DAYDREAM ON AISLE # 7

dVersePoetsPub

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

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!

COUCH TOMATO

d'Verse Poets Pub

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

TIM'S NEW BOOK IS OUT!

SAY HIS NAME

dVerse Poets Pub

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.

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

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 !

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. 

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

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.