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Wednesday, August 31, 2011

#243 Speech! Speech!


I cannot think of what to say
It's as if all the words have left me
Left speechless for much of the day
Mouth hanging open for all to see

It's important that I get it out
I wrote a speech and everything
I tense turn red and try to shout
But nothing at all squeaks out

This is all in my head
I tell myself bravely
Even as I feel the heat of a thousand stares
Every one of them leering and beastly

I'm furniture
I'm invisible
Chairs don't talk
So nor do I
I couldn't even walk

The moment has come
For the very first time
I squint into the spotlight
And try to read the line

I'm in a safe place
With my closest friends
They will not judge me
I will not need to make amends

Then the words flow freely
Tumbling from my lips
Pronounced just so
My fear becoming eclipsed

The timing is working
Just how I'd rehearsed
In front of my mirror
Plunging on headfirst

Almost at the end
I make my final point
And end it all on a light note
And the audience chuckles with mirth

I wipe the sweat from my brow
And gently clear my throat
I open my eyes and peek around the curtain
At the audience waiting to hear what I'd wrote

This won't be so bad
I refuse to despair
After all
Every singe one of them is in their underwear

Tuesday, August 30, 2011

#242 Stupid List

What I wish I knew
when I was young
Could fill reams
Before I was done

The belly button
Is not a place for change
Or toys
Or any other objects
That is what pockets are for

Women
Are for kissing and cuddling
Pitching the woo
Is a manly thing
Quit wasting time on thy car

Get out of the basement
Drinking with a couple friends is great
But retreating to the basement every night
Is not
That's why your father
Thought you were gay for years
When in fact
You were just an alcoholic

Doing things for people
Is a wonderful thing
But allowing them to use you
In the hopes that they will see
How much you love them
Is not going to end well

Your father was right
Almost 75% of the time
Seriously

A car
Really is
Just for getting from A to B
It's not a fashion statement
It's not who you are
It's just a car
Use it
Maintain it
But don't obsess over it

Getting a Harley Davidson
Does not make your penis bigger
Or make you more attractive

Loud pipes do not save lives
They just piss everyone else off
While you are in your little Harley bubble
Thinking about how awesome
Everyone else must think you are

Food
Is not comfort
Or happiness
Or love
It's just fuel stupid

All those opportunities
That you are too lazy and selfish
To give a shit about now
Will haunt you forever

So many silly things
And many many more
That I'd wished I'd have known
Before I was too old
To do anything about it anymore


Monday, August 29, 2011

#241 C? This is getting old already


Citting on my civet
Having a cerulean cry
Clinging to crushed curtains
Always wondering why
The first cut is always the deepest
Is it just a saying?
I've cut deep
I've cut shallow
It's called cut control

The civet is getting restless
So I feed him some more C-ration
And read aloud more C.S. Lewis
For the civet to practice his dictation

Bored after that
I flip on the cable
The civet and I search for claymation
Finding a lovely story of a babe in a cradle

Although the civet cannot fool me
He licks his lips
And imagine a meal of that baby
I can only imagine that quip

"Excuse me, but a civet ate your baby"

Is that right?
I might be remembering it wrong
I used to watch that show
But it's been so damn long

A show about nothing
Much like this poem
Much ado about something
Mostly a bunch of hokum

Sunday, August 28, 2011

#240 Good Grief, It's B

B

Is the bone the resides inside
It connects and binds
It props and guides
Directs things where they should go
Makes of me the form
That I always know

When I look in the mirror

Mirror, Mirror, upon the wall
Why is it, that I do fall?

Below
Is the answer
Below you, is only air
While you need it to live
You do tend to pass right through it
Much like a sieve for the flour

Good grief, look at the hour!

BONG!  BONG!  BONG!
Three o'clock
It's time to rock!
I'm late for my date
And the hate will not abate
Until I state my fate to Kate!

Dear Kate:

Believe me when I tell you
Beyond my control events have gone
Boned I was by the situation
Below find enclosed the cause of my tardiness
Bong, yes, it's a bong

I would have been on time
But I got high

Saturday, August 27, 2011

#239 Gimme an A!


A

A is for the angel
That I just know is on your shoulder
For with the choices you make
It must take an angel to guard you

A is for the aftereffects
The carnage that you leave behind you
As you rumble through life
With no thoughts of others in you

A is for astronomical
The budget that you seem to have
When you go on your drunken spending sprees
Bringing your credit cards to their knees

A is also for anal
The way you organize things
And yell at me for moving them
So much as an inch from their appointed position

A is for anal again
For the way I'd like to fuck you
When you treat me like that
Making me feel like shit through and through

A is for agonizing
As I watch you get ready for work
Stopping every three seconds to arrange something
But I digress, as that's just anal, again

A is for apologize
It's what I do after I write an angry poem such as this
Even though I mean it at the time
And wish to give the finger to you

A is for argonaut
To sail with Jason
Off into adventures
In Greek mythology

A is for aeon
The length of time I want to spend with you
Whether you take it to mean for life
Or forever in eternity

A is now for arf
The noise my dog is making
Telling me he wants to go out
So I bid you adieu

As I have to go too!

Friday, August 26, 2011

#238 Sturgeon Suprise Cake


Desperately seeking
Sturgeon at Sturgeon Point
I ponder the shoreline
Remembering past times
Of sturgeon piled high
Like cordwood
Thousands at a time
It's hard to fathom
But it's true

There must be some left
I mutter to myself
As I gather my supplies
And prepare my surprise

I have cheeseburgers and fries
Garden muck and dead flies
Seeds, indian beads, and dried reeds
Whipped cream, sour cream, and hot steam

I'm making a cake
A sturgeon surprise cake
All the things that a sturgeon must love
All in one sparkling cake

I labor all day
At my oven made of clay
Raising my cakely layers
Frosting it all my way

During different parts
Of assembling my recipe
I've attracted all manner of creatures
Crayfish and snails have come to see
Gulls and cormorants tried to scavenge
Flies, mosquitoes, and beetles
Perch, smelt, and salmon
They've all come to investigate
The unusual sights and smells

My sturgeon surprise cake now done
I kindle a fire in the setting sun
I lay the cake upon the shore
And settle in to wait an hour or more

This king of fish must know I'm here
He must know this is for him
Unless there are none left
Leaving this area ironically named
Yet bereft

I pass the time reading a book
And shooing away other critters
Starting to lose hope
Eyes feeling heavy and worse

With the moon high in the sky
The waves only a gentle lapping
Suddenly an ancient armored head breaks the water
Old eyes beholding me napping

When I awake
Nowhere to be found is my cake
In it's place is an old shell
A gift from Mishe-Nahme
Who knows to give
Every time he does take

Thursday, August 25, 2011

#237 Is Both Loved and hated

I love to hate her

With her cruel ruby lips
Curled into a smile
Evil intentions
That I can see for a mile

Her fingers
So slender and strong
She inflicts her will
All night long

Her teeth
Bright white and clean
Sharp as knives
And as attractive as I've seen

Her voice
A siren's song
When she is whispering
Telling me to do something oh so wrong

I can't get her out of my head
Her presence is burned upon my brain
To be away from her
Causes unbearable pain

I can feel her when she is near
Her heat is like a furnace
My desire for her all too clear
Evidenced by my manhood's firmness

She invites me to play
Brown sparkling eyes daring me
She teases her bodice loose
Making me almost beg to see

Shaking her head
She grabs my hand
Her grip like iron
Her skin as hot as a brand

Putting my hand to her breast
She kisses my lips
Then biting them
She slams into me with her hips

I know I'm lost now
She consumes me
My lust for her
Both excites and betrays me

I become an animal for her
Bent to her will
Performing as she wishes
Just another cock for her manhood mill

As I lose myself to her act of frenzy
Plunging into her molten pool of ecstasy
My last coherent thought occurs to me

Oh, how I hate to love her

Wednesday, August 24, 2011

#236 Is Wrapped Up in the Heather

I’m covered in Heather
I’m at a loss to explain why
It happened one Christmas Day
And it hasn’t gone away

I’d say I was unhappy about it
But I’d be lying to you
This Heather is beautiful and bold
Much a joy through and through

I’ll start with the smell
Light and pleasant inspiring trust
It arouses happiness
With more than a hint of lust

A joy to the eye
I could look at it all day
Often Heather looks back
As if to say

“Hello, my name is Heather”

So happy with this Heather
I let it grow all over me
Till I was wrapped up in it
And could scarcely see

I went to the barber
And they looked at me quite strange
Advising me to see an arborist
Who keeps his home on the range

The arborist saw me right away
And looked me up and down
Surprise in his eyes, he did say,
“What an exquisite specimen of Ericaceae
You are so lucky to have this Heather attached to you
I’ll see what I can do.”

He didn’t cut
He thought that would be too much
With skilled hands he arranged
And tied, until he was quite pleased
Standing back
He gave it a final tease

I looked in the mirror
And was happy as can be
This particular Heather
Was completely suited to me!

I loved this Heather
I’ll not make it a secret
I paraded around with pride
Very determined to keep it

Soon I had admirers
And some asked to join us
A small duckling and frog
Had stars in their eyes
When they beheld us

I thought they were adorable
And helped them on up
They nestled on my shoulders
Deep in the Heather
Which was happy to have them
Cooing and curling around them

Not long after
I small turtle happened by
It was precious and green
The cutest chubby turtle I’d ever seen

It joined our group
And has stayed to this day
No matter what happens
We know it will be okay

Our little family is happy
The duckling, frog and turtle
Still cuddled in the Heather
Grown snug around me
All a part of me
We go through life together
Come what may
Full of love and cuddled forever

Tuesday, August 23, 2011

#235 Thirst of the Prairie Dog

The truck
Was stuck
Deep in the muck
But that cowboy
Just didn’t give a fuck

He was kicked back
In the bed
Strumming his guitar
And singing
Songs that a prairie dog
Could howl to

We stand up
One at a time
Amused by his singing
Horrified by his rhymes
And wondering
How much beer
He has with him

Our prairie dog clan
Numbered two and twenty
Have acquired a taste for the brew
Thanks to a careless delivery driver or two

They leave their trucks idling
As they talk on their phone
We sneak up and open the door
And take what we can carry

Patiently we wait
Popping up to check on things
One by one
Until sure enough
The cowboy passed out

Moving as one group
We move in to his truck
Stepping lightly in the muck
To steal all the beer
That we can carry

Monday, August 22, 2011

#234 Droid for Sale

I am increasingly annoyed
With my droid

He's loud and he beeps
He smells bad while he sleeps
He can't do two things at a time
When he tries he freezes
And emits a high pitched whine
He leaves tracks and debris
All over the house
He is worse than a mouse
I threw a wrench at him
In frustration the other day
He just turned his cold dead eyes to me
Gave me the droid finger
And rumbled away

I've had it
He's for sale
I've hung a sign on him
And put him in the front yard
Chained to a rail

At only 500 Imperial Credits
He's actually quite a steal
The salesman in me urges
That is hardly the cost of a fancy meal

But I have misgivings deep down inside
Because although he's technically
As good as a new one from the droid store
He's a pain in the ass
And if I had to answer honestly when asked
I'd have to admit:

This is NOT
The droid you are looking for

#233 BOOM

I’m a high-wire act
In a low brow town
They all want me to fall
But all I can do is drown

The levy it broke
Water came rushing in
Making a lake of this town
With only the church steeple marking our sin

It was our fault
My little group and I
We were playing with fire
I can’t even remember why

A bonfire pyre
As tall as city hall
Soaked in kerosene
Lit off and the fire was like a wall

Heat blistered our skin
All my hair burned off
We ran for our lives
And that’s when the propane lit off

Storage tanks not 50 yards away
Blame the liquor or our stupidity
It’s the same result either way
The explosion leveled half the city

Knocked out by the concussion
I came to breathing water
I sat up sputtering
Deaf and half drowned as it were

Blood running from my ears and nose
I stared incredulously at the water all around
I had been one of the lucky ones
I’d been taken out on the high ground

The hill in the park
Became my island in the storm
A few others struggled in
We huddled to keep warm

The bonfire long extinguished
The propane farm a deep black bole
The levy ripped open just beyond
Displaying a 100 yard hole

I looked around
Nothing making a sound
Not the rushing water
Not the animals
Nor the people and their screams
I hung my head and wept
At the terrible spectacle of the scene

I waded out and started swimming
Looking to help and make good
Not knowing if I could
Certain though, that I should

Saturday, August 20, 2011

#232 Inkstained

Ink is permanent
Like written in stone
Meaningful as a kiss
Real as blood and bone

Ink is transparent
Seeing through your lies
Brought forth with lemon juice
Tears running after getting it in your eyes

Ink is a blot
Dripped from a fountain pen
Folded in half it’s a Rorschach
To drive you mad now and again

Ink is in you
A dragon koi upon your back
Inserted just below the skin
A mindblowingly colorful attack

Ink is dark
By it’s very nature
Marking what it touches
Holding it in rapture

Ink fades
Old words upon a page
Harder to read with age
No matter how you rage

Ink runs
Sometimes it's hard to write
Even harder to read
When the page has become a smear
And you struggle to go on
Through the rain of your tears

Friday, August 19, 2011

#231 The Wheel of Death

I had lemon chicken for lunch today
With rice and peas
A small bag of chips for snack
And an apple
To keep the doctor away

But I forgot it at home
So I have to take a chance
And shell out some dollar bills
To spin the wheel of death

I feed my dollars into the machine
One wouldn’t go
So I smooth it out and try again
On the third try it takes it

I push the button
The machine spins slowly
With a buzzing noise
And a click
Whenever the food lines up with the door

I find a frozen burrito
How bad could it be?
Beans, meat paste, and a tortilla
I might even have some cheese upstairs

I open the door
And select my doom
I hold it close
And take it to my room

Heated up so nicely
It went down pretty good
With a side of cheese
And a glass of water

The wheel of death will have it’s due

And later in the night
I had to spend a lot of quality time
Sitting in the bathroom
Staring at the same graffiti
"Your mom has a penis!"
About six times over

All for a moment of forgetfulness
And a likely looking frozen burrito



Thursday, August 18, 2011

#230 Is the Plane Game


The sun is setting
The towering clouds in the west
Are on fire from within
Glowing orangely

Three airplanes
High above those clouds
Make their way in three different directions
Their contrails streaming behind them
Like white fire in the setting sunlight

And just like most other times I see such things
I think of her
And the little game she taught me

Those long years ago
She led me outside
Behind her house
To the train tracks
Brown and rusty on the sides
Weeds growing up through the white gravel
The black tarred wooden ties
Almost hidden in some places

We sat down on the seldom used rails
And had a cigarette
Discussing things that seemed deep at the time

Looking up
She noticed an airplane going by
A jetliner
So high the body was just a dot
With a white string of a contrail in it's wake
Making it’s slow way across our sky that day

She asked me where I thought it was going
And I thought literally
Trying to figure out what direction it was going
But she stopped me

Not like that
She said

Where do you wish it was going
Wish that you were on it
And why

I had to think
And I don’t remember what I said

Then she said where she’d wish it was going
How she’d wish she were on it
And why

But I don’t remember what she said either

The important thing is
That I still look up
I still see the airplanes going by
And I play the little game in my head
Thinking of her
The taste of our cheap cigarettes
How hard the steel rail was on my butt

And I tell myself where I wish the plane was going
And wish I was on it
And why