Four pieces of wood, single and lonesome
connect themselves at each end,
clothed in stretched, milky white canvas -
become parents to my obscure vision
of an unknown place where red makes love to green
and Monet sits on a burnt umber hill against the horizon,
laughing as I tickle him with the damp hairs of my wand.
He tells me to find him fresh water lilies, proclaiming
his obsession for the pigment of my eyes
that swirls in shades of cobalt blue cerulean,
creating waves to wash away his urgency
and blotting acrylic over him with a single stroke -
placing myself on the hill against the horizon
to form the perfect transparent image.
Saturday, December 27, 2008
A Mind Numbing Rant
Rich girls are like mosquitoes,
they get their bellies full of blood
and don't realize they've stung
until they're smacked dead. I wish
I had Marilyn Monroe's curves,
but then again
I'd be considered an elephant. I'd
smell like coconut oil, and live
in the Hollywood Hills, using
my field of green
to buy soft black velvet shoes.
I wonder what it would be like
to taste caviar - I don't like
slippery things. It would probably
make my breath smell
like dirty socks. I'd tell people
caviar is originally Iranian
and say "Wahman" (Good Mind)
as they handed me a breath mint.
The I'd show them my
"bling-bling", watching
as their eyes grow blind
from my SAC initial chain around my neck.
I'd scream,
"The SAC-meister did it again!" As I'd
run from the table, hearing mutters of
"How absurd!" and "ruthless!"
behind me. Then I'd hop
into my parked private jet -
an SR71 spy plane, and fly to Vegas.
the overpaid card dealer from hell
would give me back all the money he took.
He'd marry me and present a supply
of never ending lottery tickets,
expensive wine
and cheap cigars.
I'd take the cigars, and
build seedy model castles out of them.
They would each become corners
to my new found country - my "bun-kadag" (home),
and join their hands allowing nothing
to pass through their
guarded gates. Then I'd stand,
strictly upright on one of those cigar towers
and yell obscenities - a caviar eating,
Marilyn Monroe look-alike with
SAC initials and lots
of expensive looking jewelry.
they get their bellies full of blood
and don't realize they've stung
until they're smacked dead. I wish
I had Marilyn Monroe's curves,
but then again
I'd be considered an elephant. I'd
smell like coconut oil, and live
in the Hollywood Hills, using
my field of green
to buy soft black velvet shoes.
I wonder what it would be like
to taste caviar - I don't like
slippery things. It would probably
make my breath smell
like dirty socks. I'd tell people
caviar is originally Iranian
and say "Wahman" (Good Mind)
as they handed me a breath mint.
The I'd show them my
"bling-bling", watching
as their eyes grow blind
from my SAC initial chain around my neck.
I'd scream,
"The SAC-meister did it again!" As I'd
run from the table, hearing mutters of
"How absurd!" and "ruthless!"
behind me. Then I'd hop
into my parked private jet -
an SR71 spy plane, and fly to Vegas.
the overpaid card dealer from hell
would give me back all the money he took.
He'd marry me and present a supply
of never ending lottery tickets,
expensive wine
and cheap cigars.
I'd take the cigars, and
build seedy model castles out of them.
They would each become corners
to my new found country - my "bun-kadag" (home),
and join their hands allowing nothing
to pass through their
guarded gates. Then I'd stand,
strictly upright on one of those cigar towers
and yell obscenities - a caviar eating,
Marilyn Monroe look-alike with
SAC initials and lots
of expensive looking jewelry.
Mr. Ab-doer, my Alien Friend
Slouched awkwardly,
forced to prop up
in front of me -
this muscle machine
called the ab-doer
intent on sandwiching
my bread rolls to four packaging
reminds me,
of a childhood alien friend
with elongated arms dangling,
and blue Styrofoam sidling
little knobs for ears -
he heals by touch
and radar signaling
phoning home.
Endlessly eating
his Reeses Pieces
favorite late evening
chocolate crispy,
peanut butter snack.
forced to prop up
in front of me -
this muscle machine
called the ab-doer
intent on sandwiching
my bread rolls to four packaging
reminds me,
of a childhood alien friend
with elongated arms dangling,
and blue Styrofoam sidling
little knobs for ears -
he heals by touch
and radar signaling
phoning home.
Endlessly eating
his Reeses Pieces
favorite late evening
chocolate crispy,
peanut butter snack.
London
Staggering out of a small pub
thumping sharp disco beats,
she veers away to the cracked curb on the tiled street.
Avoiding strict traffic -
taxis careen the left hand side,
tires kicking up brown mucous
of once thirsty snow...
Murder hits her, a heavy ocean current
colliding into the breakwater
creating a whirl of dazed blindness
while pain engulfs her sides
turning ribs into blades, cutting skin.
It's veil drapes over her vision
as his anvil sidles her to concrete.
thumping sharp disco beats,
she veers away to the cracked curb on the tiled street.
Avoiding strict traffic -
taxis careen the left hand side,
tires kicking up brown mucous
of once thirsty snow...
Murder hits her, a heavy ocean current
colliding into the breakwater
creating a whirl of dazed blindness
while pain engulfs her sides
turning ribs into blades, cutting skin.
It's veil drapes over her vision
as his anvil sidles her to concrete.
Rain Dance
Crackling
breaks apart
the curtains in the sky
and lights up a path to the heavens.
On ground, a stomp -
pressing dirt
thump
disturbs the silent air.
The cornstalks
are crying
like newborns at midnight.
Their mouths are dry.
Ten seconds, another
thump
moves threatening winds.
The chill turns to
slick water,
filling the wounds of the living.
And I-
tilt my head against
the soft soil
to listen.
breaks apart
the curtains in the sky
and lights up a path to the heavens.
On ground, a stomp -
pressing dirt
thump
disturbs the silent air.
The cornstalks
are crying
like newborns at midnight.
Their mouths are dry.
Ten seconds, another
thump
moves threatening winds.
The chill turns to
slick water,
filling the wounds of the living.
And I-
tilt my head against
the soft soil
to listen.
Sleeping with Tetris
One night I fell asleep
to the dim glow of the television
hitting my closed eyelids,
the color hues shifting
from green to gold.
The game remote still propped in my hand.
My flushed cheeks pressed against
the arm of the couch
and a puddle of saliva
at the corner of my mouth.
Echoing the hypnotic melody
like a child blowing a kazoo
in my ear, into my dreams -
where the shapes still fall
down to form the next set
of four rows. Feeling trapped
in one of those square boxes.
having to rearrange the shapes
by turning them over and
over again. Feeding the urge
for the victory of the rocket launch,
and awakening the next turn.
to the dim glow of the television
hitting my closed eyelids,
the color hues shifting
from green to gold.
The game remote still propped in my hand.
My flushed cheeks pressed against
the arm of the couch
and a puddle of saliva
at the corner of my mouth.
Echoing the hypnotic melody
like a child blowing a kazoo
in my ear, into my dreams -
where the shapes still fall
down to form the next set
of four rows. Feeling trapped
in one of those square boxes.
having to rearrange the shapes
by turning them over and
over again. Feeding the urge
for the victory of the rocket launch,
and awakening the next turn.
Very Ape
Roger, King of the Apes
read the book of Genesis
to Vincent, his black panther
comrade, and proclaimed
"Those humans sure do got it all wrong!"
when contemplating the actuality
of human existence
in the depths of the Wambagasi forest.
This is how it went:
Adam attached Eve's right leg
to the top of her neck,
replaced her left hand
with her head instead.
He glued her nose on
as a stumpy tail and
misplaced her spine
for a leafy vine.
Along came Edna, first lady
of Apes. Seeing Adam, she stated
"It's not rocket science", while
rearranging Eve's head, hands, legs
and nose. Eve, standing up
looked at Edna and said her first words:
"And they say man is more intelligent than ape."
read the book of Genesis
to Vincent, his black panther
comrade, and proclaimed
"Those humans sure do got it all wrong!"
when contemplating the actuality
of human existence
in the depths of the Wambagasi forest.
This is how it went:
Adam attached Eve's right leg
to the top of her neck,
replaced her left hand
with her head instead.
He glued her nose on
as a stumpy tail and
misplaced her spine
for a leafy vine.
Along came Edna, first lady
of Apes. Seeing Adam, she stated
"It's not rocket science", while
rearranging Eve's head, hands, legs
and nose. Eve, standing up
looked at Edna and said her first words:
"And they say man is more intelligent than ape."
Neon Lights
Neon lights point
down to the straggler
below -accenting
his empty wallet
and the finger holes in his
snagged gloves. He
takes out a cigarette,
lights up, slouching
against brick walls to
protect himself
from noisy casinos.
Las Vegas - home of
gratified hearts, everlasting
buffet lines, immortal
slot machines, old
women and deceit -
he is none of these,
yet he is more.
down to the straggler
below -accenting
his empty wallet
and the finger holes in his
snagged gloves. He
takes out a cigarette,
lights up, slouching
against brick walls to
protect himself
from noisy casinos.
Las Vegas - home of
gratified hearts, everlasting
buffet lines, immortal
slot machines, old
women and deceit -
he is none of these,
yet he is more.
Terminal 21
You left me today.
You left me on that damn jet plane.
I watched from a finger smudged window
like a war soldier's wife
and waved at your ascend.
Not now. Not here.
You won't stop me here.
I lick my finger and
wipe at the smudges,
turning the direction of my
muddy red sneakers
and stride -
towards the glass sliding doors.
You left me on that damn jet plane.
I watched from a finger smudged window
like a war soldier's wife
and waved at your ascend.
Not now. Not here.
You won't stop me here.
I lick my finger and
wipe at the smudges,
turning the direction of my
muddy red sneakers
and stride -
towards the glass sliding doors.
Listening to a Porch Swing
An old man sits, listening
to the creaking of his porch swing.
He touches his lips,
feeling the wrinkles of time
and stories of a thousand smiles.
Moving to his eyes, a reflection
of a hundred bright summer days.
A single leaf
falls in a swaying dance,
and lands
on the Velcro of his cracked and faded
brown leather shoes.
He picks it up and sniffs,
it tickles his nose
and breaks apart,
bent by the cool crisp fall breeze.
He closes his eyes and rests.
The leaf begins to dance
off the porch, past the field
and down the road.
The next day it snows
and covers the leaf
with a thick blanket of white.
Resting -
like the old man rests.
His house left speechless, except
for the ticking
of his father's old cedar clock.
The picture frames present
his three granddaughters
and collects dust, his plants
stretch for the floor.
His bed is left unmade.
A few months later
a bird wakes up and sings,
enjoying the warm bath
of sun melting snow.
It perches on a branch that once
let go
of a single leaf.
The bird flies to a neighboring tree
and becomes a mother
giving melody, awakening
the arid stillness.
A young girl
sits on a porch swing
and listens to the creaking
of her grandfather.
She walks inside the house, makes a bed
and blows the dust off a picture frame.
Her soft lips smile, her cheeks the color
of a pink rose.
She keeps the frame.
The beginning of June, sticky
warm humidity
creates a film of water drops
on plump baby skin.
The girl walks outside, the baby
in her arms.
She sits on the porch swing,
and listens to life -
a tractor in the field, birds, wind,
her baby cooing. He smiles,
and she thinks -
already he looks like her grandfather.
to the creaking of his porch swing.
He touches his lips,
feeling the wrinkles of time
and stories of a thousand smiles.
Moving to his eyes, a reflection
of a hundred bright summer days.
A single leaf
falls in a swaying dance,
and lands
on the Velcro of his cracked and faded
brown leather shoes.
He picks it up and sniffs,
it tickles his nose
and breaks apart,
bent by the cool crisp fall breeze.
He closes his eyes and rests.
The leaf begins to dance
off the porch, past the field
and down the road.
The next day it snows
and covers the leaf
with a thick blanket of white.
Resting -
like the old man rests.
His house left speechless, except
for the ticking
of his father's old cedar clock.
The picture frames present
his three granddaughters
and collects dust, his plants
stretch for the floor.
His bed is left unmade.
A few months later
a bird wakes up and sings,
enjoying the warm bath
of sun melting snow.
It perches on a branch that once
let go
of a single leaf.
The bird flies to a neighboring tree
and becomes a mother
giving melody, awakening
the arid stillness.
A young girl
sits on a porch swing
and listens to the creaking
of her grandfather.
She walks inside the house, makes a bed
and blows the dust off a picture frame.
Her soft lips smile, her cheeks the color
of a pink rose.
She keeps the frame.
The beginning of June, sticky
warm humidity
creates a film of water drops
on plump baby skin.
The girl walks outside, the baby
in her arms.
She sits on the porch swing,
and listens to life -
a tractor in the field, birds, wind,
her baby cooing. He smiles,
and she thinks -
already he looks like her grandfather.
A Life Story
Awkward chubby fingers
smelling like baby powder,
the road runner in the background.
I struggle -
trying to fit the shapes
into their correct compartments;
Like a mouth
but it won't swallow it's food.
Huffing,
rolling that fake plastic world
away from me.
Now stiff, frail fingers
smelling like musk perfume,
the war in the background.
I struggle -
the pills are hard to see;
they are mice
cowering in their corners.
I lick and stab,
maneuvering them
out of their compartments.
I curse so I can hear
my own voice;
wondering if my son
will call me today.
smelling like baby powder,
the road runner in the background.
I struggle -
trying to fit the shapes
into their correct compartments;
Like a mouth
but it won't swallow it's food.
Huffing,
rolling that fake plastic world
away from me.
Now stiff, frail fingers
smelling like musk perfume,
the war in the background.
I struggle -
the pills are hard to see;
they are mice
cowering in their corners.
I lick and stab,
maneuvering them
out of their compartments.
I curse so I can hear
my own voice;
wondering if my son
will call me today.
Julius Caesar
Hail! Hail!
I, Julius Caesar of Rome;
am your toilet.
Go ahead -
Jiggle the handle
and watch the floods rise;
spinning in a whirlpool.
A small warning:
my debris might be
treacherous.
Careful!
My gargling waters spit -
regurgitating filth
on your small colonies
and glorious kings.
So take heed,
and watch where you sit.
For I am Julius Caesar!
You're great Emperor of Rome -
and your toilet.
I, Julius Caesar of Rome;
am your toilet.
Go ahead -
Jiggle the handle
and watch the floods rise;
spinning in a whirlpool.
A small warning:
my debris might be
treacherous.
Careful!
My gargling waters spit -
regurgitating filth
on your small colonies
and glorious kings.
So take heed,
and watch where you sit.
For I am Julius Caesar!
You're great Emperor of Rome -
and your toilet.
Luna
If only you knew
I could see in your window
as you microwave
a frozen dinner, switching on
the six o'clock news.
Tiny energy particles,
lights on bright
beaming out your windows
into night's shadows. Yet -
no comparison to my radiance,
intensely magnificent
feminine facial beauty -
my glimmering splendor.
Remember this as you
open up bedcovers, crawling
into scented downy warmth.
Look to me while switching off
your infant glow and
gaze to my divinity
while drifting to dreamscape.
I could see in your window
as you microwave
a frozen dinner, switching on
the six o'clock news.
Tiny energy particles,
lights on bright
beaming out your windows
into night's shadows. Yet -
no comparison to my radiance,
intensely magnificent
feminine facial beauty -
my glimmering splendor.
Remember this as you
open up bedcovers, crawling
into scented downy warmth.
Look to me while switching off
your infant glow and
gaze to my divinity
while drifting to dreamscape.
Lunch
she
speaks of rhymes -
words that connect
a train of thought
to reality,
and whispers
fragmented riddles
from an underground
of slavery
and addiction.
speaks of rhymes -
words that connect
a train of thought
to reality,
and whispers
fragmented riddles
from an underground
of slavery
and addiction.
One Hour
It is just before dark,
she grasps her jump rope.
They have exactly one hour -
one hour to rhyme.
The cars are heavy,
resting like cattle.
Her sneakers squeal
as she skips out the door.
Careful to look both ways:
once to the left,
once to the right.
Gracefully leaping
across the street.
Giggling they gather
in a circular system;
dancing with the rope,
for exactly one hour -
one hour of rhyme.
she grasps her jump rope.
They have exactly one hour -
one hour to rhyme.
The cars are heavy,
resting like cattle.
Her sneakers squeal
as she skips out the door.
Careful to look both ways:
once to the left,
once to the right.
Gracefully leaping
across the street.
Giggling they gather
in a circular system;
dancing with the rope,
for exactly one hour -
one hour of rhyme.
Winter Moon
The moon appears like the actor's light,
sending me down a path
of white like the first snow fall.
I am kissed with little
shocks of cold tears,
sliding into a dive off
the tips of my eyelashes.
I stick out my tongue
and attempt to taste
the moon's gift to me,
longing for us both
to be conjoined lovers
in this stranger of a night.
sending me down a path
of white like the first snow fall.
I am kissed with little
shocks of cold tears,
sliding into a dive off
the tips of my eyelashes.
I stick out my tongue
and attempt to taste
the moon's gift to me,
longing for us both
to be conjoined lovers
in this stranger of a night.
Casino
I open the thick heavy doors into another world.
Lights flash hypnotically.
Chills run through my flesh and up the hairs of my arms.
I am finally here.
The repetitious pling noise is music to my ears.
I see her waiting in the corner wearing a mischievous grin.
Desperately digging into my pockets, I halt with trepidation.
"Quick before someone steels her!"
I dash to her, she is mine!
The reels spin and she purrs.
She sings to me a sweet lullaby.
I hug her tightly, promising to visit again tomorrow.
Lights flash hypnotically.
Chills run through my flesh and up the hairs of my arms.
I am finally here.
The repetitious pling noise is music to my ears.
I see her waiting in the corner wearing a mischievous grin.
Desperately digging into my pockets, I halt with trepidation.
"Quick before someone steels her!"
I dash to her, she is mine!
The reels spin and she purrs.
She sings to me a sweet lullaby.
I hug her tightly, promising to visit again tomorrow.
The Old Man's Song - Villanelle Poem
Ain't no sunshine here today.
Life has given me the last test.
Oh Lord, find me another way.
Goin' down hill, gonna make my way,
To the place where momma knew best.
Ain't no sunshine here today.
Watchin' the heavy cotton fields sway,
My body has lost its zest.
Oh Lord, find me another way.
The clouds begin to turn away,
My knees collapse in protest.
Ain't no sunshine here today.
Listen here, I must say,
There's a heavy achin' in my chest.
Oh Lord, find me another way.
My mind will never come to rest.
Ain't no sunshine here today.
Oh Lord, find me another way.
Life has given me the last test.
Oh Lord, find me another way.
Goin' down hill, gonna make my way,
To the place where momma knew best.
Ain't no sunshine here today.
Watchin' the heavy cotton fields sway,
My body has lost its zest.
Oh Lord, find me another way.
The clouds begin to turn away,
My knees collapse in protest.
Ain't no sunshine here today.
Listen here, I must say,
There's a heavy achin' in my chest.
Oh Lord, find me another way.
My mind will never come to rest.
Ain't no sunshine here today.
Oh Lord, find me another way.
PB&J
At first you're so
dreadfully dull -
tasteless, bland and white.
Just two
flat squares. Yet-
when I cut you,
separating into halves
like identical twins
you chatter, seducing me
with every sweet and salty
gooey glop. Oozing from
a strawberry smile.
One, two, three
bites - and you're gone!
Crumbling stickiness
is left on my finger tips
and the corners of my mouth.
dreadfully dull -
tasteless, bland and white.
Just two
flat squares. Yet-
when I cut you,
separating into halves
like identical twins
you chatter, seducing me
with every sweet and salty
gooey glop. Oozing from
a strawberry smile.
One, two, three
bites - and you're gone!
Crumbling stickiness
is left on my finger tips
and the corners of my mouth.
Friday, December 26, 2008
Dreams for Sale
My dreams have been bought.
Sealed up, prepackaged and shipped -
I sometimes pour them into plastic cups
and sell them at lemonade stands
for a dime or less.
Sometimes I put them into tiny jars
and contain them as cooking spices.
I store them on a high shelf
in my kitchen,
only to watch them collect dust
for months on end.
My dreams are rustling, dry leaves -
impatient, persistent, gone.
They've escaped me like prisoners
up into the depths of the north woods;
waiting courageously for redemption
on the soil of the spring floor.
Sealed up, prepackaged and shipped -
I sometimes pour them into plastic cups
and sell them at lemonade stands
for a dime or less.
Sometimes I put them into tiny jars
and contain them as cooking spices.
I store them on a high shelf
in my kitchen,
only to watch them collect dust
for months on end.
My dreams are rustling, dry leaves -
impatient, persistent, gone.
They've escaped me like prisoners
up into the depths of the north woods;
waiting courageously for redemption
on the soil of the spring floor.
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