Drool

October 21, 2010
Sometimes I feel like this is what my writing looks like.

Serenity held the paper and pen
like one who had waited a lifetime
for just such instruments;
rubbing them together like two dry sticks,
anticipating a spark
to set her little world on fire.
Turning the pen over and over,
her thumb unacquainted with opposing,
the button did not click, and yet
a long string of drool issued forth
leaving its mark upon the paper.

poesimania

September 22, 2010


poesimania
The first one's free.

They said it was an acquired taste;
fine wines painting impressionist portraits
upon nurtured taste buds.
Large barrel-like bottles of table whites and reds
lead to Chardonnays and Merlots
          soft, supple and complex...
          brimming with plush cherry...
          and jammy blackberries followed by
          hints of vanilla and spice;
samplings of Pinot Grigio
          opening with seductive floral
          and lemon aromas, followed by notes
          of mineral and tropical flavors;
glasses of Reisling
          made in an off-dry style
          accentuating delicate notes of...
          stone-fruit flavors...white peach and apricot...
          deliciously mingled with hints of Anjou pear
          and bursts of jasmine;
a bottle of Trivento 2008 Malbec,
          a bright carmine red
          whose plum and raspberry jam aromas
          mingle elegantly with vanilla notes
          from the 6 months aged in French oak barrels;
to a case of 2001 Nebbiolo,
          garnet-red...with ruby reflections...
          scents of roses, vanilla, roasted hazelnuts,
          licorice and spices...
          pleasant touch of tar and
          oaky notes in perfect equilibrium.
All served with aged cheeses, wafer thin crackers,
and fresh fruits upon a tray of silver or Malaysian bamboo.

What they didn't say
was that once acquired
required constant feeding
like heroin or crack
crawling up your spine
chasing monkeys without wings
things that go bump in the day
days without end
nights with no sleep
creepy, crawly flesh
less like a man than a worm
squirming through your veins
raining on your parade
a charade of death walking
in a daze of confused words
and guttural phrases spewed out
through black and broken teeth
spittal running down the jawbone
of a diseased mind
I'll find it this time
I swear I'll pay you back
just one more
please, God, let it make sense.

I buy chapbooks like dime bags
          and hide them from my wife.

Natural Selection, Naturally

August 13, 2010
Science doesn't answer all of the questions.

So...
          how did those bugs know
                    those other bugs don't taste too fine?
Then,
          how did they get the word out
                    to the rest of the swarm or hive
                              to change their spots or stripes
                                        to look like those other bugs?
First,
          they must have had one
                    heck of a research team
                              investigating the necessary DNA markers
                                        needed to evolve.
Perhaps,
          they thought real hard,
                    gritting their tiny little mandibles,
                              chanting “I think I can! I think I can!” until
                                        the right shades and hues popped out on their tiny little exoskeletons.
Maybe
          they just used Match.com
                    to hook up with the right
                              mates to propagate
                                        the appropriate gene pool.
However
          they did it,
                    them some smart bugs.

What You Want

July 26, 2010
Reading the guidelines for a poetry contest, one thing they were NOT looking for was poetry with "I" in every line. I understand their point, but to me it was a challenge.


I do not
want I
to write about I.

I do not
wish to know I.
I do not
care about I.
If I write about I
I may come to know I.

I require inscriptions
about the motions of I;
the emotions of another I;
verses relative to the vast un-I
universe that I reside in.
I desire lines
devoid the sound of I;
I call for metaphor
of anything but I.

Write what I know.
I know I.
At least I think
     I do.

…a set of Ginsu® steak knives—ABSOLUTELY FREE!

March 15, 2010
This was an "assignment" from Jim Lundy, emcee of Monday Night Poetry and Music (aka Monday Night Blues) held every Monday at 8:00 at the East Bay Meeting House. He challenged us to write a poem from the perspective of an inanimate object. I researched Ginsu® steak knives, they have a website, they are still available.


I am at rest,
     set in my appointed slot
     set in the block of wood
     set upon the kitchen counter
     set for service.

Hold my ergonomically designed handle,
     perfectly balanced,
     in the palm of your hand;

let my stain and rust resistant
     stainless steel blade
     do the work—

     gliding over sinews,
     releasing hot juices.
          Another slice?

My serrated teeth,
     that are never in need of sharpening,
     chew the flesh,
     part it as I pass,
     its tenderness no match
     for my razor sharp          wit
                                            ness,       ness
     my cutting power.

I have served,
     you are satiated.

In time,
     the local law
     find me set,
     set within
     the twenty-fifth fatal wound.
     Film at eleven.