Garbage poetry,
that’s why they make you pay—
a toll booth on the road to nowhere,
ink-stained palms held out
by men who couldn’t read a pulse
if it bit them.
Poets strutting like roosters
on borrowed dawns,
calling vanity “vision,”
calling noise “truth,”
calling themselves necessary.
Christ, the hubris
could pave a parking lot.
They workshop the life out of it,
sand down the blood,
polish the scream
until it sounds like a brochure.
Then they wonder why
no one listens.
I’ve seen better lines
scratched on barroom mirrors
by men who knew
they were already lost.
Those men didn’t pay to publish—
they paid with their teeth,
their livers,
their nights.
It’s hard to work
when everyone’s busy applauding themselves,
hard to write
when the room smells like resumes.
The real poem
is hunched in the corner,
drinking cheap beer,
waiting for everyone to shut up.
Most never do.
I got a brochure in the mail
To book a world cruise, setting sail
For a journey at sea,
Just my husband and me,
Where good times would most surely prevail.
Departure is not for two years
And the price would put us in arrears
If the suite that we choose
Is the Owner’s to use,
Though I’m hoping he never appears.
The ship spends five months’ worth of days
With the ocean awaiting our gaze
And I’m sure so much food
Cooked to fit every mood
Would increase what each passenger weighs.
Since our usual trips last a week
And our bodies aren’t quite at their peak,
I think maybe we’ll pass,
Letting someone first class
Find whatever adventures they seek.
Walk with the power of love
You’ll always feel the glory from up above
The absence of evil cannot access your soul
It will not be able to have any control
Your thoughts will be pure
Your heart filled with all elements of the spiritual brochure
The eyes filled with emotion of the luminescent sea
Your peace is guaranteed
A mission to cleanse humanity
From all of the immorality
The path of the veracity spirit
Will pivot the world in a fast minute
Keeping the most powerful sane
The less fortunate free of man’s inflicting pain
It truly is the miracle that we all have found
Making all of mankind heavenly bound
I focus on the image
of a stunning woman’s pose
against a hue-tinged skyline
canvas so mesmerising
in its otherworldly scope
that dream mirror brochure lure
dashed by thunderstorms and rain
Social media is a charade
A manic masquerade
Where charlatans peddle lies
And truth slowly dies
But you were led to the dance
And you thought you had a chance
So you either go ballistic
Or end up a statistic
Volatile times produce hostile rhymes
And television that glorifies crimes
We're taught to live shameless
And despite mistakes we're blameless
To them everything is a game
Laughing as you seek clout and fame
Those lives you see aren't real
But the devil made a deal
Instagram is full of posers
Facebook is full of hosers
Reality is your brochure
To disconnect and find closure
Don't be afraid of friction
As you escape the fiction
Social media is a charade
A manic masquerade
I ordered a free-standing cabinet,
Despite having known in advance
It needed to be
Put together by me
And my husband, who viewed it askance.
All the pieces were labeled quite clearly,
As was each tiny bag filled with screws,
So we read the brochure,
Not quite feeling secure,
Yet we thought we had nothing to lose.
As we struggled to follow instructions,
Which had steps listed 1 up to 10,
We repeated our vow
That we’d finish this now
But we never would do it again.
At the end, just a couple of hours
Was the time that it took to complete.
Still, it wasn’t much fun,
Though once it was all done,
I felt proud we’d not bowed to defeat.
My voice protects human potential,
I won’t walk down your road to failure;
These words aren’t labeled confidential,
they are perfume on me clean and pure.
Walk away if you think I’ll downgrade,
I am not some low model robot;
Not gonna take the straw bed you made,
I won’t suffer your distressing cot.
My voice protects human potential,
I won’t walk down your road to failure;
Thriving’s the result of essential,
it ends the need to simply endure.
The joie de vivre that’s been delayed ,
soaked firewood that has been left to rot;
White hot ideas are doomed to fade
when we buy in to a tragic plot.
My voice protects human potential,
I won’t walk down your road to failure;
Excitement should be exponential,
not hidden fine print on a brochure.
Can’t truly live when you are afraid,
mild mannered is one thing I am not;
Weave hard work and drive into a braid,
that detailed design is a sure shot.
Miss Gladys the Welcome Wizard lady is here
She is full of sass, beyond an insane level of cheer
No one wants to let her in, we try to ignore the bell
She climbs in the front window, demolishing the sill.
Hi we say, faking a smile, pretending to be pleased.
She retains weird enthusiasm, her pitch a little wheezed.
We are yawning through her brochure-filled presentation
She feigns happiness, another welcome wizard celebration.
She gets paid for every family whom she annoys
On the way out, she stubs her toe on one of baby’s toys
We did not apologize, maybe this is why she is suing
But judge, we argue candidly, her getting in was not our doing.
You can do this, just cut back your intake, it is not difficult at all
Says the socialist government, most of whom are as wide as they are tall.
If you put your heating thermometer back to forty-six degrees
You will see that paying that bill will be almost a breeze.
Wearing three sets of flannels and four pair of socks on your toes
Will help you survive this deficit, as most of our own elders know.
As for eating, you just need to drink eighty-three bottles of water a day.
You will be so full, your tummy will not need any food, in the U.K.
Pension credits could not continue; we needed our raises this year.
We will be eating elaborate feasts and giving you a toast and a cheer.
We can send you the brochure we paid eighty thousand to make.
Telling you to be more of a giver and stop wanting to be on the take.
The glossy brochure made a promise,
To those maybe living with strife,
That by moving to their Senior Eden,
You’d find “wellness” the way of your life.
Though perhaps their apartments are lovely
And the clubhouse has classes and such,
To offer a life filled with “wellness,”
Is really, to me, just too much.
For no matter how shiny the pamphlet,
It all adds to a hill full of beans
When you bat around language like “wellness,”
Since I have no idea what it means.
Good morning,
Gibbers And Watts how may I help you today?
Yes Sir I can help you with that.
Have you had any thoughts on how you would like to be killed?
Ok yes so like an accident?
We do have a couple of offers on at the moment.
We can do an industrial accident with a mention on the six o'clock news, or for slightly more money we can murder you with a full reconstruction on prime time television and a feature on the news.
Yes Sir, we have a full range of ways we can kill you and all at competitive prices.
Certainly, I can send you a brochure and then you can talk to one of our advisors.
Can I take your name and address and I will send a brochure out to you…
Thank you for calling, enjoy the rest of your day.
Good Morning,
Gibbers And Watts how may I help you today?
New Orleans French quarter bakeries
feature luxurious flavorsome bene’s
palatable pumpkin pies, exquisitely decorated cookies
aromatic meaty soups, nectarous scones, rich dipping sauces
appetizing cobblers, and cream puffs larger than clouds.
My nose lead the way after I found the brochure
I was not disappointed
the dream therapist put out his shingle
for a mere sixty dollars he will interpret your dream
If you dream of a turtle, it means life is slowing down
If you dream of a fish, you are trying to be free and encumbered
an oak tree in your dream can mean a variety of things
It might mean you are the oak in your family
or it could mean you admire the oak in your family
I read the brochure and thought I would have a go.
He looked like a normal man.
I offered him the sixty dollars up front.
We can take care of that later, he told me.
It is actually $67.98 with tax.
I would have to use a credit card.
Tell me about your dream, the therapist said.
I was cozy in an orange chair.
I told him that I never dream.
He argued this with me.
I left without paying him sixty dollars
or sixty seven dollars and ninety-eight cents.
I think we were both disappointed.
I am a cruiser
on a big trawler.
A lover
of the water.
Look at it's blue color.
What's underneath is a puzzler.
Being a traveler
who looks for spectacular
pictures. I always discover
that God is the manufacturer
and complier
of beauty for this true believer.
No matter
what harbour
we pull in to.
Here
the mountains
have a fascinating
allure
as they are behind the harbour
this adds a certain
wonder
and magnificent charm to the terrain.
This place isn't plain.
I was so excited there's
a promenade. We will be walking,
talking,
and sitting
on the bench enjoying
the sights and sounds
of this new harbour.
They say in the brochure
there's coffee bars,
fish shops, and restaurants
to entertain
which makes this harbour
really popular.
Here I would of remained
if we had been able to retain
our health. As it is this harbour
will be ingrained
in my brain
from a water color
that I found
in a beautiful frame.
A guide suspended by the thread of time offers itself,
Where the soul clothes us in garments of flesh and beginnings.
The filigree of words breathes on the parchment of eternity, intertwines,
Speaks of sunsets as embraces of gods falling into sin,
Of celestial concerts, where the wings of dawn fade into shades of oblivion.
Of bursts of laughter woven like secret torrents from deep within the earth.
Of love, of the nebulae of the heart stretching over an infinity of realities.
But the guide to live it—routes lacking the breath of life,
Like maps to a continent of the soul, born from mist and dreams.
The brochure, like an oracle, speaks in whispers of shadows dancing on walls,
And of failures, perhaps like frosty days taking root.
Death is but a signature, a nail placed in the wall of fate.
We wander through the odyssey of words, seeking the essence, a candle to burn in the darkness of uncertainty,
A guiding star to wrest us from the march of clay puppets and breath.
And we find, finally, serene upon the scriptural horizon line:
"The realm you build is yours—beyond the gate of beginnings, time is a river without bridges."
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