Young Bobby Tucker chats the whole day through
His teacher said, “That's all you ever do.
Today is geography,
what you can do for me
Is form a sentence using ‘Katmandu’
“I’m pretty certain you won’t have a clue
But I would like an answer out of you.”
“Well, Batman don’t chase mice,”
Bobby said in a trice
“But you can bet your life that Katmandu.”
(Funeral pyre in Katmandu)
A Wish Fulfilling Gem
The world is a karma burning engine.
We resist it, we curse it, we do our best
To try and make it something different,
But it is what it is,
And this honesty deserves to be respected
Celebrated, embraced and even dove into
As a fish into water.
It is after all our karma that is burning.
What more could we want!?!
And so the world is a wish fulfilling gem
Giving us exactly what we need.
(11/30/24)
if i could
if i were brave
i’d leave my job
i’d be an artist
adventurous and audacious
i’d be extravagant
and listen to opera
as loud as loud can be
fearlessly I’d dabble
on the edges of insanity
i’d paint murals
with the boldest colors
bringing joy to
every passerby
i’d put an end
to injustice
to poverty
as well as sadness
i’d get on a plane
and fly around the world
i’d climb the Everest
to Katmandu
i’d run to meet
the dalai lama
sit by his feet
and somehow
through osmosis
soak up his peace
and crystal wisdom
i’d fly east in sync
with every sunrise
then turn around go west
to capture every sunset
AP: Honorable Mention 2020
A hippo and a kangaroo
were in a bar in Kathmandu.
The hippo ordered a cold beer,
let us make that very clear.
The kangaroo on the other hand
was clever enough to understand
that getting drunk in Katmandu
is not the wisest thing to do!
there is a yak from katmandu
who likes to square dance at the zoo
promenade left and do si do
allemande right heel and toe
you didn't think a yak could square dance, did you
Zany insanity,
he’s a buffoon from the moon-
Quipster and hipster,
he’s a complicated pantaloon.
Prankster gangster,
tactless with madness-
Wisecracker and entertainer
is he fun, or full of sadness?
He’s humorous and caddy,
frivolous yet crabby-
Gabby and a chump,
a lark and real tacky.
Life of the party,
wears pants full of smarty-
A cracker-upper,
always late for supper.
You may wonder who I speak of,
this satirist man that could be you-
He’s a practical trickster joker,
from the city of Katmandu.
He seems to be famous,
he may be very acclaimed,
he’s notorious for being a jester,
and Robin Williams is his name!
August 9, 2017
We all shine on,
he says (nobody hears),
by the striking light of shots,
with golden bullets in our chests,
in the green eye of a yellow God
standing still beyond Milton Hayes’
absent eyes.
We all shine on
in borrowed time
from honeys and kids
and cats and dogs and gods,
all in the hall of householding
fame, smiling at our last
lost minute.
We all shine on
cookin’ years to tasty days
and tasty beds with pillows
full of absent wealth of lust
to last in borrowed time
with borrowed selves
in absent memories.
We all shine on
like a striking light in the eye
of a one-eyed idol to the north
of Katmandu, seeing the childish
godfaced game above our inner oneness,
that stark shine striking our fearfulness
like the golden eye of a fish in the abyss.
When you wonder why I soar beyond the sky,
Feel free to inquire and a secret will be told.
It’s a mystery to me but I’ll give it a try,
And unfold for you a story that’s ages old.
Two score years ago did a magic carpet emerge,
And Metro was the name its weaver chose.
So now I go anyplace that my heart has the urge,
Even up high as the sun to see how the world arose.
I can circle the moon eating icy clouds with a spoon;
Stars I can hold like glowing diamonds in my fingers.
But still the sky begins to darken way too soon,
When the day is done and the night looms and lingers.
Nevertheless there’s fun in the light of the moon,
As my flying carpet goes circling above Katmandu.
I’m loving every twinkling of this charming boon,
As I dream of new wonders and worlds to woo.
Unharnessed footfalls meld with bike ricksaws
as antiquated oil belching buses roar.
Limo drivers bull their way door to door
to the sound of dangling baskets of macaws.
Hawkers shriek their wares without pause,
such is the Katmandu that I adore.
Unharnessed footfalls meld.
Men in open stalls serve tea from drawers
Sari wearing women behind veils rapport.
Orphaned children beg on from store to store,
the dross of life from which our eyes withdraw.
Unharnessed footfalls meld.
Contest: Rodine the Traffic of Life
Poet: Debbie Guzzi
Date: 7/21/12
Missing the Real... Red, White and Blue
rip yer guts out if yer able
put-cher colors on the table
red fer war and green fer envy
now dance yer jig with righteous gravy
you sell yer soul to istanbul
with lucre' from yer cock and bull
yer eyes they puke-up venomous snakes
for feasting nations, raise the stakes!
maybe- drop a bomb or two
that's how we roll in katmandu
our boys you send them to their graves
defending what? new amerikan slaves
the time will come, you'll see it soon
we won't build yer brigadoon
so give us back the land we love
crush all the cannons, send us doves
and we will once more strike-up-the-band
sing all the classics....ain't America Grand!
***inspired by PD's jammin' slammin!
07/17/10
5:55pm
helpful note: am reacting to a young Man's death in Afghanistan
two-days ago, from my town, defending an outpost in Kandihar,
he died alongside his two mates....we're all having trouble swallowing it....
The young men sat, planted under the overhang
like the pansies and geraniums that surrounded them in boxes,
as the rain pelted the terra-cotta terrace.
The mountain air was sharp with the taste of lightening.
Having bid farewell to the arched shard of a rainbow across the valley,
they sat tensely watching the celestial bombardment of Katmandu.
The lightening stoked the day’s heat,
thickening the early evening sky like the yogurt they’d eaten for lunch.
A home-made rice wine poured freely over their tongues
from an innocent looking water bottle.
Their eyes turned garnet with the harshness of it.
The bottle sat with its tattered label, upon the arm of the white chair.
The wine within tasted faintly of the gasoline,
yet, they reveled in it, and the freedom from deep seeded societal traits,
it freed them from.
Overhead, the sky was draped in a bridal veil of stars;
as I emerged from the room to sit beside them.
What Kim can do in Katmandu,
Ken can do in Kankakee.
What Tim can do in Timbuktu,
Tess can do in Tennessee.
Scaling up Mt. Everest,
Or surfing in the Tasman Sea.
Wrestling with a wallaroo,
Or boxing with a wallaby.
Now, if your name is Anna,
And you live in San Jose,
Or if they call you Perry,
And you make your home in Paraguay,
It really doesn't matter
Who, or where, or what you are.
A Bedouin on a camel,
Or a fat cat, in a chauffeured car.
No matter where your home is,
Or what may be your name,
We are, everyone, quite different,
Yet, everyone, the same.
We're in this thing together,
From black to white, from he to she.
Rich, or poor, or in between,
I'm part of you, and you're part of me.
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