Posts Tagged ‘poetry’

THE WHISKY POEMS, pt1

The Shortened to One-Syllable, Acronymized Blues

Oh my, what the hey!
Baby-Mama is now just plain ‘bae’
Words seem to get shorter by the day
Before too long, Bae’ll be just ‘a’

Oh my golly, I mean OMG
When you say ‘X’, do you mean Ecstasy ?
What do we burn at 420?
My battery’s dead, can you spare a ‘V’?

Spelling is quaint, grammar’s under attack
Acronyms are the new black
You can’t be POTUS without a PAC
LEO serves the CEO’s, they have their backs

WTF, WWJD?
Would he say these POS’s work for me?
Pastors driving MG’s, wearing silk BVD’s
Spreading their BS via HDTV
Adios, Pobre José
In the USA, he could not stay
He might be ISIS, INS did say
Because they heard Allah when he said LA


The I’ll Never See this Happen For Real,
So I had to Write The Trump-Voter’s
Lament Myself Blues

What did I get when I selected Trump
A family afflicted with affluenza
They don’t care that nepotism offends ya
I’ll never vote for Trump again
I’ll never vote for Trump again

I’ll fix everything, the Donald said everyday
With a big stick and patriotic preaching
Before he caved in to Carrier Air Conditioning
I’ll never vote for Trump again

Don’t ask me what I thought about
No thought was involved and I’m glad I’m out
Out of that bubble of hate and fear
I can’t believe that was me last year

So maybe I was wrong about Hillary
Maybe she wasn’t a demon from Hell sent
She sure had more class than her opponent
I’ll never vote against her again
No I’ll never vote for Trump again

ONE DAY AT THE PARADIS LOST AND FOUND

  • AT THE PARADIS LOST AND FOUND

    Paradis (pronounced Pair-a-dee) is an unincorporated area of St. Charles Parish, Louisiana. Justin Wilson would not have sounded out of place there, but you would…

    (Act I, scene 1; Perry is opening up the shop for the day. The phone rings, and he answers….)

    Perry: Paradis Lost and Found, dis is Perry, me.

    Des: Halo,’statue?

    Perry: Yeah, I said dat, dis is me, Des. where y’at, you?

    Des: Pulling up. (sounds of a poorly tuned Ford truck come from outside the store)

    Perry: You late, you. I had ta open da store, me.

    Des: well, open da door, an’  I’ll finish dere.

    Perry: You gotta key, you. You forget how to use it?

    Des: I can’t find dat ting nowhere I look.

    Perry (sighs): Okay, I come open door dere. Don’ be tellin’ no customers ’bout you losin’ dat key.

    Des: Dat’s easy, we ain’t had a customer all week, us. (They hang up)

    (Opens the front door, Des walks past with a sack; Perry turns on the ‘Open’ sign.)
    Perry: Today is da day, I got dis feelin’, me.

    Des: You better take someting for dat.

    Perry: Someting? Like a smarter partner? Dis is a good feeling.

    Des: So is dis (pulls two plastic 16-oz. glasses of frozen pink liquid from his sack).

    Perry: Where you get dem daquiris?

    Des: Where you tink? The Parrot Ice, is where, dere.

    Perry: Dey open dis early now, dem?

    Des: Shirley was dere, getting ready ta’ open, dere. Dese are from last night’s batch.
    She gives them to me, I trow out da big garbage sacks for her.

    Perry: Des, you one big spender, you. (A car pulls up in front of the Paradis Lost and Found)
    See dat? A customer, in de first hour. Look busy.

    (a nicely dressed man and his good-looking wife get out of the car.
    They are not locals, as Perry doesn’t know them. Or their car.)

    Perry: nice lookin’ lady, see dat rack?

    Des: Dat’s a pair a’ D’s, 38 double.

    (The door opens, the couple walks in)

    Des: Good morning, you!

    Perry: How you all are?

    (Customer reaches out to shake Perry’s hand first.)

    Customer: Pete Thomas, my wife, Ann

    Perry: Welcome! (shakes hand) Perry, Des(points to his daquiri-sipping partner.)

    Ann: I thought it was pronounced Para-DEES

    Des: No, mamou always said Des, short for Desmond.

    Ann: No, I meant the town…

    Perry: So you lose a ting? Or you found someting?

    Pete: Both. We lost two of the Scary movies

    Des: Dat Saw? Char, dat was a scary one.

    Perry: Silence of Dem Lambs?

    Pete: no, no, the Scary movie franchise. We lost One and Three.

    Des: Dey ain’t scary, dem movies.

    Pete: No, they’re satires, you know, parodies.

    Perry: Para-dee

    Pete: It was two. So plural, parodies

    Des: Is only one town(looks at Perry, raises his eyebrow)

    Pete: (Looks at Ann, raises eyebrow) Has anyone turned in any DVD’s?

    Perry: No, when you lose dem?

    Pete: At a picnic ground off Hwy. 90. They kept the kids entertained.

    Ann: I could use a daiquiri right now.

    Des: Dey got ’em in Parrot Ice.

    Ann: Well, I’m sure I don’t want one That bad!

    Perry: Is just ’round da corner, dere. (to Pete) You look good?

    Pete: Say what? Oh, yeah, we looked all over dat.. that picnic area.
    And that is where we found these.
    (Ann hands him two fuzzy dice connected by a string.

    Des: Dat’s my pair a’  dice!

    Perry: Dey hang from your look-back mirror. How you lose dem?

    Des: When I took out Darlene, she said she liked my pair ‘o’ dice.
    Den she get all mad, her, when I tol’ her dat she got one fine pair ‘o’ thighs.
    She trew dem out de truck.

    Perry: Darlene Perrault? She too young even for you, horn-dog.

    Des: No not her, Darlene DuBois. But she got dem Perrault eyes, kinda crooked, you know.

    Pete: I guess we helped you, but you can’t help us. That’s a real shift in the paradigm.

    Des: You lost a pair ‘o’ dimes? We got us a metal-finder. Still in da box.

    Pete: No, you see a paradigm is a …

    Ann: Come on, honey. We’ll be late for,…well for something. (she turns to leave. Des makes an hourglass shape with his hands.)

    Perry: (As the door closes behind the couple). So you like a pair ‘o’ dose pants?

    Des: Ol’ Noser an’ Bullet chased down a pair ‘o’ does last week, on our huntin’ lease. Dey was pantin, dem.

    Perry: (shakes his head)Des, I tol’ Father Cheramie at the Diocese to pray for you. He said a pair ‘o’ Dioceses couldn’t pray enough.

    (Curtain)

     

     

My Home-Brewed Beard

  • My Home-Brewed Beard

    Why did you grow a beard? She asked me
    Only a child is ever so forward
    and a child will ask the questions we never expect
    Like, why did I grow a beard?

    I think it looks good, is my answer today
    She ponders this with a frown
    Beard queries mean as much as questions about God
    And you can touch a beard

    I don’t like it, you look better without it
    she says with youthful surety.
    Well, that is that, she switches subjects like channels
    Before I am quite ready

    Why do I wear a beard? I have a weak chin
    Is my frequent answer to this
    I’m too lazy to shave, I respond on Tuesdays
    Sundays, razors damage the dermis

    The seventies were the easiest time in the world
    To spare one’s cheeks from the blade
    My heroes were hairy, girl-laden, and wealthy
    And most times, after shaving, I bled

    When twenty, a beard made me feel thirty and dashing
    General Custer without the Indians
    moody horsebacked envy of colonels and majors
    By forty the bare spots had filled in

    The silver in my beard of sixty opens doors for me
    Ageist chivalry in all its glory
    Instead of tickets, I get a chuckle and a warning
    The whiskers, it’s gotta be

    I must be hiding something, my beard is a mask
    or so the pundits declaim
    who in daily rite razor part of their manhood away
    What are they hiding from?

    The mirror sees well each wart and wrinkle
    through my barrier of hair.
    I cannot answer a question asked wrong
    My beard grows with me.

ON KNOWING HER NAME

If I hadn’t taken a seat between Cristine and Chance, I never would have heard this story. If I smoked, I might have been a witness. If I was a pill-head, someone else might be writing this account…

We met on the bus in the middle of Texas
two gals who’d seen way too much
we clicked like heels just east of Austin
The driver said no smoking or drugs

The windows measured out the miles
and the wheels rolled out our stories
We became fast friends across that aisle
before that old dog ever cleared Houston

I was going home to my babies
she was getting back with her man
and we took it as a helluva good omen
that her seatmate’s name was Chance

Chance was the name of my youngest
and my new friend Jessica said to me,
“Second chances on buses from Texas,
Girl, our meeting was a destiny meant to be!”

Maybe I was hungry for company
but our stories were so much alike
Chance said it sounds like fate to me
She slept on his shoulder from Slidell to Biloxi

In Mobile, Alabama for a five-hour layover
on Chance’s phone she called Palm Beach.
The words ‘I love you, Honey, we’ll make this work”,
may have been the last ‘Honey’ ever heard her speak.

We were smoking out front and this one guy
with dirty clothes and a leer caught my eye,
Talking to a couple in a wintry low voice
pointing the man to a gray car with dark windows

No angel, I know a drug deal when I see it
and suggested we go back in for a bite
Chance held the door for the purchaser’s girl
The gray car faded away in the night

The dirty guy watched us drink coffee
Jessica wondered what he was peddling
She used pills for fun and bad leg pains
Chance leaned back, soon he was sleeping

When I came back from ordering breakfast
Jessica reached down for her purse
The dealer watched her wallet open
she counted out five twenties, got out of her seat

“He’s got the kind of pills I need, Christine
just watch my stuff  and don’t worry
I’ll be okay, he’s got it in his pocket
Or could you come out here with me?

I said no, something was striking me odd
This guy has been watching us far too long
And now he’s saying we gotta go to his car
I saw the other girl’s guy was still gone

Breakfast was ready, I didn’t want it
Chance and I followed too late
He had a gun in her side, a hand on her neck
The car sped off with Jessica in the back.

Security acted indifferent, told Us to call the cops
Before I dialed nine-eleven, the first guy stumbled in
he’d jumped out of the car, run back to the station
Happily alive, but their money’d been taken

“They were going to kill me, I know it
Something was said about a place by the Bay
Dark guys with black hearts and dead eyes,
Where’s your friend, by the way?”

Chance and I gave our statements,
we received little hope in return
the cops acted burnt-out, jaded,
almost content to let the bad guys win

Just two of us now, we got on the next bus
Some guy with a laptop asked questions
He was a blogger who wanted a story
But we might never know how it ends

Would they find her in six feet of water?
Or naked and bruised, but breathing?
If she was dead, who’d tell her lover?
Was she thinking about her children?

I told him I wished I’d gotten a plate number
I wished I’d gotten the make of the car
I wish the cops had cared more, I said
And that fortune had not been so unfair.

I wish Chance had brought better luck,
that’d I held Jessica back, that she’d had no pain
I wish she hadn’t told me her life story
I wish she hadn’t told me her name.

TWO HEARTS, TWO MINDS, ONE LOVE

My good friends, Les and Pam, are making their union official. In lieu of a tacky present, I wrote a tacky poem…

Two paths come together,
Two journeys become one,
In good times and troubled,
the storms they can weather
better doubled than undone
Two minds remain so
enjoying the familiar,
savoring the strange
dual mutual fascination
embracing new change
Two hearts, gentle bass beats ,
two rhythms become one
defining melody so sweet
living the words they write
To one beautiful song

SHE ENTERS MY DREAM

She Enters My Dream

She sits by my side, watching me sleep
Outstretched hand brushing my cheek
Starting to stir, I feel a now
familiar warmth caressing my brow
Twixt wake and sleep, eyelids flutter
She enters my dream
like reaching through water
Ripples of her felt on my skin
Tender strokes on my brow
still feel them now
I do not want to leave that place
of peach-soft hands loving my face
Stay in the dream, feel her touch
It can only be love,
when touch matters that much

 

Thoughts of Home

I know I’m home when the church bell has rung,
when the backyard birds riff on familiar songs
I know I am home when I smell Mama’s fried chicken
Seasoned with pepper and love in the family kitchen

I know I’m home when the kids make me listen
To the Sesame Street theme, with a few words missing
I know that I’m home when I am at the door greeted,
by barks, whines, and paws I am excitedly feted.

I find my way home by the light of her smiles
an image undimmed by any number of miles
The power of love is what keeps me warm
Love buoys my spirit, protects me from harm

I know that I’m home when I my oldest friends say
when did you get back, or have you been away?
Work keeps me moving, but in some fashion, one day
The good-byes will end, I will be home to stay

 

Poe, Gone Sideways

Once upon a midnight dreary,
while I pondered Weak and Weary,
a niche magazine, like Fishing Lake Erie
or the urologist’s rag, Peeing Clearly
They come monthly, along with others,
Bus Boy Journal, and Prison Mothers
I should unsubscribe, but it’s so hard
remembering to send the enclosed card
Thus, Tire Review and Commercial Lights
Go unread, ’til I get some free nights.
My copies of Line Dance and Weave and Loom
Would fill nine or ten doctors’ waiting rooms
Don’t become like me, with all this mail
crammed into your box daily, without fail.
Please write deceased on the cover of each
copy of Reptile Retail, and Medical Leech
Foist stacks on old friends and boarders
And get a subscription to American Hoarder.

An Implied Critique of Kilmer

I think I shall never see a poem as lovely as a tree

I’m unhip to any script with more buzz than a bee

I ‘ve never seen an eagle that was bald-faced as a lie

Nor was any essay I have spied as bright as fireflies

No one ever wrote a note as well-read as a beet is

No rumor’s near as scorching as August’s brutal heat is

No volumes of prehistory appear in pouches on a platypus

Tabloids are nowhere near as nosy as your typical rhinoceros

I don’t believe that sailors speak any saltier than a clam

And nary a bear was e’er compared to a lover’s candy-gram

I’ve never found a frescoe as sumptuous as a feast

Or met a metaphor sans flaws; the end, to say the least.

Good Morning , America!

Image

What a day does a difference make
a belief in America’s promise takes
hope in change’s audacious possibility, 
leading by truth, not fear and mendacity.

What new day brings such promising dawn
with horizon so many-hued and varied in tone?
Shining fresh light where it needs to be shown,
warmth chasing a chill from our nation’s bones ?

Make most of today, for night was too long
In sunlight’s lack greed fed and grew strong
Shadows recede now before the sun’s might
Shine justice’s light, turn back the black night!

Shine mercy’s light on both sick and weak,
little babies in need, their parents who seek
the chance to do right by their own loved ones,
to be shining examples for the next generations.

Shine beauty’s light on soul-filling scenes,
wide pristine rivers in broad valleys of green.
Not dead water serving a firm’s short-sighted plans
Nor a forest stripped, not in this land, not in our land.

Shine truth’s light on power gone astray
on mean hateful men who dreaded this day
on those who shirked their duty, who looked away
As unbridled greed perverted the American Way.

What a new day this difference will make
If we heed the night from which we wake 
and help the sun drive our shadows away
by letting our own light lengthen the day.