polar cap.
Gong the sovereign's metal. Honor the eyes of the dead.
Seal them only with newly minted coins before cremating

Paint further white their generation frown
Likewise sew their lips of chalk together,
for cold indeed is that bleak winter which never warms a spirit.

Oh, white of shadow
oh, white of stash
Do me favor, this I beg.

My autumn berries...
the least of me
leave not unburied















































































































































Oh, white of shadow
oh, wipe of stash
do me favor, this I beg

My autumn berries...
Leave not unburied
the last of me

Tuesday, February 9, 2010

Inner Me

You're right in being concerned about the rights of man,
universal suffrage and generalities in general
that make for points of light and let's be nice to each other.

But here's the question Mr. Soft-in-The Middle,
do you place yourself at the top or the bottom of the totem pole?
In other words, are you doing all that you can on behalf of self preservation?

I note that often times your sorry ass is so bent out of shape
because of toil and trouble, that you retreat to distant places
of sun dune days and starry nights, and of dreamy, steamy alluring creatures

Yes, you are but an infant telescope,
a one-eye kid peeping through a keyhole,
a child of God, or perchance the spawn of Satan.

Monday, February 8, 2010

Hard Verdict

Human beans are a mess

Octavia, Medicine Woman

"Hey, Hey, Hey," would boom her laughter from the gut
through dusty village streets down to the river,
which out of the forest gushed, where laundry was done
and set out on boulders to sun.

Octavia, God rest her soul,
never had need to correct anyone more than once.
One shout was enough to remedy a stammer from birth,
or reshape the pout of brats.

Other than the Hey-Hey-Hey,
and occasional booms over village thatched roofs,
the Medicine Woman's voice
was barely heard.

Sunday, February 7, 2010

The Difference Being

I saw your scales silver dart
as I dove into mountain lake
I took the path of fly cast line
the bubbles burst from greedy leap

Your feathers, I saw the night before
arrow shot cut short your flight
steely tip enter your puffy breasts
hook of mine pierce your spotted lips

the difference being

Saturday, February 6, 2010

Friday, February 5, 2010

Hay! It Couldn't be Better

I feel I die
I feel energy diminishing
The end result does not frighten us

To die, we suspect, is to be born anew
like on a new day awakening
refreshing and transformational

Wednesday, February 3, 2010

Forgetting Fast but Not Fast Enough

It's near... you wish to think
somewhere there in cobweb tangle
amongst crates and stacks of boxes
amidst reams of verses and bloodied faces
crowded by promises too late to keep or cancel
who has not seen docked a ship-load of problems?

It's nearer than you think to wish
an inch or so beyond your longest reach
a wink closer than you can imagine
the shining path once embraced
then put aside, and forgotten
but entirely not a chance

Tuesday, February 2, 2010

Umbilical Challenge

Do you believe in dreams
do you believe in silver cord
which can take you to the moon,
round trip ticket even further?

Flap that comet tail of yours.
Shake your booty in the sailing,
being what you be,
regal... still a tethered kite.

Shout out bright
shout it strong.
Uterus passage is not for weaklings.
Go forward bravely or go back

from where you're from

Monday, February 1, 2010

What are you hiding, Child?

What are you hiding?

Not a thing, School Miss, you of knotted knuckles,
quick to swing the hickory stick. I knew you then,
when you were fair and young, and moon-struck
and posed before the mirror,
untangling cascading curls
of midnight veils
with teeth of comb
comb of bone
of hard-on boys
in tight fit jeans
the gift of them
the pride of horses.