When the most capable
believe they have risen above
the mucus, the shit, the afterbirth
of their origin
when in their reflection
they see perverse transcendence
towards entitlement
in which no allegiance
or kinship of nature
binds them to their center
nor founds them in the
fevered fumbling fury
of the frightened flesh parade
in which they lock step
flailing for survival
when their insanity of arrogance
so distorts their vision of time
of the ancient
of the sweating
bone-broken reality
of human swill and wallow
through which they likewise trudge
shiny shoes or no
when they blatantly begin
to eat their own
while copulating with false gods
on forsaken gilded altars
of perjured horrors
then the hour of the beasts
is certainly at hand
and the power of wild nature
will rise up to dominate
and we’ll all become
the hulking mass
of the apocalypse
deserving to be struck down
and our black hearts
torn out and severed
by the self-inflicted rapier
of raw wild justice
and our husks immolated
on the pyre of banished
abandoned truth
Sorry for this interruption. Feel free to ignore this section and move directly down to the poem, if you choose. The poem is much more sensual and dreamy. This first section is cold, no-filtered, stark reality — fully and sincerely expressed, as I see it. You see, I need to sum up my final, perhaps controversial thoughts, on the issue of protest, introduced here last Thursday. I have been slowly simmering since then: Love MUST win. My proud hippie soul tells me it can — it must for earth, and her human tribe to flourish. As naive and pollyanna as this may sound, I haven’t lived nearly 74 years believing that peace, love, and intelligence will find a way — to simply stand by and see these qualities of integrity snd dignity trampled beneath the feet of humankind’s baser instincts. Perhaps good people have turned the other cheek for too long. Maybe being passively resigned to the perpetraters of evil is not the way. Perhaps it requires an extreme natural culling of the tribe to remove the evil, the result of the arrogant stupidity of that group. Whether I should revel in that possibility is something my peaceful self has been truly struggling with the past few years — since the extinguishing of the Obama light. It goes against my nature. But the continuing greedy, destructive, and heartless ways must end, or perhaps be brought to an end. At my age and health, I, and most of my Aquarian generation, can’t, or won’t, effectively mount the resistance. We lack the stamina or money, or both. Too many among my generation, who may be capable, have lost the vision — turned during the mine-me-first Reagan 80’s, and the grab-fest in the years that followed. I feel we need responsible, strong young leaders to organize on a large scale, activate on a broad scale. It breaks my heart to say it — but me and my generation, we failed. Those who are coming after us, can’t afford to — or humankind and this great spaceship earth, truly are fucked! The power can belong to the young — take it, and wield it wisely! Sorry if I shocked or offended. Just the honest humble opinion of a tired old man. Not too tired to *** VOTE! VOTE! VOTE! ***
========================
And now {{{deep breath}}} time for the poetic entertainment:
***
…inspired by the Kate Bush video, “The Sensual World”…
This is a 2nd revision of my original 2012 version.
That Velvet
~
would I were that velvet
that she reaches for so fondly
strokes with delicate pure fingers
with soft silken hands she lingers
embraces to her bosom
wraps ’round her slender shoulders
tingles with excitement
as she surrenders to its touch
would I were that velvet
that drapes her lilting essence
that falls and folds and fondles
as she ascends the stairs each night
the plush and luscious fiber
that rises on her breasts
with each soft and subtle sigh
each deep impassioned breath
oh would I were that velvet
that glides her naked form
on those sunset autumn evenings
enwraps her perfect body warm
that chills and thrills in shivers
as she opens it ‘neath moonlight
and swoons hushed smouldered gasps
as she blooms forth firm and pleasured
oh would I were that velvet
would I were that velvet
oh sweet sensuous angel
would I were
would I were
needles in my arms
needles in my legs
needles in my gut
needles six seven times a day
needles 3 am because
I forget the 11 pm needle
even tiny lances in my fingertips
to verify the needles needles work
needles so that I can see
needles so that I can pee
needles so my heart will beat
needles so I don’t lose my feet
needles so my blood will pump
clean as it can be
needles in my bathroom cupboard
needles in my car’s console
needles in my carry on
needles in the kitchen counter
needles in my sock drawer
needles often two at a time
needles by the box loads
coming in the mail
needles safe inside my sharps
then to the biohazard lane
needles on my night table
needles on my brain
needles in my waking dreams
needles in my nightmares
needles all day every day
needles torn from plastic bags
needles plastic caps pulled free
needles piercing chill glass vials
needles units measured carefully
needles so that I can live
for one more day of needles
…I wrote this in response to the June 14th prompt at Big Tent Poetry…
That Hollywood Sparkle
•
it’s not so much we resent the hungry
no more than do we despise the poor
rather we avoid and dismiss them
with the dull cough of apathy
we find them disturbing and dangerous
they disquiet our comfort
we do not flow with the milk of kindness
our part is more the dark brandy of denial
we do however praise our stars
for their sensitivity toward the downtrodden
it makes the less fortunate more glamorous
and we like the hollywood sparkle it imparts to tragedy
…I offer this 3-part contemplation on anger in response to the June 7th prompt at Big Tent Poetry…
• the first poem is a free verse conceptual perspective on the essence of anger
• the second is a poem I would like to share, which touches the primal anger I felt at the time of the tragic death of my 18-year-old son, Aaron — written shortly after the horrible event
• the third is the pantoum which was directly suggested by this prompt — it is based on a poem I wrote while in the early stages of my grief, also regarding the raw, unfiltered anger I felt, and still feel occasionally, surrounding Aaron’s death
this cannot be the way his story ends
his youth snuffed out by someone’s mindless deed
this cannot be the horror fate intends
if life you want mine now I do concede
his youth snuffed out by someone’s mindless deed
if debt is owed please I will make amends
if life you want mine now I do concede
hell’s threshold now to where I stand extends
if debt is owed please I will make amends
anger grips me like a poison seed
hell’s threshold now to where I stand extends
my soul ablaze my heart begins to bleed
anger grips me like a poison seed
god your cold and heartless name offends
my soul ablaze my heart begins to bleed
a blackness here within me now distends
god your cold and heartless name offends
hatred of you deep inside does breed
a blackness here within me now distends
upon my very essence it does feed
hatred of you deep inside does breed
cruel god is this the horror you intend
upon my very essence it does feed
this cannot be the way his story ends
Presented in response to the May 10th prompt from Big Tent Poetry, which suggested “be playful! Let the sound of the words carry the weight (of the poem)” — so here is my playful poem of sounds…
____________________________________
Oh Brother!
•
ACHOO!
exploded in the quiet room
followed by a couple loud sniffs
cover your mouth
I blurted in a whisper
before I bonk you on the noggin
he crackled with disdain
clicked the snap on his backpack open
and with a clunk and a clatter
surprisingly retrieved a tissue pack
from the cluttered contents
looking at me like I was cuckoo
he flicked one out
as a second fluttered to the floor
I growled my disapproval
he just giggled
honked his hooter
and hissed defiantly
jangling the keys
he had also pulled out
I knocked them from his hand
back into his backpack
and mumbled at him to hush up
and settle down
he murmured something unintelligible
rattling his pack shut
and plopping it back on the floor
I shushed him again
and started to slowly sizzle
suddenly I hear slurping
as he is sucking a soda
through a straw
splashing the liquid
over the ice
as he swirls and shakes his paper cup
I snap
and shout
shut up
thumping my fists on my knees
suddenly
everyone is eyeing me
I hear the lady next to me
going tsk tsk
like I’m the problem
it was all I could do
not to whip around in my seat
and whack her
yikes I thought
enough is enough
so I hopped to my feet
zipped my coat
grabbed him by the hand
and zoomed us out of there
into the car
slamming the driver’s door
and vrooooom
sped us home
never again I snorted
never again will I take you
little brother
to the movies
he just whipped on his iPod
began humming to his tunes
and ZAP…
I am ensnared in the throws of writer’s block like I’ve never experienced. I’m impatient, deeply frustrated, and hopelessly distracted by life’s struggles — including a most unwelcome bout of severe neck & back pain. I stare grimacing into the eyes of my mortality.
