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Thursday, June 30, 2011

#181 Dreams in the Night


I remember nights
When I stared up at the stars
Following the blurry arm of the milky way
High up into the sky
Best seen when not looking directly at it
But I'd try anyways

Lying out on the old red lounge
Wrapped tight in my sleeping bag
The dew settling upon me
As I tried to stay awake
In the crisp early summer night air

Hoping to see a shooting star
Yet another thing that I often see best
From the corner of my eye
Mostly because they come and go so quick
That I'm not looking right at them

I'd fall asleep
And dream my little dreams
Of racing, flying and the like
Sometimes a really good one
Like being able to breathe underwater

That never works by the way
I've tried

Really, the whole "mind over matter" ideology
Has major flaws

You simply can't walk through a wall
Even if you refuse to acknowledge it
The wall doesn't need anyone's validation
For it to be real

I suppose it's a good lesson
When taken rightly
Not needing validation
To just be
What you are

Wednesday, June 29, 2011

#180 Is Trapped


I can’t get out
I figured that out after the first week
I’ve been surviving on excess ham byproduct
It keeps leaking from the joints in the machines
I don’t know what it really is
So I call it 'ham'
But it keeps me going

I found some water dripping from a pipe
About a quarter kilometer that way
It tastes sort of foul
But it hasn’t killed me
And that’s a good thing I guess

I can’t believe I got into this
I didn’t listen
Mother told me this would happen someday
Well, not this exactly, but something
And, it did

Happy, Mother?
You were right

I was on a tour
This is the largest factory in the world
16 square miles
It feeds half the world’s population
And is completely automated
There is a maintenance break every year
And that’s when they have tours

I wandered off,
Went through a one way door
And that’s how it happened
The next day, the plant started up
And I have a year to wait for help
If I could last that long

Everything is stainless steel it seems
And inches thick
All the joints are sealed with concrete
Keeps pests out
Like me

I got a label scraped off one of the pipes
I’ve written a note on it
With my trusty blue pen
I think I can slip it into one of the cans
I can see them through a hairline seam
They march by rather slowly
I know I can do it
I don’t know what else to do
I didn’t see any other labels anywhere
Here’s hoping!

*

Somewhere in Alberta, Canada
On a sunny Sunday afternoon
Six months later
Rajesh opens his can of meat
For a sandwich
And finds a note
It says:
“Help, I’m trapped in the Spam Factory……”




Tuesday, June 28, 2011

#179 Thinks Beautiful Nonsense


The sun sets on another day
Another way to go about things
Breathing in and out
Seeing beauty in most things

I'll not disparage the electric eel
He isn't what I'd call pretty
But he winks and he blinks
And makes the hair stand up on the kitty

Nor will I avoid the sight
Of the slug in my garden
Who wanders on a damp night
He keeps the peace, and is the yard's warden

The strange sightless worm
Things going in one end and out the other
Like all things I suppose
And just like me, it had a "mother"

The horrid black mold
Simply going about it's existence
I've seen it, and cleaned it
I love and respect it
But I wouldn't kiss it for a six-pence

My kingdom for some beautiful people
I love being around them
It doesn't bother me a whit
That I'm the only ugly one in the room

What is beauty though?
Tastes do vary
I like a woman with some meat on her bones
Though that makes some a little wary

To make my existence a little easier
I've sent away for a potion at great expense
It will warp my perceptions of such things
And as a side benefit, will keep me from getting tense.

After I quaff the potion in question
I'll look around and beauty is all that I'll see
Although if you know me, even a little
I'll probably take one look in the mirror
And spend the rest of eternity
Making love to me

Monday, June 27, 2011

#178 Now That's Some Spicy Chicken!


I’m raising some spicy chicken
I got a crate full of chicks this spring
They’re free ranging in the back yard
I’m not feeding them any unnatural thing

However

Every day
Right about noon
I wheel out my special treat cart
And start measuring with a spoon

Each hen gets a spoonful
Of some marvelously spicy stuff
They’ve grown to like it
And come a’running, never getting enough

I started out light, and with a small pile of feed
I ground up some dried Banana peppers, putting that on it
Then on to Habanero, moving to Cayenne
I’ll finish the summer at Scotch Bonnet

For the first few weeks
The chickens had the trots
They made messes of their back feathers
And I had to wash them lots

But after that
Things settled down a bit
They’d come casually for their daily dose
And it was really a hit

After special feeding time
The chickens would party down
With a disco ball and DJ
Even if they could, they didn’t have a frown

Towards the end of the day
As the peppers got out of their system
They’d settle down
And sleep deeply, the sand man didn’t miss them

If all goes according to plan
When I butcher them in the fall
I’ll have some award winning spicy chicken
Their meat will have me standing tall

I don’t see how this plan can fail
You are what you eat
From your head down to your feet
I learned that on television as a child
And there is no way that can be wrong at all

Sunday, June 26, 2011

#177 Is a Token of Maturity

My gaze falls upon my little toy
The little grey lamb
She's missing a leg now
And will never walk straight again

I don't know what happened to it
Maybe some little plastic wolves
Fell upon it in the night
And she barely escaped being prey

An X-games type adventure
Involving bungee jumping hippos
Riding Motocross bikes
While eating snow cones

That would be an exciting way
To lose a leg
Although on the whole
I'd rather not

I wonder what the little grey lamb thinks
Being down one limb
Does she walk in circles?
Hopping lightly
Trying to act sprightly

In the end
She is the three legged grey lamb
Which sits upon my desk
A gift for Father's Day
From my daughter
Trying to take control
Of what she gives to me
A strange little symbol
Of her growing up

So I look at the little three legged grey lamb
With a tear in my eye
And know that it kind of means
That my little girl
Won't be my little girl
For much longer

Saturday, June 25, 2011

#176 Is a Kitchen Rant


It's the damn sink again
It's dripping into the night
I can hear it's rhythmic sounds
Dripping and dropping the beat
The never ending pound

Water hitting the shelf liner
Applied over faux wood grained particle board
Long since swelled with moisture
In the Cadillac of all cabinetry
The rental special of kitchen design

Oh how I'd love to rip thee from my presence
Gut thou from my life
Throw you on a bonfire
Cut you with a knife

It's not just the sink, you see
But most things here
They were bought at a fire sale I think
Back to the K-mart cabinetry fire sale they should go

The drawers fall out
Their underpinning quite unusual
Pull them out too far
And they collapse back into the cabinet
The frown on your face at this
Is nothing compared to the smiles and laughter
That must have happened
When the demon who designed this joke
Put it down on paper

I'm breathing in and out now
Trying to calm myself
Fixing one more thing on this junk
When what I really want to do is just start over

Where exactly does one start
When one choice necessitates another?
Why put in a new sink
When the countertop needs replacing
Why a new countertop when the cabinets are worthless
Why new cabinets, when the whole layout is wrong

That wall needs to go
This wall needs to stay
The window doesn't work
The floor is swayed
I'd burn the frakking place to the ground
But then I'd just have to rebuild
In this same lot
In this same town

I've made a decision:
If you need me,
I'll be in Denver
Look for "Robert Forteax"
That will be me

Friday, June 24, 2011

#175 Is the Get Well Goat

He is a feel better goat
He brings tidings of get well
Holding cards and balloons in his mouth
He knows who sent them but will never tell

He might work for Hallmark
Or contract with FTD
I’d rather he worked for Melting Moments
And was bearing an ice cream cookie sandwich for me

Not that I’m not grateful
For all the well wishes he brings
It’s just that I have ice cream on my mind
Amongst other things

Just then, as I was thinking that
The get well goat
Turned himself to the side
And I saw he bore a saddlebag on his hide

Gesturing with his goat head at the bag
I reached out with just a hint of fright
I lifted the flap
And was giddy with delight

There inside the bag
In an insulated pocket with fancy cross stitch
Was what I had wished for
A chocolate chip cookie ice cream sandwich!

I hugged the goat, and couldn’t have been happier
Taking out the ice cream novelty
I broke it in half
Half for him, and half for me

We enjoyed our moment of dessert, the goat and me
I grabbed a brush to run through his fur
But he shook his head
And left in a blur

He had others to cheer
After all, he was the Get Well Soon Goat

#174 Kisses the Pretty Grindstumper

All the toe catchers
The leg breakers
The ankle snappers
The stumps in the yard

They don't stand a chance
Against my motorized beast
It turns and churns
Whizzes and whirs

Bright yellow like a school bus
Twenty seven spinning teeth
Turning like an inevitable event
At 600 rotations per minute

That's RPM my friends

Apply the gas
And the yellow beast roars
Levering it's spinning snout
Into whatever is in front of it

A big yellow hog
Looking for truffles
Under every stump in the yard
Leaving piles of dirt and wood chips in it's wake

I feed it not scraps
But refined petroleum products
Not only is it what it likes
It's what it loves

Whatever will this wonderful thing do
When all the dead dinosaurs
Are sucked out of the ground?
Will it adapt to survive?

Perhaps it will go to a museum
And stand in a static display
Of a bald fat man
Commanding it to eat his stumps

More likely it will be recycled
Into something more useful
In the brave new world
That it has cleared all the stumps from

It's metal bits scattered
Inserted into hover cars
Rocket belts
And laser pistols

The soul of the mighty yellow hog
Will survive unscathed
Of that I am as sure
As of the fact that I anthropomorphize everything

The petroleum swilling piggy
Will be rooting happily
For precious things
In the fields of stumps
That surely populate
The heaven of it's choosing

Wednesday, June 22, 2011

#173 Has Forgotten Something

The singing school messenger
Calling us all to class
Better get a move on chum
Or the hall monitor will have your ass

Running to beat the bell
I know I've forgotten something in my locker
So I hope like hell
I won't get called on in class

I slid into my seat
Without a second to spare
Laying out my books so neat
That maybe nobody would care

It was worming in my brain
What had I forgotten?
It was something important for sure
Looking again in my bag that it was not in

Nothing rang a bell
So I sat waiting for things to start
Looking around at friends
And an idiot who thought he was so smart

Everyone was looking at me strangely
I kept looking behind me
Thinking it was something back there
But everything looked normal that I could see

The teacher took attendance
As my name came around
I called out "Here"
She looked up at me without a sound

Her eyes grew wide
And her hand  left her side
To point nervously at her face
I was confused, it didn't look dignified

She cleared her throat
And asked me to gather my stuff
And go see the nurse
I complied, I'd had enough

I huffed out the door
And into the hall
I passed the mirror outside the bathroom
And I stopped, grabbing the wall

I realized what I'd forgotten
My face reflected in the mirror
Was missing an important thing
And explained the confusion and furor

I'd completely forgotten my nose

Tuesday, June 21, 2011

#172 One Has Nothing to do With the Other

I drive a Monte Carlo
Just like my NASCAR heroes on the track
But when I took it out
It wouldn’t do 200 mph
I drove it to the dealer and took it back

Just the nameplate
Is shared between
A race car and one you can buy at home
The one has nothing to do with the other

Every day I go to work
I fix things all day
But when I get home
All I want to do is play
Won’t fix the car or the fridge
I call a repairman and pay

What I do for a living
Isn’t what I do at home
I can’t explain it
The one has nothing to do with the other

I have a fancy office
With leather chairs and fine art
I sculpt celebrities faces
When I check in on them I make notes on their chart
But if I saw someone hurt on the way home
I’d take a huge detour for a start

What I do as a doctor
I do it for money
I never do it for fun or for free
The one has nothing to do with the other

Every day I work hard
Cleansing the world of impurity
I enjoy it, I feel it’s important
If people look wrong, or just not like me
I gas them, I shoot them, I throw them in the sea
At quitting time I hang up my hat
I go to Worship, I work for charity
I help little old ladies with their groceries
I kiss my wife, hug my kids, and love my family

The work that I do
You might not like it, it’s true
But I’ll be proven moral, and right, in the end.

Alas

The one, has nothing to do, with the other

Monday, June 20, 2011

#171 My Pen, My Companion


My mighty pen
I got you when you were new
Though cheap I was glad to have you
Alas, now you are almost out of blue

What shall I do
On that fateful stroke
That you finally run out of ink?
Will I make a sad death joke?

Will I throw you in the trash
Like any other used up thing
To be dumped and composted
The anonymity of compacting

Or I could make a big deal
Whittle a tiny coffin
And place you in it
Lined with white satin

I’d give a eulogy
Tear jerking and long
About how you were always there for me
How even when I lost you, I was in the wrong

That might be a little much though
I could add you to my collection of odds and ends
Sitting in my basement collecting dust in little bins
I go down there at night, to spend time with my collected friends

I could take a new pen
And swap out the ink tube
Then at least I’d still have your body
Although when I say it like that it seems creepy and rude

Ultimately when the day comes
That you’ll no longer write for me
I’ll simply put you down without a frown
And go merrily on my way

Sunday, June 19, 2011

#170 Thinks of His Father


The rain
Washes away my tears
As I stand next to my father’s grave
It’s a granite bench
With his name on it
Meant for contemplation and remembering
But it’s raining
And the puddles on the bench
Aren’t conducive to sitting
So I stand
And think of what he would have done
In all those many situations
I’ve encountered
In the days since he was gone

I can’t really know what he’d think
Because I wasn’t ever sure of what he thought
I’ve learned more about him since he died
Than I ever knew of him when I could have talked to him
And that saddens me
He was taken too soon
Too soon for me to come back around
To that same level of admiration I had for him
Back when I was a child
That went away when I was a teen
And only started to come back
A few years before he died

What fools we are
Not to see what is before us
Our whole lives

All I can do now
Is stand here before his little bench
My tears mixing with the rain


Saturday, June 18, 2011

#169 Just Wants a Sandwich


I want a sandwich that makes me happy
Bread that makes me smile
Cheese that melts in my mouth
Ingredients complex as they compile

But things didn’t turn out as I’d hoped
As the waitress brought my plate
I’d sipped my water patiently
Never minding that it was getting late

Looking down I peered at it tentatively
Picked it up and tested it’s weight
I tasted it carefully, and made a face
I dropped it to my plate
And searched for words for this situation
The sandwich was worse than second rate

This sandwich makes me angry
It’s filled with hate
The meat is rancid
The bread moldy
Vegetables fermented
Such sandwiches have started wars
Men have killed themselves
When confronted
With such monstrosity

This sandwich wants to eat New York
Use the Brooklyn Bridge as toothpicks
Lay waste to uptown
And lay down in downtown

This is one shit sandwich
Reeking of fecal matter
I’ll not take it anymore
I’m madder than a fucking hatter

I call the waitress over
And insist she take it back
I don’t care what they do with it
I’ll take none of her flak

The cook glares at me
When he sees the plate return
It’s a sandwich filled with fury
Things will never be the same

He charges me with his cleaver
Swinging in huge arcs
I meet him with my knives
Hovering in midair

Like the Matrix

We battle for what seems like hours
Sweat and blood mingling on the floor
Finally we both lose interest
There’s no fight in either of us anymore

The sandwich just isn’t worth it

Friday, June 17, 2011

#168 Lump, Cast Out

The ghost of the lump on my head
Cries in the night
It keeps me awake
It fills me with fright

"Why, did you leave me?"
It says
"Because you bothered me,
and you might be cancer."
I retort

The lump
Is unmoved by my logic
It clanks it's chains
Like some miniature Jacob Marley

It was my constant companion
For ten whole years
Long enough to form a bond
And to bring me to tears

If I had to answer the question;
"What happened, you bump your head?"
One more fucking time
I would have taken a razor blade to it myself
And cauterized it with a lime

Took a half an hour
And my decade's companion
Was gone from my life
Five stitches later
All sewn up from the knife

A week later
I get the report
It's not cancer
Which is the important part
What it was, I forget
We'll just call it
"A little something extra"

Still the wee lump haunts me though
My fingers search for it on my head
It whispers in my ear,
"See?  I was nothing to worry about."
"I loved you, why did you throw me out?"

I grit my teeth
And ignore it's pleas
If I think of other things
I hope to forget it was ever there

I called it many things
When I'd get that boring question
Sometimes I'd say yes, I did bump my head
Other times I'd grin
And say it was my partially developed
Conjoined twin

Watch out, he has teeth!

Sometimes I'd look grimly at the person
And tell them it was a tumor
That was the cruelest one
They'd invariably blush
And turn away
With an, "Oh, I'm sorry"

I'm over it though
I'm happy it's gone
It worried me
And annoyed me

Someday even
I might stop looking in the mirror
Searching for it with my eyes
Forgetting that it is actually gone