Wednesday, March 21, 2012


Poetry Potluck--d'Verse Poets Pub

the day was December twenty-first,
and the year was two thousand and twelve.
and all of the folks down at the auction house
were going about their daily bid-ness
when there came a thundering boom
and a boomerous thunder
and the skies opened up
and a chorus of angels sang out
and all began to wonder
as the cry rang into the night:
why, them damn Mayans were right!

cuz it's closin' time
here at the world
last call for alcohol
at the weary old world

the preachers were atop their street corner 
soap boxes
railing fire and brimstone
'cept for that crazy one
who kept predicting the end
on one date and then another
was doing an Irish jig on a table top
cackling: I told ya--suckhas! 

Let the animals loose!
a man began to shout--
let 'em run for higher ground
and we'll be right on their tails.
(but people move like snails.)

and I saw Ms. Goody-Two-Shoes
wailin' the ol' Gut Bucket Blues
as she took another swig of booze
knowing she had nothing to lose
as she said, "C'mon boys--line up over here and take a number!"

and people were making love
in the street--
yeah, they were squirmin' like a toad 
to the boombox strains of
Why Don't We Do It In The Road.

cuz it's  closin' time
here at the world
almost closin' time 
at the weary ol' world.

so strained under the weight
of  inflated egos
and institutionalized hate.

and the churches opened their doors to all,
and didn't stop to check
if you were straight or gay--
to the sudden epiphany
that all of us can pray.

And mom and pop
said to the kids
go ahead and open
your presents--
it's now or never
forever and ever.

and  Santa at the mall
bolted upright
with a "git this BRAT offa me"
as he headed for the bar
and ran into another car.

and Dick Cheney,
scrambling for a place to hunker,
remembered he still had the key
to that underground bunker.

and people were jumping
from the top of Jeff Bridges
as confusion rained
on The Supremes.

and old Betty Conklin
recalled how she used
all that aerosol spray
and she never recycled
not even for a day...

and old Jeb Mcgurk
spat the juice from his chaw
as he cried: hallelujah--here I
come ma and paw!

and Paris Hilton
from her mansion of riches
took out her ipad and tweeted:
so long, bitches!

and as the animals headed for the hills
('cept the ones in Kansas--
they just ran in circles)
the roaches were throwing
a giant block party
with hijacked scones and coffee

cuz it's closin' time
here at the world
closin' time at the weary old world
no more time to be clever...

time to roll up the sidewalks
and stash them away


Saturday, March 17, 2012


Poetry Potluck--With Real Toads--d'Verse Poets Pub

She had a checkered past.

But with my thrift store
mentality, I didn't mind buying used--
(there's something very cozy
about things that are broken in)
long as it looked like
it would stand up to the
wear and tear. 

One day she said to me:
Why are you with me?
I'm such a whore.

I like whores, I said.

She gave me a look of utter incredulity.

But if she had thought about it,
even a little,
she would have figured that out
the third time we visited 
the Salvation Army store. 

Saturday, March 10, 2012


roaring spin 
of time
moments cascade into yesterday
like a waterfall in a dream 

a flower
a stolen hour
a superpower

a viper
a sniper
a windshield wiper

spin in the eternal eddy

as the man behind the mask
harbors secrets
hidden meanings
glimpsed through patchy fog
too dangerous to share 
with anyone but you

all the rocks and all the stars
the reasons poetry and symbolism exist

I'm just a visitor
a loner with a boner
in the star magnificence
an existence
devoid of meaning
and grace
the battered corpses of love
 strewn along my tracks

yet still there is wonder
the unknown
the astounding scheme of things

hypnotized we wander

a supernova
Martina Navratilova

a candelabra
a chupacabra
choose the next palabra 

time sails by on the breeze

and yet 
like you
I  stand my ground
in for a penny
in for a pound
along for the ride 
and hanging on every word

this blast 
from the past
brought to you by

Tuesday, March 6, 2012


Desperately seeking                                                                   d'Verse Poets Pub
someone to love
someone to hate
a reason to humiliate

Desperately seeking
to find some direction
to make a connection
to feel your rejection

Desperately seeking
a Ginsu knife
the meaning of life
somebody's wife

Desperately seeking
my moment of fame
where to lay the blame
and end to this shame

Desperately seeking
a shot at the top
some wings when I drop
back into the slop

Desperately seeking
and Betty Jean
a place to lie down
and a chance to come clean

Desperately seeking
to find a new game
like ants a a picnic
where nobody came