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Monday, December 30, 2019

DAYDREAM ON AISLE # 7



If you eat a doughnut
then eat it whole
if you leave a fragment
of a doughnut
then it's got no hole
it's no longer whole
it's got no soul

but I've been saved from 

The Hunger
and that's what true salvation 
means
the cravings for an
other
and then another
and another

there's enough sweetness in

the smile of a stranger
with her cart in the super mart
as you glide toward and then
past one another

you let your imagination
out to play for a minute
creating a scenario where
you remark that she has bought
the same kosher dills as you
and then it would begin
but
that could lead you
down the aisle

the wrong one


when you know that you can satisfy 

those cravings well enough now
without the necessity
of making Mistake Number Three

so you tuck that daydream away

and glide on over to 
the doughnut aisle
add to cart
proceed to checkout
and wave goodbye 
Boy George's plaintive voice
echoing sweetly in your ears




Wednesday, December 18, 2019

A LITTLE HOLIDAY CHEER



Holidays are always quiet
for me
since I became a full-fledged
misanthrope.

It's not that I hate people
really
it's just that there's 
so damn many of 'em
everyplace you turn--
the source of all 
the world's evil.

I mean who else would it be...
the kindly elephant???

No worries though
as one by one
the fair-weather friends
drop by the wayside 
like they slipped
on a banana peel.

One day they're there
and the next 
POOF
they've removed themselves
from your life
with nary a word.

Good riddance to bad rubbish
as the quaint old saying goes.

(They've done a favor
actually
and saved you
from having to haul out that trash
yourself.)

More time to watch Dog TV
and I don't even have a dog.
But it makes for a pleasant
and quiet yuletide
as you don't see many humans
on there.
Just a contented mutt
and his bone.

Come to think of it
that describes me to a T.

Happy holidays, y'all!




Thursday, December 12, 2019

COUCH TOMATO





I once met a psychiatrist
on a blind date
and as we sat there
with our drinks
I tried to see what was in her eyes
and what they revealed about
what she was thinking about
me

but as it turned out
she liked me
and wanted to see me again
and I went round and round
in my head about that
as in if we started up with each other
would she be constantly psychoanalyzing me
(why should I care if it's free?)

but in the end I decided I'd feel
too self-conscious in that scenario

which is weird cuz
it was all the rest of 'em
who tried to analyze me
more than she ever would have
and to this day
I know they think
they had me all figured out

Sunday, November 24, 2019

SAY HIS NAME













He is heading out
for open road,
 big rig humming.

Thanksgiving morning.
The day is crisp and clear.

He will eat his holiday dinner
at some truck stop,
where his banter with the waitress--
a kindred spirit--
will be about keeping the world running
while the rest of 'em
spend the day gettin' fat and happy.

In a while,
he will put in a call to Janie and the kids.
They'll be over at mom's today.
In their pre-meal prayer,
they will say his name.

And yes, he is thankful.
Hell...lucky to have a job at all
the way things are going.

The road snakes on to somewhere
anywhere
nowhere.

And the holiday travelers
blow past him,
just another obstacle
in the way
on the way
to their overindulgence.

He remembers how,
in the beginning,
he thought this would be
a romantic kind of life.
But as he looks out now,
across the endless expanse,
he is struck by the thought
that it's kinda like
gazing at the moon
in daylight.



Sunday, November 17, 2019

AFTERWORD


He's just a nondescript dude
 more polite than most
 no need for posturing
at this stage of the game

The one he's not playing


Saw him at the theater

saw him at the school
saw him at the cafe
in the booth
so calm and cool

Think you're a tough guy

and he looks like a pushover
maybe have a little fun
maybe heap some abuse
but you've just drawn to
the worst hand of your life
with the one you never should choose

Talkin bout the man with nothing to lose


Your woman

your job
your booze
will keep you playing the game
by somebody else's rules
and you'll always stop short
of the things he might choose

That man with nothing to lose


Who knows when

the proverbial straw
came into play
suffice it to say
that life has been exposed
as a game for fools
and he is no longer playing
by anyone's rules

When life's no longer

what it seems
you walk along in a dream
a slow motion movie
where there is no sound
and people's eyes appear
to be screaming
and you wonder
in a curious way
if it has anything to do
with you

Saw him at the theater

saw him at the school
saw him at the cafe
in the booth
so calm and cool

And afterward

the afterword
is how did we fail him
but that's easy because
day by day
and each and every day
we shuffle along in a dream
where we wanted to reach out
we had it in our minds
to reach out
we had it on our agenda
to reach out
we had it on our calendar
to reach out
but somehow
we just didn't
and so it's easy to discern
just where we went wrong
my friend
cuz day after day
and each and every day
we
have
all
failed
to
love

Wednesday, October 30, 2019

JUST VAMPING





Bats roll
buzzards troll
freaks plague
your tormented soul
and we are waiting.

We dance by day
we dance by night
here to give you
such a fright
and we are waiting.

Brothers and sisters
we are waiting.
mothers and fathers
we are waiting.
sons and daughters
we are waiting.
sons of bitches
we are waiting.

Angels and whores trade places
in a moonlit masquerade.

Zombies dance
without any pants.

And we are waiting...
for THE NIGHT !

Friday, October 25, 2019

THE WINDS OF CHANGE BLEND WITH AUTUMN ZEPHYRS SIGHING (collaborative poem from Sanaa Rizvi and Timoteo)



HE IS CREAM...SHE IS CHEESE...
WHAT A SPECTACULAR COMBINATION!

Sanaa and I began talking a few weeks ago and seemed to really hit it off. We discovered that we share the love of autumn, and so the poem before you quickly began to unfold. We hope you enjoy it and look forward to hearing your thoughts in the comments.



When the gales of November come early
I’m a total wreck 
wind knocked out of my sails
but I’ve set a course for 
The Sea Of Tranquility
and I’ll be there 
when that big moon 
sweeps these storms from my heart.


Now these clouds
cold, mean and gray sideways rain
point toward the dark road 
my mind is travelling in,
the bruising of November 
teaches one about existence, its brevity 
I wonder if the moon knows time
and course, as leaves curl in colors of Fall.


There is a melancholy vibe 
this time of year--
I can feel it in the forced gaiety 
beginning to build 
as I swim through the crowd, rudderless,
like a paper boat adrift on the breeze,
and for small moments
I will succumb to the mass hypnosis

With wild berries clinging for support,
I observe the breeze, 
an unseen one act nearly farce
painstakingly scrape to leave a patch of stillness
uncovered for a short while,
my lips are stained with the thought of woe
prevalent
hauling one to a place where light cannot reach.


But I’ve had it with these subterranean homesick blues.
I shall emerge from these depths--
the mole in your midst 
burrowing to the sun.
The world is fraught with overt boogeymen.
They cannot frighten survivors
who’ve been to scarier places in their own minds 
than your sardonic smile could ever intimate. 


Let this be the end 
as air’s imbued with wet leaves and contemplation
is a swirl of mist;
a sliver of dark orange disseminating doldrums.
My faith akin to myriad of stones 
that become the shade of highway that lies 
unruffled behind them-- 
I witness the break of day and run forth to embrace.  


Springs and autumns flash by in an instant.
I make a wish and the universe 
rains its poetry down upon me.
To embrace both the darkness and
the light within us is the way of understanding.
November brings the winds of change.
I stand in the awe-filled silence
waiting to feel its sharp graze against my cheek.


I could watch them a while, this feeling that blends 
with fall foliage
for when struck with the right note of sobriety 
even the most dismal of life’s turns are rendered facile. 
The hour smiles and extends its hand to me,
as rain conjures a delicate pattern 
upon my skin 
and the winds of change blend with autumn zephyrs sighing. 


Saturday, October 19, 2019

GOD BLESS



3 a.m. on a Sunday
and I'm tradin' sleep for a poem

thinking 'bout all the folks
who will don their Sunday finery
to hang out in a pew
with you and you and you
and you
still don't get it
that your soul is immortal
and not in need of savin'

but sure
I get it
it's a sense of comm
unity
we gather together to ask 
the Lord's blessing

and even though I'm fallin' apart
in my decrepitude
I'm good to go with all of that
don't feel the need
cuz a coupla peeps singing loudly off key
on either side of me
isn't exactly what I call "inspirational"

having said all that
I'll admit I've prayed before
but it's always been 
a white-knuckled
get me out of this freakin' jam
kinda thing 
and by god 
somehow...
somehow...

so let me say that if you don't feel 
a connection
with something larger than
your own ego
whatever you wanna call it
then I have to wonder about ya
as in how did you miss it?
(ah--your head was buried in your phone!)

goddamn

my pen is running out of ink
so I guess I'll close for now
but it's been nice chatting with you
and if you don't mind 
I'd rather not ruin my rep
as heathen in good standing
so let's just keep all this stuff
between you and me

God bless

Friday, October 11, 2019

GROUNDED

For Wild Friday at Poets United. Inspired by James Wright (1927-1980) and his poetry collection: Shall We Gather At The River.


A sense of place is a good thing.
A grounding thing.
A sense of time and place means
You remember things that
Have touched you deeply.

Deeply enough to lay 
The groundwork for a poem.

He was rooted in time and place
Like no one I ever read.
Out of the way places.
Lonely places. 

Daybreak beginning to fall on Idaho.

A discontinued railroad station
In Fargo, North Dakota.

The oldest whorehouse 
In Wheeling, West Virginia.

(No mention if they were the oldest whores.)

He understood the poet's mission 
was to take what has stirred 
(or maybe shaken) you,
And pay it forward.
Poignant and plain spoken, he came
from a time and a place
where some things still made sense.

Some still remember. 


Monday, October 7, 2019

LITTLE BOX

For Sanaa's prompt on Imaginary Garden With Real Toads --inspired by Pink's "Hurts 2B Human"


It's getting harder
to be human
when to leave my comment
on your poem
I must prove
I'm not a robot

No easy feat

these days
when it's come down to
a set of rules 
a set of laws
not divine laws
(and not your in-laws)
but decrees laid down
by mortals
often with dubious aims
and dark agendas
but by god now they're set in stone
and we will follow them
to the letter
as we chant

Send them back!

Send them back!

Just like what you want me

to prove that I'm not 
and though it walks
and talks
and seems almost like a person
the human element
(unfortunately)
could not be programmed in
so before you check 
that little box 
look deep inside your heart
take a moment 
and ask yourself...

Where is the proof  

that I'm not a robot?



Sunday, September 8, 2019

MIDNIGHT AT THE OASIS


Used to sometimes drop into
The Maverick Bar
just for the hell of it--
back in the day
it was the premier country-western 
spot in town for two steppers
and two timers lookin' to hook up.

One night as I was leavin' there

sitting in my car
these two drunk chicks
came stumbling out.
They were lookin' for a ride
and I would have obliged them
in one way or another.

One of them poked her head 

with all that teased blonde hair 
inside my open passenger side window
and got a bead on me,
sizing me up as best she could
for the state she was in (Arizona).

And then she said to her friend:

Why hell, Betty Sue...
he ain't even a COWBOY!

And as they tottered off in search

of a big Stetson hat
and whatever else might come 
along with that package 
I said to myself:

No, pardner...

you sure ain't no cowboy.

At least you got that goin' for ya.

Tuesday, August 27, 2019

THREE'S A CROWD



Went to the supermarket 
and you can't even turn around 
without bumping into some body...

Fuken people!
they're everywhere
and the source of all our grief.

Cuz if it were just you and me
there'd be no worry about the economy
we'd barter straight up
one to one
no need for tariffs 
as we'd know each other better 
than anyone else in the world and
trust that we weren't trying
to screw each other over.

If it were just you and me
the skies would be clear 
and the oceans would be clean
and all the methane gas that goes into the 
atmosphere from all the cows and everyone
else farting up a storm wouldn't exist
we'd eat from nature's bounty
brimming on the trees and the vines.

And the murder rate would be way down
no assault weapons
cuz nobody to assault
I could bonk you over the head
with my club if you got really out of line
but you'd be okay.

No white supremacists cuz
having originated from 
somewhere over there in Africa
you and I would be
brown as berries 
(and just as juicy I might add).

Don't dismiss these words out of hand cuz
all the world's major problems
can be traced back to too many 
fuken people
but there's nothing to be done about it now
'cept try to be civil
and don't turn around abruptly in the market
and bump into some old lady
who'll give you the nastiest look
like she thinks you shouldn't even exist.


Tuesday, August 13, 2019

THE ONLY CONCRETE THINGS IN LIFE


An encore presentation from about three years back. I know that some of you haven't seen it. 

Sidewalks speak
of cig butts and spittle,
old women in door stoops,
poetry cafes and musty smelling bookshops--
the clack of high heels,
the cadence of raindrops,
and children running.

Sidewalks speak
of jackhammers, sirens, and horns--
of just before,
and the moment after,
the corner store
and the ring of laughter.

Sidewalks speak
of dog shit, baby carriages, and
ice cream cones melting in the sun.
Of epithets hurled, flags unfurled,
five o'clock shadows, gutters,
teenagers on the run.

Sidewalks speak
of swirling lights
painted faces
and tango dancers.
Sidewalks speak...
but no one answers.

Sidewalks caution:
WATCH YOUR STEP!
for the road twists and bends.

Life is a nameless corner
where the sidewalk ends.


Tuesday, July 16, 2019

O. M. G.


I went strolling 
through this city
of painted boxes
throwing rocks 
at everything that moved

While the hip-hop dancers
fingered their crotches
I gave the sun away
it was just another day

I fed the monkeys
and the peacocks
I danced all night
with three queens
in hot pants and clogs

in the morning
enveloped in fog
I took a marriage proposal
from a guy with a gun
and a dog

We read the Kama Sutra
all night in bed
there is something fragile 
inside your head
that makes you want to be dead

and sometimes you know
exactly what's going to kill you
but you just keep keepin' on with it

I am your God
and you shall seek no other
I carry a horn to blow
in all these streets
to notify you of my second coming
never doubting
that the preachers
will nail me to the cross

Oh never mind
it's the flag
the flag
the important thing is
that it not touch the ground

For we'll still be waving it
long after your silly God
is dead and gone

Tuesday, July 9, 2019

US


Play it as it lays
no need to cheat cuz 
in the end you'll want to say
 that you won it
or lost it 
fair and square.

There is a little word called

integrity 
that has gotten lost
under tons of smelly manure
spewing out the wrong end 
of the equine these days
(mouth instead of rectum)
and that makes a horse's
ass out of many of us.

What is winning 

going to gain you
you self-serving twit
when you lose your
soul in the process
and reincarnate as a
dung beetle
eating shit for the rest
of your days instead
of serving it up?


Like the rhino who can
only see 15 feet 
in front of his face
we're all a little 
short-sighted that way.

We'll deal with the consequences

of whatever that is up ahead later
right now just put your 
head down and charge!

If karma exists

then I'll see you 'round
the old dung pile
in just a little while.