“Schoolhouse Hill”

Spread the memory blanket out

For a good old days picnic…

No, there was no internet,

Smartphones or silly string, but-

We walked to our own school.

Lunch served on china plates!

Maude and Ruby cooking supreme.

Absolutely the finest kind Hawkeye-

By standards 90210 to Ivy League.

Mmmmmm cornbread and taters.

First grade with Miss Francis,

Learning to cut the tails off little t’s,

Reading “Dick and Jane,” mandatory

Afterlunch nap-spent by me staring at

Sandy Turpin or watching bubbles.

Second grade with Miss Betty,

Spelling Nazi and not shy with a paddle.

Pretty good teacher, just high-strung &

Mistaked having Donnie walk home after

He broke his arm on the chalk holder.

Third grade with Mr. McIntire,

“Friendly Village,” leaf & bug collecting,

Great walking field trips around the

Schoolhouse neighborhood with Red,

A real science teacher and interesting man.

Mr. Rodgers our principle, the speech teacher

Who visited now & then, and the rest all fade.

Larry & Cathy from the Mill Dam, the singing

Mason sisters, Gene & Essie Lands out from

Shoal Creek, Lloyd Hardy-where are you now?

Was the Hardy girl named Loretta? She was

Pretty with her front teeth out and that

Mischievous grin framed by her curly locks.

Where did the whirlpool of time swirl all of

My childhood friends at Mount Vernon school?

I miss ‘em.

“Jaime Alaska”-A Tarantino-inspired ActionPoem

Under the cover of

Frostline clover-she goes.

Eskimo espionagess &

Weekend disco girl.

“The Case of the Grinning

Seal,” gained her boss appeal-

Now Jal has her own secret

Action figure and Idaho home.

“Nothing like a Christmas crime!”

(She is not pleased…no, not at all)

“Why are Japanese Tattoo Artists

Turning up dead in Coke machines?”

Joined by her carry-permit cat-PM,

Bruce Denso-the Ginza Gimp, &

Uncle Rooster from the Happy Gym-

Jal announces her catch-killer plan.

We’ll replace every JTA in the state

With M.I.A. fans armed with socks

Full of quarters, wearing Scarface

Aprons approved by Warner Bros.

MondayTuesdayWednesdayThursday-

“Gotta solve this case, or its gonna be

No Disco for Me!” SUDDEN radio call-

“Trouble at the Starbuck Tattoo Mall!”

Jai & Company pile in her Hummer,

“Is NOT a van on drugs! OK, Dad?”

Hit the scene frosty & deployed full-

Like a Mean Joe Green on Red Bull.

Batter down the door, then see the floored

Bruce Denso, pinned with a boom stick.

“Drop it now or the Ginza Gimp gets it!”-

Dead Bang! Pussy Meow had shot her gun.

(The gun recovered, but not our villain!)

“Who is it Jai?” asked Uncle Rooster…

Jai rolled the body over, frowned,

“That weirdo who hung out at Kroger’s.”

“The Striking Clock”

Measures,

Kept hourly,

Reminders of time,

Signals of elapsed moments,

Harbingers for gain and loss,

Markers of the count and court,

Moments divided into equal parts then combined,

Cauldrons bubbling over with expiring breaths of present,

Stanzas of life uninterrupted by the consciousness of living,

Fiery flickers of inception parading in soldier files of regularity,

Objective insights parsed by regal tones amid both fury and passion-

Oh wonder of memory! Robbed of clock and mantle, my imbedded shrine.

“Stripes and Wading”

Bogue and I went fishing again last night.

Down Conasaugie ways out past Fairview.

We didn’t need no license, anymore than two

Indians catching supper should be expected.

Bogue ran his trot line again.

I used to think that was both funny and lazy.

Now I realize that he enjoyed wading out

Across the yawning stream more than fishing.

Mom and Mrs. Hooper seemed content

To just hear the sounds of the water,

Almost as if a voiceless hymn was being sung.

Glad to be away from telephones and kitchens.

We had Zebra sandwiches,

(What Bogue called PB&J)

The wonders of the universe opened

Like the giant Bible in Eleazar on Sunday!

Maybe a little kid will wade there

Forever, trampling the muddy banks of time.

Listening to the sound of eternity and watching

Bogue smile and give praise to the Stripes.

“The Manipulation of Surfaces”

Ocean sleep waves goodbye,

Fractured by golden shards.

Carpet scrunches like mini shrubs

‘Neath the feet of giant bards.

The daily fete of plastic touches

Blooms anew each yellow invasion.

Formica, glass, stainless steel,

Shifted in line for current occasion.

Sounds never forested pronounce

Excuses to feel justified for living.

Enter the ether neighborhood, aware

Gimp stares, alohas for the giving.

Plug into the labor module,

Predetermined time-lapsed boredom.

Taste the taste tested by the taste test.

Consider living in the mall, like Mom.

Home again, home again,

Jiggity, jig.

Escalator staircase ride eclipses a

Need for strides, in this cemetery dig.

“Corduroy a Go-Go”

Most people like denim-

“It’s a way of life, Tim!”

But discerning cool cat Joes

Wear corduroy a go-go.

Away from the fray,

(Neighboring O Tay)

Indigo crowd’s “Hoo-ray!”

Ne’er corduroy a go-go way.

Feel those corded ridges,

Go-go over the bridges,

So when the time-bell rings,

No reminiscing stings!

While a saxophone fairy

Round the mirror ball tarries-

The corduroy a go-go spins

Velvet planet waves o’er skin.

Don’t fade away-go loudly,

Go-go corduroy life proudly.

First-prize is a happy face,

Second-prize is borrowed Grace.

“The Monsters Are Us!”

The mice run crying across the field,

Among the marigold and lavender,

“The Cat, the Cat, run for your life!

He has left the corn rows and now

Scatters death in meadow square.”

Henry Opossum crossed the road.

One of the loud metal beasts lay

Overturned in the ditch, burning.

“I would feel bad, but I am just a

Soulless opossum,” grinned Henry.

Bambi ducks underneath The Thinker,

Hearing the unnatural mechanical pop

Pop pop pop pop pop pop pop pop pop.

“Here Bambi, hide in the plant room,”

Mrs.Thumper urged from the new warren.

-No Planet X or Mayan Hex, just an

Oily mechanical sound in 4/4 time-

Some future archaeologist will quip-

“They seriously believed a threat from

Without would be their end my friend!”

“Ode to the Rabbits of Watership Down”

…Hazel, dozing in his burrow one "chilly, blustery morning in March" some years later, is visited by El-ahrairah, the rabbit-folk hero who invites Hazel to join his own Owsla. Leaving his friends and no-longer-needed body behind, Hazel departs Watership Down with the spirit-guide, "running easily down through the wood, where the first primroses were beginning to bloom." From Watership Down by Richard Adams.

When I see rabbits feeding at dusk,

I think back to Hazel, Fiver,

Bigwig, Blackberry,

Dandelion and Pipkin.

I wonder if their

Descendants fair well

Against their 1000 enemies-

If they remember those that went before.

I cry to think some might

Live now in a place like Efrafa…

Marked and destined to serve a place

Whose center cannot hold.

Better to be free,

Fending for themselves-

Than oppressed and protected

By overseers willing to sacrifice for the status quo.

There is stillness in the night

That speaks to those that will listen,

It is the quiet cool of foreboding-

Lessons we may not learn in time.

Ask many times,

Answer but once.

What constitutes a soul?

To live? To reason? To sacrifice?

Or merely to love your friends and enjoy fresh clover?

There is no spoon.

“Yesterday’s Shadow”

In Memory of Carrie Davis

The calendar numbers

I was being taught

Were held in their solstice

When you visited our kitchen.

One of my dearest

Thoughts remains

To this very day

How well you fried a chicken.

You were a good Momma to

Your boys and stayed

Happy so others stayed strong.

We mourn us all our loss.

Mount Vernon air is

Sometimes cold and gloomy,

Yet those times of laughter,

The aroma of life, still reside there.

“War Memorials with Misspelled Names”

Say my name everyday,

Don’t chisel it in granite.

I died alone, away from home.

T’was afraid to go but went.

Say my name everyday,

Don’t consign it to be the

Marvelment of well-meaning

Pot-bellied VFW drunkards.

Say my name everyday,

Please look in on my Mother,

Pet my dog, cry to my picture-

Say my name everyday.

“The Queen of Monte Carlo”

Holding a burger

She darts out of the student center,

Sliding into the sleek coupe.

“Drive us out of this place

To a quiet court where love may roam.”

-Pavement doesn’t end

Like it used too.

Metropolis now sprawls

The lonely mountain.

Sushi available by request!-

The fat toddler in overalls

Trails snot down his bib.

His eyes clouded by ghosts

In the mists of the knobs-

Lying in wait for their Liege.

“No Shortage of Kings”

---146BCE Roman forces breached the walls of Carthage. All inhabitants were sold into slavery. The city was burned to the ground and the land was sown with salt.

Have you ever seen a desolate place?

Where people now try to hide their face?

I wonder if there were once children

There playing ball and running with pets,

Before some army rolled them all away?

I marvel how there can be worldwide

Rations of water, food, fuel, even family,

When there seems to never be a scarcity of

Bandits, butchers, overlords, scalawags-all

Poised to rule, casually casting a frozen die.

The great lies-deflection and misdirection,

Point to the lesser developed peoples and lands,

While failing to boast of local eradication of

Countless Native American tribes, not to

Mention buffalo herds the size of Delaware.

Dead languages can no justice demand-

It’s a feat worthy of stumping Columbo, what

The voyages of Columbus helped fossilize.

Ships from afar raped treasures and delivered

Endless supplies of soldiers, salt, and kings.

Time remains the great unsullied equalizer.

Hunters with ghosts in their eyes conjure

Themselves great warriors, most deserving of

Their spoils rather than rank blank purveyors

Readying self-realized killing fields anew.

In the meantime gardens do brim with bounty,

Beloved dogs and cats live like royals unaware

The value of a sip of water or piece of stale bread.

Prideful to live in a land heralded by the French

Queen, greeting all-in her sharp tapered crown.

---Yeats wrote of “No Second Troy’ – yet what of Carthage?

“Oleander Tea”

Leave the way you came,

With your opinion to your self.

We don’t take kind to unknown

Furriers here, and our grass is blue.

Please have a cup of Oleander tea.

Never had a hard or cross word

With anyone that wasn’t wrong.

Now you must hurry, move along.

You need to hear some country song

While you drink some Oleander tea.

We decide how to run our business,

So don’t go expecting us to change

When fancy pants laws seek rearrange

Our own private Idaho family funs.

Drink your Oleander tea, before you run.

There ain’t no use bemoaning us at all.

The way we fill our jail and jello molds

Up to us-constitutional decree guarantee,

Life, liberty, and justice for all with gold,

Hurry on now, drink that Oleander tea!

All this flitter-flatter, pitter-patter,

Chitter-chatter has got me late to turn

The Titan’s timekeeping key, you see?

Son, get me my gun, this rascal willn’t

Drink him our gift of Oleander tea.

“The Raven-Haired Beauty of Gudger”

The Rambler’s Tale Part I-

I found myself drunken in Gudger,

In Chestua Church cemetery, all alone,

I rested my head on a comfy stone,

Of a winsome raven-haired beauty taken

Away from the life roads that I do roam.

The Enchantress’ Tale-

I find here a man in this dead land,

A searcher, a questioner marked male.

He rejects the common belief tale.

I see he loved a raven girl ripped

From Mother, and then Death tripped.

The Albino Snake’s Tale-

Here ye miscreants have found,

Buried deep in dank underground,

A lass, a fair Pooh girl betrayed,

By flitter female friends delayed,

Found by Death’s scythe’s dark ways.

The Constable’s Tale-

She was abandoned when abandoned

Her her sanctity and trust of no harm

Befalling a maid with her maids, untrue

Scattershot whiffs, faced truth anew,

Beshocked her scaly parseltongue allies.

The Coroner’s Tale-

No foul play this wet deserted coprse

Experienced she no friendship remorse.

Drowning Death from unknown allergy

Claimed this raven-hair girl’s life energy.

Parked alone in a too common Ingle’s lot.

The Rambler’s Tale Part II-

I loved the raven-haired maid of Gudger.

Yet I betrayed her as much as kith and kin.

I seek her company, but settle for her cold.

Ophidian solace, hissed at me as if to kill-

Leaves my soul naked, desolate as her last pill.

~Dedicated to Poohgurl, Tookie, Esta, Derek, JRG,

The Spartans of Thermopylae, & hanging chads anon.

“The Locked Room”

The house had a brooding look,

“Dollar Store makeover” said she,

“Plus its soooo cheap!” her added.

So we bought it and moved in on

Halloween night, right before dusk.

We had candy packets prepared

Yet no cars or kids even slowed

As they thronged busily past us.

“Must be used to no one living here.”

I said as another group hurried past.

After the tricksters, we watched TV,

Then toward midnight felt sleep urges,

So we traversed the stairs to bed,

Then noticed a door unseen before.

“What room could this be?” said I.

“Open it,” said she, and I tried to do.

Alas the door forbade me entry,

Locked as tight as deep winter wax.

“Look, there is a key,” said she,

Pointing toward a dangling opener.

I grabbed the key and turned it fast,

Sprang the door inwards, heard a gasp.

Troll-like creatures ran swiftly past,

Down the stairs, then into the yard-

Brandishing carving knives, giggling.

“The Graverobber’s Lament”

I curse the concrete vaults,

The hybrid sod that stains,

Patio lights, solar candle,

Sage lined coffins of gold,

Caretaker’s dogs, lean & bold.

The jewelry hoarder Auntie,

The greedy bland mortician.

Hard packed dry Summer dirt.

Double-locks of stainless.

Internet plot guard camera rest.

Full Moons Revivals, lightening.

Drunks too broke to brawl or

Bother with yet too boo scared

Sober to pass on out, or about.

Cheap substituted slipper rout.

Buried early, ground has set,

Footstones to pry over away,

Ghosts of relatives not dissolved

Whispering old tongue verses vexed

Their hollow eyes seek me to hex.

Interred with a blessing time takes.

Makes for a longer & harder dig.

Hates me does me the bobber,

Funeral Home master key sobber

Tha’ pinches the corpse ‘fore buried.

“The Zombie in My Garden”

The cold doesn’t bother him,

Nor the rain, the gloom, the winds.

Sometimes a raven pecks his head.

The neighborhood kids mock

How slow he moves near the fence. 

We call him Zeke the Zombie,

He still votes absentee,

It’s a Tennessee zombie thing.

I give him Hardee’s chicken

Then laugh when he gets sick.

He favors Baby’s Breath,

Bachelor Buttons and Dear Zinnia.

My own undead compost heap-

Tax credit like an electric car,

But he still prays to zombie God.

I tried to sell him on Craigslist,

No one wanted to buy, just rent.

Oh, and old weird Bill Bolton,

The King of Englewood, claims

He is the Fresh Prince sometimes.

Don’t call Zombie Zeke out,

When I go to meet the Sisters.

I left him hungry to ward off the

Fly boys and fallow cankered girls

That live alone in the sulfur cave.

“We Saved the Indians from Themselves”

No mound ghosts to scare kids,

No buffalo dreams to roam.

Fences square the lands,

Ear tags show the brands,

Medicine men can get Obama care.

Dream Catchers in pink VW bugs

Emasculated by fake daisies in

Fluted dash vases beside them-

Protection from Redskin scalpers

Not selling NFL tickets in D.C.

The Wendigo stalks the mountains,

Finding the ersatz camper, hiker, lover.

Howling the death scream, stealthy

Murders unsolved by natural means,

Blamed on bath salt inhaler junkies.

Visit the chill that previews the kill,

Seek the lair of the quiet Winter’s skill.

The Spirit of the forgotten dream

Seeks your soul to ream apart from

Body mean in the twilight unseen.

“Mommie, what happened to the Indians?”

“They all moved out west, until the West ended.”

What the dear child isn’t told is that where

West ended, the American version of

Auschwitz began for the Mosesless desert tribes.

“The Lazy Caterpillar”

Oh. why should I cross this pallid frame?

Laid to rest on clover I love best?

Should frost dictate my appetites?

These shorter days and longer nights.

Under skies not witnessed by summer.

The orange monsters ply night fears,

I just hibernate my set of drears.

I cannot change these frigid times,

Else I would fly to warmer chimes-

Trapped am I as an ethered corpse.

John, Jonah, Jonas, what was his name?

He elapsed under the full moon game.

She came, she went, she his life spent.

All in the name of love and fame

Under skies loving no one’s name.

Insect dorma, insect pride,

Insect revelation of buggish pride.

Tell me caterpillar, what is life?

That dead Ted here lies without a wife?

The dirge plays anon, like a country song.

Caterpillar, Caterpillar. Sing me a song.

Make it gay and true but not too long.

Leave the world the way you like best.

Skeletons bleached, lonely greyed crest-

Chest burst open by butterflies unrest.

"French Ghetto Eyes"

They are all watching.

Wherever I go,

Whatever I do,

They gaze at my hair, my hands, my face.

There is no saving grace.

The birds, they report from afar,

Always following when I drive a car.

The fish watch as I swim,

Like the portraits hanging in a gym.

I have moved to hell.

I am watched by dogs,

When I buy a newspaper,

I am watched by cats,

When I watch the stars.

There can be only one torment.

Children watch when I walk,

Women watch when I talk,

Merchants watch when I shop,

Librarians watch when I read,

I want to scream in braille.

I can remember from the days gone by,

Everyone that watched as I passed

With their curious blank eyes,

Their smiles strangely similar to

Gestapo guards in Dachau...

Five, four, three, two, one---

Breathe

“The Three Chairs of Leete House”

Come ye travelers and seek your rest

Here at Leete House, we know best.

Have a seat at the dinner complimentary,

We will leave you happy and empty,

Much like the way life has laid you.

Position One, the Vampire chair-

Seated happy and weak you feel,

The end of days is over-rated

Like Angus steak at a burger joint

Thrust between a drive-in and a bank.

Position Two, the Liar’s chair-

Tell us of your loves, your convictions,

Capital lies your Mother would not vouch,

Lived out on this seat, less than a

Couch to expose your false metrics.

Position Three, the Whore chair-

Now it can be told,

The wanted urges often bold and

Denied to all, even yourself and

The administration of corporate dollars.

Beware the node, beware the toad,

Beware the essence of truths once told.

May the sitter realize the settee and

Inform the Board most readily that

Gold standards are lies, like butterfly skies.

“Soot on Snow”

Winter fires burn colder,

Like dark hearts in hiding,

Deciding which face to wear

To face each new day-

Abiding neighborhood stares.

Coffee, the planning,

Sandwich, the planning,

Pizza, the planning.

Ghoulish smile as darkness

Smothers the hope of light.

The game is afoot,

Grey lanes, grey drakes.

Lonely calls of separation.

Cadence, remember cadence-

Grip the handle of steel death.

The spin overcomes fear,

Red swirls peppermint candy.

Subwayed Earth bowels from

Point safe, to point knife.

Eviscerated minds and souls.

No one likes to visit the rats.

They spend sewer Christmases

With garland wrapped round

Dainty foot topped with

Star on inward bent big toe.

Yeux de Ghetto Français

 

Ils regardent tous.

Partout où je vais,

Quoi que je fasse,

Ils regardent mes cheveux, mes mains, mon visage.

Il n'y a aucune grâce salvatrice.

Les oiseaux, ils signalent de loin,

Toujours en suivant lorsque je conduis une voiture.

Le poisson Regardez comme je nage,

Comme les portraits suspendus dans une salle de sport.

J'ai déménagé à l'enfer.

Je suis regardé par des chiens,

Quand j'ai acheter un journal,

Je suis regardé par les chats,

Quand je regarde les étoiles.

Il peut y avoir qu'un tourment.

Les enfants regardent quand je marche,

Femmes regarder quand je parle,

Marchands de regarder quand je boutique,

Les bibliothécaires regarder quand j'ai lu,

Je veux crier en braille.

Je me souviens des jours passés,

Tout le monde que vu que j'ai passées

Avec leurs yeux curieux vide,

Leurs sourires étrangement similaires à

Gestapo gardes à Dachau...

Cinq, quatre, trois, deux, un---

Respirer

“Pyramid or Pin?”

When nightly dream’s rapture

Seeks your soul to capture,

Remember the Alamo, & the Maine.

Remember your private Shania Twain.

Dip a dip and gloss your lip.

The road goes ever on,

Like the black night,

When you stop to rest,

HR will send you a test,

Prick the Pin or Pyramid fright.

Bow hunt a black bear,

Lunch hour boss’ shower scare.

Ready the obelisk to confuse

Pyramid Head’s ruse

Puts your heart in your shoes.

Now you’re trending,

Social mending,

Lots of spaces for

Pin Head’s places

Lowering your soul’s best bid.

Forgotten-soul rotten,

Hanging like a snake on a nail

Walled in the lost cabin of youth

Where sleeping dogs lie,

Under a blood red sky.

“Playing Cornhole Watching ‘Deliverance’”

Squeal like a pig when you win…

Wow! There’s a true cultural renaissance.

Dr. Drew drew two, but

Drew drew only one twisted arm of the

Chatta, Chatta, Chatta, Chattahoochie!

The unfortunate banjo kid,

Autistically picks and grins-

Due to a vaccine reaction and

The truth of corn-mash satisfaction

Administered from without yet within.

Hey Jed, I got CORNHOLE!

Wasn’t a headline of triumph

When piggy went to market

Mountainside with curvy-lipped

Marvin and his 1/3 brother Munt.

Help me Rhonda! This cornhole

Is something your branch knows best.

Why do the of some so you have none want to

Beat It-just Beat It, like the rest?

The gloved one rallies and summons the hole!

 

Burt’s toupee is on EBAY,

But cornhole is in your bedroom,

Sunroom, skyroom, diningroomtable-

Leave the lost red-haired pooh girl lapped in

Sweet waters Ingles’ parking lot morgue/stable.

“Eleven”

North, South, East, West-

There is no foreign land

Worth the years of your best.

Poker face mortar shell games-

Vanilla dew drops with names.

Montana waits your return,

The one-horned red bull paces.

Had first snow before Canada’s

Thanksgiving and saw a lot of

Things on TV, except your faces.

Dig in deep and sleep with one eye open.

“Giants in Those Days”

Riding down the grey way,

Isn’t the thrill of yesterday.

Too much going on now for

Anyone to want to stay.

Don’t let the sun fade away!

Prepping Mac issues and

Playing Half-Life while

Eating Victor Nasser humus

Washed down with flaskwater

Jammed with that Marilyn guy.

Bowling on lunch hour and

Eating Cajun chicken,

Watching convertible Ford’s

Break down on the interstate.

Looking around for the lost exit.

We wielded tech swords with

Shields of Norton manuals.

Modding playstations while

Directing the errant Iowan on

How to update a sound card.

Borrowing tools from Radio Shack.

Selling out of the trunk at West Town.

The dawn of our Computer Age-

The gold rush of the twentieth century.

Can you make me a new CD?

“Rachel, Krista, Kasha”

When the RKK splash the ground

Solemnity is erased like a bad answer.

Little Dieter wants to fly but these

Girls’ smiles light the sky with a

Veracity not unlike a comet strike.

 

Rachel has doctor eyes

That make the pain go away.

The wispy lay of her pretty hair

On a symmetrical frame both

Fair in nature and yet aflame.

Krista carries the group denominator.

Friendliness as constantly musical as

Leaves trilling to the ground in November.

Her countenance befits a queen of Troy,

Too vast a universe for just one boy.

Kasha gives me goo-goo eyes,

Her grin slices heart icebergs-mocking

Dr. Evil’s darkest laser designed mini-me.

The deafness cure lies with her smile

Communicating deftly through her eyes.

I earnestly maintain that this SuperTrio sprang

Forth from a long-lost Dionysian spring.

So bring along all your troubles and woes,

Then watch them float away from Orange City

When the RKK gaze tingles your toes.

“When You Write It, You Own It”

Read that Neil Young

Was sorry for his ‘Alabama’ tune,

Said he & Lynyrd had had no beef,

Happy birds all feeding-

Windowsill windmill sailing relief.

Neil went on further,

Saying oh so sorry that

Kurt quoted ‘Rust Never Sleeps’

In his supposed suicide note…

You wrote it-you own it Neil.

Take on the Yankee gushers,

The Rebel Yell plushers,

Then own it like a grown-up

Unfettered by regional meek

Shading, just be mature.

Braid your story,

Sing your song.

Write a lottery eulogy,

Admit when you’re wrong-

But when you write it-you own it.

Someday when you sit

In the court of the Crimson King

Or the Lamb that couldn’t sing-

Remember this one true thing,

When you write it-you own it.

“I Miss the Great Plains”

I miss the Great Plains,

I miss Randy Gaines,

I miss the BBQ sandwiches,

I miss getting change for _____,

I miss Saturday morning cartoons.

“One Place Peril”

I love it here,

No challenge.

Wait, is that good?

Too late the hero?

Best to fade away?

Travel young man-woman.

Adventure the day and night.

Lay down to a different

Starscape often young sprite!

Never feel the dread of familiarity.

Leaving means departing & going,

Going means fresh newness,

No Rick’s remitter reiterations

Of the safety dicuss or the kaizan fuss,

Or the smell on the funky Weaver bus.

“Manifest Destiny”

Was never a land grasp maxim.

Instead it was an alternative way to

Provide your bobbing ju-ju head with

Excitement usually reserved for bed.

Go West young man-woman.

Go East, Go North, Go South, Go forth!

Leave the Madding Crowd to settle

Insect politics and fast food menus-

Pursue the dream, go find your true self.

“Ode to Jack-He Who Got Old on Us”

Now the honey wagon

Involves a steak sandwich,

The golf club strikes only plastic,

Wood, grass, and gravel.

Oh Solo Mio, janzten Jake!

Leave it on the stage,

Bottle-up your rage,

Demand the higher wage,

Serve the salmon to the page,

You remain Matt Damon’s Mage.

You never rode a hybrid,

Always flew first-class.

Avoided starring across

Honey Boo Boo & Benji,

Much to their Mother’s morass.

I think ‘The Shining’ stamped

You with an imprint of

Lost horizons serendipity

Explainable only by Charlie Sheen’s

Naked Torpedo of Truth.

Will you be a Lynchpin,

Before Theda Bara beckons

You join her in the tinsel Valhalla?

You certainly enjoyed the Peak's

Girl company after the goldrush.

 

Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap.

“Misappropriated Muscadines”

We sat at the feast,

Watching races rather than the NFL, oh well.

Then the host showed us his fruit picks

From new in-law lands violated.

“We never imagined a refusal”

Upon our net perusal,

Of glorious glory Gloria purpleness,

Thrust upon us like a berry berry treat.

The juicy juice is moribund-

Compared to what VW is paying.

Likewise unqualified dunces such as I

The rider, the runner, the berry non-shunner.

 

I profess to love those I have abandoned

To the caress of steel and the imagined feel

Of berries in the dark, of juice drank in the park.

Of ‘Dairy Barn’ cones fulfilled alone.

 

Leave me the rest of the leavened best.

Beer and a treat tricked upon the sweet sheet street.

Alphea, those price changes are serious,

But so is the way you brush across me to verify us.

“Zed”

The Canadians have a different word for zero,

ZEDzedzedzedzedzedzedzed.

Now tell me Ted would you use zed in a sentence

If Lisbeth would wink back at you?

I saw zed one time, on the blue

Lining on my cold weather sleeping bag/

Floor bed combo for dates not rating a

Drive-In visit or trip to the ominous “knobs.”

Never doubt the veracity of scotch tape

Sticking over key-holes, OR

The definition of NO when considered as

A request rather than a demand.

“I leave judgment to the Judge and

Silence to the silenced.”

Zedzedzedzedzedzedzed.

Leavened bread and flesh fish

Freshed to the hungry Hungary mob.

Forgive me sweet beaver of Texas!

Won ton ton and the grape ape freshness

Demands a confession with no regression,

No altered state or sense of weight

For never ending a sentence with a preposition.

“Albert”

You saw the werewolves,

The ambulance siren hurt your ears.

Oh Albert, why did I leave you

With a roll of sausage and a prayer?

Big Al, you were dependable,

Unlike Pooty, though she was sweet.

Leave the last words unwritten
For the broken-arm van drivers.

Ah-Roo, Ah-Roo, Ah-Roo!

Serenade the dark still countryside!

Help the sailor and the mermaid

Remember the sound of the tide!

Rocks rock my world and yet

I need you friend Albert.

Scratch away the vermin of time,

Make pure will a metronome!

Bark! Bark! Woof!

(It’s the same in French)

My dog, the hero never shown in ‘The Odyssey’

Defeats Scala and watches ‘Jersey Shore’.

"The Gift"

A random street refugee clad in bunny shoes

Approached  good Ms Mama Bess & Baby Gee
Asking with authority, “Are you a Christian?”
(Just like in the song “Walking in Memphis”)
Of course good Ms Mama Bess said “Yes!”

The wizened possible malconcent rogue

Then plopped a weird round rock squarely into
Mama Bess’ pale white right hand and gleefully
Professed, “this here be a diamond blessing for
Sweet, sweet Baby Gee and a totem o’ luck to ye!”

Mama Gee left, her heart hotrodding in a flutter

Wondering if she and caterpillar Baby Gee
Were rich and ready for a Knoxville Kohl’s trip.
Her friends quoted Scripture and science,
Then something unexpected flew in the zoo.

The rock began to sing, it sang a song about

Cutting glass and cutting class and
Sermons on the Mount behind Wood’s
Truckstop converting 5 loaves and fish
Into Facebook credits and an Ebay wish.

“Golly Gee, we have hit solid gold Baby,”

Mama Bess wiped a tear and confessed.
She put Singing Rock on the mantle Uncle Jess
Brung back from the Viet Cong home of Ages.
-Duo prayed earnestly to melodic mineral Diety.

“The Importance of Dying at Home”

Take me off this battlefield grey,

Place me in front of the fire,
With daughter reading the Good Book
While my Love tends to the baby.

Who will do the spring planting?

Tow that stubborn mule back in the row?
How will little Willy know his Pap
Loved and held him through the croup?

I should have fixed the roof better,

Dug that well out more for sis.
Glad I hunted when I did with brother,
Won’t never get to borry his gun again.

Take care of old Blue for me darlin’

Rub his ears and fuss over him some,
Don’t fret that I’m not there please,
I’d have come home if I could’ve come.

“Seven Heaven”

Get your update,

Secure your star mate,
Don’t be an ingrate.
We failed to compensate.

Nude on the moon, or

The Swingin` Mid-Way Drive-In
Look Ralph, me hammer car,
No spirit of radio to carry far.

Whoo Hoo we got bit

By mediocre Gators
Lost in translation
Lurid stand Dayton!

Help there is a bear in my pants!

Oh wait, that is a high-school game.
Go Vols, Go Vols, Go Vols,
Manhandled by third rate geckos.

TV Dinners offer promise,

No Georgia lawyer can surpass.
Hit me, hit me, hit me,
Score the Orange mass!

“New Bad Luck”

Counting past 31 to a calendar,

Expecting better on a ballot,
Keeping the one-eyed fish,
Paying to see Aerosmith,
Eating Greek yogurt at Church.

Watching Friday the 13^th then,

Replying to Spam,
Trying to subtract using the Elemental Chart,
Flying over Los Alamos on a Monday,
Eating at Truck Stops on private drives.

Entering a race with your real name,
Going to Bristol for Nascar in March,
Wearing rubber boots on a first date,
Reciting Soft Cell lyrics in class,
Eating solar heated TV dinners.

Any Mexican vacation,

Paying annual membership at a library,
Wearing a wig from a funeral hime,
Observing the mating habits of freshmen,
Eating in the Wal-Mart ‘restaurant’.

Wearing the same colored socks for a test,

Taking pictures in the dark in Englewood,
Running toward the neighbor’s dog Bonkers,
Leaving an IOU as a tip at the A&W,
Eating in Etowah on ANY Monday.

“Going Shirtless”

If I couldn’t mow
Without my shirt on,
I think I would feel
Like someone else’s
Property.

“Come Read ‘Tom Sawyer’ to Me Again Dear Teacher”

Dedicated to Mrs. Althea Johnson, the best fourth-grade teacher in the world.

Millions of things come to mind

When asked “what does being
Grown-Up mean?”
Driving, dating, working, yada Yoda yada.
But ever hardly never being read to…

It’s a short-schriff sale this adulthood.

Oh my the places and people we smeet.

But when alone, either at night or in
Showerzone, traffic-jam, Wal-Mart line wreck-
I want Mrs. Johnson to read to me again.

Read to me about Tom and Huck and Becky,

Jim and the Indian man and Aunt Polly.
Scary caves and pirates and fence painting-
Save me Mrs. Johnson from bland news,
Biased work reviews, and QE3 blues!

Read to me, let the child in the man

Experience a return to Eden before the fall.
Narrate the stories with the ‘bad words’
Marked through and love for your listeners
Beyond the insulting salaries we pay you.

Who is luckier than every young student

To have second Mothers or Fathers that loved
Us wholly, our faults and talents alike?
Read to me again Mrs. Johnson-Your voice
Still guides me in my journey on the river.

“When Rock Was Young”

It was the Roll that made the Rock.

Kids could go and do something
Besides watch crusty VFW guys
Bowl and belch and adjust their
Hearing aides then paw spouses.

Having a dance party in the yard

Was cool-cat status, not wearing
A&F or texting imaginary friends
While droning on about the sallow
Emptiness of discarded Starbuck cups.

Before student protesters were

Murdered by Army men or people
Got trampled to death trying to
See The Who and culture gods
Began to self-terminate-Rock Ruled.

Rock and Roll will never die, ShaNaNa.

Ageing voices and strings and flash
Serve as instruments of ego torture for
Great reduced to grey, don’t fade away.
Johnny B. Goode tonight OK?

Old Rockers that can’t play or sing

Have one respite and it’s a doozy.
When the phat kat hoppity hippers
Go AARP old Dre and Suge and
Cube and T won’t have tha’ surge.

Go back to the drive-in days

When the vehicles came from
America and the music came
From a happy place free from
Guilt, remorse, or cutter’s purge.

“I Can See Heaven”

I don’t read newspapers,

What is the point
Of reading someone else’s
Opinion of what happened?
I can see Heaven.

I was the newest

Fad to come down the pike
Until the covers were pulled
Back on reality kings-but
I can see Heaven!

People think I can do

Things seldom imagined.
It is amazing what words
Do when listeners know
I can see Heaven.

They named a jello flavor

After me-consolation for
Capitol dumping my crew.
Crumbs are mighty tasty &
I can see Heaven.

Ramble, rumble, ice-fish

Stumble up that stairway.
“Follow me,” whispers Tinkerbell.
I’ll never be able to go there, yet
I can see Heaven.

"The Queen Is Dead"

The Queen is dead,

What shall we do?
Asked the old woman,
Who lived in a shoe.

 

The Queen is dead,
The Prince is sad.
Gone now are the days
Of peace that he had.

The Queen is dead,

The night is long.
What light may shine when
There is no great song?

The Queen is dead-

Koo kat, koo kat
Koo kat koo, say hey
Tomorrow today.

The Queen is dead,

Royal flash panned.
Parlimentary
Coupons in the sand.

“Battleship Chains Amid the Still Life Sky”

The day after was worse,

The sick stomach pit now
Enveloped the body whole,
Ladybugs even be bopped
With less grace and aplomb.

Ghost ships from WWII

Patrolled the sallow September skies
After the secret of steel was
Exploited in a paint-by-numbers
Simplicity and death scythe certainty.

Ahoy! All ye dead sailors of the Pearl.

Joined now by less sovereign
Wage definers and babble-shoots,
Subjugated to jumping sans the
Mandated golden parachute.

When diamond shards rain the

Covers of green-backed streets,
Top hats morph into Gunnery helmets
Worn by Captain Charles on the USS Cole,
Feathered chapeau in a G.A. Custer dreamscape.

Going down cripple creek with all the

Cripples, ladders with broken rungs,
Rookies with broken lungs,
Relegated to hero for a day status
In the charter schools of Kingdom Come.

“Texas Wind Honey Boo Boo”

It gets into your personal space

Fast as an Armadillo on meth.

It was wrong for that business student

To suggest calling Erzchas “Mike”

The waves lap your lap and fish

Fly high overhead, Apache arrow imposters.

When did we replace cutting edge

With arrogant small-mindedness?

Yippee kai yay the honeywagon’s here!

Mmmmm, lego sandwich, my favorite!

People in suits look ridiculous

Wearing backpacks with blank stares.

Honey Boo Boo threw a rattlesnake

On the bad man from Salt Lake.

Motorcycle riders never understand

The merits of dry pants and socks.

Blow south wind, blow me away!

Beach fishing & wishing Raymond Burr wasn’t gay.

“Stealing the Moon”

The night was dark

As the masked bandit
Scrambled around the porch
Seeking the bucket of orbs
One of which was The MOON!

My raccoon thief, more

Stealthy than bright, as
Property magicians tend to be,
Had heard from a cricket of
The Lunar Sphere hiding in my pail.

His name might be Alphonse,

I guess I shall never know, unless
A pig squeals on him, oink, oink!
All I saw was the aftermath,
Golf balls strewn, container upset.

White plastic whiffles,

Nicked Wilson journeymen,
In need of a wash and dry.
One fluorescent orange still there,
Alas my hi-lite moon yellow favorite-

Purloined!

“Nirvana Incense”

Got troubles?

Buy some heaven in a jar.
A little dab will do it!
Good for backache, stray spouses,
Mad dogs and Englishmen.

If The Commons is all

Deconstructed, Lenny
In periodical research can fix
You up with blotter Mickey,
The Mouse that roars all night!

Low budget? No problemo!

Better than Denso/Drano crap or
Bath salts. Just light it and
Watch the little animals crawl
Peacefully inside your head.

Breathe! Breathe! Smell

The Firestarter! Be the shy
Salamander that loves the flames,
Singing "New York, New York"
In the Tennessee rains.

In the dark it’s less strange now,

Kurt sang and lived the dank
Soul well that has no bottom, whose
Lofty depths reincarnate as fries or
Tellico Beach Cole Slaw Baby!

Beware the vegan cannibals!

The professor that smells fear
While emitting a stage 4 EMP!
The answer to the question is the
Sum of dread minus forgotten tests.