Monday, September 1, 2008
Deep in the blue waters.
Called away by adulthood,
We return once more, at last.
The stars glow so dreamily
As we surf on turtle back-
The blonde scientist son,
The brunette mermaid beauty.
Listen to call of the ocean,
See all the wonder in waves,
Hear homing call of devotion,
Feel true love's heartbeat,
Again, again, again, again.
Friday, August 29, 2008
Most of us have never seen a really bad zoo,
But they are indeed out there, just like bad Santas.
Kazakhstan, free from the Iron hand of the Soviets,
Landlocked, in turn land locking some poor beasts.
On a rare good day the smell of water from the
Caspian Sea is carried over on a teasing breeze.
On the bad days, the children of men conquered by
Mongol hordes in the 13th century laugh, point at you.
Photo courtesy of Micah Montague
Monday, August 25, 2008
Left you at Max's Kansas City.
TV band had you, MTV band did too.
Soap opera star made it thanks to you.
You missed the two great ocean crossings.
German bands played loud, for naught.
You never found the hand of Axel,
Nor the sacred palms du Cobaine.
No boy bands could use your full tam.
Madonna could seduce you, but not play.
Clyde Jackson Browne and the Asbury Boss
Mastered your rhythms better than the rest.
Thirteen Popes knew not this sorcery truth,
Pure music that rockers sculpted so deftly.
Bow the bassman, bow the drummer,
Bow the cowbell and triangle ringer.
Fairies sing the night fantastic, summoning fate,
While tambourines play under the mushrooms.
Sunday, August 24, 2008
Went unmarked by any Caesar or Brutus.
The Battle of Evermore was the greatest stand
Mankind had taken to affirm his right to rule.
Aided by an Elf, a Dwarf, a Wizard, and
Two Hobbits unafraid, the seige of Minas Tirith
Destined to be overcome by the forces of
Good, and the return of Isuldir's just heir.
The Witch King of Angmar found his destiny,
Not at the hand of any man, as was foretold by
Glorfindel years earlier, yet his Black Breath was
Smothered by the swords of two fierce hearts.
Éowyn, battle disguised as Dernhelm, a man,
Drove her sword between the Dark Lord's
Crown and mantle, felling him after the
Stabbing thrust of Hobbit Meriadoc Brandybuck.
The Rohirrim and Aragorn's Rangers of the North,
Along with the Dead Men of Dunharrow,
Secured victory after this turning point of the
Nazgûl's death delivered by a pair least likely.
Sing the song of victory to the souls surrendered
On the day the sun was blackened out by Sauron's
Dark forces upon the Pelennor Fields. Hear echoes
Still resounding off the walls of The Prancing Pony.
Saturday, August 23, 2008
Thursday, August 21, 2008
One day he was cutting his grass,
The next his car was gone with him in it.
Everything was left pretty much intact,
According to his ex-wife and bartender.
The only thing missing were his books.
Twenty years passed before any word
Came concerning his possible whereabouts.
Grand Canyon authorities issued this report:
An black backpack was found today in a cave
In the north side of the gorge. There was a
Fluorescent orange sticker across the top.
It is believed to belong to the long
Disappeared Henry 2B555_KL223.
The contents are listed as follows:
One copy of the George Orwell book 1984
With the words "no longer relevant"
Block printed on the cover in red ink.
Three new biographies of Elvis Presley,
A "Cooking and Spying with Julia Child" apron,
And lastly a Frank Booth fan club ID card.
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
Expect ten events to top last year's best.
1. Baptist minister trying to convert a Frenchman in the library vestibule.
2. Bridget Gray's poetry slam.
3. Anthropology class with a real nice guy that played football too.
4. Marilyn Kallet's dreamworks poetry class.
5. Shuttle rides from the Old City after midnight.
6. Mary Moss the happy wanderer.
7. Buffets in the Dark Tower.
8. Gays vs. Haters.
9. Gravimetric maps.
10. Cassie and those magic mushrooms.
On a Saturday night
When the school kids
Noticed the five older guys.
They were wearing camo tees
With the 23rd Psalm printed
On the backs, their names
Embroidered on the front.
Those guys are strange-
Became the kids general
Take on the quintet neighbor
Pin knocker squadmen.
A1, Bo, Leadhead, Jackie, Owleye.
The kids had no way of knowing
That forty years ago Uncle Sam
Taught bowling on troop ships.
1st Air Cavalry Division.
Five men among 450
Airlifted by helicopter to
Ia Drang Valley to seek/destroy.
Three days saw half the G.I.'s
Dead along with 1000 Charlie.
The five bowlers lobbing hand
Grenades down tropical alleys.
They watched each others back
Over 72 hours nonstop, often
Drinking and pissing in the same
Position, gazes fixed like radar.
Rotated back to the real world,
All intact and able bodied, each
Man packing a fifth of Wild Turkey
From a grateful Colonel Moore.
Now they play cards on Fridays,
Bowl every Saturday, and pray
Every night that no other boys
Grow up in a hell like the Nam.
Monday, August 18, 2008
Sunday, August 17, 2008
Winning a golf game
in the outer rim,
Is almost meaningful,
And certainly spiritual.
Milky Way bars sponser,
NASA provides transports.
Tiger Woods IX banned,
(Subspace substance abuse.)
Sometimes the gallery
Is hit by a wild drive, or comet.
No one minds, the food is free.
KFC stays fresh forever in outer space.
Sometimes there are intergalactic Amber Alerts
When stray red haired girls play around event horizons.
Everyone finishes under par, even the cleaning staff of the Motel 6 module.
No one looks too closely at the leader board, the real attraction is at the hole-in-one bar.
Lost balls are never found alone in an Ingle's parking lot.
Lost balls are never found.
Birds gossip in hushed tones,
Snakes slither in tentative arcs,
Tree Stump Jack holds court.
Fox Sam, Boar Ed defendants.
Rabbit Ralph defends the two
Charged with disturbing the gloom.
Creeper Vine Joe prosecutes.
Witness Bird Jay takes the stand.
"Did you hear a disturbance?"
"Yes, I did, last Monday night."
"It was Fox Sam and Boar Ed."
The prosecution rests.
Witness Cricket Kim takes the stand.
"Did you hear a disturbance?"
"Yes, I did, last Monday night."
"It was a will o' the wisp party."
The defense asks for a mistrial.
Judge Jack calls Fox Sam, Boar Ed
To stand and receive his verdict.
Suddenly two will o' the wisps
Drop off a low branch, wrestling.
"Order in the swampcourt, order!"
Fox, Boar masks float forward to Jack.
"I find Fox Sam and Boar Ed innocent,
Banish these two from Drear Swamp."
Will o' the wisps brothers Oliver, Ted,
Ask, "Where shall we go Judge Jack?"
"I'm sending you to a loud place suited
To rude, disruptive talents-Humanville."
Night parachutes through tree canopy.
Tree stump Jack ponders eerie silence.
Fox Sam, Boar Ed quietly hunt supper.
Will o' the wisps find Mankind revolting.
Husband Felix was killed by an artillery shell during
The Civil War.
Daisey Rashomon ranched in Prescott Arizona after
Her father's demise at the Battle of Manila Bay during
The Spanish-American War.
Daisey Buchanan continued to quilt even after
Losing her sight due to a bomb explosion during
World War I.
Daisey Fuentes painted barns for a living after
the loss of her mother on a hospital ship during
World War II.
Daisey Pierce was committed to an asylum after
the death of her son on a carrier deck during
The Korean War.
Daisey Ingram marched on Washington after
Losing her brother in a Cambodian jungle during
The Vietnam War.
Daisey Duke was given a life sentence for murder after
Her son was killed by friendly fire during
Operation Desert Storm.
Saturday, August 16, 2008
Friday, August 15, 2008
Little boy placed in a fairy circle,
Sickly, weak, far removed from firm.
Magic twinkles, sprinkled in his eyes,
Kept Richard Starkey among the alive.
England's war baby grew up amid
Bomb concussions. Young man drawn to
Drum percussions. Became a Beatle
Before achieving a hard day's Knight.
Toured the world, carried Liverpool
Heart, glint in his eyes forever sparking
Love and Peace, no prima donna, no
Professor of despair, just George's pal.
Music makers make music, not drama.
Ringo could fly without aeroplanes but
Never crashed back hard to terra firma.
Sprites worldwide dig his vibes delight.
Thursday, August 14, 2008
Men keep looking out to sea,
Searching with a haunted gaze.
Father tells me to keep quiet,
Mother stays in our cabin now.
We are eating beans twice daily.
A whale chase happened Monday,
Some exciting tag game ensued.
Captain's crew in a longboat, shouting.
They didn't catch Jonah's captor,
Men cried, such was the disappointment.
Father made me go below again then.
Mother has stopped eating her meals,
She claims to be tired of the beans,
Makes Father and I eat her portions.
After dark, I slipped out to topside,
The men were drinking and shouting
Things about our rudder master, and food.
I tell Father. He takes his flintlock grimly.
We find the Captain near the longboats,
Sword points guiding him aboard one.
Father, grabbed as he fires, drops first mate.
Then, gored by a rapier of fate, Father's
lifeblood drains. I Become half-orphaned.
Captain rebels, gets his foot hacked off.
He, Mother, I, and the bad cook set adrift,
Float four days, rain for food, and that bird.
Shored in our sleep, on our new island keep.
Captain Crusoe, hobbled but able, now pegged.
Friday, I think, is the day we make fire, smile.
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
Yet many people never quite achieve a real touchdown,
Instead feeling celestials that are close, but never too close.
The sad thing is that it isn't even realized at the time,
Usually only in a reflective episode of pain or grief.
Then the Eureka! moment surfaces, sadly already expired.
Walk into a store today and just really look at everyone.
You'll see at least one person that you have in someway
Marginalized, whether it was by either accident or design.
Make the conscious decision to leave your inconsequential,
Stationary, revolving and land upon unexplored countries.
Realize hovering never solved a riddle nor enriched a soul.
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
Monday, August 11, 2008
Mp3 Island is hands down the best.
There's Beatles Beach and Metallica Bay,
(It doesn't matter if you've nothing to say.)
Go to CCR Cove or the Led Zep Lagoon,
(Have more fun down there than the man in the moon.)
Visit Radiohead Reef, then Foreingner Falls,
(Please find a palm tree for when nature calls!)
When the holi-days end and its back to home times,
Just remember to smile/sing your vacation rhymes.
Sunday, August 10, 2008
M*A*S*H was forced to be upbeat.
Sure there was a war going on and
Shortages of blood and med supplies
Constantly had to be addressed, but
There was never liquor rationing,
Willing bimbo nurses not sex eager,
Golf supply difficulties or inabilities
To smile triumph at death’s gloating.
The story got even with them all.
The last episode, highest TV ratings,
The everyman hero B.F. got pierced in
Big membrane and met war’s insanity.
It was lie glossed over, B.J. farewell,
Things ‘back on track’ happyhappyhappy.
Trapper John lived good life later,
Met Gonzo instead of sadly going.
“Seven Dead in Korean Vet Rampage”
Dr. Frank Burns, unidentified nurse,
Walter, Mother, Uncle Ed O’Reilly,
Dr. Sidney Freedman, Sister Mulcahy.
Hawkeye is flying earth circles now,
Clad in spotless white daywear, shoes.
Hidden away from all press, public,
Along with other war heroes gone bad.
Saturday, August 9, 2008
I challenge you.
No more play. Stop being fake.
For once, give more than you take.
Pay your debt for all the broken hearts left in your wake.
I challenge you.
Step up. Say your peace.
Show yourself and the layers beneath.
Free yourself with an exquisite release.
I challenge you.
Speak creativity, be of purity.
Speak volumes of Divinity.
Walk with me strong by my side in faithful duality.
I challenge you.
Man up. Throw down.
Fight for that you seek, value what's been found.
Give me insight into yours so profound.
I challenge you.
Leave the game. Expose your intentions.
Get inside, hold my attentions.
If you dare to know true, loyal affections.
I challenge you.
Touch my soul. Set it ablaze.
Thrill me with your loving gaze.
Reciprocate the force of what our spirits crave.
Prefs, race, weight,
Wall opens for Junior,
Cold girl screams,
Ball game score.
Phone home alone.
Bus back mountain.
Trained to use
Non brain tools.
Red Riding Hood's
Cape and slippers.
Murder to students
Deaf to reality,
Instructors, the bland,
Weak, money drones.
While Ophelia drowned.
Ice water shiver
Whatever happened to
What's her name?
Red skies intersanctum,
Choral note of warning,
Pale dead girl walks
Class to class on time.
Friday, August 8, 2008
Thirteen summers grace,
Pledge pledged solemn.
Stare Moonie, chant.
Blood guarantor grin,
Aphasia muse twists.
The turning away.
Carpe diem little Sim.
Tut, tut, avoid the rut.
High school, low school.
Learn not to burn fool.
Realize the dream.
Thursday, August 7, 2008
Spotted when wrong way quit
Because Noland was coming,
But he won't admit seeing it.
Soft gravel cushions tires,
Keeping Michelin from tracking
Away and leaving the lonely
Crumbled gray heart hollow.
Three baseballs left alone,
Beren gone, roadside burial,
No play at home base now,
Sliding, falling away subdued.
Black eyes looking upwards,
Surprised, frightened, sad.
Camping indoors, no Smokey
To prevent her forest fire.
Indian basement, house romp.
Sister parades, trois enchantee.
Deux hershey kisses traded away.
Calm winds blowing silent adieu.
Wednesday, August 6, 2008
Never had answers.
Vines and roots,
Stalks and fruits,
Therein lay truths.
Seeing beyond p.384
Became the norm.
Halos don't fear rust.
Smile the vert prom,
Hula over the rainbow.
Oxygen clears vision
But always rewarded.
Tuesday, August 5, 2008
Monday, August 4, 2008
There was a clearing.
Beside a granite slab
Grew a magic grass.
Ate this grass and
Lived longer and better
Lives because of it.
One day a wanderer
Was so hungry that she
Chewed some of the grass
After sliding off the rock.
She glowed inside then,
Revived, vitalized, able to cast
Spells, she built a shack on
The border of the glade.
Sick people began to come,
Word spread of doctor arts.
She gave to all that asked,
Happy to share Earth spirit.
Fear caused rum scented
Men to burn her alive at
Midnight Christmas day.
Birds and squirrels wept.
The slab sunk downward,
Like a frown, the grass soon
Browned and withered away,
Nothing now but memory.
Sunday, August 3, 2008
Ran by Rank Holcomb and his wife.
Sunday morning ride down there,
Buy the paper, pay in a cigar box.
Or during the week, buy some gas or milk
Or cigarettes, go in and talk a bit.
Rank didn't say much, but when did,
It was really interesting, not filler.
Sign inside "Guarded by a pit bull - with Aids!"
Rank liked to smoke little Italian cigars,
He first had them when he was in WWII.
He didn't talk about that, but his eyes would.
This bears notice when
Planning to try and get
A girl from there drunk.
Sherry's dad was on the
Bar code team for Big Blue.
Her mom and sisters, I'm
Really unsure what they did,
Other than visit relatives here.
We were paired up by some
Patti Stranger cousin of hers.
A drive-in date was then set.
Double-feature, looming sex,
Action, and dark car privacy.
Pilot stop for beer and chips.
Warning sign ignored suavely-
"Will that be enough?" she
Asked looking at the Coor's case,
Smiling as Miller longnecks made
Counter contact from both hands.
Drive in to the drive-in, metal
Band Accept "Balls to the Wall,"
Cassette playing, she smiled and
Said she really liked that song.
Date ends for me too early,
Passing out before last call for
Concession stand pizza, pickles.
She drives us back to her Auntie's.
Wakes me up and kisses me
Goodnight, smiling as she invites
Me out to California to visit.
Home James, I whisper inside.
Next day I go out to clean
My car, not a sign of last night's
Beer, chips, nuts, and fumbling.
Fuel tank filled, carpet spotless.
California girls, well one at least,
Showed me what it was like to be
"Drunk under the table," proper.
Zander's ex sure did it with style.
Friday, August 1, 2008
Waning days of summer vacation, blinking past.
A need for Oxford welled in my bones,
So a road trip ensued while OPEC laughed.
What makes a state but its people?
The landmarks, the history, the smell
Is not the tipping point of its essence.
The 'pians I met took me back, too far.
Roadhouse tavern had gallons of beer
Cheaper than motor fuel, and a barmaid
Holding Helen's beauty captive behind
Eyes like twinkling binary nirvana bound.
Offset by that bastard cousin hate,
Reared in realtree camo, uttered drunkenly,
"That nigger thinks he's a White man."
Man's damnation, the vilification of his brother.
Thursday, July 31, 2008
Six smoke spires.
One was family Rajek,
Two was family Gunther,
Three was Anja,
Mystic seer, apothecary.
Four was clan Breckze,
Farmers of the soil.
Five was clan Hrothgar,
Cloth and clothing artisans.
Six was the clan Grastle,
Cattle herders and goatmen.
(Four score hill huts,
Gone now, trace erased,
Owed life to this rubble.)
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
Another in a pond now covered by a highway,
(Not the water body the white thing came from.)
Also an orphan in a musty hot room upstairs.
One in a door held shut by a friend,
Another on a sleepingbaglandscaped parlor floor.
(It was rolled up and denied further camp breaks.)
Also a bloom dropped on Big Brother's record rack.
One in the Homesteads on a November day,
Another outside Allison Hall, in the parking area.
(Why did you wait till then to reveal yourself?)
Also a bud aborted at the end of a muted phone.
One in Athen's public housing projects,
Another inside a shed, hiding from truth in summer.
(Its Faulkner's fault for creating Caddy, I swear.)
Also the blossom lost when the grande dame fell.
One in a sick room, smelling of hushpuppies,
Another beside a lake formed by a land baron preacher.
(There was little joy abiding in/surrounding that fancy home.)
Also a bloomer in a trailer bedroom on Snake Pit Road.
There remains one flower still carried, not yet cast away.
Whether it may reach mighty Everest's summit,
Be pressed between the covers of a library tome,
Or merely dropped into a six foot plot remains unknown.
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
The lush foliage was everywhere at once
As a rhythm beckoned, then weaved forth.
The whole 1936 entourage strained to
Hear the nascent jungle song playing thru.
There was a classic elephant polka,
Then a merry, happy, parrot waltz,
Followed by interpretive opera by
The Hippopotamus Tabernacle Choir.
The Gorilla orchestra was readying to
Conclude the evening’s festivities with
A tribute to Mozart in monk e minor, when
The rapture of the wild occurred.
Our party of Baptists, Methodists, and
Church of _____ burst the backstage,
Offering paradise rides via our Browning
Rifles, glad to share the American Dream.
I woke, relieved/saddened in the knowledge
That modern man seldom needs to haunt the
Dark continent to commit such death atrocities.
(We have target schools and churches nearby.)
Monday, July 28, 2008
They could see further than the rest of us.
Solution? Build a treehouse if you're young,
Wring hands and mutter if oldness clouds eyes.
Platforms ten feet high
Rival Versailles, Taj Mahal, Parthenon,
Childhood imagination multiplied
Exponentially, reaching to the sky, understanding.
Fe, fi, fo, fum, I smell supper and here I come.
Beanstalks stayed in the garden, but books came alive.
Reading, dreaming, thinking-free of the need to be jacked in.
Walk the first timeline on the shores of the undiscovered country.
Sunday, July 27, 2008
Fresh water, plenty of fruits and coconuts.
Weather beyond the dreams of meteorologists.
Discovered by Britain, France, and Portugal.
Shunned by all and marked 'off-limits' on international maps.
Centuries past new footprints in the white sands.
Birds know the secret but they aren't telling.
The cathedral ruins on Hill Montesquieu, gold reflections.
A retching bell toll when the south winds blow hard.
Man-o-wars lay lifeless off the coral reef.
Horse skeletons still crumpled beside the aqua verde lagoon.
Cave opening barricade of steel and stone still holds fast.
The seal of a queen and two kings clearly embossed upon the arch.
A warning in English, French, and Portuguese metal stamped-
"Imprisoned herein are the Children of Judas, be ye gone at once."
Saturday, July 26, 2008
Yet relevant to us all.
The great process of furthering
Upright posture, and formulae mathematica.
Just one more day spent in our creation
Might have enabled true spiritual abilities.
Still, we can be content to have a stable and
Secure place for our suppers and remote controls to abide.
Plus, we can exhibit a passion in being able to multiply,
Recite pi to 16 decimal places, know the square root of two.
For all that, humanity can no more realize its inner abilities
Any more than a fish could be Vardaman's true mother.
The great compromise- plasma TVs, espresso love, and tons of mp3s.
Its impossible to learn to swim without getting in the water.
There are somethings you miss out on that others get to enjoy.
Then again, you see and do things that others don't get to.
The good thing about being young is the ability to enjoy without prejudice.
The bad thing about being young is the absence of the danger gene.
Carnival set up in an open lot becomes a community gathering.
People and metal conglomerations previously unimagined.
Cheap entertainment, traveling by moving and not moving.
Confidence in the belief that nothing bad could happen to steel.
Grown up worries about a drunk carny forgetting to tighten looseness.
Prisoners of our own minds, even lawyers end up in old folk's homes.
Thursday, July 24, 2008
Clyde Barrow never quite grasped the concept.
Captain Smith, of RMS Titanic, refused to have a clue.
The meta urgency which emotional situations construe
Give shallow brutes the false hope of forced truth. So
Tragically unsurprising when they are petard hoisted.
purgatory deposition #1958
"She was out of control, we had no choice but to lay down
Strips,"(bag her, beat her, drop her off at the funeral home
Where the crimes against nature originated before Rome.)
"Here comes Fallon, I'd like to see her face when the tires blow.
Whoa, why did she cut this way, run Mushie, run...my God.
Snared by our own trap, I'll take your payoff now Mushie."
the fall of man redux
Officer down, Mercedes recovered, Michelin's shredded.
"The good guys win again," boasts www.funeralhomemovies.net,
Sgt. Mush lives on in cinematic glory shortly before the V incision.
Moses knew the score, because Charlton Heston played him once.
The third tablet that broke back mountain had the universal warning-
"Soylent Green is people," wrongly recounted by the sage, overwhelmed,
As "Soylent Green is pork," hence full damnation of all knowledge, the
Junkie's inability to resist spike strip tripping to force the "right" outcome,
Even though each use poisons all of society, eating our young slowly, like acid.
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
Inside my open foyer, there stands a tree.
Never wants for water, that I can see.
Looks more like a dogwood, if you ask me.
A buzzing friend makes visits, a tiny bee.
Had it when I met dear Sally G,
Quiet, gray bark tower, demands no fee.
Only thing left here by ex Ms Lee,
Never did know why she quit our we,
Now’s the time to make a simple plea,
Without all that pomp and repartee,
If I ever seem too fancy free,
Don't let me rot in that complacency.
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
Monday, July 21, 2008
Serves as a backdrop
For things drivers want,
Oftentimes don't want.
There's litter, trash, waste.
Signs, signs, everywhere signs.
The lifeless, beloved pet.
Risk taking opossum, rabbit.
Walkers and occasional riders
Mounted upon manure belchers.
Broken down Ford, Chevy, Dodge,
Never a Mercedes, rarely a Honda.
Lost caps, we laugh inside at those,
Lost shoes, we laugh a bit less hearty,
Lost shirts, we wonder what lay beneath,
Lost shorts, perhaps a bad thing happened.
There is death by water,
Seldom marked by a buoy.
There is death by fire, and fiery things,
Never monumented, often graded over.
Nevertheless, the snatching away of souls,
Via the highways, the by ways,
Inspires the bereaved, or the pretenders,
To mark that death spot as a tragic waypoint,
The final destination of someone they
Loved, or should have loved better.
A shrine, now sharing time with road crews
Lunching and flower thieves smiling.
The time will be here soon that cemetery
Plots will have an information kiosk
Built into the headstone with an LCD that
Will give mourners a full biographical-
Favorite charity, pet's name, surviving
Family, all the isms the corpse enjoyed.
A USB port to download this Virtual Life,
Including GPS of death/spot/road/cross.
Sunday, July 20, 2008
Your stem still wet
From my kiss after break.
Am I your best owner?
I want to think so.
Can it still be special for you?
Worn oasis silhouette carved on
Your firm, ample bowl suggests
Knowledge faded over time.
I will preserve you,
As you preserve me,
Together we will co-exist, succeed.
Tony Montana was a democrat.
I won't machine gun my quorum.
He was weak, you/I are strong.
You smell lovely, still on my fingers.
Never interrupt my true desires,
You are all that I have become.
Someone got run over, they were careless.
I never ride a motorcycle, or eat shellfish.
I want to stay with you for a long time.
My last friend wanted to steal you from me.
That's why he eventually fell aside, no IDea.
I rent my friends now, Frankenstein made his.
Someday my ashes will be in you,
For the false loves of my life to inhale.
(I'm getting smaller, so I can fit there.)
I dreamed that you dreamed of me.
When the lighter hits you a certain way,
You smile shyly at me, the flame dancing.
Love is our special bond, our vial of truth.
I wonder why you didn't find your match
Sooner, but know you hate the weakness.
That girl you died with, what was her name again?
Alone in a parking lot, her lips blue like your lip.
Who left you there on the pavement, beside her car?
Why do I care? The police didn't, her "friends" didn't.
It must be you, you loved her, didn't you?
Is that her I taste when I taste you?
Is it my fault they didn't get that fingerprint
From the coworker that sold her the bad dope?
I wanted to be a hero, but had to get high first, was all.
I should leave you on her grave, but you need me.
I know that it would be a betrayal to our relationship,
So...I'll keep you, let the hollow girl stay earthbound.
That curious tattoo stamped on your shank,
Still causes me to wonder about my ex-dealer,
Considering that both of you were made in Columbia.
Finally, its my time to smoke you again.
My cares for the world and justice that matters
Disappear and fade, like trees in November.
Live in me, live with me, live for me.
Never leave me, even if I drop you and
Die in my car, alone in a parking lot.
A peony for your thoughts.
Iris of the soul.
On the third day, he rose.
My sweet buttercup.
What a daylily.
Don't fear the snapdragon.
The USA was once a carnation.
The gentle breeze from baby's breath.
Popeye loved his Sweetpea.
Begonia, I donna wanna see youse again.
You were my morning glory.
Why did hollyhock her foxglove?
Was Heinrich from Austria? No, he's a geranium.
When a mermaid marries, they ring coral bells.
At insect communes they smoke butterfly weed.
I canna see why bee stings need bee balm.
Smokers feel red salvia for their great mistress, nicotina.
Lantana is not the capital of Montana, Helena.
Sorry, but Starkist prefers the more tender, petunias, Charlie.
Hosta la vista, goldenrod.
I liked the show because you liked it,
Never was interested in it until syndication
Brought it into the house every evening at
7:30, as regular as the moon phases.
Then Sam and Company became part of the
Ceremony of closing down the day, day by day.
Weekends marked by the absence of Diane, Woody.
Gap filled by special treats, conversations.
Baby Weekends were the mainstay, before
Your bed was your world, and afterwards.
Hush puppies barked signs of your stroke,
At the end of one of those joyful times we had.
Television became even more of a family member,
Never too tired, worried, afraid to talk, offer solace.
I should have done more, and now when I hear
"Where everybody knows your name," I shift.
Drift away, to the times when we could talk,
Be together and have the comfort of each other.
Now I know how much Coach was truly missed,
How hearing a TV show theme can bring tears.
There comes that day for each of us in our due time,
When something as passe as a television set is
Suddenly empowered and bloodlined akin to a
New, fervent cousin, resolved to keep us company.
When no else will offer aid or encouragement,
The cathode ray, or perhaps LCD veil perseveres.
When death has me but postpones taking his bounty,
Deferring to play a while, as a cat with her mouse,
My hope of redemption lies in a steadfast belief,
A personal conviction, that I will have a good show
To ferry me slowly across the river Styx, not the
Hell of a reality show in a nursing home.
Friday, July 18, 2008
Humping the boonies.
No penicillin, morphine, clean water.
Lots of reefer. Lots of time.
No sign of Charlie, not yet.
Dawn patrol, three men, three joints.
Snakes, lizards, birds watch us toke, walk.
Napalm aroma carried on a tropic zephyr.
We shunt it out with MaryJane,
Go back to Bama, Georgia, Tennessee.
Dream of girls, parents, football Saturdays.
Three months left, three months too many.
Sleep shivers, too nervous to even pee straight.
Map lost again, but no sign of Charlie.
A clearing, contrails form three crosses overhead.
Wounded water buffalo staked in the glade center.
Huey sits down beside it, camera guy snapping.
He waves us over, we climb in, fly home.
My feet are warm, when did I get shot?
No sign of Charlie, Momma is on the porch.
Similarly to the felling of a mighty oak.
The person remembered briefly
By the outline of their family, works.
The tree fleetingly marked by
A remaining sawdust circle.
Temporal imprints, shade givers,
Some birds know the truth,
But they won't tell anyone else.
Dreams of virtual sheep,
People we know we have met before.
Places we know we have been before,
Familiar tree lines, rustlings.
Rotted stumps and jawless skulls
Continue the unending dialogue(time).
Yorick, reunited with Hamlet, joined by each
Casualty from this Battle of Evermore.
Here among us, beside us, whispering,
"There is no spoon, there is no spoon."
Thursday, July 17, 2008
Did you say something?
I don’t here hear a sound.
Is this comfortable?
I thought so but no know.
Loneliness a prime number?
The equation is duly dulled.
Did you walk the narrow?
Red footprints, now embalmed emblems.
When did the cold win?
In the quiet quiet night night.
Oh! What couldn’t be,
That that that should have been.
Sewn grin gleaning glamour.
Sharp tongue carves thy the,
Wednesday, July 16, 2008
When I was there I was here.
I asked you to speak and you said drive.
I drove and then you said to back-up
And park between the aisles.
The smiles all faded with the prices
That kept coming down to the point
That I asked you why bother steering them
In the first place and you said reverse.
Now the volume is equal to the torque
And I ask you again why it matters
And you say that it doesn’t have to
As long as the price is lower.
13 plus 13 plus 13 is where you won’t pass
Rev up to the red line, give it the gas
And parallel park next to the wall
Where the shelves shake but don’t fall.
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
Sunday, July 13, 2008
Hallucinations are taboo—but as dreams they can be interpreted and used– Eric Jenkins, 1976
Make way for the Lord!
God is coming thru!
Shouts the Black Man
While landscape fragments
Plop into a chasm.
I drove a truck drunk.
The festive buffet
Table centerpiece hovers—
My Mom’s present,
A tree with lit candles
Girls throwing ball
Beside a pig pond(bog?)
Pigs feet periscopes
Aimlessly upside down,
Jealous puffer fish watch.
I drove a drunk truck.
The jigsaw lane gauntlet—
One car dangles/falls.
Run, help a tipping elder,
But she catches herself.
SWAT-like road crew
Adding chemicals to
Vertical pipes underground.
Steam contrails spew
Covering pig pond ripples.
I passed a Wal-Mart revival poster.
Yellow man want to go home now,
No food here taste much so good.
This sun glows a different color,
Work so much more than he should.
Stay in same old block of city,
Forget when he last saw tree.
Wash wash clothes, and eat bad rice, he
Recall just what means—to be.
Americans, they all come round,
Want much money for unneed thing.
Xan, he have no way to pay, so,
His wife Ming saw took last spring.
Two child still grow back in
Keep wait for come over here.
Papers sign again, then pay again,
Want so more to see those dear.
Three month, six month, nine month,
Hear none more from Goverman.
Find the office, it now closed up
Child shout, “You, go back
Yellow man, he now work more still,
Steam press hiss, it make him red.
Late at night Xan climb to roof, and
Sleep by cat on pitch tar bed.
New suit man he come to laundry,
Say “Must pay to work here now.”
Xan leave job, go to big Bay bridge,
Jumps back home with final bow.
Wednesday, July 9, 2008
Private Leaf mused in November 1916, his fifth and the
Battle Somme's final month of belligerent clashing in France.
Leaf, Cork, and Sgt. Heath, sole survivors of Cheshire Company.
"We have dawn patrol men, along with the South Africans lads,"
Heath whispered in the muck ridden trench. Leaf only heard
Whispers since July's seven day bombardment of 1.7 million shells,
All shouting at first, then diminishing till last day thump thumps.
Dawn drizzled gray blood landscapes in the men's war brains.
One hundred meter forward observation trench the goal,
Observe any enemy movements until relieved by evening squad.
This day an AEG bomber blocked them, forced a tank into their trench.
Sgt. Heath rallied his men to topside, running around the hopelessly
Mired tank crew, some cursing General Haig, others praying to the same
God as the German pilot, seeking Divine Guidance for the bomb drop.
The Cheshire's all stopped and drew down on the German pilot-BOOM.
Leaf was blown back to safety, shielded by Heath's limbless body.
Heroism hounds caught scent of a feel good story and the trenches
Were reminiscent of ant hill cross-sections of activity the next day.
General Haig never visited Somme, dispatched Aid-de-Camp Audrey.
Leaf, not bearing any wound other than a sore backside from his landing
On a rain tarp over the hospital trench section, gained Colonel rank,
Heath's candy bars and Cork's wine, and new orders from General Haig,
Directing him to the rear for logistics planning, the place for real heroes.
Patsy dead several years already,
Father only living with the unsolved
Murder of his young daughter.
The dead don't seek or need
Forgiveness from the living.
They are beyond the realm of
Life's limiting emotions, feelings.
Absolution only helps the breathing.
Timing, the last unconquered manner.
Revile our fellow ho saps like sewage
To justify black hearts that beat savagely.
But when they pass, to whatever place
Death rattles rock cradles, oh poo poo-
The greatness they held in our visage
Becomes tattooed upon all Cain foreheads.
They dead don't accept forgiveness,
Nor do they offer it, they are dead, gone.
The living deserve the submission of the
Grief screamers rather than casket bodies.
Tuesday, July 8, 2008
Circles of fire
Lower us, harsh shore.
“Why are we here?”
The muse nods east.
Rocky cliffs morph castle
Outline, a glow
In the tallest pinnacle,
Resembles fiery gold.
Gwen’s hair drapes against
The window light,
She remembers passion songs
Sung by lovers on sonnet beach.
Wailing wafts in sea breeze,
Songs of tempered temperament,
An essence presence comes,
Mists surrender, revealing Gwen.
Moon gate glows, she sits there, to
Hear her Flemish Poet recite anon.
She nods to her lover,
He sings for her.
Behold your servant.
Life waters flow true as
They near you, the source
Of all that is good, pure, and
Blessed by those residing forever
West, breathe peace with you, my love.
Sunday, July 6, 2008
Roaming the dark
Forests and fields
Before the crack of dawn.
A six pack of dogs,
Living their ancestry,
Under the cover of night,
Paws padding dewed grass.
Beren the Deaf leads,
Followed by Blackberry,
Then comes Bandit Keen Eye,
Rear guard Baby Blue, Blackie, Shy.
They roam youth perimeters forgotten,
Smelling, hearing, seeing that world.
Beyond the rooster farm, the quarry,
The cave, and the tree house ruins.
Screech owls watch them intently as
Wood sprites reveal fresh gossip,
"Another two leg was in trouble, but
Found his toddler way out of a cornfield."
"He who walks behind the rows
Took his disappointment out on
His snake slaves," the fairies merrily
Sing as they dance in a firefly circle.
Treats from beneath the toadstools
Are shared with the dog friends
As Blackberry tells a story about
A cat, a possum, and a scarecrow.
Lee dogs sense first light breaking,
Cue to begin the second half of the outing.
Beren nods and the rest fall in line,
Trotting leisurely back to the fat man's house.
Young, painful, lonely, hopeless.
They are the truths, survived by liars,
Living remnants afraid of their end time.
(Flourishes are added to death notices
With the judgment of a blind painter)
Went to be with Jesus,
Lost his brave struggle,
Taken by the angels,
Was called by the Lord,
These phrases might as well be from an opium dream,
Rather than accepted, expected, repeated until believed true,
Death takes the Field General with no more honor than the stray cat,
The murderer the same as the mistreated horse.
Glory lies in the life that was known, the spirit experienced,
Not a hoped for story ending of the Brothers Grimm.
Burn me in a ship like the Vikings of elder days, and spare me the
Details of my arrival in Valhalla that are unknown on this plane.
Grief leads us to want to see the best, hope the best-even have a picture
In the paper beside the noble, eulogized person now serving as an ether bag.
A lost baby, missed more badly than words were created to express,
Remembered with a horrid picture of the very child squalling its eyes out...
The center does not hold.
Saturday, July 5, 2008
With a swastika heart in winter,
Or an English charge against
Washington's army at Philadelphia.
What happens today makes the cycle,
Not last week, last year, last life.
Civilized hearts seek battlements
From failure of style over substance.
True champions seldom seek the
Glory earned by their good measures.
Save our nation, our selves, each
Generation, known yet unknown.
Deny these best the spoils of victors,
Remains our status quo gambit.
The honor lies in the service,
Not the server, soldier, or child.
How else could Ben Franklin not be
President of the United States, after
Gaining unlikely monarchy sponsors
For rebels to overthrow a monarchy?
What other explanation for Mel Brooks'
Absence in state governorship as
Reward for a willingness to show us
The trap of bigotry and racism?
Some heroes have to be assassinated,
While others are marginalized, diminished.
Still the spirit these men enable outshines
The evil that men do, or good they fail to do.
Friday, July 4, 2008
See changes, realize loss, 3am memories.
Changes starkly present after obit gander.
Realize urges to look and underdstand.
Loss nags in undefined template desire.
3am wake-up, know-don’t know.
Memories filter, visions render waking questions.
Smell brown skin against comfort sheets.
Brown eyes glistening from inner dreams
Skin bending aroma, earth spirits shower
Against soul canvas, balanced between chakras.
Comfort rings descend filling voids, wafting
Sheets of familiar scents transport time.
Hear sirens drawing thoughts, Warhol time.
Sirens harbor your message of love.
Drawing blood for ink, writing your
Thoughts over the bow of my evermore,
Warhol gives you fifteen minutes of
Time to sing a sea body electric.
Touch rainbows, feel colors, grab hues.
Rainbows of thoughts arching mind skies.
Feel strain-bars separate racing parallel
Colors, adjacent yet independent, ready to
Grab attention, give impressions, deftly shade
Hues of passion, pain, service, comfort.
Taste metal flavor dream cake candles.
Metal pieces, strong magic, coppery undiluted
Flavor of life, bell-shaped paperweight.
Dream flowing lava, pulse radial over
Cake walk promise, made for lighting
Candles beneath the death winds rage.
Feel waves carry thoughts home again.
Waves crest ideas, cover minds beach,
Carry the unbottled message sprites gliding
Thoughts across Adam’s easel. Return
Home. Welcome the tragic, create hope
Again, rebuild using twelve point verdana.
Thursday, July 3, 2008
Change of seasons, change of pace,
Knows a desire that resides far
From hurried moorings in place
To protect, yet prevent what we are.
A story is made present
Each new day, it starts then ends.
Distracted, we scarcely scent,
More than the punctuation trend.
Oracle of occasion –
Rent the trappings away from the drear
Comforts of disdain, and shun
Lens that see only glimmer.
Wednesday, July 2, 2008
Dancing figures swirl above the sands as the moon winks her silvery eye among the doting clouds. The night is full of Mayan magic. A figure of sparkling circles is propped against a Joshua tree, savoring the enticement of his prickly spines.
She remembers leaving footprints on the bank after trembling in the rock spring, basking in shafts of sunlight all summer long, watching that man with the hungry eyes. He was looking for gold, didn’t consider her offering more than Mexican hospitality.
Family outcast, Esmeralda is the queen of these badlands where only stick cattle grow.
Blowing gusts from
She sleeps on a tor, atop the treasures the pale man sacrificed his family to search for.
The south wind whispers “It’s Mariah”; the two swirl, lovers in time now. No man understands the comfort which the wasteland offers those that linger in her recesses, or why a tornado visited
Tuesday, July 1, 2008
When owls know your name,
When sounds bleed and shriek,
Its time to know.
When moon stares,
When road grumbles,
When bridges take your picture,
Its time to know.
When concrete glows,
When cat's eyes blink,
When the refrigerator man dies,
Its time to know.
When the red fern pulses,
When the optimum period dots,
When the midi trumpet blows,
Its time to know.
When the waterfall steams,
When the fruit trees run away,
When the phone continuum ends,
Its time to know.
When the anthills purge,
When scrap metal prisons empty,
When its many beers past midnight,
It's time to know.
Monday, June 30, 2008
She remembers leaving footprints on the bank after sitting in the rock spring, basking in golden shafts of sunlight all summer long, watching that man with the hungry eyes. He was looking for gold, yet didn’t consider her offering more than Mexican hospitality.
Family outcast, Esmeralda is the queen of these badlands where only stick cattle grow.
Blowing gusts from America carry songs and messages to her from that Promised Land.
She sleeps atop the very treasures the pale man sacrificed his family to search for.
The south wind is named Mariah; they are lovers in time now. No man understands the comfort that the wastelands offer those that linger in their hidden recesses. No man understands why there was a tornado in Kansas on the day that Judy Garland died.
Sunday, June 29, 2008
Sing joy harmonic
As worms draw near.
Shallow wells sustain
Both cloudbursts and apathy.
Imagine the brush chosen to
Color your birthday canvas,
As Boomer heat-vision
Sears the new unknowns.
The smothering DNA sacks
Meander across the universe,
Gray stars bereft of twinkle,
Gaze barrenly, like trees in November.
Stay inside, watch reruns, and
Listen for air traffic while
Indian boys haunt parking lots,
Playing ball way past dark
(with the heads
Saturday, June 28, 2008
Go visit the Tate Museum.
If you feel essential music is dead,
See Garbage in a converted Church.
If you feel modern literature is dead,
Get to know Stu Redman and Nick Andros.
If you feel that movies have lost their edge,
Watch Heath Ledger in The Dark Knight.
If you feel anything at all but real hunger,
Be thankful you aren't in Africa's death hug.
If you feel lonely, you are still alive,
Enjoy beating Captain Trip's time bell 4 another year.
Friday, June 27, 2008
Some yelled, many cried.
Some stayed, many went.
Some killed, many killed.
Never sued a neighbor,
Never had road rage,
Never defiled the land,
Never defiled their race.
Will they be in Heaven?
Will they be in Hell?
Will they have Nirvana?
Will Geronimo be Sainted?
Thursday, June 26, 2008
When its really hot out,
And something cool
To eat sounds so good,
I remember what you liked.
I fix a mayonnaise sandwich,
Eat it, wishing you were here
To eat one with me, and talk
About another week gone by.
It now tastes sweet and bitter,
I doubt I'd think of having it
To eat were it not for those
Happy, happy memories of you.
No steaks, ales, or fancy treats,
Required a place in the meals
To eat, when you craved rest,
Snack on the porch after dark.
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
Things are parked facing white square.
Picture beamed from low bunker house as
Food lines meander when dark reawakens.
So many good things to have to eat.
Sometimes get petted or spoken at kindly.
Not many mean men like other places,
Many walk sideways and laugh and fall.
Singing, crying emanate in turns,
Especially from the back row right side,
Where night light yellow bulb is dim.
Hedgerow shadow deepens night's void.
Sleep when sunrise yawns over tall pine trees,
Everyone gone, vast empty wasteland all tilts
To whitish bare square, pale in the glow of day,
Marked T.L. + B.M. bottom corner, red spray.
Monday, June 23, 2008
Visit church and cemetery at night,
Learn to drive without headlights.
Pass in curves and stab the brakes,
Be the first, first alive at the club.
Stevo sitting in with the house band,
Rifts more meaningful than Apostles.
Good smoke mixed with bad smoke,
Guitars screaming like seizure tires.
John leaves to wash his ride, alone.
First place his only bona fide friend,
It serves him well but very briefly,
Not company beyond the journey.
Wailing reverbs the back corners,
Light twists away, shy to illuminate.
Only two can know this moment,
Moment fleeted away to
Sunday, June 22, 2008
Attracts flying critters daily.
Never tiring of the fruitless
Circle, hover, flit, touch.
Dogs eat the plastic leafs,
Cats scratch the poly bark.
All creation accepts pretender.
Why then don't I?
Angered, those fliers cause
My disappointment when
There is no sweet scent
Smelled thereafter sight.
Dominant species needs
All five senses duped
Rather than one, or two,
Maybe three like teeny gnats.
Do you love the same way?
Saturday, June 21, 2008
Been dark inside since the break.
Banned from the robot bar,
Feeling pathetic and angry.
Think about cool shrimp salads,
Back before the vegetable ban.
L58 had that hologram phone
Just days before the transfer.
Where are the Druids in this forest?
Working graveyards at Lifehaven?
It there not a tree worthy of worship
Growing in this nuclear park?
Shooting star arcs the twilight veil,
Murmurs of lost sopranos echo
Over the dull electric hum of overseer
Cameras hovering near bodies in motion.
Take a vial of pond water and add an
Instant Jager packet, wait a triple sec,
Down the import delicacy slowly,
Savor the equinox, curse the fear.
Dark fullness now, artificial life cocoon,
No you, no he, she, or it for company.
A cyberdane barks erratically close by.
Creech bugs rhythmically crawl formation.
Virtual fireworks begin to explode
Beyond the realms of consciousness.
Your constellation darts out, out brief,
Till moon shadow blankets geometry.
Death is time, unchecked by gravity.
Tattoo orbits fade into illusions,
While the blind man tilts his easel
Proclaiming there is no light.
Sleep is a dream only achieved by
Synthetic drinks bought behind facades.
When atomic clocks radiate midnight
I will blink once, maybe twice.
The Last Petal
by Dahl Cook
She loves me she loves me not,
This flower can't tell me what she will not
I scream out for help she don't seem to hear
She won't even lend me an ear
I need courage I have to see this thing through,
Give me courage, at least this she will do.
What good is love none it seems
Just fuel for broken dreams
Only one bullet. it bears my name
It's all my fault no one else to blame
Forgive me, but I know it can't be done
I am holding my gun
I can go soon there's nothing left for me
I pull the trigger, no more I see
The last petal falls… she loves me.
But sometimes red.
Never a vegetable,
But sometimes mute.
Never rooted in soil,
But sometimes dirty.
Never burning a candle,
But sometimes burning bridges.
Friday, June 20, 2008
To the old gold store.
Shred all the pictures,
Paint new decor.
When to stand or sit.
Absolved of conscious,
Meltdown, not revered,
By the soulless fires
Hearts changed, now teared.
No real end gain.
Thursday, June 19, 2008
Richard Pryor fan uselessly throws out facts about his mother.
What is is not what matters, instead the illusion as fact is paramount.
Do today what you can read about tomorrow-to get naked truth.
Soylent Green is people. We consume it in greater quantities now
That we know the secret ingredient. War fuel grows. Disease-laden
Vegetables, television (will not have another golden age.)
Ed McMahon gets turned out and moves to Belgium with his beer.
Demand increases the price for peace, oh why can't we be content
To allow otherwise mediocre, small, bland lives to feign herocity as
We mourn the lost remote control and the futility of half-time shows.
Soldiers hate war because they fight it, we hate war, yet we make it.
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
There is sand in my mouth.
I can't spit,
This sand tastes bitter, thick.
Am I asleep?
The smell of bacon, my home.
I'm so sleepy,
Playing possum now, lie still.
Feel the heat,
Stove must be nearly red hot.
Why can't I get up?
Try to yell,
Mouth won't open for the sand.
It has to be, I'll wake soon.
I was about to get afraid.
Being carried away by a blackbird.
We all float away in this desert.
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
by Dahl Cook
Take me back to a place I've never been
Introduce me for the first time a long lost friend.
Bring back memories of times I never had.
Share my sanity, for I'm completely mad.
Show me open arms as you send me away.
Burn midnight oil in the heat of the day.
Give me sand to quench my body's thirst.
Suck life from me until I swell and burst.
Bury me in winds high above the land.
Be spontaneous doing what was planned
Remember my death as long as I shall live.
I'm sorry my love, don't you dare forgive.
Take me back to a place I've never been,
Stranger, you have been my lifelong friend.
First introduced the Shining Light Companion drawing sweepstakes
Which permeated the Czech capital of Europe during Lent of 1878.
Jan Lotys became renowned for being the first of the sixty nine lucky
Recipients of tax free womanality in that burgeoning city of a hundred
Spires, inspiring a life size statue to be erected in the Lesser Quarter.
Enthralled citizens began shepherding members of eligible single men class to
Causality pens from which their likelihood grew of becoming the next "golden
Touched man" occupier of a plush, blue velvet lined prize examination hostel.
Gilded relatives, all revered potentate winner kin, sailed the greatest branch
Of the fame stream by publishing bawdy, baroque accounts regarding the sex
Life of their favorite brother, son, nephew, or cousin prior to his sanctioned orgy.
Only scheming intervention by a jealous sister city denied a huge multi orgasmic
Explosion from rocking Prague's hills, now nearly soaked with unbridled, influxed,
Single male citizens, when April saw the enormous Vienna Sausage Contest exposed.
Monday, June 16, 2008
Dog caught her brunch.
Baby rabbit zigged when
Zagging was apropos.
Br'er rabbit, were you eating
In the berry patch when
Blackberry caught you today?
(She never captured before.)
Did Grandma Rabbit tell
Stories of gray men picking
Berries, wearing stovepipe
Leggings to sentry br'er snake?
The ping, ping, ping, noise
Coming from the brambles.
Fang meets metal music,
Jam made from a jam escaped.
Cotton tail swallowed down
Child bunny tartar banquet.
Blackberry licks her chops and
Dog smiles toward the briers.
Sunday, June 15, 2008
Stopped to see what
Was hanging in a tree.
Found a specter floating.
Asked me, "why are you?"
Answering, "I am me."
"Its time to follow away,"
Shade hissed in the pitch.
Protesting, "papers are due,
Yard needs mowing,
Clouds unnamed float over
Undiscovered seas churning."
"Matters not the un but the done.
Reason one truth which makes
The stay to continue unchanged
Resplendent in the repetition?"
"Trial of the last century
Is over, yet the verdict
Remains overlooked in the
Chorus of apathy winners.
Fusion the done to the sticking
Point where the song that remains
The same is the song that is
Sung over the blues of truth.
Bliss to the motion,
Creating nirvana expanse
I will the recognition of
The once wasted glance."
Tree sways breeze empty.
Return on the way to
Concert club friend fete,
Write story then forget.
Saturday, June 14, 2008
In the shift from agrarian to industrial,
Is the modern interstate and superhighway
System that negates any feeling of neighborhood.
Back in the day, yeah that day,
When you had a long trip to make,
It meant traveling past unknown homes in
Little known community pockets.
Seeing a solemn, lonely, smudge pot
Along the side of the road near a driveway
Signaled that there had been a death in the
Family that lived there.
It didn't matter that you knew those folks not,
The grief hovering over their locales was known.
Humanity made brief yet necessary connections
Via passing cars and somber hearts.
Now we hop on the interstates or the super wides
And never see anything beyond shallowness en route.
Fireworks, food, and motel signs reflect modern passions.
We gained technology at the price of our birthright.
Friday, June 13, 2008
Get used to low pay,
Mindless jobs, believe
The lie that it matters.
Forced to stay for
Minimum wage inventory
Work 16 hours when 12
Is the usual max they allow.
Go the last 8 without break,
Hungry, tired, disillusioned.
Get off in the early a.m.,
Everything closed, sleeping.
Truck stop got shut down, so head
411 South to Etowah's far side.
See red topped diner descendant
Glowing in the early morning night,
Scotties is open. Scotties is open.
Hell everything good is closed.
2 a.m. crowd is not very lively,
Maybe a few travelers, a few drunks,
One rejected lover, a loner,
Grocery store inventory clerks.
Co-worker, always over dressed,
Looks ready for adventure.
Dress pants and shirt, black oxfords,
I'm in jeans, sneaks, Alice Cooper tee.
Counter girl, cook, and waitress
Wear a perplexed look as we enter,
Out of the ordinary, out of the ordinary.
We are pitiful news in a pitiful place.
Order the burgers and fries,
Wait and sip on our shakes.
The waitress and counter girl
Deliver our food, walking in step.
Like a packaged date, delivered,
They look awkwardly toward us,
Then each other. Food laid down, one
Says "eat hearty," the other "eat happy."
Thursday, June 12, 2008
True love will conquer mortal rage,
Boorish tourist creates a photo op,
Canvassing complimentary trolley stop.
American beer sold, warm in cans,
From racks on top of welcome vans.
The better art works long ago,
Taken away from above and below.
Matted posters of Matrix trilogy,
Steve Martin, and Gallagher I see.
Casablanca plays nonstop, Marie ballroom,
While children are trapped gray cellar gloom.
Continental lunch, burgers and champagne,
Harps playing a forgettable refrain.
Grande piece de resistance revealed at last,
The historical fate of poor Leonard Bast-
The missing chapter of Howards End,
Where Leo found a true French friend.
His ghost still haunts Versailles today,
Calling for Helen "come back, stay."
I depart the palace of old King L,
Wondering if I just saw Hell.
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
Whisked away off the shelf
Over three weeks,
Yet packaging remained intact.
Sterile and moisture proof.
Transparent, but impervious
To the ways of the flesh,
Those wiles of interpolation.
Returned in original factory
Condition and placed again
On that high shelf, wrapped
Away, monotone harmony.
Now peck on modern sarcophagus
From the lonely within, comforted only
By empty beat box, viscose Cello Rap,
Entirely heartbreak and love proof.
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
That stood below a steep embankment
Where the railroad went through our
Little village of Mount Vernon.
Twice a week the train would come through.
Early in the morning before daylight the whistle
Would wake up the roosters and every
Other living thing in the the country.
Later on the train would pass our house
Again as it doubled back to Englewood and
From there it went I never knew where,
But we were always out in the yard waving.
The engineer would wave and blow the whistle
As the locomotive and its cars wound by our place.
Fresh cut lumber was loaded on the flatbed carriers
And behind them was a red caboose with railroad men.
The aroma of the train engine and the lumber
Was different back in those childhood times than
Anything we ever smelled for the rest of our days.
It hung in the summer air for hours sometimes.
There was a couple of rough hitches in the track
Where the coal car would rattle and nearly always
give us a few nice lumps of fuel for the hearth.
The train would always act glad to give that to us.
The railroad men in the caboose were so grand.
Hollering and waving to us as we gathered those
Lumps of coal and lots of times they'd throw hard candy
Down to us and sometimes hair bows too even.
Every now and then there would be some cloth
Scrapes for quilts or some meat scraps for our dog.
Mammy was always so tickled when we would come
Running into the house and carry on about what we got.
One winter right at Christmas there was a Mexican
Family that lived out at the sandlot that never had
Lived through a winter and didn't have much in the way of
Warm clothes for school or bedding for the cold nights.
Mammy and us had made a quilt out of the "train" scraps
And she told us to take that very quilt over to the sandlot
Kids and tell them to wrap up good in it and stay warm.
We didn't know we was poor, and neither did they.
Monday, June 9, 2008
Did you jump? Did I jump? I don't remember.
What was the sage advice at the end of your reign
In that final boss level again?
Everyone shaves, only few realize it.
Words of wisdom purr from the cinematic finale.
You were never juggled by Steve Martin,
Nor were you out kung-fu 'ed by Bruce Lee.
The running time of history is constantly, awfully,
Spliced to make room for our current sponsors.
The truth is out there- embedded in the bonus level of
Sponge Bob vs. Rayden vs. Scooby Doo & the Zombie.
We just never make the connection,
That there is a universal sameness,
In worldwide suffering and angst.
Your name, age, sex, talent may differ,
But your fate and circumstances are alike,
From USA to Uzbekistan to Hedwig,
The loss is just as great each place.
The false comfort that yours is a romantic death,
Disallows the focus of why life had, had to end.
All want to believe that the field is level,
While we know inside it tilts us into oblivion.
A song, a poem, a picture is safe,
To remind the undeparted that you were viable,
Yet very just reasons compelled fate to take you,
Not just an unredeemed dog eat dog world.
Top of Wal-Mart.
Sunday, June 8, 2008
It is so easy to see flaws
When you do nothing but
Watch, watch, watch.
Memory can't taint you
When you never remember.
No sleep, not even a blink,
Robs you that option.
Holding that eternal position
Has formed you into a thing
Undreamed of by the Sculptor.
Exude merely rigidity with guile.
We frolic at your feet,
I thumb my nose at your
Cold stares icy dagger piercing
Shallower minds than mine.
Gaze up at you, dull
Bird guano wreathes
Your head for a crown, yet
None bow for the baxter leige.
Fields you cannot cross,
Carved neath my plow
With a freedom uncollared by
Your bitter, haunted eyes.
Farewell old titan decider,
Purveyor of doubt to souls
Allowing your earwig entry,
Gleaned from odd fleeting glances.
Hesitation powers your pillared,
Invisible hold, and rube charms
The passive consciousness
Many damn 'ed travelers carry.
Friday, June 6, 2008
Thursday, June 5, 2008
Do the winds still blow in your hair?
Can you still do pantomime now?
Does your face show lost years of wear?
Do you still recall the meadow?
Can you still smell all the heather?
Shall we ever lie together?
During springtime's blissful weather?
Will you ever come back over?
Can we ever greet each other?
Willing, nurture the forgotten?
Regrow love without a smother?
Did life's orbit take you higher?
Was the price you paid worth entry?
Did you break your solemn Earth vow?
Does you heart still crave my sentry?
Can I look into the heavens?
Is your answer glowing up there?
Will it be true passion's dictum?
Sounded ere death's trumpet does blare?
Wednesday, June 4, 2008
Bought me some meatless soy Chorizo
Thinking it was a veggie form of a kielbasa
Looking forward to having this tasty treat
Fried up proper in a skillet of kraut.
Fake meat choices are so few to the heretics
Choosing not to eat animals any longer but still
Yearn the flavor and texture and of course-those
Proteins do come in handy now and zen.
So comes the time to prepare the dish, I’m hungry for.
After freeing the generous link from its plastic prison,
Proceed to slice the solitary soy veggie punishment,
Notice that the casing is plastic and must be removed.
Without its barrier protection, the fake meat is limp,
Powerless to hold the shape of a façade slice, so I look
Again at the packaging and discover that this Chorizo
Is a Mexican sausage designed to be crumbled and fried.
I do just that, after browning the soy sausage to rich
Fake brown I add the can of kraut to my international
Concoction and wonder if this recipe is approved by
The United Nations Security Council or PETA.
Feeling quite the jetsetter for creating this entrée
Possibly enjoyed only by those whose love craving
For this type of food dare not speak its name,
I decide that it looks good, smells good, is done.
Upon heaping a generous portion into the dinner plate
Already inhabited by a wedge of fresh cornbread,
I chow down this exotic conglomeration of mine
In front of the TV, an apropos venue seemingly.
Dinner theater-a politician giving a live/prepared speech.
His every smile looks oddly forced, foreign, almost scary.
Resembles electro shock method used to make Mr. Ed
Appear to be a talking horse on the old 60s TV show.
My meal is delicious and I decide that somehow I
Lucked out on this unknown zone confabulation, will
Have it again, so good and agreeable is the flavor.
I solemnly dub this recipe “Guadalajara Goulash.”
The politician keeps grimacing into those eerie smiles
And I realize creepily that when he shows his teeth
It looks very frightening and suggests that he would
Like either to eat some GG with me, or perhaps just me.
Tuesday, June 3, 2008
One day as he was delivering bracing to the harbormaster.
He knew from that very moment that his life had been changed
Won Ver Meers' permission to court the gem daughter,
Urged Father John for apprenticeship in family business.
The carpenter needed to only bide his time until marriage could
Gertrude's eyes would pull him deep down in to a
Timeless place where all was serene and devoid of strife.
Jan could barely do his day labors for dreams of falling, falling
Evening wharf call, Jan saw British ship harbored,
Along the side Gertrude hung from the pier, her two sapphires
Still shining as they gazed directly through Jan from her soulless shrine.
New Netherland was murdered by the British, Old Dutch
New Amsterdam was gone. The crown gained the great colony of
New York. Years later gray carpenter visits the old great wharf, late eve
Monday, June 2, 2008
With their differing foods,
Varying collections of
Ghia sees the emblematic
Shades and colors displayed,
Marvels how similar these
Unique appear with time.
Ghia hears muffled cries of the
Weak and oppressed which
Strangely resemble each other
Regardless of GPS.
Ghia sleeps the restless sleep, only
Postponing the necessity of sadness,
Journeying to a different place-
A same place, each day.
Sunday, June 1, 2008
The sun was shining, the breeze was sighing,
No one noticed the birds weren't singing.
Then the smiles and cracks about not paying the light bill,
Which grew into frightened gapes when word that the
EBS was urging everyone to seek shelter immediately.
Now we are all scavengers for water and food,
The occasional medicine or gasoline a rarity,
Society found time to read too late, too late.
Saturday, May 31, 2008
by: Dahl Cook
Hush, don't speak, I cry.
Hold me, love me, I die.
Life, love, a lie?
Love, life, goodbye.
Crazy, insane, deranged.
Sanity, lost, exchanged.
Denied, shunned, estranged.
Fate, destiny, prearranged?
Tired, weary, lost.
Nerves, health, cost.
Sleep, abandoned, exhaust.
Cold, chilling, frost.
Fading, empty, gone.
Cold, quite, alone.
Darkness, light, drawn.
Guided, pushed, pawn.
Death, embrace, end.
Conclusion, cannot, ammend.
Spirit, flowing, wind.
Fear, falling, descend.
Love, life, goodbye.
Is it because we saw some spark of ourselves in them?
Or is it more like we adopted a part of them into our consciousness?
Does knowing that they have reached some vague finality mirror our dread of it?
You made life more bearable through many a shift,
Many a hard task, many a sad time.
Mel's crew members have been departing this pale blue dot for many years,
But somehow your leaving stings with a more solemn blade.
You lived among a culture that does not particularly reward comedians as artists,
Yet by that same token, we seldom ever blow their brains out in a theater.
You made me laugh, now you make me cry.
Mongo like Hedley.
Friday, May 30, 2008
Armed with walking sticks and packing an exotic lunch of boiled eggs and M&Ms, my Aunt Esta and I would plunge into the forest that bordered our farmland throughout the warm months during my early years. There where many landmarks in those woods, most of them forgotten by me when that troubling yet seemingly necessary haze started to cloud my recollections as I grew older. A few I do recall were Hoot Owl Hollow, Raccoon Ridge, and Possum Flat(or something). Velvety moss provided us with deluxe rest stop seating along the way. After lunch and during the walk home we would hold hands and swing our arms back and forth singing "de oodle, de oodle, de dum dum doodle. De oodle de oodle le oh..." Good times.