THIS DREAM

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

In the morning
I awaken once again
into this dream

In the blueness
of the day
the arrogance
of ordered existence
becomes clear

As the day darkens
I come to terms with
the illusion of meaning

I've taken to staying up 
while others sleep
spinning and turning in time

That blow to the head
could have felled a rhino
but all I did was stagger
about a bit
in that lovely planetarium
behind my eyes

Now
in my world of ambiguity
the universe precedes the big bang
the lesson begins the teacher
and the world passes right behind my eyes

In a parallel universe
I am perpendicular 

And like the world
it all makes perfect sense
if you don't think about it

SQUARE PEG

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

I see you struggling

to reconcile who you are

inside

with that belief system

adhered to so rigidly

and handed down from your

fathers.

And I know so many want

to have a sense of belonging

to something,

but it doesn't really accept

your kind,

and you've known it all along--

but still you try to fit your

square peg

into that round hole

(and they think that's dirty anyway).

Hey

here's something...

it's called THINKING FOR YOURSELF!

Give it a try sometime.

Simply involves learning to trust

your own instinctive and innate
sense of truth

(been doing it since my youth).

Yeah give it a try.

You'll be as giddy

as a kiddie

on a merry-go-round.

As happy as a pig

in slop.

And the great thing is

you won't need to run out and

sacrifice

your first born

when those Vincent Price voices

start playing

inside your head,

because

there are good treatment

options for schizophrenia

these days.

TENEMENT WORLD

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

Poets and lovers

what did we learn

in rooms filled with smoke

inside

this ugly tenement of a world?

Raging against heaven

why do we exist

and

can any singular purpose

be pursued

when all about is duality?

Trying to rewind time

return to Sherwood

or the old woman

who lived in a shoe

where the sounds of

grunting and moaning

could be heard at all times

of the day and night

as her laces came undone

Balling our brains out

with assumed names

under an ashamed moon

your eggs unprotected

and my brain fried

(You're catching on

to how it works--

let's spend some time

with grandma Esperanza

ha ha)

These masters

these devils

The desperate wannabes

at the karaoke bar

All is self-interest

just as I told you

by the riverbank

when we were seventeen

revealing too much

of a universe

already transparent

to my eyes

giving too much away

spoiling the game

And yet we play on

for old times sake

just to honor a memory

not completely faded

AS BELIEF SLIPS AWAY

I wait
you disappear
I have adapted to the uncertainty
having studied the meaninglessness
of everything
as belief slips away

The celibate angels
are heading home
bleeding from the mouth

These diminutive princesses
are walking with a phantom
eyes filled with sleep

Glasses are lifted

A muted announcer
a dark-eyed lover
a tipsy comedian
imitates a woman
violently histrionic

You're as freaky
as a Fellini movie
those painted faces
in a room full of rogues

But the critics
questioning the old notions
have forgiven the abstract world
and so must I

So I wait
through the long summer
for the sun to set
in some gilded autumn sky

TO DO LIST

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

  
Greet       Sunrise

Whiff       Lilac

Enlarge     Experience

Blow        Didgeridoo

Steal       Batman's Yo-Yo

Read        Riot Act

Write       Answer

Stitch      In Time

Witness     Total Eclipse

Release     Feelings

Count       Nanoseconds

Count       Dracula

Get         A Grip

Scatter     Brains

Bury        Hatchet

Return      Batman's Yo-Yo

Introduce   Penis

Collect     Severance Pay

Treat       Williams

Be          Witness

Be          Blackballed

Be          Have

Be          Gin

PALOOPA

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







palapa 
paloopa
papa loppa
papa loopa
poopa loppa
papa la papa
paloop aloppa
loppa papa
loppa la poopa
paloop
pallop
palopola papa
papa la papa la poopa la poppa
lollipapa
lollipoopa

papa la poopa lollipopa lollipoopa poppa loopa la poopa loopa poopa pa loopa 

palapa la papa
paloop
pallop

paloopalop
palloopa
pallopa
paloopa

plop 
pop
plop 

poop
poop
plop

plop...

plop...

plop...

poop

TALE OF THE NEW WEST

Imaginary Gardens With Real Toads--d'Verse 

Poets Pub

This is the New West
not the old
where women were hardy
and cowpokes were bold
and most didn't have to worry
about growing old

No iron horses
chugging along
belching innocuous steam
just row upon row
of  SUVs
backed up down the block
windows rolled tight
air conditioners humming
whene'er it reaches 70

No gunslingers
dueling in the middle
of a dusty street
just your nightly drive-by shooting
over in da hood

No cattle drives
'cross the lone prairie
but your ripped-off stereo
is being driven 
to the pawn shop across town
as we speak

This is the New West
not the old

The wide open spaces 
 filled in by  housing developments
springing up like weeds
for as far as the eye can see

A home
where no buffalo roam
just old folks
warehoused and tossed aside
stripped of their pride

Where Buffalo Bill
is popping some pills
Miss Kitty runs
and escort service
and Cool Hand Luke
is taking a puke
out back behind the titty bar

Where they don't hang horse thieves
anymore
and the car thieves are too fast
to get caught
now they're cooling their jets
in the Mexican sun
getting ready
to make another run

This is the New West
not the old

But those gritty pioneers
are still celebrated with the
Shootout At The O.K. Corral
and those stuntmen
they bounce right up again
after being shot
(over in the barrio
they just lie prone
as often as not)

Here
in the land of make believe
where a store bought hat
makes you a cowboy

Here
in the New West
where you may never
have to worry
about growing old

RUBBER DUCKIE (Google "giant rubber duck.")

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

The GIANT RUBBER DUCKIE
is on its way
coming to America
any day

He's been to Hong Kong
and Australia too
Six stories high 
my oh my
and coming soon
to a harbor near you


Here comes that duckie
let's give him a hand 
sure hope he ain't full of 
North Koreans
ready to invade
when they reach dry land
(We will have to shoot them down
or they'll be goose-steppin' it
all over town)

A Trojan horse
is a horse 
of course
that's not the same as geese

and a duck 
is a duck
you silly fuk
let's hope he comes in peace

A big yellow duck 
to spread goodwill
throughout the universe

reminding us of when we were small
and putting time in reverse

Hey, lookit me
I'm taking my bath
with my yellow rubber duck

I won't lie to you
he used to be blue 
but I peed in the tub...
yuk yuk yuk! 

There's a big yellow duck
he's sailing the ocean
or so that's what I've heard

we'll all welcome him
to America
except for Big Bird
who's jealous...

oh, what a Big Turd! 

In the middle of typing this poem, I looked down at the chocolate stain that was on the front of my pants from the night before,  (I hadn't bothered to remove it yet) and incredibly I saw that the chocolate stain was in the shape of a duck!  AMAZING COINCIDENCE?  EERIE OMEN?  OR THE WORK OF THE DEVIL?  The photo of the stain is what you see at the top of the poem. Make of it what you will!!!!!!

SUNDAY MORNING COWBOY

Imaginary Garden With Real Toads--d'Verse poets Pub 

moseys down the sidewalk
past the little A-frame church
where parents of long-haired girls
in granny skirts
and fidgety little boys
resigned to being on their best
behavior for as long as they can stand it
(which is about an hour,  tops)
are herding their charges inside.

Cowboy eases his lanky old frame 
 past the church
and enters the convenience store
on the corner. 

On the return trip he totes a 12-pack
under one arm, 
and as he passes the little meeting house again,
the sound of hymns being sung 
with gusto,
if not exactly on key,
wafts into the street.

To casual observers,
Sunday Morning Cowboy
takes no special note of any of it. 

But they'd be wrong. 

When he gets home 
and pops open
that first Sunday morning beer,
chugs about half of it
 in one swallow,
and burps lustily...

he pauses 
and murmurs: 
Heavenly Father,
we thank thee for these gifts. 

OTHERWISE

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

Don't stop
what you're doing
don't cancel 
the ballgame
don't shut 
the whole damn city down
don't say none of it's
important
in light of...
it's all important
it's your LIFE
sure it sounds bizarre
but now you see 
we've got to factor it in
as crazy as 
it would have seemed 
in that Leave It To Beaver world
we're no longer immune 
and we've got to factor it in
as others 
speaking other tongues
have done
as a fact 
Jack
that' all
it's the fact
Jack
and sure it sounds 
preposterous
when you still 
haven't  grasped 
that on this plane
we're all insane
always have been
it's just that we 
factored it in
goes on everyday
on a smaller scale
but you think that's okay
long as it stays
in THAT part of town
cuz you've factored it in
and gone about your business
so now's the time
to go about our business
the business of living
it's called
and just get on with it
singin'
shoutin'
heads held high
just get on with it

play the game

otherwise they've won