It was all about a grim,
Foggy, smoggy, old Thursday night
In Hithergreen,
London’s belching south,
Below Europe’s icy, dark trees and
In the silence of grieving mornings . . .
Bulbous clouds bleeding with strained oomph
Would stir the ingravescence of patented ills.
The trains always come railing!
Railing loud and silly
Like heathen bandits with no shame.
But before such mornings,
A half-distilled liquored, low-brewed
Evening caused me tears
When I chopped onions.
A spruced up harlot was coming to dinner
By the way!
Oh, yes, from London’s bleached Soho,
Venue for awesome sex.
I may have forgotten to tell you, brother,
But through the insistence on cutting further deep,
There it stood!
Ilse Koch!
An old character!
She piled up arms against ashen flesh,
Fomenting tears to rain down on the faces of many.
And with each stare,
I asked for permission to be laconic
Just to preserve the dews
Of the heated stove near the chimney of an
Age-battered window of a grey, frazzled winter night.
Kenneth Koch 'The DUPLICATIONS'
ditto
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"What's next?" is the voice I hear ring in my ear,
And sometimes it's obvious, "I'll have a beer!"
With answer so effortless, I want to cheer,
It seems you're the simplest answer I hear.
"What's next?" there is never a rush to "good night!"
Would stars fill the heavens if God hated light?
From smile on your face, I can't forecast a fight,
But love isn't perfect and never a right!
"What's next?" think it's coming but cannot be sure?
Disaster scenarios plague immature,
Our president drowning in hip-deep manure,
And egg-heads, by contrast, seem so insecure.
"What's next?" say the Koch brothers, "Money is King!
Just die then you f**kers, we own everything.
Else line up for burden, that nose needs a ring!
Drop "trou" and touch toes for this likely will sting!"
"What's next?" cry the fools who thought vote was a lark,
"But don't worry next time ball's out of the park."
But this time it seems there's no space on an ark,
And even the wealthy are lost in the dark!
Long Tooth
July 13, 2017
Life lives, life dies. Life laughs, life cries. Life gives up and life tries. But life looks different through everyone's eyes.”
Daniel B Koch
I just started reading
or should I say re-reading
a book by the late, great poet
Kenneth Koch.
It's called "I Never Told Anybody"
and it's all about teaching poetry
in a nursing home.
It's really good.
One of the poets who really shone
at the American Nursing Home
was a man named William Ross.
The first time I read the book, I assumed
he was old - in his eighties or nineties.
So imagine my shock when I read it again
and found out that he was fifty-nine.
Fifty- nine! Well, dagnabit, folks,
I'm going to be fifty-eight this year.
And I know damn well that fifty-eight
is not "OLD"! And certainly Mr. Ross
must have had a very clear, strong mind.
At least, based on his wonderful work.
And his poems still speak to me
And they still make me smile and wish
that I had the courage to just sit down
and write.
and write.
and write.
Hey, wait just a minute ...
I’m doing just that!
So thank you, thank you,
Thank you, William Ross!
It’s a swill no one interrupts—
A pill that consumes and corrupts
Our honor's been jailed
And truth’s will is impaled
As the blood PAC tempest erupts
Author's note: Many of the super-rich (who do not yet have it all) are determined to have more of the pie since their multiple residences and bank accounts are not enough and their yachts and jets are too small and range restricted (OMG). There are about 600 people who have donated more than $1,000,000 to presidential political action committees (PACs). The very rich, who also are trying to buy Congress, are in the process of remodeling our society. They liked it when society was feudal--when the rest of us were consigned to serfdom or were slaves. This weekend, the Koch brothers are interviewing candidates to see who they will spend almost a billion dollars to elect. Are we to believe their propaganda (that they have our interest in mind)? That is why I support the only candidate who does not have a super PAC who is running for President--Bernie Sanders. Enough is enough and maybe, just maybe, we can prevail over the corruption of wealth. The truth always matters and can never be denied over the long term.
Footprint Eraser
Written By: D. Collins 10/5/14
America had better get onboard with the Dutch.
Our most abundant exhaust is what will save us.
We produce this compound in metric tons of waste.
We could recycle it even before it gets to space.
We could send craft to grab it in the atmosphere.
What we’ve put out there, could last the world for years.
Imagine if we could get India and China onboard.
Think of the amount of oxygen you could call yours.
Trees would grow taller than what they are right now.
But, the oil industry will not allow that to go down.
They will fight and scratch. Cut off oil to the craft.
Show Koch Brothers commercials of the industry’s past.
Way before the Mayor died,
He planned out to a T
Exactly what the wording on
His tombstone ought to be.
The only items missing
Were his dates of birth and death,
Considering he didn’t know
When he’d draw his last breath.
But when he died, the headstone carver
Made a little goof,
And only after he was done
Did he get his reproof.
It seems he etched the year of birth
As 1942
Instead of 1924,
A harmless switcheroo.
But it’s ironic, don’t you think,
That there would be a glitch
When Koch mapped every detail
To go off without a hitch?
It proves we really can’t control
How others might behave,
But all who knew Ed Koch believe
He’s laughing from his grave.
New York’s lost an icon
Who was in your face and brash.
He always spoke his mind and thus,
With many he did clash.
A three-term mayor with a bridge
That’s honored with his name,
His trademark “How’m I doin?”
Vaulted him to fame.
He never lived in Gracie Mansion,
Long a mayor’s goal,
Instead remaining in his village pad,
With rent control.
Koch rarely wore a hat, but once,
While in a winter storm,
His pate, uncharacteristically,
Was covered to be warm.
Reporters teased him and he laughed,
While pointing to his head,
“This schmatte*? Yeah, it was a gift;”
And that was just so Ed.
To many, me included,
He was New York quintessential.
Perhaps his strong appeal
Was rooted in the residential.
I think New Yorkers, all of us,
Will miss old Mayor Koch.
The city won’t be quite the same
Without him on his watch.
*Yiddish for a rag or cheap piece of material
For Kenneth Koch
We met each other in Smyrna
Birthplace of Seferis
Walked all the day together around Ephesus
Admiring the antiquities
And chatting about the troubles of a new era
We came from different worlds
I with a youth full of privations
You with the clamor of Beatnik days
What makes a poet a poet?
You said with your ironic smile
The pain or joy of living?
Now that you are no more
It's boring sometimes
To live after you
Life! That little trick of substance
Curiously expressed with such a short word
In all mankind's languages
2008
(A Variation of: Your Departure Versus the Hindenburg by Kenneth Koch)
Every time you enter the room
I see it as an extension of
Pompeii
That great 76 A.D. volcano erupting
In molten lava like a 2-liter of soda exploding
after it has been shaken.
When you enter a room,
people run in fear to
hide from your presence.
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