It's In Your Hands!

This is a painting by Henry Utoaluga.

 

 

(POEM HOLDING TANK)

 

CAMERA

 

This little machine gives the daily

Heaviness some levity. Captures

Moments so perfectly. Images –

Cherish them but beware of them,

They’re just one small part of a

Much bigger picture, one moment

In a much bigger story. Regardless

Of whether the overall story is going

Hopelessly or otherwise, smile for

My lens like it’s going to end happily.

 

FORMING

 

Clouds hide the stars tonight. No rain,

Not yet, no wind, just a stillness that

Amplifies any calm or disquiet you came

Here with. In emptiness like this, the

Mind tries to fill in the blanks. So maybe

It’s my imagination, but I think there’s

Something forming in the void. It won’t

Reveal itself, not yet, but I just feel it.

Can’t attach good or bad associations

To it, just have to wait and see. So will

My dread be justified, or will it surprise

Me when out pops something good?

Could be music trying to define itself from

Noise, or meaning seeking to make itself

Clear through chaos. Life itself, they say,

Formed through particles, through like

Minded molecules that just needed time

To cluster around a center before they

Could figure out how they fit together.

If that can happen in a darkness longer

And far more uncertain than ours, then

We have no reason to fear whatever

Might be forming in the void.

 

WHAT THEY WHISPER ABOUT CHOCOLATE

 

The depression I didn’t realize I’d been

Carrying around for months suddenly

Vanished after one small cup of my

Friend’s koko samoa. Maybe the old

Family recipe just has a kick to it, but

Suddenly my senses remembered their

Capacity for optimism . Optimism does

Not have to mean being unrealistic, it’s

More of an attitude that even if things

Don’t go your way, you needn’t feed

Your pessimism till you’ve grown fat

On despair without even trying. As far

As mood improvements go, that was

Pretty significant for me. So of course

My first thought was to seek an increased

Koko dose, but rather than court certain

Chocolate addiction, I’d rather adopt a

Chocolate philosophy, i.e. remember the

Sweet regardless of how sour things get.

What’s whispered about the seemingly

Innocent chocolate might not be merely

Old wives’ tales - cook it up right and it’s

Really more like a medicine.

 

MENEHUNE

 

The day shift begins before morning

Hoping to make the world right again

In time for another day. So goes the

Myth of the little men who always put

Everything back together so well that

We can’t even tell what a horrendous

Mess was made during the night. If

That reality ever came to light there’d

Be laws to lock up everyone under 30

Between dusk and daybreak. Daybreak

Is a misnomer – what gets broken each

Night? Hearts, wills, confidences, bonds,

Promises, plans, marriages, friendships,

Partnerships, battleships, faith – you

Name it. If someone wasn't repairing as

Much of the damage as they can, then

There'd be no point in any of us getting

Out of bed. Damaging, nasty, careless,

Heartless - don't you ever wonder why

Our whole world doesn't just stop? It's

Little men laboring at their repairs to

Make sure we're back together just as

Fast as we all fall apart. It's not just for

This endless work that each of these

Little men truly deserves a medal, it's

Also for knowing the truth but never

Giving up on us.

 

PROVE

 

I can’t prove clouds don’t have emotions

When they drop rain, can’t prove roaches

Mean to be rude, can’t prove fish deny the

Existence of nets, can’t prove the desert lets

Its winds whip its sands from malice. Can’t

Prove if barking is ever justified or just an

Indulgence, nor whether a breeze means to

Be nice on purpose or is just being itself. So

Much I can’t prove, no wonder I anticipate

Skepticism. There’s really no right or wrong,

True or false, or good or bad, is there? It just

Depends on the circumstances. There’s only

What’s agreed upon or not. If only we could

Agree on something, anything, who knows

What else might fall into place? But if you

Want proof, you’ll have to ask a scientist. As

For me, I’d only say, I see it like this, do you?

 

POLAR BEAR

 

Life on the ice isn't as cold when you

Don't waste your warmth. I should

Know, I'm a Polar Bear. It isn't so

Empty if you see a different kind of

Fullness. You say it's barren but I'm

Not starving. Not to brag but you need

To know where to look to sustain

Your life on the ice. My only worry is

This rumbling that shakes the cold

Ground. The volcano has to either

Melt its way through or take it's fire

Somewhere else. Isn't this earth a

Contradiction? So warm deep within,

With a surface so cold. Just like some

People we know? I don't blame them.

After all, you just survive wherever you

Find yourself. I should know, because

I'm a Polar Bear.

 

WIL – BUR

 

Truth can be like a horse that

Will take you places you could

Never imagine going. Provided,

Of course, that you don’t find

Yourself flat on your ass every

Time it throws you for a loop.

 

ESSENCE

 

Eternal – not subject to our changing

Human moods, nor the evolution of

Our flesh. Has always been there and

Always will be. Temorary – our roles

And our hour upon the stage. In the

Midst of grand illusions, you might

Catch a glimpse of the truth. In the

End it’s all just so much drama, but

The essence of the story lasts long

After lights have dimmed. We may

Change over and over, looking for a

Foothold in this soap opera life, but

The essence never changes, never

Needs to, and any time you like, you

Can return to it. Be true to the

Essence and it will be true to you

 

LOVE AND WAR

 

Heart is both weapon and defense when

You enter this fray. Know your weapon

Well, use it wisely. The only thing worse

Than receiving the wound that’s hardest

To heal is knowing you’ve given it. At least

Those wounded in war still long to fight

Another day, but woe to those wounded

In love who no longer care whether they

Continue or simply cease.

 

FORMULAS

 

Would you love me if I was always on TV?

Would you love me if I played rugby? Would

You love me if I had the money to buy you

An elephant? Would you love me if I had

Big muscles? A King Dong like King Kong?

Would you love me if I needed love to get

Off drugs? Would you live me if everyone

Else did? If no one else did? Would you

Love me if I spanked your bare butt with a

Belt for being bad, like your daddy did? If I

Punished you for being bad? If I forgave

You for being bad? How ‘bout if I was the

Baddest badass in the history of badness?

How ‘bout if I said you were sacred to me?

Is it fair I have to figure through so many

Formulas for yours when all you have to

Do is be yourself?

 

PAPER

 

Papers rule my life, my whole being

Is just a series of papers. Thank you

Trees for turning into paper, Term

Paper, rolling paper, news paper, wall

Paper, paper plates, certificates of birth,

Death and divorce. Diplomas. Pages

And pages of unfinished poems. Hey

My blank page dear, it sure looked good

On paper. Paper tiger. Someone cut me

Out of the paper and said now you're

Printed material made flesh. When I die

Please wrap me in paper and offer me

On special at KS with the frozen fish.

Maybe the one I love will fry me for her

Sunday feast and finally our flesh will

Become one until she flushes me out

After wiping away my last traces with

Paper.

 

NOTES

 

You can never force a true harmony,

Only sing what you’d sing anyway,

Let someone else sing what they’d

Sing with or without you, and the

Notes either blend naturally or not.

Same old song since Adam and Eve,

But our notes make it new and the

Harmony makes it ours.

 

WATER

 

Water, fall from the sky. Life,

Rooted or otherwise, needs

What you bring. Water, go

Underground. Cool the Earth

And she’ll hide you away from

The jealous sun wanting to

Take you back no sooner than

You’re given. Water, make me

Clean. Get beneath the dirt,

Flow. Nothing is dirty by nature,

Only by design or neglect, and

Even the purest water joins as

A river to find the sea together..

 

CONVENTIONAL

 

If conventional would make you

Comfortable, then curse anything

Original in me. Out, unconventional,

Halu! Fee, fi, fo, fidual, I smell the

Blood of an individual. I stopped

Paying attention to convention long

Ago, much to my own detriment,

But now I want to repent. Please

Lord let me be average again. I want

To be normal. I want to be boring, to

Blend in, to not be noticed, except

By you. Let me be so well adjusted

And healthy in mind, body and

Haircut it’s sickening. Being myself

For better or worse has been bad for

My social standing, so Convention,

Please lock me in the cage of your

Protective embrace. Convention,

Take me to your ample breasts so

Like a typical faceless citizen I can

Suck to my heart’s content.

 

MONSTER

 

Last time I checked there wasn’t

A trail of dead bodies in my wake,

Nor broken hearts like bread crumbs

Leading back to a hidden lair in the

Forest of doomed love. So I’m at a

Loss as to what kind monster you

Think I am, and why. But all that

Frankenstein had to do to scare

Someone was just be himself.

 

BREAKFAST BIRDS

 

Birds in the morning flock to steal my dogs’

Breakfast, cause my canines are so occupied

Eating they don't notice the thievery. Eating

Is contagious - when one feeds, others want in

On the act. Like when love gives off its warm

Glow that others can’t help but find attractive

Too. When two feed, twice as many want in

On the act. Usually we see sharing as positive,

And want to let our friends in on our good thing.

But just because birds are remarkably consistent

In contributing their saxophone impressions and

Little hip hop moves every morning, is this from

Friendship or just a free breakfast?

 

PAINTER

 

Long before entering politics, Hitler

Wanted to be a painter. It’s true! I

Looked it up. As a very young man,

Hitler loved art, music, architecture,

And his country’s history. For awhile

He tried making a living by selling his

Watercolors on the streets of Vienna.

He wasn’t very successful, but one of

His watercolors has survived and you

Can see it online. That watercolor, to

Me, looks skillful enough, but twice the

University of Vienna rejected Hitler, said

His work lacked sufficient evidence of

Ability, crushing is aspiration to paint

Seriously. Instead he enlisted in the

Amy and the rest is history. 5.5 million

Killed. It would be unfair to blame the

University of Vienna (how could they

Have known), but still it's tempting to

Speculate on how differently history

Could have turned out had Hitler

Been able to stick to his painting.

 

RIFLE

 

I can see it clearly and I don’t

Like it, but clarity is the kind of

Dangerous gift you just have to

Learn how to handle. It’s like

When you’re given a rifle, you

Can use it to terrorize or to put

Food on the table.

 

CUT

 

First just a tiny one to remind me I’m

Not afraid of pain. Growing numb

Terrifies me more. Look, my body is

Liquid, it flows. Color small crimson

Hearts on m arm – your Valentine’s

Card. Cut deeper, somewhere no one

Will see the scars, my tattoos of your

Gain at my loss. Cut your name into

My skin – I’m your billboard dripping

Red. Cut open a window so this bird

Of prey eating me inside can fly into

The night.

 

BREAKFAST

 

Cereal and milk welcome the day

With a dip together. Toast opens

Itself to richness from butter, then

Feels a little tart from jam. Omelet

Anticipates a special sauce bringing

Out hidden nuances in its warm mix

Of flavors. Coffee takes in its two

Favorites, sugar for sweetness and

Cream to mellow its edge. I finish

Them all off. We’ll do it again

Tomorrow, promise.

 

MARAE

 

Everyone deserves a place of safety for their

Relationship to the eternal. Somewhere the

Spirits of that which you cherish most deeply

Are protected and can live and breathe. Here

I stand outside your marae. I call in greeting.

No answer comes from within. Without your

Welcome, I cannot enter. If you judge me as

Unworthy of your sacred ground or displeasing

To your spirits, I will call no more. I leave as I

Came, quietly, with respect. Inside, your spirits

Can hear me, and know my heart and mind. Is

It they who say deny me, or am I one you wish

To hide from them?

 

THE JUSTICE SYSTEM

 

When you return to the scene of the

Crime, is it to see if anything’s changed?

No, nothing’s changed – what’s good will

Always be good, and what’s bad is still

Bad. All that changes is our ability to

Tell one from the other.

 

TALIBAN

 

What they want is not genuine creativity

Or self expression. What they want is

Politically correct lies. We fight the

Taliban in Afghanistan? Too late! We

Already have them in our back yard.

 

MANNERS AND MORALS

 

I wish I could just make you feel good.

Many moons ago, when this all started,

That was sort of the point. Everything

Said and done since then may tend to

Obscure a related point, which is how

Ridiculously easily you could make me

Feel good if you wanted to. I was busy

Calling your manners and morals into

Question, so it may have slipped my

Mind to mention it. But yeah, in those

Few moments where it seemed like

There was something to be optimistic

About, nothing before or since has

Ever felt better. How could I get so

Preoccupied with manners and morals?

Maybe thinking my own had to adhere

To some high standard, but funny how

Little they matter now. In spite of the

Worst possible thoughts I could have

About you, if I thought you could still

Feel good about me then all I’d do is

Try and make you feel good.

 

PRICELESS

 

Like a diamond in a shop window I stop

And stare at, something personal makes

This more than just another glittering rock.

It feels like everything meant for me,

Everything I was meant for, so naturally

I start conjuring what the future should

Be, will be, already is. Fatally forgetting

This is not mine yet, as much as I firmly

Believe no one else will ever love it more.

How obscene to see something precious

As this subject to an exchange rate, to be

Lost or gained through trade. This could

Turn me criminal - stick ‘em up mister

And watch me walk away with what you

Only thought was yours. Is any price too

High for what’s priceless? What a tragedy

To see it fall into the hands of one who

Would treat it as worthless, just another

Glittering rock.

 

NAVIGATING

 

The word friendship evokes kind winds

And calm seas. It’s friend, someone you

Can be close to, plus ship, something

That travels great distances, certainly

Further than one could swim or paddle

A canoe. Sounds like you and a friend

Can make the voyage together. Sad,

Then, how so many friendships and

Fledgling loves lie shipwrecked on the

Rocky shores of mistrust and betrayal.

Sailing can be dangerous. It’s not clear

Who’s captain and neither of us have

The map, only a compass of the heart.

Stars might guides us or storms could

Throw us off course. Pirates try for a

Piece of us, sirens entice us towards

The rocks for spite and Moby Dick

Rams our ship for sport. The reward

For all the risks is arriving somewhere

We’d never reach alone, provided we

Survive navigating each other’s waters.

 

BOP TEMPLATE

 

Jazz rose up from the streets, coming

From somewhere I couldn’t see. This

City’s warm even in the middle of the

Night. So many working at night, in

Reverse of the natural order like bats

Or owls. Ask them if they’d take the

Day shift and they say that’s crazy.

The day is just so much play acting.

You can’t fake it at night, you know.

Night is the truth, where we came

From, where we’re going. Why do

You think a coyote needs moonlight

To sing the blues? Night is the truth,

Man. I nod and follow the streetlights,

Wondering if all those dreams of

Normal people don’t just float in the

Air this time of night, or if some find

Their way into the horns of a jazz

Band during the late set and get

Breathed back out as music .

 

BULLSHIT GLASSES

 

In the back of my mind there’s a

Voice saying, “You’re wasting your

Time. Trying to cast your pearls

Before a swine.” That brings out

The part of me that’s stubborn

As a mule (and maybe as stupid)

That says, “No! If she could just

Take off her Bullshit Glasses then

She would see it too. I know it!”

But of course the other side of

That coin is maybe I’m the one

Who can’t take off his own.

 

STRING THEORY

 

For better or worse, my poetry comes

Out most naturally when I’m in a highly-

Strung emotional state. This doesn’t

Mean I’m not a fairly reasonable human

Being the rest of the time. Still, I don’t

Recommend a highly-strung emotional

State no matter what it does for your

Poetry. For one thing, it won't work

Wonders on your general affability or

Outlook on life. For another, you have

To check constantly to ensure your

Highly-strung strings haven’t gone out

Of tune, and take caution not to strum

Them so passionately that one of them

Goes pwack and snaps.

 

(Note: The closest approximation to the sound of a snapping guitar

string is "pwack", although you won't find it in most dictionaries.)

 

BAD HISTORY MONTH

 

Do you think a deception

Is any less of a deception

Just because it involves a

Computer? It still becomes

Part of a bad history, one

More nail in the coffin of

Honesty and trust.

 

DISPOSABLE

 

Sacrificed again on the altar of your pride,

Only I don’t feel such a holy object. More like

A surrogate for your interests in an offshore

Account. Trying to petition the Gods offering

Breadcrumbs in hope of gold? He who receives

Your sacrifice, on high or down low as you

Decide, knows the difference between what’s

Truly valuable to you and what’s decidedly

Disposable. You’ll be rewarded accordingly

With blessings of the disposable variety.

 

BOXES

 

Sometimes people deserve the boxes

We put them in. Other times the boxes

We choose for them say more about us.

Careful not to mislabel. Nothing worse

Than putting a right thing in a wrong box

And shelving it somewhere you’d rather

Forget. Put me in a rubbish box and you

May find one day you’re searching the

Dump in vain for what you threw away.

 

POEMS

 

Poems are… Individual flowers from the

Mind’s garden, plus an occasional weed…

Escaping pus from a wound inside that

Won’t heal… Shards of debris from an

Emotional explosion equal to the creation

Of the universe… An SOS from a ghost ship…

Little eruptions of volcanoes undersea

Dreaming of being islands… Notes posted

For God on what you hope and pray is his

Refrigerator… Flying the flag of your true

Self to see who salutes… Something you

Sleepily clean up in the morning from

Your soul’s front porch… Proof positive

So-called sanity, when accepted without

Question, would happily render a death

Sentence on a deeper reality… Usually

Permanence’s enemy, change’s friend…

(Unless it’s the kind of open permanence

That provides poets sanctuary…) Written

In tears, sweat, blood, and other juices we

Can use to make poems in private... All this,

Plus. On and on, on and on, on and on.

 

 

JESTER

 

In medieval times, even a jester toasted by

The court could find himself separated from

His head for saying the wrong thing at the

Wrong moment. Nothing uplifts and nothing

Wounds as surely as humor. The jester’s lot

Was bringing merriment yet stopping short

Of heresy, which must have taken incredible

Insight and skill. He walked a tightrope: be

Funny or starve, but calculate the laughter

Carefully or be stabbed. Can you imagine

What stress the poor jester would come

Under, having to make light of even the

Darkest circumstances? And when a King

Or Queen revealed themselves as the true

Fool, it fell to the jester to save royal face by

Appearing an even bigger clown. I have no

Doubt more than a few monarchs treasured

Their jesters for this very reason. I’ve felt

Making someone else smile was a matter

Of life or death, worried terribly over my

Wording, sensed imminent doom when it

Seemed I’d gotten it wrong. A jester needs

A keen eye for tragedy, given how easily he

Could become one. No wonder even today

So many comics are also alcoholics.

 

JAGGER AT 70 a/k/a BLUNTLY ON YOUR BIRTHDAY

 

Yours will remain a most unlikely, most

Amazing tale – two teens (you and Keith)

Inspired to play the devil’s music and

Ending up feted as gods. Was your own

Mephistophelian trade 20 untouchable

Years followed by 30 in exile on main

Street? Did all your satanic majesty

Culminate in artistic bankruptcy amidst

More dough than Robert Johnson would

Have dared to dream of? Sorry I’m so

Blunt on your birthday, but being studied

(Not just a stud) comes with your cultural

Role, and your truest believers still can’t

Figure what happened after Tattoo You.

So what, Sir Mick, if you won’t likely be

Mentioned in history with the same awe

As Picasso or even Muddy? It’s only rock

And roll. Like our own Prometheus,

You’re still rolling - we find something

Oddly comforting in that, even if with

Each push your peaks just grow further

Distant. Meanwhile, naïve believers

Unwisely await miracles, like one more

Stones album worthy of your past to

Silence every told-you-so, to prove it’s

Never too late if you’re not too lazy.

 

(Note: Jagger and I share the same birth month - July - but I'm on the 9th and he's on the 26th so I'm a Cancer and he's a Leo.)

 

SUBJECT TO CHANGE WITHOUT NOTICE

 

An obvious mystery, one’s person’s gold,

Another’s garbage. One man’s madonna,

Another’s whore. One woman’s devotion,

Another’s indifference. All personal, and

If you’re not careful, all subject to change

Without notice.

 

ALL IN TRADE

 

Our passions, hopes, time, attention

Exceptions, investments, generosity,

Resilience, forgiveness, willingness to

Risk, all in trade for that one thing we

Haven’t found yet. Your space, special

Places, faithfulness, kisses, intimacy,

Tendency to see the diamond but not

The blood behind it, all in trade for that

One thing you haven’t found yet. The

Devotion I’ve reserved for someone

Deserving, openness when I’m not

Inclined to close up, a skill I learned of

Nurturing, songs I learned from

Loneliness and joy, all in trade for that

That one thing I haven’t found yet, the

One perfect exchange that makes

Everything right, makes sense of the

Mysteries, makes the contradictions

Finally reveal the truths they hide.

 

DIFFERENCE

 

Despite all you disbelieve about yourself,

You could still make a difference if you

Wanted to. In case no one’s told you,

Your whole pose is one of indifference.

By all appearances, you don’t care, and

That impression will remain unless you

Try somehow to change it. Neither one

Can win when playing by two different

Sets of rules. Someday when all your

Shit has hit the fan, you’ll understand

How you can’t fight for someone while

You’re also fighting with them. Even if

The effort ends up seeming to not even

Make much difference, the truth will

Always be that you tried, not that you

Simply settled for the hand-outs of fate.

 

AD INFINITUM

 

You can find a new friend… And another…

And another… And another ad infinitum,

Till you eventually realize these aren’t

Really friends at all, only bargain hunters

Out to get what they want as easily and

As cheaply as they can. But maybe that’s

All you’re shopping for too. Careful how

You advertise – your brand name already

Has a reputation on the market, thanks

To all the free samples you’ve given. If

You think these friends of yours are truly

Friends, try putting them all in the same

Room together and see how friendly

They are face to face, among those who

They have something in common with.

Or better yet, invite them all to your

Wedding if you ever have one – I’m

Sure you’ll be proud to introduce them

All to your spouse.

 

MY WORLD

 

My thoughts have gotten so disjointed,

Like a planet coming apart. My center

Of gravity can’t hold it together. And so

My world goes flying off in a million

Different pieces. I was always trying to

Go in more than one direction at once,

But not like this. I feel the explosion, tear,

Rip, crack in my time-space continuum,

Violence of involuntary end. How there’s

Still a voice to say these words, I don’t

Know. I could already be a ghost. Feels

Like I’ve been away, and I have to admit

The familiar feels more comforting when

You know it won’t last forever, just for

A long time.

 

SUSPICIONS

 

Suspicions can be creative. Take information,

Make a story, then feel betrayed by your own

Imagination. My suspicions could fill novels,

Television shows, dramas that leave audiences

Traumatized by the tension. My suspicions

Always seem plausible enough to unnerve me,

So why not the public too? When all is said

And done, I really know nothing, so suspicions

Fill that void, channeling passions like a lost,

Warlike tribe wreaking havoc in anger at being

Denied their homeland, or so they believe.

This is how destruction, emotional or physical,

So easily follows when suspicions inform

Initiative and explode.

 

PROTECT

 

Protect your ego by justifying what you’ve

Done as right from your point of view. If

Someone has a different perspective, it’s

Just their problem. They don’t have to

Walk in your shoes. If you walk roughshod

Over someone else’s feelings, it’s just

Their problem. Maybe next time they’ll

Know better than to get in your path. Fine,

You protect your ego and I’ll protect mine.

 

ALMOST VEGETARIAN

 

They say Americans spend more on porn

Than they put into their pensions. Ok, so

Much for technology and progress, but if

We’re such sex experts why can’t we get

Our pigs to breed as fast as we eat them?

One more Sunday, no pig on the table at

Louise. Too expensive, I’m told. We have

A pork shortage, something must be done.

Encourage your pigs to be more romantic,

Get them drunk, read them the works of

Anne Rice, play them Marvin Gaye non-

Stop, tell them it’s Valentine’s Day, offer

Honeymoon specials, open more motels,

Tell them the Sexual Revolution happened

In the ‘70s and they’re behind the times.

Guilt trip them into getting it on, whatever

It takes, our plates are lonely. Meanwhile,

The pigs are thinking, why should we breed

Just to be eaten? We won’t contribute to

Your Butthead Buffet. We refuse. What if

The tables were turned and we consumed

All the unwanted fruit of your porn addictions?

The pigs have always wanted to say that,

They just had to find the language.

 

FREE ASSOCIATION IS ALIVE AND WELL

 

Fork tongue Nike, window spy whiskey,

Hooligan stadium, rabbit transit, card

Socket, pie face casino night, sliding scale,

Fall through the ice, trash dress muddy,

Front view frog, hard drug drive-thru, milk

Cowboy, shoulder tattoo map, treasure in

Every pack of Cracker Jacks, heron robs

National treasury, Hal open the pod bay

Doors, run away from home and join the

Circus, civil wars and domestic violence,

Homeland insecurity, Merrill Lynch Mob,

Liz Pharisee, every purchase with us a

Guaranteed betrayal of your faith, buy

Now cry later, crocodiles in Manhattan

Sewers, here pussy, bluebird paintbrush,

Able-bodied volunteers needed for

Beaver company, Frankenstein pop singer

Rejuvenates alternative music, cream shirt,

Scream soda, intravenous and Mars, let’s

Go out to the bald game, we interrupt this

Program just because we can, you got a

Problem with that?

 

WAR STORY

 

Caught in the crossfire of your

Good and bad selves, I’m just a

Casualty of battle. If Heaven’s

Own angels rebelled, small

Wonder we can’t resist the bad

Side of ourselves. A door more

Easily opened than closed. Like

Money changers in a holy temple,

What you first invited you must

Eventually fight or else surrender

To completely. In the end, good

Usually wins, but bad can make

A memorable stand. Entering

The crossfire means being shot

By both sides, since bullets don’t

Know friend from foe, and in self

Defense you’re advised to just

Keep firing and ask questions

Later. The best I can say is I

Survived, though I wish it all

Had meant more than just

A good war story.

 

SILVER

 

The Moon doesn’t hold anger or sadness

In spite of all it’s seen. Know why I shine?

Asks the Moon. Everyone’s troubles have

Rubbed against me since the dawn of time.

In appearance I’m not as constant as my

Cousin the Sun, but he burns like never

Ending passion while I rise, fall, and rise

Again in endless reflection. As I reflect all

I’ve seen, I use the troubles for fuel to

Provide you a light in the darkness. I’m a

Symbol. My cycle is renewal, while Mr. Sun

Might burn out one day if he’s not careful.

 

COUP

 

Do you envision a golden future where

Everyone’s forgotten the truth about

You? Most dictators do, but soon their

Own conscience makes them unable to

Settle comfortably into their newfound

Security. Subtly, they feel threatened

Not by what anyone’s done but by what

Everyone knows, not by what anyone’s

Said but by what they suspect you must

Be thinking. There’s no bigger threat to

A liar than those they can rely on to tell

The truth. No bigger threat to a cheater

Than those who play fair. No bigger

Threat to someone drunk on power

(Or just alcohol) than the sober. No

Bigger threat to the guilty than the

Innocent. Everyone must buy in or

Be edited out.

 

NEW AMUSEMENTS

 

Hey you Pharisees, if you show up

At my sacred mountain, be sure to

Take off your shoes. With faith you

Can walk on hot coals, but with

Attitude all you’ll find is your fancy

Footwear melted. Be respectful or

You'll regret it. Lightning will fry you

If you run amok at night. Try an orgy

In the forest, as if it's some disco

With trees, and you’ll fall into rivers

Hidden underground full of hungry

Fish who’ll love you. This ain’t no

Disneyland, and it did quite well

Without you before you walked

In acting like you own the place.

 

STOLEN BY THE SKY

 

Legend has it craters are the lovers and

Wives of mountains stolen by the sky.

Sheltering them from unsympathetic

Eyes, the moon hides craters within his

Glow. No stranger to separation’s pain,

The moon spends half his time shining

With undeniable brilliance and the other

Half hidden in cold darkness hoping his

Wounds heal in time for his next

Scheduled appearance. And when has

The moon ever kept us waiting? Some

Mothers soothe children to sleep telling

Stories of the craters on the moon. See

How some craters have already made

Room for mountains they still await.

Remember how others, long ago,

Embraced mountains so closely as to

Become one with them, until a black

Hole with a jealous heart, a cosmic

Storm, a hungry magnetic asteroid or

Heaven for reasons unknown reached

Down to snatch the mountains away.

See how easily these craters could catch

All manner of moon and star material to

Fill them again, but curiously, how most

Choose instead to remain empty.

 

CHILD

 

The older I get, the more I intuit

That it’s children, not adults, who

Have the right idea. Everything’s

Open, everything’s new, it’s all

One big possibility. Whoever came

Up with the bright idea that we

Have to carve ourselves in stone

When we hit 18 needs a lobotomy

From Dr. Ramone to re-connect

With their inner child. Is insight

That just closes us off really

Insight at all?

 

INDEX

 

I never figured clarity of expression

Could come across as so dramatic,

But if I stopped clocks the way I

Stop conversations, the digital age

Would be in for some major shit.

If I like you, I'll say look at it this

Way: no matter how different you

Are, you're still walking on the same

Flowers and stones and breathing

The same air as everyone else.

We're all an index of each other's

Possibilities.This is bad. This is

Good.

 

UP AGAINST THE WALL STREET IN YOU

 

The fates have granted me the grace of

Keeping the catastrophe quiet. Declaring

Bankruptcy’s a private matter, even if the

Currency’s only emotions. Feelings subject

To foreclosure. Liquidate these dreams,

They have amusement value. See the

Easily amused nod their approval. They

Can relate to being left holding the bag.

It’s nice they sympathize, and avert their

Eyes as I face an exile of uncertain length.

In exile, one at least has small freedoms.

Returning is not one of them. I can’t see

Anything bringing me back, once I’ve been

Tagged as unmanageable, too risky an

Investment, certain only to compromise

Your profits. In exile, one at least has small

Comforts, like appearing free while serving

A sentence of indefinite confinement inside.

Fools the easily amused, at least. But it’s all

Show, far from sweet, with the bitter taste

Of the incomplete.

 

SHAKESPEARE SHOE FITS

 

Strange name, Shakespeare. Evokes images

Of primitives trying to scare off progress, or

To pursue spear as a euphemism, civilized

Males reading Playboy. Seriously, it’s kind

Of comic, the name Shakespeare. A name

Like Deathspeare would be sexier, or

Bloodspeare more macho. But try picture

The enemy quaking in fear hearing

Shakespeare. Doesn’t quite fly. Sounds like

Braveheart shaking his sword, Robin Hood

Shaking his bow, Sir Lancelot shaking his

Lance a lot, the Three Musketeers shaking

Their rapiers or Bonnie and Clyde shaking

Their machine guns. Weapons must be

Scary, not shaken like a martini or a

Maraca. So with the name Shakespeare,

What would you do to be taken seriously?

We don’t know what really drove him, but

Wouldn’t he be having the last laugh if his

True reason for writing so relentlessly was

He was mad at being laughed at? So next

Time you’re angry, channel that negative

Energy into something creative. They might

Still hear your echo 400 years later.

 

DEFINITION

 

I’ve always been grateful for my place

In the world, but I never bothered to

Define it, for a statement as to what

I am would be a comparison to what

I am not, and my knowledge of what

I am not is at best surface level, so

Who am I to talk? Thank you for

Telling me who I am. I know you’re

Trying to be helpful, but why do I

Suspect you’re the one who really

Needs help? What makes you such

An authority? I want to be one too.

Does it take a degree? A badge? A

Gun? A certain tattoo? Or do you

Just pick a definition of yourself that

You like, wear it like wrapping paper

Around a gift to the world, and hope

This colorful sight inspires someone

Or other to sing happy birthday to

You because you appear to fit their

Definition of cake-deserving?

 

BRICKS

 

These poems are just so many bricks

In a fragile wall a cold stare could

Crumble or a warm smile could melt.

I wish I could change many things,

But the truth is I haven't a clue how

To change anything. Arguably I have

A clue how to write a poem, though

I can hear critics my disagreeing. At

The risk of sounding even more

Egotistical than usual, if this is what

I can do with their cynicism ringing

In my ears, think what I could do if

I could hear you singing my praises!

On a cold day in hell, you might scoff,

But who knows. If sincerity only gets

Me in trouble, then maybe it’s the

Utterly ridiculous that might make

You see things differently. If we

Can’t share a reality, we can always

Share an idea, as innocently as the

Public shares germs. Imagination:

Change in the dark, germinating. I

Just keep laying bricks, sometimes

High like a wall, other times low,

Down to earth, imagining a road.

 

THE UNDEAD

 

I know you don’t want it so I’m

Trying to destroy it but it won’t

Die. It just gets uglier each time

It crawls from the grave and says,

I come from you - send me six

Feet under, but isn’t it really a

Part of you you’re trying to bury?

I reply, you got that right – part

Of me I don’t want to see walking

Around, looking over my shoulder

In the mirror, in pictures, in stories.

A constant reminder of cursed love,

Of failure, and the other partner in

Your creation doesn’t want you

Either. Living things with limited

Insight are so challenged grasping

The concept of inconvenience.

 

SORTING ITSELF

 

Heavy rain, stay inside. Stay inside, look

Inside. Just as turbulent, even more so.

The storm outside is nothing. Nature is

Sorting itself, throwing air, water and

Light into a fray while the earth tries

To remember dryness and warmth,

Knows they’ll come again, but wishes

They’d put on some speed. I try to see

My troubles as my life sorting itself.

Hoping that, as with nature, in the end

A balance will be restored. As the storm

Clearly shows, a lot of conflict goes into

The making of a sunny day.

 

SYMBOLIC

 

Hey Sky, who you crying for all day

And all night? Freud said water

Symbolizes emotion. Sky wants to

Grow fat on emotion, hold it all in,

Gain substance like Earth, hoping

Earth might look up from its typical

Lazy passivity and actually take

Notice for a change. But alas, Sky

Can’t keep the weight on. Gets to

A certain size and it all comes flying

Off from gravity. Most Americans

Would be envious. And predictably,

Earth just callously says thanks for

The drink, call me sometime, ok?

Stevie Ray Vaughn sang “The Sky Is

Crying” with a lot of emotion, as is

Only fitting for this tale of yearning

Frustrated every time, no matter

How sincere or how determined.

 

WERE I SANTA CLAUS

 

The joy’s in the giving of gifts as much

As the receiving. And were I Santa Claus,

You wouldn’t have to wait till Christmas.

Were I the master gift builder, I’d make

Myself into one you’d want to unwrap,

A present you’d enjoy again and again,

Something you’d accept without the

Slightest hesitation, indulge in with no

Second thoughts, omit mentioning to

Your friends to avoid them becoming

Covetous, something you’d sighed for

Each time you saw it in the shop window.

In other words, I wish I were chocolate.

 

EXPERTS

 

I'm such an expert - I know

Exactly what you mean and

Exactly what you're thinking

Even before you do. You're

Such an expert - you know

Exactly what I mean and

Exactly what I'm thinking

Even before I do. Things

Can get complex, unclear.

Lucky we’re such experts.

 

OUR BEST

 

Maybe Las Vegas can make you rich

Beyond your wildest dreams, but how

Often does that happen? Please don't

Use our best as a gambling chip.

 

DESERVE

 

Bad guys in movies get

What they deserve. Why

Not nice guys in real life?

 

ROCKS

 

People ‘round here throw rocks so

Often you’d think they’d never sinned.

I wish Cupid could aim arrows on my

Behalf as accurately as my neighbors

Aim rocks at transgressing dogs, cats

Advertising a heat, birds soiling the

Clothesline, pigs digging up the roses,

And sometimes one another.

 

SPYING IN PERSPECTIVE

 

Our nation, born of rebellion, founded on the

Ideal of liberty or death. If leaders take the

Liberty of spying on their citizens, it must be

For our own good. Traitors walk among us,

Trying to establish a new dark ages. Humans

Are fallen by nature and foolish in notion, so

Thank the Lord we have so many laws for our

Own protection. Laws fill books that fill rooms

Which fill buildings. No wonder you can break

A law without even knowing. Laws, it seems,

Come and go these days like Vegas paychecks.

Do they still need probable cause to probe into

Our private business? Just some little bird that

Whispers nasty things? Words on my t-shirt

They don’t like seeing? A blip on their radar

Screen they think is me flying on a broom?

It changes so fast, I don’t bother keeping

Track. All I know is, in today’s USA, if you’re

A conservative wage slave you’re ok (for now),

But any deviation could place you under

Suspicion. Part of the standardization plan

For our own good. We’re a democracy, an

Equal partnership between people and our

Leaders . We should be as honest with them

As they are with us.

 

REMEMBER?

 

Remember when I tried reaching out to

You? At first you seemed pleased, but

Then you treated me like you wished I

Would just go away. So I did. Why do

You still wear that hurt look? Even

When I’ve done what you want, you’re

Not happy? Doesn’t seem likely. Must

Be it’s just someone else now who’s

Making you sad.

 

PEARLS

 

When our pearls have fallen in the

Pig sty, who will pull them out? All

The crap in the world can’t tarnish

Their true worth, only obscure it.

But who’ll be left with dirty hands?

Is saving something precious worth

Sorting through something ugly?

 

CONTINUED NEXT PHOTO OVER ("CYCLONE SCENE")

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