https://poetsandstorytellersunited.blogspot.com/s
one never knows
2 never knows
3 never knows
yesterday never knows
today never knows
Tomorrow Never Knows
still we wait
in rapt anticipation
for Arecibo to pick up a clue
something to bring us together
and show we are more than the
savage apes in a Kubrick odyssey
best thing for this roiling ball in space
would be to confront
a common enemy
War of the Worlds
now playing
right outside your kitchen window
your petty partisan bickering
wouldn't matter much then
Nancy and Mitch
Rush (to judgement)
Sister Susie
Phil and Don
and on and on
but they want no part of us
and our cancerous encroachment
upon all that is sacred
would you?
somewhere The Creator
emits a big booming laugh
he knows that he's just getting started
stay tuned
Corn flakes get so soggy
so fast
not like grape nuts
which will hold up for a while.
So be quick with your flakes
and let your nuts soak a while.
Do you miss any of the houses
you used to live in?
Or any of the mouses
that stayed there with you?
Or did you just methodically murder them?
Order.
Chaos.
You want fries with that?
The fakers and the fakirs come and go
charming your snake for a while
until someone yells:
Put that thing down!
What will be your saving grace
a la Steve Miller in a psychedelic haze,
and if you only save face
by saying grace
will that be enough for you?
Life is a game
pick a struggle
take a side
or just sit in the stands
drink beer
and shout obscenities.
To work on the work
is all there is left.
And all that matters.
Dem goddamn blueberries when dey fall
when dey fall...
Dad deserves the best--get him some new
jockey shorts, but beware--he'll be pissed
if they're a size too small,
so sneak into his room when he's sleeping
with a tape measure.
Dem blueberries when dey tumble
off da 'frigerator shelf...
I confess what I've had bottled up inside me
for all this time is that...
goddamned Santa Claus,
he never brought me NUTHIN' I really liked.
(Would you believe I had a mild form of
Tourette's--"Saint Vitus Dance" they used to call it--
which I mostly kept under control,
or do you think I might just say that as an attempt
to explain, legitimize, or justify my poetry? )
Goddamned Santa Claus.
And dem blueberries when dey hit da floor
dey don't spill all over da place like before--
maybe my luck is changin'
At any rate, we musn't rush.
We lose GRACE when we rush--
like all the ungainly people
running to catch the bus.
But dad deserves the best, you know.
Every dad has his day
and his is comin' up.
The only lasting things he taught me were the phrases:
You talk like a woman with a paper butthole
and
Ya don't know shit from apple butter
and he was a linguistics professor too...
Goddamn blueberries.
(They've fallen and they can't get up.)
Santa tumbling head-first down da chimney.
We all
headed for a fall
So until that ungainly
ungodly day
git your back up off da wall
and DANCE!!!
(Do tics fit the description?)
