War
An open letter
To the powers that be
You may not remember
But you used to know me
And I've known you
For a very long time
You're the reason
that I get lost in rhyme
A shadow among many
Just lost in the crowd
That where you put me
Because I was too loud
You shouldn't have done that
Because now I can hide
And I've had a nice little chat
With the others you've set aside
I can't help but smile
At the mistakes that you've made
Not knowing all the while
The price to be paid
Because we got to thinking
About all of our rage
About how it's hot enough
To melt the fucking cage
Funny thing about putting
All your problems in one place
Instead of twisting the knife
While looking in our face
We haven't been idle
We have plans of own
And a special little place
To bury all of your bones
Because unlike you
We no longer have to hide
Because now we are legion
Feeding off the rage you supplied
If I were you
I'd take the easy way out
Because once you're with us
There won't be any doubt
Free of hesitation
And ready to die
For the brand new nation
You tried to deny
We'll be seeing you soon
Have no fear about that
Our vengeful platoon
Is ready for combat
A Stiff Rhyming Poem
This morning I woke with an unflinching boner.
It was not a good time for me to be a loner.
I thought about her, perhaps I should phone her.
But all she would do is give me cold shoulder.
In any event, she's too much of a moaner.
Thus fantasy made me a sci fi lab owner.
By experimentation I was able to clone her.
Except for the gene that makes her a groaner.
And dropping my pants, I thereby cajoled her.
She tore off her jeans, rejoicing (in) my boner.
12/3/2024
In the Valley of the Blind, the One-Eyed Man is King -Desiderius Erasmus
Literacy is sought
while knowledge
is to abhor
Thoughts flow by
fields of erudition
in a translucent corridor
Obscure incantations
full of bestial
inhabited hollows
Current zeitgeist’s
broken promises
deadly foreshadows
Intellectual assassins
cultural conflagration
reason burning
Repeated mistakes
consistently made
no one is learning
It’s all games
inside the asylum
until students stampede
But there is hope
as the ignorance
begins to recede
Taste
Home with her tastes like honey slipping off a spoon—slow, golden, almost too sweet to be real.
It's coffee brewed just right, dark and bold, but softened by that one perfect splash of cream.
There’s warmth, like cinnamon toast on cold mornings, edges crisp but melting at the center.
It tastes like the comfort of rain against the window, of laughter pressed against lips, of words shared in whispers over late-night takeout.
With her, home is a flavor I can't ever pin down.
It’s savory and tender, a bite that lingers long after it’s gone, filling the spaces where silence
used to settle.
It’s the taste of never having to wonder if you belong.
Paterson, New Jersey December 1, 1957
Amidst the Homo sapien species
one anonymous baby birthed:
I recount one little known piece of news
which one young married couple did enthuse,
profusely doting on their first progeny.
Amelie Beth Harris
as imagined being born
courtesy her only brother
(thirteen plus months her junior)
with one final hefty contraction
her crown thrust out the birth canal
and she busted out all over
into the glare of bright lights
of said planned industrial city,
and birthplace
of American Industrial Revolution
and for its role in the silk industry.
Paterson originally formed
as a township from portions
of Acquackanonk Township
on April 11, 1831,
while the area
was still part of Essex County.
One hundred ninety three years
seven months and nineteen days later
touted persona grata
became the first born progeny
of Boyce Brandon Harris
and Harriet Harris,
which father and mother,
would soon relocate to
Cincinnati, Ohio where the author
of these words would be born.
As befits the eldest
lavish attention
bestowed upon said lovely baby girl,
whose parents pleasantly surprised
marveled at her verbosity
(to talk up a blue streak)
and even to this day
can sustain a dialogue,
though (to be honest
without intending to be critical),
she tends to strongly hint the crux
of the matter
long after listeners
intimate verbal objective,
nevertheless pretend
to be pleasantly surprised.
She kept her bedroom neat as a pin,
(which expression "neat as a pin"
an analogy that compares a thing,
or manner of maintaining a living space
to a pin being used)
no matter neither our father nor mother
easily mistaken for keeping house
in apple pie order,
(no matter domestic employee
Missus Kunkle's futile efforts
to tidy up once a week off times
and unknowingly committing
a serious offense for moving items
in Amelie's bedroom and dusting thereof)
and how could they with a few big dogs,
plus quite a few cats
to sew something up and make it neat),
and matter of fact I envied my "big sister,"
cuz she happened
to be exceptionally meticulous
taking notes for each respective class lessons,
and drew pertinent relevant diagrams
versus class notes that yours truly (me)
scribbled that resembled chicken scratch,
my apology for any unintended slight
toward Gallus gallus domesticus.
Her exemplary organizational skills
exhibited courtesy notebook
that sported color coded tabs
for each subject peppered
with an artistic flair (second to none -
the best or unmatched, and;
essentially establishing the phrase
as a way to express something
being superior to all others.
H-A-P-P-Y B-I-R-T-H-D-A-Y!
Titania and Coyote - a ballad
Tonight, Coyote drinks the wine
Of his own slit throat
And shuffles off to the Faerie court
In his ragged overcoat.
And when Titania turns him down
And bids him gone from here
He smiles a secret smile
And he sheds no tear.
How gay the Faerie dance!
How gay the Faerie court!
How gay the Faerie at his ease
And making raucous sport!
Coyote fits in here as well
As antlers on a bull
He steals a jug of Faerie gin
Eats till he is full.
Titania's consort laughs at his ragged grey muzzle
Dances 'round Coyote like a child with a puzzle
Titania's consort mocks
The ugly old beast
One's the fairest thing on Earth
The other is the least...
The younger of the Gentry
Almost look alarmed
To have a guest among them
Who cannot quite be charmed.
The older ones, in contrast
Must think him quite the mark
See Titania's consort
Circle 'round him like a shark.
"Come with me," Coyote says,
"Come walk with me a ways
Sister Moon does love me
And she'll bathe us with her rays."
"Never me!" Titania says,
Her bearing sharp and proud
She barely flicks her eyes;
Her consort laughs aloud
How gay the Faierie masquerade!
How gay the Faerie ball!
How stately Queen Titania
Presiding over all!
But for all her beauty
And for all her power
Her consort with Coyote lies
Within her very bower!
Goodbye (for now)
I’ve written you letters
And emails
Typed texts
But I know that we’re through
So I stop before sending
I wish I knew better
The details
What’s next?
Could the cards that we drew
Play with alternate endings?
I don’t bother calling
Since I’m sure
You will answer
I’ll lose words and my progress
If I’m hearing that voice
This illness I’m hauling
There’s no cure
Like a cancer
I’ll just follow the process
As if I have a choice
PAIN
We've always thought pain was when we lose someone or an abstract close to us
But is that what it really is...
Different opinions on what pain is got me thinking
Have anyone really be in pain as what we are being told isn't really what it is
I came to the reality of what the feeling is like
At the first hit it gave me I felt lifeless slowly floating to the sky
Just as humans narrated pain I lost all in search of none
Endlessly losing my purpose in the search of me
But yet I got used to the feeling
Never could I get a sleep without the feeling of my newly found acquaintance creeping to my mind before drifting away to another world of fantasy
The life we live in became void to me.