Showing posts with label Poems. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Poems. Show all posts

Wednesday, January 1, 2020

KINGS, QUEENS, ACES AND JOKERS





take another wild stab at
an entire damned house of
cards collapsing
where mortgage bubbles pop and
austerity grimaces from the ramparts
dogs and monkeys tell
cheap futures

when the next gaggle of regular joes
crumble under the weight of a
thousand dollar emergency
when the next dozen grenfells fall
and the yellow vests multiply

will I see you there
brothers and sisters?
Will you break bread with me
over oligarchs roasting on spits?

Eventually
it all comes down to physics
entropy
erosion
applied pressure
escalation

eventually

it all comes down


12/31/19


Wednesday, July 18, 2018

LIL' THOUGHT BOMBS





MASKING TAPE i plaster
on a phony face a smile
devoid of meaning and
sincerity then i remove
it
no point
no point
habit keeps this facade
this forced conformity
repellent, anathema
no reason
no reason
care too little for
protocol to superimpose
this fallacy
mask of enthusiasm dies
under deadweight of truth
you see these eyes dead
balls of clay lodged in
my face the mask no longer
fits vitality will not
flicker on this screen
no effort
no effort
why lie to you?
myself?
today i found out about you
how you're just like every
one else i can't show my
eyes without betrayal of
their screaming weeping
wounded nakedness




EXIT singed
remnants of
this room
blasted hole
of my outgo
vapor trail
static lingers
electric pieces
of me i
cling to shards
of floorboard
of your consciousness
this burnt pile
of wreckage
simple seconds
mute exit
one bullet
one delusion
empty handed
empty chamber
buzzing after
glow my ghost
coagulates for
a look at the
carnage
no answers
no response
exit
just exit
just walk away
from all of this


HERE the pug
turns to the
diva and requests
a guesstimated
death toll



Copyright 1993 Shockbox Press, 2018 Molotov Editions

These lil' poems were part of a (lost) chapbook I did called THOUGHTBOMB 2462. Haven't seen it in years----if there's a master copy on my person I've sure not found it. Too bad, too, as it was kind of a fave. As you can see by the samples it all followed kind of a unified structure and I was kinda proud of it. The big centerpiece was this longish, self-indulgent poem called “Coffee Table Cerebellum Fugue”. “CTCF” was kind of a conscious tribute to a lot of the language-centered poets that were floating around the small press at the time---Sheila Murphy, John M. Bennett, Jake Berry and the like. I never really understood what most of them were getting at, but I liked it.

******

So on Social Media and elsewhere everyone is running around with their hair on fire what with Trumpy, Putin and the latest string of more-or-less token, symbolic Mueller “indictments”. I don't doubt there are some folks out there who are waiting for myself and others to eat some degree of crow, especially as I've been maintaining for quite a while, now, that Russiagate is a lot of bullshit fueled by wishful thinking.
You'll get this paltry concession out of me: It would seem as though we've ascertained that the origin of the DNC “hack” may, indeed have been Russia. And sorry, those of you who are waiting for handwringing, apologies, wailing and gnashing of teeth....but I'm unimpressed by all of this.
I mean, I know you're all panicking and life is terrible and your hair is on fire---and I know, democracy and woe is us and Trump and Putin are butt buddies, and we're going to share 800 shrill memes that express this, and TreasonTM and the Pee Pee tape that we JUST KNOW must exist somewhere, and...and...and....
….and then I shrug my shoulders and say, “well, if the Democrats hadn't RIGGED THEIR OWN PRIMARY....”
I basically don't care WHO was responsible for the DNC Leak----but I'm still glad it happened. We deserve that transparency and we deserve the truth.
And since this whole “who leaked the leak?” business is settled (as far as we know), whaddya say we put the horse back in front of the cart for the first time in a year and change and deal with the REAL issue at hand, which is the one I've been screaming about for a very long time, now?
Namely, (yes) that THE DEMOCRATS RIGGED THEIR OWN PRIMARY. End of discussion. Good night. Mic drop.
And I know you're going to say, “NO, Chuck, NO! That's not important right now, because TRUMP, and because Rachel Maddow, and because the pee-pee tape! And Look, Chuck, LOOK! MEMES!!!!”
And then I say, no----and your insistence that it doesn't matter makes you the world's worst hypocrite. I mean, I get it---you're concerned (and you might not be wrong) about democracy and how bad foreign actors might compromise our ability to have free and fair elections. To which I'll reply once again....THE. GOD. DAMN. DEMOCRATS. RIGGED. THEIR. OWN. PRIMARY. Thereby proving that we don't HAVE free and fair elections.
Now, where was I....? OH. YEAH. Mic Drop.
I've heard further protestations that the Democrats did nothing that was technically “illegal”---unethical, maybe, but not illegal. And my response to that would be, if you're going to engage in apologetics for unethical behavior, then you don't stand a chance when illegal comes down the pike.
And I'm sure there are those of you who are nonplussed by all of this. “But....but....TRUMP!!!!! Life was hunky dory in the good ole US of A until November 2016! It's the worst time ever in history!”
To which I say, the Rape of Nanking called. They want you to keep it the hell down. They're trying to sleep.
Clean your own damn house, #McResistance....then we'll talk.

THISWEEK'S PLAYLIST:
  1. GENE LOVES JEZEBEL-Promise
  2. THE DAMNED-Evil Spirits
  3. THE DAMNED-Strawberries

Thursday, July 5, 2018

CIRCA MID '90S

THAT'S HOW THEY GETCHA

and so i'm slamming away on the
assembly line packing books in
boxes--i've got it down to a system,
now--fitting in configurations of five
like clockwork--it took me a while
to get the hang of it but here i am
slogging away for the next three
hours---wiley is falling behind after
showing me a few useful tricks and
i'm impressed by my increasing level of success--
--rat in the proletarian maze of industry,
hammering away on pointless activities run
by a clock---it gets boring, naturally,
so i turn it into a private game,
exceeding wiley's progress and as i get better
and better i'm thinking, i've gotcha,
wiley, you old fart, i've really
gotcha, i'm catching up to your slow
old ass--then i realize, hell, i'm
a rube of the first order--i fell
for the game, hook, line and
dead brain cells--that's how you
become a cog in their machine;
that's how they getcha.



HOW CHRISTIAN OF YOU!

the graffiti in the bathroom
read, "let God show you fuckin'

fags the way home...
                               ...Hell"




WHY I HATE TV TALK SHOWS

the bleachers are packed with a greek chorus
of screeching baboons and barking dogs
exercising loud righteous indignation,
braying hellacious disapproval and
otherwise passing judgment on guests who
look differently, act differently, dress
differently, raised some hell, broke some
rules, fucked someone, killed someone,
dared to do ANYTHING
            but stay home and watch TV.




Copyright 1995, 1996, 2018 Molotov Editions

         In my last several months in Nashua, NH I was living in this slum for about $100 a week. I had quit my 14 year hotel job in a 3-month master plan to cash in my 401(k) and relocate to Arkansas. In the months while I was waiting for that money to get cut loose I was frequenting this fly-by-night temp agency around the corner, who would bus us all out to this book binding plant in Westford, Mass. They paid you by the day and a neighborhood bar down the street would cash the checks. After I left the state my Mom told me that agency had folded up as if it were never there. No huge surprise. These poems are some of my output from around that time.



THIS WEEK'S PLAYLIST:
STARCRAWLER-S/T
OMD-DAZZLE SHIPS
COM TRUISE-ITERATION

Saturday, February 18, 2017

THREE FOR VAN GOGH

AGONY AND ECSTACY IN THE YELLOW HOUSE

gestation and
cross pollination
combustible elements
volatile combinations

gaugin a wild animal, whoring and partying
alive in the language of the world
vincent like a monk with laser intent
hitting the canvas with fever dream furor

vincent the idealist where the man who threw the book away
walked into an arrangement with the man
who had no idea there was a book to begin with

masterpieces and insurrection
mangled body parts in
a house of cards
collapsing

2/16/17






THE STRAIGHT MAN'S BURDEN
(for Theo)


when the fits have been thrown and the brawls have been won or lost
that one human alarm clock pulls us back in despite constant protests
when the parties and the dutiful gatekeepers let out existential sighs
take out their brooms and start in on the broken glass

it's these straight men in our respective routines
the ones who mop up after our collective disasters
who take the brickbats, who shoulder the burden of our crazy
babysitting us for little to no payoff
who suffer through our mood swings, our drinking and drugging,
our bipolar crests and troughs
who are there even when we're not
the good conductors who do their best to make sure the trains hit
the station on time


2/11/17 rev. 2/16/17


STENDAHLING

lost in firestorm representation
hails of orange and yellow as trees
i can see the rage and obsession
gesture art my tradition i look at
how the paint lands on canvas
that's where i go first
brushstrokes as a sickness makes
me sick you could say i'm
down with that sickness and i
know, vincent, i know

figures emerging from a sheet of oil and
what the hell were you thinking
how did you arrive at this?
the cosmos spins and roars while a
tiny village sleeps
i know---how can they sleep?
hexed by crows in a cornfield,
gun to the heart

i know, i know, i know.

i know, i know, i know.


2/16/17 rev. 2/18/17

THIS WEEK'S PLAYLIST:
BLACK SABBATH-Sabbath Bloody Sabbath
BLACK SABBATH-Sabotage
GHOST-Meliora
THE VELVET UNDERGROUND-The Velvet Underground and Nico





Friday, July 17, 2015

WHAT I REMEMBER (1-4)



At some point in the mid '90s one experiment or exercise I did was to write four separate poems, all of which were entitled “What I Remember”.Why, I don't know. My record keeping is a little fuzzy, but from what I can tell no one ever ran these anywhere, so for better or worse you're probably seeing them here for the first time. Here they are, all four of them:


1

decried pain and
this piece of old
doddering spoonfed
lurched up and the
doctor
removed
a snapshot vague
old carousel melody
back lifetimes when
you and the haze
washed over like ether
squalled a malcontented
rage big baby
what it took
distant strains
saw pretty girls in
ribbons
and bows
skipping and leaping
over slopes in
verdant pastures---


2

you---
devolved from being
object abject w/functioning
orifices all too easy
self-destructive
prime directive
didn't have to be
didn't have to be
picture picture
lodged in stasis
you denied
ran ignorance is
bliss is blitz
rolled to see
meat exude
(lose me)
what it took
(lose you)

3

part was left
of this me
fragmented old
doddering fool
spoonfed restrained
took the buffer
hung on the
steadfast wall
looked for reason
decried pain and
the ongo hung
his head sad
prizes my entropy


4

hell give it a
name and a property
unto itself
i
go figure
it just
in a wash in a blur
frollicking they were
in meadows
green
the pollen
hung in the air
like butter
a shrill
across the room
a name at the
top of their lungs
woolen cling
smiles
denim well worn
clung hard to
a thigh shaken
trajectory
made me waver
heat that wells
shields past barriers
like a soldier
crawling
covered in dirt
she sauntered
in my direction
stood for the word
lines and curves
inquiring eye
my balance
was the
head hung
pushed
what it took i
she the fell i
black on white on
over over ribbons
sleight of hand of
mind of
took the
like ether
i abstained
ruefully
(in the corner the doctor shuffled his cards

circa mid-late 90s/copyright 2015 Molotov Editions


THIS WEEK'S PLAYLIST:
FFS-FFS
THE HEARTBREAKERS-LAMF
BLACK SABBATH-Born Again (Yeah----that's right---it's the much-maligned Ian Gillan album---what the hell are you gonna do about it?)