The Lilly Pad
on Sep. 24 2007
Expanses
04:06 am
Prison walls
with a fresco sunset:
The walls are
psychic; the expanse
is a flat mirror.
And the bar is the only bar,
the home the only home,
The skinnier roads
lead to a place
that narrows
into a fine
point.
We see a straight line disappear into the horizon and assume
that it shall always be straight,
Unless
we follow and see
It accommodates rocks and rolling ground,
blasts off into jagged cliff
faces, and hits the ocean and
disperses like dye.
The blanket sky
Enveloping us gently
But
When other objects share
the ground,
then
She shows her might by floating miles
above man's feeble turrets.
The walls are psychic;
the expanse is a flat mirror.
And the bar is the only bar,
the home the only home,
The skinnier roads
lead to a place
that narrows
into a fine
point.
From the bar stool,
the lines are still straight,
god's firmament envelops us,
and we sleep
content with our
known proportions.
on May 13
Chang Tzu's Butterfly
03:15 am
The sunlight with its alchoholic dew
Has charmed my eyes to blink aside the day
And when it ope'd the night was choking vapor
And mortal panic ticked away the seconds
Was I meant...
To toil my nights and rest my days?
To dream my life and live my dreams?
The Problem of Pain
05:06 am
That Maverick Ethan Hunt would tell me
"Your are possesed of an alien spirit
sacrificed to a volcano eons ago
and this holocaust's psychic imprint
can be removed with thorough auditing
and a hefty donation"
The priest would call it heavy sin
upon my conscience. "You must,"
He says, "repent with five Hail Mary's
and a hefty donation"
The Atheist would call it nerves and tissue
While the Agnostic wouldn't have a clue
And Christian Science would tell me to accept my self
as spiritual; a spectre that can part from earthly slings and arrows
while my heart still beats within
... And claim that herpes disappears with prayer.
The Deacon would sympathize at the potluck
over a dish of greenbeans and almonds.
The Rabbi would call it good old fashioned guilt
and approve
And Hindus would just say
"next time will be better"
I do not know why it is,
I simply know that it is
...Until I met a Buddhist who told me
"pain is an illusion"
and beat me black and blue to prove his point.
Dark Reptilia
04:28 am
When higher aims are left behind to languish
And killer rage demands its rightful space
And nature has forsaken logic’s hand
The head will twist its sinews into anguish
And mutiny against the vile and base
Ignoring dark reptilia’s demand.
on June 16 2007
The Silver Apples of the Moon
06:04 pm
How many stems twisted
To determine the letter
Of my (Ouija/Tarot) fate?
Hours hurried by By
(bye-bye)
Attention span authorities
Keeping time in order
Order in time
My shoulders tired from hunching
To make room for the waste of others
I
was
waste
wasted
Like a mountain climbing dolphin
A deluged butterfly
Or a Tyger Tyger burning bright
In the earth’s atmosphere
upon re-entry
my beauty
was
waste
wasted
Like a fossilized peacock
When they saw my bones,
would they know
how bright my feathers were?
I follow the glimmering girl
I pray she has not gone too far.
on June 11 2007
Sonnet of the Young Man
09:48 pm
The day I learned that I could turn the globe
At any speed, toward any goal I chose
Is when I felt the suffering of Job,
And gave my soul ill-fitted, humble clothes.
So terrified was I to merely think
Of using forces now in my employ;
Unsure if lust would tip me o’er the brink,
And cause my honest wishes to destroy.
Thus years elapsed ere I could quell the fear
Of consequence that robbed me of my skill.
My frailty tempests never so severe
That conscience breezes could not calm at will.
I trust the inner battle of my soul
So I may claim my measure of control.
on Mar. 3 2007
Sooth - a new poem
01:27 pm
""
-- Limeymcfrog - Shakespeare's Monkeys
Upon her empty bed, she
considered the air thick with
color and spinning, shifting
shapes. How simple to
let it pin her. She reflected
serenely, "At the end I shall be
smothered by technicolor tar."
She gasped, turned, and let
the swirling wildness fall
upon her back. She stirred,
her darkness interrupted by grazing
pressure from angelic fingers.
"Circumstance rendered us helpless.
There is solace, but there is
no rescue. You will grieve.
I will grieve. It is natural.
It is life." The familiar hand
slowly drew along and then away
from her hair. "Sooth Soothes."
She braced for life, keeping
confusion in front of her, her back
safe against the bed. As she
searched the hue rippled waves
to find the ceiling, she felt
a bubble grow around her;
repelling the sensory ocean.
"Sooth Soothes." Her
pores set free a liquid
calm, coating her skin
and hardening into peace. Was it
the touch, the words, or time?
Language returned and granted
chisels to cut away the crushing weight,
sectioning the space around her. Words
absorved objects and herded
colors into pixel pens.
She smiled and wept into her hands
for they had names again.
on June 7 2007
Hungry 34
02:25 am
I trace the
spoon across my
wrist. The cool
graze gives lightning undulations.
My tongue draws
cooling corrosive baths
for phantom food;
sent by yearning
eyes to digest air.
My shame is
warm and heavy.
It stitches me
to the ground
never to blow away
or
to rise.
And so I
keep the spoon
gliding back and
forth. Sanding skin. Patience…
on May 23 2007
Wedding Sonnet
03:15 pm
When ceremony joins two lovers’ hands;
Though life is full of shifting, sinking sands
And lovesick sorrow all that some can find.
They come to pledge, to swear, but not to bind.
It’s truth they seek in golden lustrous strands
To weave into an oath that life withstands.
But earnest vows are easily maligned.
A few will gently roll a jaundiced eye,
With cynicism earned or rented cheap,
And say that this is all an empty show.
It’s fear that makes the pessimist deny
That cautionless affection courses deep
And grants a joy that cynics will not know.
on Mar. 16 2007
McFrog goes to the Mall
01:14 pm
like Thelma and Louise
and… I guess the cops would be…
what? War? Death? Despair?
Sounds good: Caught between despair and the Grand Canyon.
But first we gotta stop at the IHOP.
Nothing like a Rutti Tutti Fresh and Frutti
and an endless pot of coffee to get me
bloated, wired, and ready to raise hell.
I now know that stopping at the IHOP
made me a massive hypocrite.
It’s owned by George W. Bush
and he sends half the employees to Iraq
with nothing for protection but
an apron and a gun that shoots Boysenberry syrup.
(Is that a biological or a chemical weapon?)
But hey, you gotta eat where the tour bus stops.
I used my powers to see what the news coverage would be.
Did you ever notice
how there is almost never 100,000 people at a protest?
It’s always in the 70’s to 90’s.
I guess there’s something too legitimate about 100,000 people.
McFrog was not on the news, anywhere. Nope.
You had to be wearing a black bandanna and a “Free Mumia” T-shirt.
I didn’t see them at the IHOP!
I stopped marching and rested my back
on the Vietnam memorial.
A voice seeped through the wall and into my ear.
“Don’t sweat it man.
This marching shit didn’t work when it was new.
People never give a fuck until it’s too late”
And I mourned for the men with flapjacks instead of flack jackets
wielding boysenberry cannons
for the big sausage himself.
