Venus
Evening Star
or Morning Star,
I can find you
anywhere
through my longest nights
reminding me
always
there is still a way
to believe in light.
Memory glands
Essays of the past
Read in uncomfortable times.
Secreting on their own
As a surprise when she tries
To forget
She wears a cotton wall
To absorb any leaks.
Motor crescendo-dimuendo-repeat—
lawnmowering this way, then away
in the Old Burying Ground.
Drivers wheel among the long dead
and the empty graves
no resurrection there, but a change,
for whatever remained after decades underground,
to the new, stylish Lexington Cemetery.
Keep those together who belong together.
Perhaps it matters.
All the style now above ground in the sharp cut wheels
The elbow-guided curves taut and fast
Through the living grass.
i am always full of tripe
the sandstorm always at my back
and i am here to rob the bank
but always shooting blanks in my poems.
let me end from the beginning….
“a t-rex steps out of a time-machine” but
i know you’ve already heard that one.
it’s a plagiarism. it’s a hieroglyph and
a bubblegum wrapper. found them both
stuck to my shoe. and that’s a half-truth:
for who still chews bubblegum? anyway,
i hate it when i wake up humming…
the sonogram sung in my sleep;
i smell like a fresh river reef…. no. wait.
something is amiff. allergies?!?
this early in the summer!?!
or a milf? …no, something’s amiss!
but you effin’ knew what i meant tho.
daddy said you come from good people
but when not full of tripe, i’m fulla shit.
my hand in your ass-pocket for your wallet;
and not even discrete, my hand lingering too
long in your wife’s hand every time we meet.
tripe. and shit. and the blues…
my top lip swelters with a patriotism
that my tongue is forbidden to taste
but miss me with your political quandaries,
your highbrow questions, your social quagmires,
your lowbrow misstatements…. i’m only here
to whistle at the white women
at the black lives matter rally…
you can honestly keep your can of worms,
your hornet’s nest, and your snake pits
to yourself – because i’m not the progenitor
of this united snafu…
and i’ll only help you fix it once
i’m granted full access. otherwise,
i don’t know what else to tell ya… ¯|_(ツ)_/¯
shit. pee. or get off the pot.
and speaking of Einstein,
this morning’s coffee has given me
such a jolt that i am now the God of Volts!
me equals PC ‘round midnight:
and i command ye to build me
a bourbon altar!
too late. you’re already smited.
i smoted you. …(smooted?)
in the very least, i done already pooted
in your general direction.
and has anybody seen my race car?
driving thru a wendy’s in a formula 1
will get you some good looks!
and, goddammit, who wants
to publish my chapbooks?!?
a rhyme a dozen.
hallelujah, allahu akbar,
jumpin jehosaphat, nam-myoho-renge-kyo
a pocket full of poseys, ashes, ashes,
and all that jazz….
i think i left the water running.
but somewhere there is always
a water running.
and if this don’t beat all, i think
my wail done run’t dry.
the party: All your big brother’s friends from high school. The neighbors. Some favorite teachers, even Mrs. Miller from third grade of all people. Local family, an uncle from up in Milwaukee who was more like a brother to both of you. His girlfriends from over the years all in one place and being kind to each other. Your dad was proud to have a son going off to war, since he hadn’t been able to as much as he tried, stuck his four years behind a desk on the safe side of the ocean. It always galled him to have to admit he never fought.
the letter: I was watching our asses while Gunny showed some of the Fuckin’ New Guys how to dig out a beer can mine the Bad Guys left behind on the edge of the road. Turned out there was a bigger, pressure-triggered mine underneath it. Somehow all the shrapnel missed me. I flew out to the hospital ship holding the bloody hand of an eighteen-year old kid who kept screaming until the morphine set in or he bled out. I’m not sure which. Padre Jacobs from the ship gave him Last Rites on the flight deck, and we carried him down to the morgue. So tell me, Dad. Please. What do you think you missed, and what do you think about this wonderful war of yours now?
the photo: Low, simple buildings line a dirt street A shadowed body leans out a doorway. The muzzle of a rifle and the camera lens stare into each other. It’s the last image on your big brother’s camera.
the flag-draped coffin: Imagine.
Thurs:
Community Circle
Tarot Haiku
Fierce & Feminine Posture & Movement
Mandalas & Tea with Marie which evolved
into impromptu
Zines, Pattern & Collaborative Play
Fri:
Upcycling Clothing with Professional Dyes
Community Prayer Flag Stamping
Henna 101 (Scored a Jackalope mandala)
Sat:
Strum, Don’t Fret
Animal Guide Tea Reading Party
Relaxed March Madness Marching Band Fangirling
Firewalk Cheerleading
Happy Father’s Day
Hello Father,
how do you do?
I know you’re not in heaven
or in hell because you didn’t believe
and if you don’t believe then it ain’t true.
Hello Father,
I’d like to think,
it is you, behind
why I stink
at investing,
but good at saving.
Hello Father,
I hope this finds you well,
not hanging between purgatory
and the underworld.
It would be a shame
if your non-believer
ways left you on a noose
dangling with the ne’er do wells
at your feet and the high rollers
wallowing like pigs in poo
in a place with one supreme being overseeing.
Hello Father,
Happy Father’s Day to you.
I would have stayed,
your, Daddy’s little girl,
if weren’t for that letter,
you know the one when you
wrote you had a new family,
and I was not your financial concern,
and really had to learn how to pay my way
and get health insurance, too.
I hadn’t even asked for help.
You, Daddy, taught me well,
I would rather go to Hades
than ask you for a dime
unless I was primed with a job,
but then I wouldn’t need your money.
Heaven forbid I ask for your time.
Hello Father,
there is so much I feel a need to say,
but it is thanks I will give, today.
Hello Father, thank you
for teaching me how to sail.
Taking me out on the boat with you
as your crew. I loved the spinnaker runs
they were so much fun,
delicate feel of the sheets
sensing the little to no wind,
the challenge to keep her full and beautiful,
like a buxom babe with her chest thrust
out to guide the way. Sails, vibrant
colors wider than any rainbow,
scattered the waters, dotting the expansive seascape.
Yes, Daddy, those were special days.
Hello Father, how do you do?
I just want to say thank you
for all the lessons I learned so well:
how to put in a sink, change a tire,
read a schematic drawing and rewire,
how to diagnose and fix.
You taught me many neat tricks,
but you could be a god awful prick,
those wandering hands and all those demands,
obey, obey, but never in a biblical way.
You were the commander of our ship,
not our God. You were Unitarian
with many gods but none worth a worship.
Thank you for all the camping trips,
for teaching me how to be meticulous
at washing dishes.
Hello Father,
wherever you are,
there is a large part of you in me.
Grateful for the good, remorseful
for things a person just shouldn’t be,
cold and empty of sympathy,
and light on spirituality.
Happy Father’s Day, Daddy
from your long lost little girl.
My world stopped 30 months ago,
And I told myself if I would be strong,
Not a needy namby pamby, that loss
Would be the end of the worst thing.
Today’s advice? (People my age thrust out
Vital information especially to the young.)
In spite of that, here it is: treasure even
The most humdrum event as if it was wrapped
In platinum, lined with precious jewels.
Even the best, the shiniest of your days
Can collapse, subject to the vagaries of fate
Refusing to play by the rule, elders first.
I’m really good in bed…
I can sleep on my back, on my side, with an arm under my head, on my stomach, under the covers, or with my feet sticking out.
