“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.