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category : religion
M A D O N N A S
Blessed Virgin dressed in blue
Oh, how I need to pray to you
For deliverance from my fears
Learned by heart for all these years;
While you twist and shout for fame
Like a moth caught in the flame
Of flesh and sex put on-display
To tempt and tease without delay.
Holy Mother, serene and sane,
Deliver us from deeds profane
And “give us now our daily desires
But lead us not into the fires.”
Holy Mary, Mother of God,
Come to us--dressed in mod.
C H A N G I N G T A B L E S
category : ages of man
When we were children
we did as we were told
And sat in our proper places
At “kids’ table” with clean hands and scrubbed faces.
When we were grown
we acted as if we were old
And sat where we wanted
At “adults’ table” and made bold with conversations undaunted.
Now we are elderly
we do as best we can
And sit on brittle bones about to break
At “old folks’ table” afraid to make mistakes.
The “tables of our lives” are spread with myriad delights
So taste of each miraculous morsel while you might.
category: places
H O U S E
Rooms and Roofs
Kitchens and Cabinets
Bathrooms and Bars
Garages and Guest Houses--
All build into a domicile for dwelling
A space for spreading-out and raising kids--
A hearth, a haven, a refuge, a home
Meant for living, loving, laughing, dying--
And for moving-on to other places.
A “house is not a home”
But “homeless people” are “houseless”--
So cherish your castle and its glow
For, some day, it will go into escrow.
caategory : pets
C A T S
Meowing
Purring
Hissing
Snarling
Mostly sleeping--
Precious little pussy cats
Cavort lordly
Over ‘n about
Their households, hovering on-high
Perches to better see
Whatever it is
That they see
Daily and nightly
With irradiated night-vision
Before bolting
Up ‘n down stairs
Like streaked-lightening
In fur coats
And pawing playfully
At dangling things
Hanging down invitingly :
Feline fantastics
Limp and spastic
With smiles sarcastic
And whiskers plastic,
They cuddle and curl
When it suits ‘em to do so--
Or simply leave--when it’s time to go.
category: writing
V E R S I F I C A T I O N
To count in numbers neat
All the inclusive beats;
Then to vary a line in rhyme
Attracts the ear every time.
Not only is metre to measure
But the image is there to treasure
As are locked-lines-of-letters
Alliteratively arranged to better
Entertain your listener’s attention
And his mind, not to mention.
Also are sounds resounding
To hearing souls abounding
In onomatopoeic automatic--
“Ding-Dong-Ding-Dong-Ding.”
Together we “song, sung, sing”
Whatever the poet paints
Whether “right, rung, ring”
It assails the patience of a saint.
In lines of stanzas they find room
To stop the finality of the tomb ;
Or merely pass the time in fun
‘Til the day’s hours are undone.
category : places
L A S V E G A S
The “Strip of Dreams” alive with
Vibrating neon-like profane altars
Flaming in adoration of--”success in lights,”
“fame and delights,”
“fortunes and blights”--
The irreligious and irreverent gods of this
Most American of “American Dreams” in the desert
Sprouted from sand and water and money and
Visions of fantasy hotels, transient and vulnerable
In their lurid allure of luxury, decadence and greed
Where fates do ride on--the roll of the dice,
the spin of a wheel,
the pull of a handle--
That promises but seldom delivers “quick-picked riches”
And “instantly automatic gratification” to
Those who drive in limos and in pick-up trucks
To “try their luck” in this City of Sin
Where many try but few do win.
category : things
S T U F F
STUFF slides by silently
rapidly
without meaning or motion --
With only momentary momentum --
As i nod
As i wink
As i yawn
As i stare --
It makes no difference where
or what
or how --
I AM placed to catch and to capture
These evanescently eliding thoughts,
feelings,
images --
Upon my perfect pen, here posied
To pierce these butterfly-beauties
(As with a colored-pin to my cork-boarded palate) .
ALL that matters meaningfully
Is WHAT remains REMAIN -- AFTER
The wordy crucifixions have been fixed
In ink about to dry as blood upon a crown
Of thorns imbedded in my poet’s brain --
About to burst with chemic cuts allowed to drain
And left to drip in drops of joyful pain.
“STUFF” -- ALL our “stuff”
That we make and that make us every day
Of our every lives here upon earth
Where we live, remain -- and die.
category : politics
T E R R O R I S T S
With--bombs
kidnappings and
threats
These hooded devils dissect and destroy
The fabric of social rule and rational history
For their--insulated
isolated
insanely
Fanatical hysterias heaped upon
Innocent bystanders in--airports
cafes and
busses
With often ill-defined goals
And the cloaked irresponsibility of cowards
Hiding behind--slogans
creeds and
causes
Giving rise to series of vengeful ventings
Of one side upon the other fed
Until “peace is made” or “everyone is dead.”
“The sins of the fathers are visited upon the sons”
Until the suns all set and days are done.
category : body parts
F A R T
Flatulent flames of shame
Often start-off this gaseous game
Of : “where’d it come from?” and “when?”
In rooms full of women and men.
A most natural physical function
Engaged-in after large luncheons
Of : beans, cabbage and leeks
Ingested and processed by geeks.
Erupting emissions controlled by
Tight-valved sphincters that cry
For relief from pressures built-up
After drinking and dining to sup.
To let it ease-out unnoticed
Or to blast-away loudly ignited
Is your choice and your dilemma--
One : delayed reacting and silent
The other : loudly exploding and potent .
To fart or not to fart in plain view
Depends upon the place, the time--and you.
category : dangers
B A B Y I N T H E T R U N K
Wheeling up ‘n down supermarket aisles
In a sleepy-sunny-Sunday-morning style,
This meandering mother rode her baby boy
Safely in its positioned place, like another toy,
Atop the piled-high groceries, but another part,
In her clicking silvered shopping-cart--
To the line at the check-out stand
To await her turn and then, on demand,
File-out to the parking-lot fenced-in
For the ride back-home where, once again,
Mother would unload bags ‘n baby ‘n more
Before finally resting from her preoccupying chore.
But and in her haste to get-it
All-over-with, she mistook the strapped-in little-kid
For just another packed-up bag that there did lay--
And delivered them ALL TOGETHER, without delay,
Snugly inside her welled-out trunk
To sit in silence, as if she were totally drunk.
When a shocked onlooker of the scene
Ran her way up to the oblivious driver serene
And informed her of the “misplaced cargo”
In the rear, before away she could go :
“Do you know your child’s little brain
Is now shut-up with darkness, mayonnaise and grain?”
The enlightened mother slammed-on her brakes,
Jumped-out her door and, without so much as a double-take,
Unlocked her trunk to find one annoyed little boy
Screaming-out at her with much fear, and little joy.
So, all you mothers-in-a-hurry
When you feel that you must scurry--
Just make sure you don’t throw-in
The “baby with” the groceries in the bin.
category : sex
F L O O S I E
Some call me “loose”
But I prefer “juiced” :
I dress like a slut
Showing my butt
While my boobs push up
Trying to explode their cups.
A slattern
A whore
A bimbo-in-limbo--
All the preacher-men “pray for my ass,”
That is, to have it for themselves, this sweet lass
Lost in life’s labyrinthine alleys
And by-ways where flesh trades for dollars
And where men after women do holler
To capture and hold them as they do rally
Together to practcie and ply their trade--
This act passing for sex as charade.
A “lady of the evening,” no more, no less,
Is merely a “woman of society” in undress.
So, sneer not at floosies in movies and on streets--
They are necessary if not always completely discreet.
category : retirement
R E T I R E E S
Days of rising early and getting to work
For scanty pay like some retarded jerk
And waiting Pavlovian-like for yearly vacations
On which you travelled to neighbor nations
To return too soon, too tired, too broke--
To start-in all over and once more again
To work and work and work before you woke
To options never considered for lack of gain.
But now, you are a “re-tire-ree”
And all you can say is “hooray and whee
For me,” for once, for all, to be done and free
From all this work-a-day world to see
What life is like without rhyme--
Or having to be alert, and on-time.
category : money
C R E D I T C A R D R O U L E T T E
up
Rates go
Rates go
down
And where they stop--
No body knows.
So, get your money down
On those colored plastic plaques
With betraying black-strips on-back
That hide the truth-in-trade
Of monthly damages mis-managed
measured and
actually made.
Move your “bets” before too late
On-board the board of dreams
And check your “introductory rates”
Before you re-coup and scream
At outrageous terms and conditions
That have tricked you into perdition.
Startling statements state the hidden-costs
Of credit sought and bought and lost--
Or merely re-arranged a bit
On your “wheels of fortune”
Made to mold and fit
Busted budgets in and out-of-tune.
category: writing
TWO-BEAT OR NOT TWO-BEAT
it’s all been done
every thing
under the sun
for me, for you
all stories told
new and old
‘bout love and hate
‘bout war and peace
‘bout real romance
‘bout fun ‘n sad
‘til nothing’s new
from far ‘n near
in joy ‘n fear
to laugh, to tear
with twice-told tales
succeed ‘n fail.
so, why write more?
to thrill ‘n bore
use up the store
re-count, re-peat
into the dirt
until it hurts
both you and me?
except for the flow of words replete
chosen, chiseled, re-formed, complete--
a thing of beauty’s a joy...
for all the listening girls ‘n boys
in need of sounds set down in songs:
feel good, feel safe, feel right, be long
feel short, feel tall, feel brief, so long.
category : love poems
F I R S T L O V E
Has no one ever “loved you”
Before him
Before her
For your SELF alone
apart
From all others
Ever and always there
For YOU
When needed most
and least ?
Then, hold onto him
to her
With all your heart and
your mind’s will
‘Lest you lose your
“First and only TRUE LOVE”--
And linger lost in life’s lonely longings.
category : food
O D E T O A N O N I O N S O U P
Oh, Soup a l’Oignon--
What a miraculous dish
So tasty and delish
With melted cheese to
Choke an artery
And soppy bread to
Fill one’s heart with glee
As soupy slices of onions-
Diced slide down my throat
And make my stomach bloat.
Une invention merveilleuse
En plus d’autres choses !
category : metaphysical order
C A R E L E S S D I S T R E S S
A misplaced trace of lost and lingering lace
Dangles dangerously, descending down
From Milady’s veiled eyes and face
Misforming perfect frame of head and crown
As winnowing winds waft wisps of unfurled
Curls blown busily back and about
The tresses and perilous pearls of a girl
Struggling with her dress all in doubt.
Random riot runs rampant wrecklessly
Ripping asunder man’s quest for control
Flatly rebuffed by chancing choices,
Uncharmed in charnel houses piled high with skulls
That jaw and mock with duress and listless
Ease--capturing all cares in distress.
category : appearances
H A I R T I N T S
A woman can color her hair
Anywhere without anyone’s stare;
But a man’s attempt at tinting
Brings scorn and ridicule ringing
Down upon his “new-found head”
As if his valued vanity
He has foolishly fed.
Men “grey gracefully, dignified”
While women bleach , burn and fry
Their (w)hoary locks with dyes
Meant to fool the world’s prying eyes.
WHY this “divided streak”
‘Tween men and women’s picque?
Except to accentuate the differences
Of lost reality and ro-gained appearances.
category : ages of man
O L D F O L K S ‘ F A S H I O N S H O W
G R E Y -- is “in” this year
So, let’s give a cheer
FOR ALL THE SENIOR
GALS ‘N GUYS
Who can still prance proudly
And cut a flourish
On the “cat-walk” of
Dreams and desires
Where--”Age cannot wither
Nor custom stale
(Their) infinite variety”
(With some down-right
up-town cuties
Gorgeous, golden oldies) :
Fashion n’er forgotten
Nor BEAUTY, forlorn,
Inside the inside of the spirit ;
Not upon the fickle flesh
Enmeshed with time
after time
after time.
category : natural phenomena
S L E E P
Drooping eyelids lower and glower
As day descends into eternal night
And fading lights lose their power
While time passes up-and-out of sight.
Enervating lethargy
Saps the strength from out your arms
And uses-up all energy
As bells’ sounding an alarm.
The need to deeply drowse ‘n sleep
O’ercomes your struggle to stay awake
As off to dreamland you do creep
And your limbs do shake and quake.
“Sleep knits up the ravelled sleeve of care”--
And covers all in densest air.
categoy : writing
W O R D - T H I N G
The reality
Inside the word
Is NOT the same
As the “t-h-i-n-g”
I inscribe down here
In lines of lavishly
lingering
Sparks of poetry :
The man walking his brown ‘n white dog
S E P A R A T E S F R O M
The IMAGE OF
“The man walking his brown’n white dog”--
And so the letters flow
Always on the go.
The point of this little poem
(And of its retarded dome)
IS : that what YOU see
may NOT BE what you sense from ME.
category : writing
O N B E I N G I N T E R V I E W E D
“Why’d you do it?” asks the innocent journalist.
“Because I had to,” responds the arcane author.
“Could you elaborate?” persists the dogged inquisitor.
And I do :
“ ‘Things’ inside me wanted up and out.
They’d holler and bellow and always shout
How they ‘wanted to be heard and understood’
Rather than ‘keep to themselves’ in silent seething
While I went about my daily breathing.”
The author pauses, pregnantly, here
Before continuing with what, to him, is dear :
“These ‘things’--
These feelings ‘n thoughts ‘n fears ‘n joys--
Festered, growing strong until they burst
Out upon my pages composed on first
When I, a wee young lad playing with his favorite toys,
Put pen to paper and let my innards out to say
What they had always followed to obey
In BOTH our hearts and minds, joined at the WORD
So that all most ‘common ears’ could be fed and heard.”
Upon which, the interviewer closes-up his pad
And prepares to part, confused, not mad.
“Will you print my words? queries the author in final point.
“Yes, I shall,” replies the rattled newspaper man.
“Though what you meant is beyond what I am.”
And the ‘wrighter’--the worker with words--smiles serenely
For his message has gotten-across again, most seemingly.
category : holidays
C H R I S T M A S
D A Y I N L. A. (1 9 9 9)
High blazing-sun hiding behind
Streaking white cirrus clouds above
While all below the “basin” round
STOPS--
Its madding rushings all about
In totally exhausted spouts
This dawning Christmas morn
When all inhabit-ants feel forlorn
For unrealistic expectations dashed
AGAIN--
By unfulfilled gratifications smashed.
In another Christmas scam
Of things, desires, and flim-flam
Spent to purchase empty dreams
“Hung by the chimney with NO care”
By those who wouldn’t dare
Upset the “commercially correct thing”
Of letting flashing registers ring and sing.
category : shows
L E L I D O
Ass-send into the champagne laid-in-air
Filled with--feathers
baubles
bubbles and
mesh
That display the pulchritudnous flesh--
Full and lean, milky cream :
Leg and thigh, cheek and breast
Like some poule to be plucked
(Or some cunt you’d like to fuck).
Violet music spins in strings
Red-hot blasts blare from horns
And from the swirling center is born
Mundane dames masked in magic--
A slight-of-hand, and illusioned trick,
All meant to entertain, entice--
To turn a profit, twice or thrice.
category : natural phenomena
THE CROWS GO TO SCHOOL
Each early morning
(6 A.M. to be exact)
A rack of raven-black
BIRDS
swoop and circle down
Upon the school in the park
For something more than just a lark.
Breaking ranks,
They pick and peck
Bending to bob rotating necks
While cawing and calling,
The neighbors annoying.
What do they want
And why are they here ?
Few venture a guess
Outside of making a mess.
But as I take my daily constitutional,
I think their reasons may be institutional :
“Birds of a feather DO flock together”
For something more than merely the weather--
A chance at human learning perhaps
With all its flaws and mishaps
Sends this message to the crows
To ever be on their toes.
category : animals
JAG-YOU-ARE
To be the “jag” of fishing hooks,
To be “on a jag” sans sober looks,
To “jag” an edge with pinking shears,
To “jag” along in jerky gears--
“JAG-YOU-ARE AS JAG-YOU-DOES” :
But jaguars are all the buzz :
In cages and in the wild free
These cats of power, like you and me,
Expanded energies abound
As they search and look around
For food to feed upon and chew
Without so much as a rue.
Sleek and sly beneath the sky
They never ask “how” or “why” :
Being is their sole survival
Every day on round-revival--
So that when life is done
No need to ask “who has won?”
It is : the “JAG-YOU-ARE” undone.
category : places
W I N T E R E S C A P A D E S
Powder-sugared trees explode in blowing breezes
Sky-high mountains rise above frozen fabled fountains
Silver-mirrored lakes flash beneath streaking steely skates
Ice-sheeted waterfalls hang in suspended animation--
While rushing rivulets splash with spurting tension.
An Austrian tapestry in coldest white and black
With Mozart candies mounted high in stacks
‘Midst strains of violins and harpsichords and cellos
Making burghers eat and drink and feel so very mellow--
That daily troubles vanish and far away are banished.
Happy little fairy-taled Salzburg town
Lies twinkling bright under darkest starried night
Guarded by a medievaled fort in white
Looking down from above, reputedly renowned--
Throughout these Tyrolean states from earliest recorded dates.
A place where “Sounds of Music” echo sweetly still
Covered in dreams of eidelweiss on roughly rolling hills
Filled with children’s laughter, innocent and loving
Life to its fullest daylight’s dawn filled with happy giving--
An enchanted crystal time encrusted with frosted singing rime.
category : philosophy
R O M A N C E
What ought to be in life
Fills heads with “romance”
With deeds of love and chance
And days free from strife.
Eternal youth--emblazoned, bold--
Yearns for love extreme
Found only in dreams
Of mates encased in gold.
Flesh free from time’s terriblle tread
Held in suspended animation
Sans fear of endless termination
And the grave no longer to dread.
Reality’s “what is” o’errides
Romance’s “ what should be”
Until we close our eyes forever--
Or live with illusion’s treasure.
category : writing
C O N T A C T
or
“how a poem happens”
a string in the deepest depths of your heart
is plucked by a familiar, hoped-for chord
and the vibrations begin to spriral and sing in the dark
until a lightning shower of sparks flares on-fire
to grow higher and higher
with every word that flows-out on sheets of clean, white paper
whose syllables form, divide, and shape themselves
into images of--mystery
awe
hope and
humility
where CONTACT is made with unrealized dreams
points of light in time and space
only wondered at before--
but now here and clear, forevermore.
Y A L A P A
(for “Charlie”)
Lightly lapping lazy lapis
Waves yapped snappingly at
Our flapping, fleeing souls
On a holy hallucinatory isle of
Vibrant color-coded birds and
Sparkling yellow-green water-
Fall flowers--
As we rode and laughed
Deeply on plugged-horses
Through dense jungled underbrush--
ONE GLORY-SHINING DAY
Rushing
So in-love
Alive
We yearned for Eternity
In a ray of light
In a grain of sand--
In god’s eye.
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