Saturday, June 24, 2017

Orgy Over

all the world's battlefields
like monumental beds

where millions sleep it off
in the arms of one another

after going at it like hell
like there's no tomorrow--

walking through this one
on tiptoe not to wake them

Friday, June 9, 2017

Gerontic Fable

Two people meet in the middle of a bridge.
They start talking.
One's a Democrat and the other's a Republican.
They finish their conversation amicably, 
each walking off in the opposite direction, 
each scratching her head in confusion. 
"So, how was it," is the question they face 
when they reach their compatriots. 
"Fine," they say. "But those people 
over there have a hard time with reality."
The sound of a speedboat shooting by
beneath the bridge. Its co-pilot
holding up a sign that reads:
Jump, jump and we'll save you!

Monday, May 29, 2017

In This Garden, May 28, 2017

In this garden there are no fuming voices
With answers and choices that are neither.
On a Sunday with a woodpecker and a fat jay
Singing for their stake, in the shade of hazelnut

Bushes, now trees you can’t control no matter
How much you need deep down to grab hold
And steer them, hydra-headed it all comes back
Like the offspring of war.  Now, I let it go, grow

As will, as squirrels bellyflop from the branches
To help me drown out the very best gone sour,
This hour when the lizard makes a mad dash

Between nettle cover along the narrow path;
Their hands wide open to the angle of the sun
Already aware of what I'm about to write down.

Monday, May 22, 2017

America, the Game

In the game some play
By the rules, others slay
According to the aim
No matter what shame

Gets visited on the game,
The aim is always to win
And climb out of that sin
Losers feel all the same.

Unless your God awaits
With a book of notations
And timeless quotations
For your choice of fates,

Playing the game of lies
And disdain for the whys
Lands you the only prize:
Fear, in power’s disguise.

Rules apply to saps
And those with a vision
Of eternal damnation,
Feathers in their caps

Burning as beacons
For the whole of creation
Like blushing deacons
Witness dog exultation

On the corner where Go
Has an electric fence
To fry the poor and low,
Whose capital offense

Is being. Hence a God
Or a conqueror’s bod
Since the game’s rules
Are meant for the fools

While life means zero
To the capitalist weirdo
Whose one God is fame
And a moneyed last name.

Tuesday, April 11, 2017

Tourist Posture

Russia ascends.
Russia about to be

a bottomless pit
of misery.  African

lives on the up.
Agriculture, industrial

output motherly.
The Amazon thrives

with life.  It slithers
through dead zones

of epicensure.
China falls to modernity,

treats the world
like fuel, face-

savings in the bank.
Things to worry about

are things to love
and love is something

to worry about.
Billions build

towers of elsewheres,
hungry droves

in groves of children,
orchards bathed

in American
chemical ingenuity

proper calibration

of the sights  
to safeguard peace

on earth, good will
to those whom we ask

for their souls.  See,
the slouching bear

on TV, decidedly
polar, on a drift

of ice once
a continent of snow

the whole year.
God’s people, thank

God, on the case.
Not for beasts, perhaps

but others
who turn out not to be

too greedy, too needy
for their stay.

Hope is elementary,
and wants to keep it that way. 

Sunday, April 9, 2017

Events Like Me

And then the president
Or someone blew up the buildings.
Then the mongrels took over. 
They made it plain as day,
Heartless tongues awag. 
They cut along the dotted line,
Two snakes emerged, each
A hissing lullaby for the baby
Bundles out on a limb. 
Then the whole nation wept. 
The whole weeping nation then wept
For revenge.  Patriot nobodies
Built bonfires at the center of the park.
One neighbor has two of everything. 
One likes the challenge of bows
And arrows.  Spark ribbons
Twirl in the black sky.
Fire burns up all the best ideas. 
The fire’s idea rises on its own heat
Like a balloon or a diver
Has to hold it in, yellow flames
Glide by on the fender of a 50
Something outlined in silvery light. 
Smiles recreate the moment,
Mother folding laundry, her back a curve
Of aches and pains like a sea-bitten
Tree.  I taste salt on my lips, as it
Was and should be, of earth
When it comes to me, in my heart that bleeds.
Around the planet the same probe
Takes place, the same pace
Of inquiry, the same
Interrogation. Money talks
Up what money makes
Like we speak lovingly of babies,
Milestones of growing old,
Of apples and pears,
Money is life enough for money
To bear, playing songs
It loves itself to hear.  Can I last
Out those who now rise up
Like their grandfathers
Against enemies of the word,
Enemies of the rolling Rs,
The coughing Gs, the straight
And narrow Ss?  Friends 
Of a god whose martyrdom masquerades 
As a misery party
Of unrequited lovers?
That’s when I think it’s good
To be mortal, when I appreciate
Such an event as me. 
And yet I have my days 
When even that's too much
Nothingness to be.

Saturday, April 8, 2017

Portrait of a Dog Heading West on a Road by a Meadow beneath a Blue Sky

Blue blue blue blue blue white white white white blue blue
Blue blue blue blue blue blue white white white white white
White white blue blue blue blue blue blue blue blue blue
White brown blue blue blue blue blue blue blue blue blue
Blue brown brown blue blue blue blue blue blue blue blue
Brown brown brown brown brown brown brown brown green
Brown brown brown brown brown brown brown brown brown
Green green brown brown brown brown brown brown green
Green green brown green brown brown green brown green green
Green green brown green green green green brown green green
Green green brown green green green green brown green green
Green green brown green green green green brown green green
Black black brown black black black black brown black black black