Strangely unpalatable to consider I know
Dear reader,
And my many fans
Who might feel anxious, disturbed
Or angry like a mob
That I could be wrong
I admit
Knowing you remember my very first poem
Posted here way back when
Where I more than suggested
Poetry was powerless, worthless, effete
I might have said:
“Prose is to poetry as great sex is to thinking about masturbating”
Sorry I misled you
Stalin was a poet esteemed
Mao and Mussolini wrote many
People read them
And believed
We tyrants are all romantics
Blood lust power cash
Death is cool, too
Someone else’s – wheels need grease
We deign to celebrate your sacrifice
But what have you done for us today?
So we
Even accidentally
Might change the world
Thus I’ll begin as I ended last year
“Be careful”
I just saw an old Volkswagen
that was driven by a clown.
She had the face of a demon.
She was going through my town.
I said, “Come on demon, baby!
Gotta get out of this place!
I don’t wanna read no stickers!
Or look at your ugly face!”
She just flashed those eyes of Satan,
and gave me an evil grin,
and I knew I’d be in trouble
with the bossman once again.
I said, “Give it hell old demon,
cause I know that’s where your from,
and I know that you can drive that
faster than a shooting gun!”
And she said, “You got that right boy!
I’m a demon through and through!
And the Devil sent me here from hell
to torment all of you!
I drive slow in front of workers,
never reaching 45,
and I weave behind the travelers
in a pickup truck I drive!
I’m always in the left lane
with a big Ohio plate,
driving you slowly insane,
driving you toward your fate
of a very tight white jacket
and some pills at Eastern State.”
And I give up.
aging, take a turn
everything tastes like fear
gravel scatter driveway
my shadow before me
familiar handfuls of rust
beneath the patina
of eyes crinkled against
the morn
[i’ll waste another year]
say a quick prayer
today your heart will heal
hull stoppered up and smoothed over
flood them with your gushing wholeness
crash over and float them up to find laughter
lurking just below the surface as its own
life preserver
And
my favorites
are you and
next would be hummingbirds or
daffodils in spring,
and always poetry.
I
Volcanic Venus, a spiral unraveling in a long tail,
consumes the deep blue tie-dyed sky.
Outlined in livid white—negative space.
II
A red eyelid cradles a yellow eyeball.
III
A gyre of fire. A centrifuge.
IV
In a heavy red bowl, a yellow eggyolk.
V
An incandescent wrench cinched
around a molten nugget of gold.
Karen George
The forest is calling
and I must go
but,
the forest is hard to find
now.
By the roadside are
scraggles of honeysuckle
and swaying young locust
but,
the towering oaks that
colored the horizon
in my dreams
are lonely columns in collapsed temples.
So,
I run my hand along long grasses
and
long for where I cannot be.
Someone told me the other day,
I couldn’t be a therapist
because I will always need one.
I told my therapist in our next session.
She asked how it made me feel.
“Mostly like I could’ve asked myself that same question without the copay.”
I didn’t really say that..
but I thought it.
I thought of this painful gift;
intuition and empathy.
All the internal chatter.
The analytical voice that monitors it all.
Guides everyone to their appropriate position.
Let’s them speak as needed.
Validates.
Listens.
Repeats and reaffirms.
I thought of all the times,
I’ve been in crowded rooms and
felt too much.
-Bright orange resentment-
-Heavy purple sadness-
Went home drenched in feelings
from that emotional rainbow hangover.
Washed myself clean with white light.
I thought of all the times
I could feel things before
they were spoken.
So raw and open to those channels,
I’d like to close some days.
We all need someone to soak it up
and let it go.
I am a sponge.
The saddest thing about messes,
we all hope someone will clean it up before we have to.
I look at my therapist,
then change the subject.
I make it half way home before I realize I never answered her question.
I know instead she felt all of my muddy brown
and knew exactly what I meant.
He loomed like a reckoning
students looked the other way
I can take your lunch money, he said
and you can’t stop me
He grabbed her crotch
looked her in the eye
I can take your body, he said
and you won’t stop me
He pointed his finger like a gun
pulled the trigger at the camera
I could shoot you on 5th Avenue, he said
and I wouldn’t lose a vote