I'm bewildered by what I see yonder,
Now hold yer horses, let's cease to wander.
We're fixin to meet yer coffee boiler.
He's the new one who's not a straight shooter. Whoah!
I reckon he's got an excuse for it.
And he will tell me why he didn't quit.
I'm stumped why he bamboozled you last night.
I thought I'd be cashed in for that big fight.
But I thought we should cowboy up!
You know I'm gonna call that wrangler's bluff.
We'll not run from trouble and skedaddle.
A strong man must sit firm on his saddle.
Grab a bandana, and fetch a canteen.
Nobody's guessed where this trail's gonna lead.
I once road down a lonely darkened road.
The burdens that I carried formed a load.
But I stood determined to cowboy up.
To set my trail straight and clean myself up!
That waddler will learn to ride for the brand.
By my wise warnin' and wisdom's command!
Those punchers all hat, surely no cattle,
Soon learn wild broncos make 'em chew gravel.
Cowgirls too!
These days, cowboys must learn to communicate!
And get the best result negotiatin'
Big change is ridin' hard across the range! Whoah!
He stands alone, gun in hand
Amongst his comrades in a God forsaken land
Bullets fly like pouring rain
As in the distance the bombing starts again
His water canteen shot full of holes
In his boots his feet feel like red hot coals
All that marching through the night
A sorry bunch in the moon so bright
The order comes from up the line
Charge straight and true
Now those in charge now know what to do
Our intrepid hero puts his life on the line again
In the muck and bullets, the blood, the pain
Onward they rush over hill and dale
No way have they wanted this charge to fail
Bullets fly, cannons roar
No peace amongst the blood and gore
Where will he be later, heaven or hell?
It’s onward's and upwards so who can tell
9.
Swimming Fly
In a canteen where my food I buy
I draw my eyeballs to viands nigh
There was a soup hot as good
But something odd shifts my mood
A speck out of place, a swimming fly!
-01/03/2007
(Dumarao)
*Topsy-Turvy Limerick Ironic
The cat lay recumbent upon the luthier's bench
among violin carcasses and something French.
Morning cows making their way to the milking stool
stepped over a reflected moon in last rain's pool.
The farmer's little dog yapped in obvious glee
at the potential for milk, some butter, or ghee.
The Potters reflected on the note they've just seen.
Their dishy young girl, eloped, with boy from canteen.
Disguising Interview
“Tell me what happened”, said Satan.
Hmm. I went to an interview at a company.
“Where?” In the Park Royal Industrial Park.
“What company is it?” I'll tell you later.
“So, what happened?” Asked Master Satan.
I rang the bell. A man was let into the building.
A worker. Warehouse worker. Middle-aged man.
He took me into the canteen. He sat me down.
He sat me down at a table. There was only one chair
Positioned in front of the door of the toilet, beside the table
One table. One chair. “Interview with one chair??
I arrived earlier. Ten minutes. I sat there for more than twenty
Nobody came. “Continue, please.” During this time, I was monitored
“From the camera?” Also. During this time, men walked in and out of the toilet
And all of them watched me. All of them were… “I understand.”
How these men look like?” Manly. Aggressive. And other…
“Did someone talk to you?” No. Nobody. I left the building.
“This was a psychological test. In the UK. You are a victim.”
Of English Psychology. “Yes.”
I don’t need
Psychological
Auschwitcz
In my life
“That’s
Right”
This walk
is my only escape.
My feet—
the concrete—
a closeness so sweet.
Soon the bell will ring,
and the ridicule will begin.
But for now—
the concrete and me,
the rhythm,
my thoughts.
A sweet escape,
wrapped up in a steady pace.
Where will I hide today,
my grey friend,
when away from your steady strength?
The library?
The canteen?
The willow tree?
Oh, pavement,
I ponder and long—
let me melt into you.
Another day
will surely break me.
But if I somehow
make it back to you
as the leaves fall in the afternoon,
it will be you and me once again—
and a steady beat
of heart and feet.
Each day is the same; we all sit here and wait,
listening for the sound of the chains on the gate.
You see, that’s our signal; that’s our cue;
that’s how we know what we're to do.
We all soon learn what each sound is for,
even before someone's open the door.
We get excited when the laundry is clean,
the high point of our week is the day we get canteen!
For an hour of TV, we all rush to line up;
even to take a shower we have to sign up.
Everyone gets quiet when they're doing mail call,
maybe good news for some, but not for all.
Yes, each day is the same, we all sit here and wait;
listening for that sound of the chains on the gate.
One day soon, they'll be sounding for me,
and I'll walk out these doors, finally free!
The morning woods were crackling with unknown sounds.
Then I heard a rustling sound in the leaves.
The sound of footsteps was getting louder,
It wasn’t a something, it was someone.
Suddenly a large man fell to the ground.
His leg was bleeding; all he said was “trap”.
Cool water from my canteen brought him back.
A small trap, it hadn’t broken the bone.
I stopped the bleeding, cleaned, and wrapped the wound,
then slowly moved him over by the fire.
I ask him, “do you feel like eating yet?”
“Yes, but more water first”, he muttered.
The food and water gave him energy,
Now it was time to ask what had happened.
“I was hiking and blazing a new trail.
I pitched my backpack at a bear and ran.
I got away while he explored my pack.
That’s when I got lost a few days ago.
I was getting weak from hunger and thirst,
when I stepped into the trap and passed out.
I managed to pry the trap open with sticks,
Then wandered in the night ‘till you found me.
It’s a miracle, I was guided here.
I wandered lost and hurt, but now I’m found.
Like Root Beer Diamonds
smokestack lightning on the pomona freeway
plays their twangy sound brimming with desire
tan mexican cheerleader rides in a ’46 chevy
passing neon hamburger stands in walnut city
passing the silver taco trucks parked on main
they clang like bells in a distant temple of god
she say she want pozole beans and coca cola
her brown eyes sparkle like root beer diamonds
her dark skin enfolds me with unimagined force
the stars above my cruising machine wink at us
they know of our holy genuflections in the dark
the ‘46 chevy parks at javier’s mexican canteen
smokestack lightning plays their twangy sound
plays it on 8 track plastic brimming with desire
her sweet salsa voice puts my soul in handcuffs
her straight white teeth and wet lips enslave me
we sit close at a back table in the dim darkness
her brown eyes sparkle like root beer diamonds
Just s break time
It's lunch time, mind’s place of rest, in the rest
The delicious food has already been consumed
Now contemplation with a tea, it's like zen
And I see the guests of the canteen, they disappeared
Hmm, everything is emptiness, I recognised it
But I am still not an enlightenment, and finish break time
Back to reality, back to work, the life is just fun and meditation, nothing else, entertainment.
A common thread in humanities fabric,
Sees knowledge as power that one obtains.
Even our science hints to this information,
As what is transferred along quantum cosmic lanes.
This data is constantly flowing, in a
Sea so vast that no shoreline is seen.
Although a rhythm is found among cycles,
And our thirst tries to collect in a canteen.
Just as most resources possess value,
The lessons learned aren't universal or absolute.
Since the harvesting stretches beyond boundaries,
And the farm worker's only choose the best fruit.
What this insures is an abundant yield,
That will last throughout time and space.
With the hope it will find needed wisdom,
Where mankind survives...content in its place.
He was Brad Pitt handsome, and the girls were giddy about him.
Lived his days out on the range, favoring his horse and canteen.
Looked like a country western star, but never sang a tune.
Mysteriously quiet, did not use many words, worked hard.
Married a woman once upon a time who was as quiet as he.
Did not work out, for they had no common interests.
She wanted an in-house husband, he wanted a camp roll and stars.
Brad Pitt handsome, wasted on a horse. Sigh.
"I shall cut off your right digits!"
And the fine red-haired girl fidgets!
Not in early teens, now Eighteen:
Should with success run a canteen...
But Joyce before speaker just trembles,
Every fresh slipped threat Shock resembles;
No thoughts of a leg being simply pulled,
To flee not from the scene herself fooled;
For all her friends still holding tea cups,
No counting of the present grown-ups,
The scratched fears on their lit-up faces
A comic one with all its traces...
Already a Joyce tasting torture:
Her just slashed fingers she could picture...
Soon, pleas to her friends to save the life
Of one who would soonest be a wife:
"From the Enemy, please, snatch death's knife!"
I put it in my a.m. engine
and pray that it kicks in
By the time I reach my locker
I'm ready to punch in
My prayers are duly weighed and judged
as they swirl in my canteen
Helping me to mid-morn break
~ where I'll swig some more caffeine
MADE IN PARAGUAY
In "Asuncion"
the saddest guarania song
is "paraguayan"
TANGO
The father of the porteño tango
he's not born argentinian
he is a son of France...
SAMBA
The samba from Morro Carioca
survived for the world,
Long live Mama Africa...
ROCK
The rock dance, song music
runs wild surprising
on ice rock...
SPEED GONZALEZ
In Juanita canteen
mariachis and tequila
and bursts of laughter...
WALTZ
Oh! if i danced
oh! if I played
the viennese waltz...!
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