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Sunday, November 19, 2017

GOD BLESS



3 a.m. on a Sunday
and I'm tradin' sleep for a poem

thinking 'bout all the folks
who will don their Sunday finery
to hang out in a pew
with you and you and you
and you
still don't get it
that your soul is immortal
and not in need of savin'

but sure
I get it
it's a sense of comm
unity
we gather together to ask 
the Lord's blessing

and even though I'm fallin' apart
in my decrepitude
I'm good to go with all of that
don't feel the need
cuz a coupla peeps singing loudly off key
on either side of me
isn't exactly what I call "inspirational"

having said all that
I'll admit I've prayed before
but it's always been 
a white-knuckled
get me out of this freakin' jam
kinda thing 
and by god 
somehow...
somehow...

so let me say that if you don't feel 
a connection
with something larger than
your own ego
whatever you wanna call it
then I have to wonder about ya
as in how did you miss it?
(ah--your head was buried in your phone!)

Goddamn...

my pen is running out of ink
so I guess I'll close for now
but it's been nice chatting with you
and if you don't mind 
I'd rather not ruin my reputation
so let's just keep all this
between you and me

God bless

Tuesday, November 14, 2017

THIS THING



Sometimes

something is there
waiting for you

you don't know what it is
you have to see it
touch it
smell it

you have to find out
what it is
and what it's going to do
to you
or for you

you won't know that until you
see it
touch it
smell it

and even then you will likely
have only a clue

you have to
play with it
let it touch you back

gah damn
what is it?
how did I find it?

you didn't
it was just there
waiting for you
though you may have walked
by it a thousand times before
head buried in your phone
(read butt)
never realizing it was for you
just for you

or that this thing
you don't know what to make of
if you caress it
and nurture it
and let it grow
might just be able to show
you the way
 to a new beginning



Tuesday, November 7, 2017

IN PRAISE OF LONELINESS





Easy come
easy go
I've watched the parade
march in and out my door
the flute players
and the drummers
the only thing they share
in common
is their transience

while I play the silent monolith
stoic
with eyes that must
not water

I see the couples
when I'm out and about
so many of them look
mismatched to me
but at least they've got something
(a roll of fat maybe)
to hang onto through the night

been in that comfortable rut
before
and a comfortable rut
is still a rut
with
ironically
less and less rutting
taking place
as time goes by

does it matter
which life you choose
when there's no way to win?

but

the one thing I've learned
and maybe I'm "lucky"
in that respect
is that pain
is the only way
to feel truly alive



Tuesday, October 24, 2017

MAKING HAY

An encore presentation from a couple years back. If you ain't seen it, enjoy. If you've seen it, enjoy.



I'd like to be mysterious
like some I see who never
respond to comments
but just let you wonder who they are
behind the brilliance of their pen
and though my heart is not exactly splayed
upon my sleeve
it's still up there somewhere
waiting to be played


I'd like to lead a hard life
in the Appalachians
and see what kind of verse would
well up from my underground
all blackened and irredeemable
like a coal miner's fingers

I'd like to freeze my ass off
on the ski slopes
somewhere in the Rockies
and then warm it next to the fire
in the lodge with the sound of
tinkling glasses and laughter

Someone said that a poet
is a whole world
inside of one person
choose your words
and your worlds carefully

But then there is me

I'd like to be the proverbial
traveling salesman making hay
with the farmer's daughter

And I can hear you say
I KNEW something like that
was going to come out of you

That's exactly what she said too



Tuesday, October 3, 2017

BETWEEN THE LINES



Hey
I dunno how to tell you this
but your poem sucks
and so do you

Ha ha
you know I'm kidding, right?
I'm a real kidder, ya know

Oh, and that souffle you made
the other night for the potluck
you BURNT it
and it tasted like shit!

Aw...go on...you know me...
it was DELICIOUS

And while we're at it
I've been meaning to mention that
YOU
have been outlasting your
DEODORANT
if you get what I mean

Ha ha
oh man
I'm such a kidder
a regular Don Rickles in cheap clothing

You know you always smell like a rose

Anyway
great to see you
and hey (whispering in ear)
don't let this get out but...

Your poem sucks
and so do you!
(ha ha)


Tuesday, September 19, 2017

POOP SOUP

Imaginary Gardens With Real Toads--d'Verse Poets Pub









An oldie but goodie! When I read something from a few years back (that YOU probably haven't seen) and I'm cracking myself up again, I say: This one deserves another turn in the spotlight!


ONE

I see...

a home
where the buffalo roam
no more

I see...

a land stained
by the blood
of conquest

I see...

a gypsy palm reader
spitting on your hand--
you spit in her face

I see...

you at the theatre
with your head buried
in your iPhone
for most of the movie
but anyone can see
it's really up your butt

I see...

you incurring substantial debt
for the purchase of material items
that the recipient will neither welcome
nor appreciate
and that is called The Holidays

I see...

You being trampled to death
at a large department store
on Black Friday


TWO

Forgive me Father, for I have sinned...
I wore white after Labor Day
it was kind of an off-white
so I thought it might be alright
no one in my ghetto
seemed to care

Such pretense
when our prehensile tails
are not that far removed

clackety-clack
don't look back

And now Ladies and gentlewomen
here to sing a medley of his most DEPRESSING hits,
the ever maudlin... JOSH GROBAN!

(song playing)

Announcer: We interrupt this song to bring you a news flash...a young woman, listening to our station, has just jumped off her 16th story balcony!


happy
sad
happy
sad
happy happy
sad sad
happyhappyhappy
sadsadsad
the world is bi-polar

(That's north and south, for you geography majors!)

hum dee dum
ya lousy bum


THREE

1st man: Hello, my name is Fu Chow.
2nd man: Pleased to meet you. My name is Egg Foo Yong.
1st man: Yes, I have heard of you...people say that you are a good Egg.


And now, the new craze that's sweeping the nation...SAINT VITUS DANCE!

Round and around
and around and around
and around we go

Take your anti-depressants,
America,
but don't forget the increased
risk of suicide...

EXCUSE ME
but hasn't anyone noticed
that's the exact OPPOSITE
of the intended effect?


Looking for the quick fix
has put us in quite a fix

(Spit on the drug addict
while deluding yourself
that your chain smoking
isn't the exact same thing)


You're listening to Radio KSUK...all Josh Groban--ALL the time...that's right, America, we're JOSHING you 24 hours a day!

(song playing)

We interrupt this song to bring you a special news bulletin...no basketball players were charged with killing any hookers today...


And you wonder why
you have A.D.D.
America,
when there's a commercial

break

every five minutes


Capitalism could have worked
were it not for the
inherent
incessant
need for MORE MORE MORE
built into the human psyche

So go ahead and anoint
your sports teams
as WORLD champions
when no outside teams participated...

You will always be the Earth
that the sun revolves around
until it draws close enough
to consume you in its fire


THIS MIND LEFT INTENTIONALLY BLANK









Tuesday, September 12, 2017

GOODBYE IRMA (HELLO DOLLY)


bummer
in da summer
and you think it's all been
engineered
in some form
or fashion
don't you?

while one faction (the "Evil Ones")
grows more intelligent
to the point where they can
manufacture a monster storm
and pinpoint it to destroy countless lives
as a form of population control
(or so you say)
and another side grows stupider
rarin' to drag us back to the middle ages
when the earth was flat
(but you still loved your cat)

you know what
I'll take all of your theories
with a jumbo shaker of salt...
still more inclined to believe that
MOTHER
holds dominion over a

chest thumping
war mongering
glorified ape

who'd like to think
he's that smart
and that powerful
but can't explain
(as he gazes
somewhat distractedly
out the corner of his eye)
why his world
is turning inexorably
to shit

Tuesday, August 29, 2017

NOW I AM YOURS



I squeezed a peach
at the market
to size up its suitability
and then began to move on to another
when I heard it say
STOP
you have taken liberties with me
and it was true
I had fondled it 
excessively

it said

now I am yours
take me home and eat me
and I thought
how callous one would be
to refuse a plea such as that
from just about...
anyone
I guess

so I put the peach in my bag

and took it home
and now I am waiting
for just the right moment
to consummate our  relationship

(I know it's going to be juicy)


all actions

no matter how trivial
we may perceive them to be
have meaning
all actions have a resonating effect

keep this in mind

and somewhere
sometime
a butterfly
may thank you

Tuesday, August 22, 2017

OPEN WINDOW













From my book: DARWIN'S MOON

the cars
rumble past
and from their
open windows
you hear cackling
or cussing
or some kind
of rap crap
an angry young man
shoutin' bout
bitches and hos
with his finger up his nose
I'm tired of hearing
the angry young man
through your open window
don't care if he's black
or white
I've been that guy
the rallies
and the marches
righteous indignation
like you wouldn't believe
students commandeering
the dean's office
and getting dragged
out by their heels
do you know
how that feels?
there was Haldeman
Erlichman
and Dean
and student bodies
lying dead
on the campus green
hey
at least we stood
for something
besides gangsta worship
all the angry young men
who don't know
what they're mad about
every generation sees
them come and go
you don't live
in the ghetto
and the only thing
you have
to complain about
is your pants
are falling down
and I'm tired
of hearing the
angry young man
railing
through your open window
you think you've got
something to prove
but in truth
you've got nothing to lose
but your youth
so convinced
that you'll always be
the malcontent
but I'll tell you what
it all comes to naught
and a house
in the suburbs
in the end


Tuesday, August 8, 2017

MILO, THE SHIT BIRD



Oh SHIT, man!" said Jerry. "Something just went SPLAT on top o' my head."

Ben looked up. He heard the flutter of wings and a strange otherworldly cackle.

Jerry said, "What the hell was that, man?"

Ben stared at him, deadpan. "I think you've just been hit by Milo, The Shit Bird."

"Milo The Shit Bird...wha-?"

Ben fished around inside his lunch pail to find a paper napkin for  Jerry--the glob of excrement perched atop his buddy's hair growing more pungent by the moment. "He's legendary in this neighborhood. I know the people who used to own him. He's a Myna bird...they kept him in a cage most of the time, and he made it clear to them he wasn't happy with that arrangement. Then one day when they were cleaning his cage, he saw his path to freedom. Took off out the front door that had been left partially open. Ever since, folks around here have reported that they've been crapped on out of the blue--literally out of the blue--because he hovers over them and then it's bombs away, like he was the Enola Gay or something."

 "Geez," said Jerry, who was a poet. "That's kinda poetic justice. Taking it out on random people. He sees them as the oppressor."

"There's some inspiration for you, Jer," said Ben. "You could immortalize Milo, The Shit Bird in a poem."

"It is poetic when you think about it, man. We keep animals in cages. And because we think that's all right, we put people in cages too. Rather than, you know, trying to heal them."

"Sounds like you want to write about-"

"Man's inhumanity to man."

That's a deep subject, but if anybody can pull it off, you can."

Jerry had just about finished wiping the poo out of his hair when the two of them heard the flutter of wings again in the tree they were perched beneath under the noonday desert sun. And before Jerry could duck out of the way...

SPLAT!

Milo, The Shit Bird had struck again. This time the cackling they'd heard before was accompanied by: squawk...ASSHOLE...ASSHOLE...squawk !

"Jesus H. Christ!" Jerry cried. "Why'd he pick on me...TWICE?"

Ben had to stifle a laugh. "He knows your a poet, dude. He knows you're sympathetic to his plight. The only one who could put into words what many of the rest of us are thinking. Poets have started REVOLUTIONS, man!"

Jerry rubbed his stubbled chin, lost in contemplation. 

Ben glanced at his watch. "Guess we better be gettin' back to work, and find you some shampoo and a faucet to stick your head under."

"Geez," said Jerry. "That kinda puts into perspective what my real job is..."

 Ben closed up his lunch pail and gazed into the vast blue sky--the place where epiphanies that hit you like a water balloon chucked by some nasty middle school kids on a rooftop come from. He started off across the park. He turned back to see Jerry looking pensive and glassy-eyed. "You comin' man? he said. 

"Yeah...sure...I'll be along. I just got a lotta shit on my mind."

"Yes, my friend, I CAN SEE THAT!" 

"The world will know the saga of Milo, The Shit Bird!  First, an epic poem, then a children's book..."

Jerry was prancing around, shouting into the wind. Though just downwind of him was where you really didn't want to be.