INSEMINATION **
You've been
gone
for a long time
There are vast
spaces
between us
I am made
impotent
by the distance -
unable to fulfill
you
across the chasms
My words must be
my emissaries
my vanguards
I must fling them
outwards
...in continuous ejaculate
and submit them
to journals
everywhere
with the hope that
one, or two
might find your elusive
ears
so to impregnate them,
that they may give birth
- after days of labor -
to the saturnine sounds
of my sorrow** Published in "Promethean:
The Literary Magazine of
City College of N.Y."
NIMROD
Heavy shotgun thumping
in rhythmic orgasmic
cadence
against my shoulder
deadly steel pellets
tearing
holes
in a slate gray sky
atavistic urges
sated
as once fair, fluted,
feathers
are now reduced
to bloody, primal pulp
HOORAY...
I'm the NRA!
TWO HOUSES **
Yesterday's house,
where I used to live
was warm
with brick, and mellow wood.
Sounds bounced
softly
back and forth,
to blend with living words.
Yesterday's house
does not remember me.
Today's house
is cold and bleak
with steel,
and pitted stone.
Sounds clash,
as havoc reigns...
with reason
lost to madness.
Yesterday's house
is masked by time,
and clockwork hands
that can't turn back.
My body lives in today's house -
my eyes weep today's tears -
but my heart
is safe in yesterday's house
where the mortgage
is always paid.
** Published in "Lucidity", 1994
A GOLD MEDAL
Focus... Fine tuning... Concentration...
IN THE SARAJEVO OLYMPICS
Line up the cross-hairs take a deep breath ...
focus.....focus.........Squeeze.
What was in the mind of the sniper
as he sent death
(disguised in white hot lead)
screaming across the abyss to
smash the life
from a 2 year old's head?
What crime, so heinous,
in her short time
brought down the
Reaper's wrath?
Did he watch the IMPACT ...
the vermilion EXPLODING,
of a life not yet lived?
Did he see the mother's frightened cry
with his finely focused eye...?
Did he feel the mother's searing pain
as she knelt there
damply, in the rain?
The smooth golden jacket
of the next leaden bullet,
slipped softly into the chamber...
In his finely focused eye,
he could see the medal he'd decry...
" I saved my country!" he would say.
Was it the ONLY way?
BOOGIE MAN
Deter one
with the Death Penalty
when he's survived a childhood
of battery and neglect
Deter one
with the Death Penalty
when almost everyone in the
neighborhood
was trying to kill him
Deter me
with the Death Penalty
when, in abject misery and pain,
I have attempted to inflict death
upon myself
(on more than one occasion)
Deter a junkie
with the Death Penalty
when he actively searches out
names like "Poison", "Tombstone",
and "Death Valley",
to shoot into his veins.
Alarms have been sounded
Hear them...
Hear me... now.
PINBALL DESTINY **
Swirling, twisting, turning ...
emotions struggling to break free
feelings fighting to reach the light
caught in the sucking vortex of conflicting
dreams...Trapped by opposing desire
and torn by indecision
pin-ball visions cascade in psychedelic colors
striving to hit the 500 Bonus bumper---
yet being ever vigilant to avoid
the Big Tilt !The game is inexorable...
only life's random flippers
occasionally intrude
to prolong the frantic
playSomehow you MUST get that FREE game!
Get that free game,
'else it's only a matter of time
'till you run out of quarters
** Published in "Lucidity"
WEATHER REPORT
It is cold here.
It is cold.
Eyes are cold, voices
are cold
people are cold-
Life - is cold.
Cold is the theme of
the day here -
On this day,
an August day,
a May
day.
Things break easily
when they are cold.
Hearts are brittle,
and so people are
afraid to touch. . .
touching is painful -
potentially shattering!
The mind wearies with
the dull,
incessant ache of the cold,
and huddles unto
itself
trying to save what
precious heat is left
from other places. . .
other days.
But the cold is
powerful!
Insidious, and
overbearing.
It flows...ponderously...
into spaces long
protected,
and sucks,
viciously
at the slightest warmth
it may uncover
leaving dead, sere,
and broken husks in its
wake.
Is there no relief, no
hope,
no talisman against this
pervasive evil?
No reason to endure?
Only one -
diligently sought for,
eagerly awaited -
A force and radiance
to get me through
another day.
A simple thing...
Your smile.
SKYWRITING **
On that day
even the pigeons were poets
writing their short
staccato
lines
of frenzied verse
across a pad of azure sky.
Their eloquence
eclipsed even my own,
as I stammered
searching
for a word. . .
any word
that would halt the flow
of sound
from your lips.
Sounds that erased all
poetry and beauty
in my world -
chilled any song
that ever lived in my heart.
My efforts were
futile... my pleas lost
on the same wind
that carried the weary pigeons
home to their roosts -
having splashed their best work
on a page
and a day
that would be shredded and
torn from memory
forever.
** Published US 1 Workshops, 1996
ME AND MY SHADOW
The 'stars' complain
of "stalkers".....
strange beings that
haunt their waking hours.It is fashionable now
to have bodyguards, and
'restraining orders' are manna
for the shysters.Although I hate to
follow trends,
it seems I've been in fashion
for years.....DEATH has stalked me...daily.
RIDE 'EM COWBOY! **
An old, grizzled man
and an old, grizzled pony...
so out of place
in the city.
I remember them (every Saturday)
and my father,
as he hoisted me
on the pony's back
to take the
obligatory picture
with the cowboy hat
and chaps.
The old man
bored; the pony,
swaybacked
and tired.
My father
proud, and smiling
as his little man
hid his trepidation
and grimaced at
the camera, trying
to look like
Tom Mix, but
feeling more like
the old man...bored...
and hoping the pony wouldn't shit.
** Forthcoming in
"Paterson Literary Review"
Some men look at DEATH
POINTS OF VIEW
and laugh,
Some see LIFE, and cry -
The bold man knows they're
both the same.
And spits right in their eye!
GOING DOWN
Some men die in battle,
and some go down in flames.
But most I know,
die inch by inch,
while playing stupid games.
ENIGMA
I am the fox, within the fox.
I am the Chinese box-within-a-box.
I am a fox... in a box!
In my box there are no clocks,
and my bed is made of rocks.
I am the fox in the box.
There are no clocks, but many locks...
MANY locks.
And yet, time mocks - shocks!
How can this be...?
There ARE no clocks
I'm trapped within these damp, pale blocks -
with the locks, and rocks, and shocks.
BUT, I AM the FOX...
and I'll beat their locks. And rocks.
And shocks...many shocks.
And I WILL get out of their Goddamned BOX!
But how will I beat their all pervasive,
always ticking,
always clicking,
mind eroding,
time e x p l o d i n g......
NON-EXISTENT CLOCKS??
TODAY YOU ARE A MAN, MY SON
The stygian night sky
EXPLODED
and small bits of
base lead
flew
randomly
until a still gestating,
14 year-old life,
was snatched. . .
arbitrarily,
and flung into eternity.And so,
an eleven year-old
'boy-child'
became a man today...
because a Judge said so.His still unformed molars
belied the Judge's ruling!
CHILDHOOD REDUX
Cold tremors,
revisited
from a misted
past,
pay nightly
visits...
putting one at war
with sleep and
dreams.
Hints of acts
outrageous...
twisted faces in
the rain
Struggling to
overcome...
out-of-focus pain.
The RAGE of
babies
trapped in men
will come to light
whenever,
when walking
upstream
against the tide of
memory,
muddied pictures
splash themselves
against minds'
eye.
In the world of
children
a child's mischief
his only recourse
to demand the
attention
of the inattentive
adult.
And later,
in the time of
toups',
and droops
analysts feast
on addictions
frustrations
depressions...
the bill presented
for the child's
fare.
The Rage will
never
go away
the pictures not
diminish
but one grows,
lives, goes along
and with
knowledge,
hopefully,
all abuse will
finish.
OUR CHOICE
We don't need shackles on our ankles,
'cause we've got chains on our brains
Can you tell me why, if the po-lice
were to push you, or even maybe be rude
you would scream bru-tal-it-y. . .
And yet , when hit, smashed, slashed
by a "brother" inmate,
he's called a "stand up dude"!
Yeah, the chains are on our brains.
And why can the warden `diss' on us,
and the world continually piss on us,
yet we still come back for more?
But how do we think, and
what do we do,
to help ourselves hit the door?
Yeah, the chains are on our brains.
You spend your days in drugged out
dreams,
or gambling and gossiping away;
"this one's a snitch and this one's a
bitch,
and that one there's a "fag". . .
But to look inside and find some pride,
is too much of a drag!
And so the circle continues
and, though WE own the keys to OUR
locks,
the warden doesn't have to worry...
BECAUSE WE LOVE IT INSIDE HIS BOX!!!
BALLISTIC EVIDENCE
The Impact was CRUSHING...
Steel Jacket - Hi Caliber -
Armor Piercing!
small hole going in,
MASSIVE destruction coming out.
Maybe that's what deceived
everyone; the small hole
between the eyes
Reminiscent of Indian Caste markings.
The wound, so swift and small
as to fool even me...
Fooled to the extent that I think
that I am still alive -
Walking, Talking, Thinking, Blinking...
Blinking in the dazzling aura
of pain induced delusion.
What Awesome weapon could
Produce such trauma -
What fearsome missile
deliver such a blow?
Backtrack on the Trajectory -
correlate the angle.
The weapon was Your Voice -
the missile was
"GOODBYE"!
MARATHON
Hamster on a wheel,
Running, Running -
MILE 1, MILE 2, MILE...?
What thoughts propel this tiny mind - ESCAPE ?Escape the dull, dead weight
of four glass walls...
Escape the crushing boredom,
sameness - nightless - daylessInky paper strips called "home"...
ESCAPE!
Replace the bland, dry, pellets
dispensed with bland, dry, regularity...
Find fresh green fields,
and sweet, new feed!Little feet, churning
Small mind, yearning
Tiny heart, flailing
Captured spirit, wailingRUN RUN RUN
RUN RUN RUN
MILE 1, MILE 2, MILE...?
INDICTMENT **
I accuse.
I accuse
the killer
of the poems
in me.
Premature words
lie in helter-skelter piles...
dead before their time.
Syllables akimbo,
with vowels caught in
wide "o'd" surprise !
Meanings lost
and feelings crushed,
under the weight of dullards indifference.
I accuse .
I sentence.
I disdain .
I mourn . . .
Published in "Lucidity"
YOU'RE KNOWN BY YOUR FRIENDS
He had seen
his death...
and laughed!
And DEATH,
while on his way
to claim him,
saw this
and passed him by!
After all,
who wants to
be seen
with some nut?
GADFLY
I prod,
I prick,
I irritate,
I am small-
I cause a moment's discomfort......
It is all I can do.
A mote, a mite
Against the majesty of "STATE",
I burrow, and know
I am of no consequence.
Sooner than later
I will be slammed
And flicked away
By the uncaring hand
of "JUSTICE".
My blood goes unnoticed,
in the cosmos,
But...the tiny drop
I steal from them
Before I pass...
Is nectar.
"AND WHAT DO YOU WANT TO BE FOR
When I was little
HALLOWEEN?"
I wanted to be
CASPER,
the friendly ghost...
all white, and warm and cuddly-
but I was little,
What did I know?A few years later
I was SUPERMAN,
man/boy of steel
able to leap tall buildings, etc.-
I was a teenager
I knew everything!And then, when pumpkin-time
rolled around again
I was ZORRO...
I could carve my name
on a young girl's heart
with a flick of my wrist-
I was a hot stud --How should I know?
The last time
I joined the goblins,
my ass was tired
my lance was limp,
and Sancho was
nowhere to be found...but I was old -< what did I know?
SWEATIN' TO THE OLDIES **
A girl puked today
because thin was "in".
In Somalia, thin was in
...too.
Her mirror image
gave back
" fat ",
and in Bosnia
they ate a rat.Binge and purge
was called for.Those sunken eyes
fed us despair,
while we binged on their
misery
and purged ourselves of
guilt."Weight Watcher's"
watched their weight
as mothers watched
dirt
hit small faces
at the bottom
of large holes.Richard Simmons
cried with you
while your waist shrank...
and his bank account
swelled.And still you plodded
on your treadmill,
like the hamster
on his wheel,
endlessly chasing ethereal dreams ...
youth, love, immortality!
Which, in those other
worlds,
were wrapped up in
a trampled grain of wheat
blowing down
some dirty street.
** Published in "Kelsey Review", 1995
REMOTE CONTROL
STRINGS TAUT...PULLING
AN ARM TWITCHES.
ANOTHER PULL... AND NOW A LEG.A CHORUS OF MOVES,
FLURRY OF ACTIVITY-
LEFT-RIGHT-HEAD-ARM-HAND
THE STARE REMAINS BLANK.
A CRESCENDO OF TUGGING...
EYES STILL DULL-VACANTTHE TYRANT IS IN A RAGE!
NOT ONE STRING TO MOVE THE HEART,
EVOKE A TEAR.PALSIED SHAKING, BURSTING VEINS-
SOUL STILL UNTOUCHED,
CALM...SERENE.TANGLE OF CORDS - JUMBLED MASS,
VIOLENT HEAVE - HOPELESS MESS!
MANIPULATOR MANIPULATED!COULD THERE BE A SLY SMILE
ON THAT PAINTED FACE?
DOE'S EYES
Pale fawn,
trapped,
in the cruel,
HARSH,
glare of speeding lights.
Pale fawn,
frozen
in time...
as the JUGGERNAUT called life,
bears down.
Pale fawn,
decide!
Decide!
There is NO time....
You must jump... Left or Right?
Poor fawn---
Life does not care.
It will not wait.
"Herman. What was that bump?"
"Don't BOTHER me
...it was just another fawn!"
REALITY **
I awoke today
and rubbed my eyes,
but it was only yesterday. . .
with another name.I looked around
the barren cell
and blinked my eyes,
but reality stayed the same.I sighed,
and slowly wiped my eyes,
because it was only tomorrow. . .
with another name.
** Published in "Newark Star Ledger", 1994
IF YOU SHOW ME YOURS, I'LL.......
I showed you my face...
you looked away -
I showed you my heart...
you pierced it -
I showed you my soul...
you betrayed it -
I don't think I'll show you anything else.
SHELL GAME
The hands move,
the shells shuffle-
a pea disappears...
"Choose!"
Your lips move,
your words shuffle-
my life disappears...
NaCl H2O
(salt water)
Found
in three quarters
of the earth's surface...
once tasted,
never forgotten
primal memories of
a wet, dark womb
Found
in eighty percent
of the life
coursing through our veins
without which
we cease to be
lying dry, and withered in our tomb
Found
in a tiny corner
of my eye...
burning, searing,
bearing witness to my pain...
as I sit sadly, missing you
in a dark,
and lonely corner of my room
PEPTO WOULDN'T HELP
When I first saw her
- "...if I do not complain of the pain,
it is because knights-errant are not
permitted to complain of any wound they
receive, even tho' their bowels should
come out of their bodies."
Don Quixote de la Mancha to
Sancho Panza.
I had a pain
deep
in my belly...
her beauty did that.
I was hesitant
to speak
in front of her...
even if I had words
that were worthy.
Like a mewling child
I salivated in her
presence
and preened
at her slightest touch.
Years later, barren
and unrequited wanting
left me dry
and romantically sterile.
When I last saw her
I had a pain
deep
in my belly...
her leaving did that.
HANDICAPPED?
Blind, I cannot see
the glory
of the rainbowed summer sky
Blind, I cannot see
the pain in a starving child's eyesDeaf, I cannot hear
the majesty
of a Beethoven sonata
Deaf, I cannot hear
the mewling cry
of the crack-addicted babyDumb, I cannot speak
the poetry
of words locked in my soul
Dumb, I cannot speak
the bitter sounds
that drive true love apartLame, I cannot dance
the sultry rhythms
beating in my heart
Lame, I cannot dance
at wakes' of loved ones gone beforeHandicapped. I'm trapped
in the labyrinths
of my mindHandicapped... or freed
from the endless barrage
of life's vulgarities?
SHADOW MAN
In the dusk, I stood
in the sand
and watched
my life
slurry by.
I stood
as the sun, slid slowly
through a schematic sky
and watched
as my shadow inched
inexorably
across the shifting surface...
leaving each moment's
history
in its wake.I stood,
as the centerpiece
in a sundial,
a malignant gnomon...
while time measured me
and found me wanting.I stood
until the weight
of passing moments
became too much
to bear...
until finally,
a merciful current
first nibbled, then absorbed
my feet of clay
to make me
one
with the ebbing tide.
NEITHER RAIN, NOR SNOW, NOR . . .
I sat tonight
in the heat
with the stinging sweat,
dripping off my nose
and wrote you a long letter
I told you
how I hurt
how I longed for you
how I needed you
how I KNEW
I'd never get through another day
without you
I wrote
until my hand cramped
and my eyes
blurred
with fatigue, and salty
tears
Dawn broke
in baby pastel
colors
sweat dried and tears faded,
as I gathered my night's work
to put into an envelope
I thought I'd need
extra postage -
but I was wrong. . .
all the pages were
blank
"HOLY" COMMUNION"
This is my body.
"Eat",
I said.
This is my blood.
"Drink",
I said.
This is my soul.
"Take",
I said.
You did.
I waited... ... ...
Aren't I
supposed to get
SOMETHING
back?
VELVET EYES **
Like the eyes
of a 'velvet Jesus'
your eyes follow me
wherever I go.Giant radar screens
tracking omnisciently
through the silent corridors
of my mind
seeking haunting reminders
of days past - days lost,
never to be revisited.Images on a flickering screen
that have their moment's
fiery glory
then fade
in ghostly trails
leaving only
eyes filled with sorrow -
like the eyes
of a 'velvet Jesus'.
** Forthcoming in
"Paterson Literary Review"
WHEN TOMORROW DISAPPEARS
She was special
in my life -
I loved her and I owed her
everything!I always
thought/hoped
she would live
forever
and so
I could always
"make it up to her"
tomorrow...She died on Saturday -
and on that day
'tomorrow'
disappeared from my vocabulary
forever... ... ...
PILLOW TALK
When I tell you I'm not hurting
my pillow knows the truthwhen I say that I don't miss you
or your picture doesn't cause me
pain...
my pillow knows the truthIf you think that I've forgotten
our long talks,
or long walks
in the rain...
my pillow knows the truthWhen I tell you I'm not crying
my pillow knows the truth
and, if you think I'd EVER
let you talk to my pillow -
you're nuts!
COMING AND GOING
She screamed,
bit her lip
and groaned
when I came into the world.
I screamed,
gnashed my teeth
and moaned when she left it.
Her solace was,
she had happy years
to look forward
to -
My solace is,
I can always
look
back......
DO THIS
Hold a mirror to
my soul
to see yourself
reflected...Draw a blade across
my veins
and watch your essence
flow...Touch me, softly
with your shadow...
and let me be
enveloped
by your substance...Do all these things,
to know that you
and I are
one...
and that your heart
is safe
in my hands
DEAR JOHN
We were connected . . .
and then we were cut off!
I paid my quarter, and I should'a
got to talk.I wanted to tell her I love her. . .
I NEEDED to hear her voice.Maybe, she hung up??? .. .. ..
NAH!
Ma Bell strikes again!!
(I hope).
STILL LIFE
A blue vase
sits on a table;
tomorrow it will be
shattered
My life sits
on a precipice;
tomorrow
it will join the blue vase.
MY HEART GOES WHERE THE WILD
They let us "out"
GOOSE GOES
for our mandated
one and one-half hours
of 'fresh' New Jersey air.As we congregate
amidst the aggregate,
like living fossils
we're entombed by stone.Our horizontal horizons,
shortened, by four vertiginous walls
which lead to chance of stiffened necks
for any view of cloud-specked sky.Telescopic tunneled vision,
all made worth the risk
for a brief glimpse of
winged "V" shaped formation.Nature...telling us
that there are lands beyond our view...
lands 'south'...
where geese can go, on high winds
and we can follow...
in our dreams.
DESOLATION
WHEN A HOUSE BURNS
ONLY ASHES ARE LEFT
WHEN A LOVE BURNS
ONLY EMBERS ARE LEFT
WHEN MY TEARS FLOW
ONLY MEMORIES REMAIN.
HOUSES CAN BE REBUILT
LOVE CAN BE REKINDLED TEARS CAN BE DRIED
WHEN YOU LEAVE
THERE IS
. . . . N O T H I N G
TEARS IN MY EARS
I won't cry
when I'm lying on my back
'cause tears fall in
my ears.
I don't cry
when I'm lying on my side
because my pillow
gets wet.
I can't cry
when I'm lying on my stomach
'cause I can't
breathe.
I won't cry.
I don't cry!
So why are my ears always wet?
MAELSTROM **
The blank page sits
before me. . .
I smile and place a large
black dot
upon it. . .
remembering a "picture"
I once drew
as a child -
"Polar Bear in a Snowstorm!"I see my mother's smile
as I explained it
to her.How apropos. . .
White on White -
nothingness signifying
everything. . .
a small focal point
summarizing a giant force.Life imitates Art. . .
my mother's white face
obscured in a storm
of white sheets -
her dark eyes a focal point
of love.The storm intensifies;
the bear covers his nose,
mother closes her eyes
and my page
fades to white. . . . . .
** Published in "Promethian:
The Literary Magazine of
City College of N.Y."
LEGACY OF MARS
In my world
of constant war -
beauty is always
the first casualtyAll color
dies
soon after
(except red!)Truth is the next to go, and one learns
to live
on lies and deceitHope struggles
to carry on,
but soon succumbs,
for lack of sustenanceSoon,
eternal night
will settle in,
and the Lion
and Lamb,
will lie
together
in oblivion
REPOSE
As light despises dark,
and life loathes death,
I once held sleep.But, when you went
"Gently into that good night",
sleep and I became lovers!Slumber, now,
sings its siren's song
and I no more resist.
Where once strife reigned,
and havoc thrived,
serenity now reposes.To lose myself
in such sweet swoon,
is my final heart's desire,
and traveling there
the one last hope,
to quench my sorrow's fire.
BY THESE WORDSI am forgotten. . . even as the ink dries - even as the dust settles These feeble scratchings, my poor attempt at immortality . . . These nascent lines, the children I will never have. I give them life and send them out with orders to grow, and achieve fame! to emulate the children of Shakespeare; to aspire to Whitman's seed . . . though just as we recall their names, are they any less dead?
As dead as I am, before I even lie down . . .
POSEUR
Put words on paper; manipulate syl la bles ... Try to create emotion and illuminate illusions. Read aloud, and emote with passion. Fill the ether with flowery phrases. Do all these things to hide the pain, mask the misery, staunch the heartache. Do all these things and you're still left with ...'Life'... "a tale told by an idiot; full of sound and fury, and signyfying nothing!"
THE LAST MONTH
Mother went in the last month.One year and one day later, Father went in the last month.
Christ came in the last month.
December has been busy.
I thought it was the "Ides of March" I was supposed to look out for?
After you went, all my days have been numbered in December.
IF A TREE FALLS IN THE FOREST, AND ...?
Today my Old Tree that said he would never fall, was felled; the tree that boasted that no ill wind could take him down.The ax, of four wheels, and an engine, was wielded by an even older tree, whose years of rings had dulled his sight and senses.
I miss my tree, whose branches held me safe in gentle breezes: I hate my tree, whose branches whipped me, in storm blown furies. I love my tree, whose abundant fruit nourished me and helped me to grow tall; I hate my tree, whose imperial shadow refused to part, and allow me the light I needed to be me.
My tree was felled today, in spite of himself... and the forest is that much lonelier.
THE QUESTION
(On hearing of the death of an infant, at the hands of his upscale, unwed, teeenage parents.) They were young, babies themselves - but they brought you into the world in a furtive, secret, place.Who knows what was in their minds, their hearts?
Maybe it was nothing but fear... what was in their history that would make you think it was evil or pure malice, for your mewling, newborn innocence?
You were tossed into the trash like some discarded, unloved toy, so we will never get to know you... and you will never know them, therefore, let me ask them this question in your name
"Would you have - could you have done this to a puppy?"
STEP ON A CRACK, ...
For years, as a child I diligently avoided stepping on anything resembling a crack for fear of doing harm to my poor mother's back.When I grew up, my diligence was steadfast but then I left home, got married, never called her, got divorced, and went to jail.
All that time, I made sure I skipped the cracks... to spare her poor back- but instead, I broke her heart.
Maybe, it would have been more merciful to have ended her anguish earlier.
PEACE ON YOU, TOO
I found it yesterday - lost these many years! Small, golden circle, with upside down "Y", transected from other times...other golden moments.Untarnished.
"Peace", you said when you held it out to me. "Love", I said, when I wore it around my neck. "Cool", said the Flower Child. "Bullshit", said the anarchist.
All the voices are silenced now... The peace, the love, and the cool, are gone.
The anarchist was right!
FERTILE SOIL? **
On the veldt a rhino defecates and colonies of dung beatles flourish.On the prairie a bison leaves a steaming pile behind and in some short weeks sweet blue sunflowers proliferate.
In the circus elephants drop mounds of manure and gardeners can't wait to pay to take it away.
In cities the state dumps lumps of humans in septic holes called prisons and everything dies.
**Published in "Inner Voices"
HAIKU
Red is the color of pain the color of blood you are red; I cryTears are of saltwater pearls are translucent mirrors I eat tears and pearls
Darkness is a thief- it steals all the light from my life Darkness is no friend.
E.T.'s CONUNDRUM
Strange, sentient beings streak through our skies in pulsing silver orbs.They have come to study... observe, and with their unlimited technology they scan, record, correlate and annotate.
We are a footnote in their cosmos, a minor note in their stellar arpeggios... yet still they watch in jaded wonder.
After years of minute observation even they, with their infinite intellect, cannot fathom why you left me!
PASSION FRUIT **
Blazing hot sun... with the sweet, cool sticky liquid, of a luscious ripe papaya cascading across my lips and chin, and spilling onto my chest tracing the same paths and rivulets, where once your musty juices flowed and puddled, bathing us in passion... bringing back memories of steamy nights, when our slickened skins would glow, like two ephemeral denizens of some stygian abyss...And finally, as juices dry in the sultry wind, there is nothing left but rind - much like the remains of our last encounter.
** Published in "Inner Voices"
SURROGATE
When I was blind you were my eyes, showing me only scenes of loveWhen I was deaf you used your ears to hear sweet sounds I needed to hear
When I was dumb you spoke for me, of mysteries to come and wonders never known
Then, when time and age had wisened me, and made me whole, you left!
You said for someone "more needy".
Tonight, I shall gouge my eyes, burst my ears, and slice my tongue...
maybe then, I'll be more needy.
DOGGIE SCHOOL DROP-OUT
My words, like frightened puppies peek out from behind walls erected in my mind by people and events that put them there to train me to sit, stay and rollover, on demand.But, with the courage of your love I stopped chasing sticks and coming to heel. I kicked holes in their walls and freed the puppies from their leashes.
Now I am content to sit back and enjoy them, as they frolic, and tumble across the paper in all their newborn, and ebullient innocence.
A PULITZER PRIZE FROM SMITH & WESSON
I write and I write badly I write and I write sadly I write and hope to reach the status of Hemmingway. I write and rant and rave against the lure of puerile platitudes And, when my words might match his in pristine eloquence I, too will be able to blow my brains out.
NEARSIGHTED
The "Hubble"; scientists rejoice in its ability to let them peer into the past - back to Creation's "Big Bang"Millions were spent on its completion, and to fine tune its many flaws.
Isn't it ironic that bureaucracies will spend these sumptuous sums in search of what may be seen for free, deep in the eyes of any newborn child.
WHEN OPPORTUNITY KNOCKS
"Let me love you", she would say - "Go away... some other day." "Please, please, let me hold you." "No, no, NO!", I told you. "Let me be your heart, your shield." Stubborn, I refused to yield. Now she's gone and I must reflect in sorrow, knowing that I've lost tomorrow.
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