Long Bleeping Poems
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You’re at the intersection in your car,
that damn device held pressed against your ear.
You’re unaware, but we know who you are:
the one away from whom we all will steer!
My class has barely started. Suddenly,
inside the room is heard the strangest sound.
You leave - or worse - you talk right over me.
Is there no place a cell phone can’t be found?
I’m at the movies. Bleep, bleep, bleeping bleep.
Another one. . . and music starts to play!
And then you start conversing? Why, you creep,
you’re begging just to “make somebody’s day.”
Just turn it off! You think we love your voice?
NO, Big Shot, we're just victims with no choice.
An oldie from July 31, 2011
slowly she presents
i just let her do what she feels
it is no rush
everything is unexpected
egos are not syrup drenched
narcissism does not exist as a definition
space is the comfort zone that we create here
she is the queen of surefire subtlety , and i am the king of pure patience
slow and thorough is the new fast and furious
she is my dream, and i am her platform
with a cool appliance, she works her carefully constructed art
i just smile bashfully and appreciate her simply wanting to do so
it is in this moment when i think of all we men can sometimes take for granted because of masculine arrogance and uncontrolled selfishness
it is then that i realize that once again this good woman is teaching me yet another lesson
i then become a model student....while at the same time some other man is bleeping it up for the rest of us....again....
Look there; see Noah's arc is going down!
N Its looking like we're all gonna drown
So what was the problem? The hefty cause?
Iceberg breach? Captain overboard?
No I wish, Noah just had too many sons
And so now the ship weighs bleeping tons
You see: Noah had SO many sons
That the bad ones ate the good ones
To make room for the bad sons to fit
(Was some proper soylent green typa bleep)
It's too heavy now, the ship's going down
We're the bad guys n we're gonna drown
Come on, shovel the water out, on your side!
It's over now, but there's still time to bide.
Yeah I know it might be in vain
N it looks like water's coming in all the same
But trying never hurt nobody at all
We got nothing to lose, I mean really nothin at all
And either way, Jesus is coming n judging tonight
So... Best look like you're at least trying to fight
Shh! don't make any peeps.
But it's in our nature to make many more peeps.
Say ouija ouija ouija, to move the marker to true aim.
Say one too many times or too few less and you have made a grave sin.
Hands free writing gets a new meaning when using telepathy.
Or would you just call it automatic writing?
PEEK A BOO, now I see YOUZ.
Coming back from the banished zone of silence.
Thanks be to youz, bleeping peeps.
I am free to explore these other dimensions further away from my damnation.
Compounding the holy with common festivities.
Naturally makes for a truly holy festival.
Cheers to the man holding the skull aware of his final destination.
Frans Hals hails the successful seance.
It had been a long night, an hour drive just to be with my sister. One must stay in touch with family; it’s the right thing to do. I don't even know what movie we saw. Here she was again in all her glory whining, and whimpering, about her conditions. Confined space is the wrong place to be with someone bi-polar. Sometimes, I think the family should mark her eruptions on a calendar, maybe there’s a pattern? She was hungry; her blood sugar was low; hurry, get her home!
“Geez Sis, if my life depended on carrying peanuts, I'd make damn sure I had them with me!” I my replied.
the sleet fell
through the headlight beams:
fog inside
“You bleeping self-centered witch!” Her reply.
And on and on, enumerating all my faults at the top of her lungs. Her face was darting back and forth across the stick shift like a viper. The weather was so bad, and her screaming so loud; I almost drove us up a telephone pole. The back road to her house was serpentine through a pinewood, and over narrow, slick, bridges. Well, about fifteen minutes into my dissection, I burst a gut.
“You need to have some control. Your diet is horrible. I wish you could see yourself eating. Your plate might as well be a trough.” There now I’ve gone and done it, I thought to myself. The little devil in me was all smiles. When we pulled into the driveway; she leapt out.
the car door
slams rattling the glass:
eyes wet as rain glass
It only felt good for a moment. It was true; she did deserve the comment. She’d felt free to butcher me, but, it was wrong to try to hurt her. The momentary release, which felt so good, has given us months of anguish.
Published in Dead Snakes Magazine Winter 2014
A breath soft cinnamon is early
S p r i n g
not perceived at any other time of year
when two tweeny caterpillars cling dear
to one dandelion stalk sublime —
Shy LimeLight of green opens its legs
across yellow field — no scientist can
capture such subtle sheen
daisy clean
Heart feels its mighty loom alright …
It waits tentative as pink buds peep
from cacti who were in soundless
S l e e p —
Acacia stops shedding bare brown
splints — fresh mint bleeping
Noon arrives sooner sprinkling spritely
misty loss as Winter N o r t h w a r d
farewells
goodbye to woollen socks —
lullabies fade beneath mustard mohair docks
…
Southern Spring bells with clocks
C h a n t i n g
Chiming unlock
My Favorite Things comes to mind...
a random assortment, a jumble of words
a quotient of portions, quotidian served
quixotic strivings of the great deca-dense
obscured in meaning, eschewing all sense
visions and nightmares and hallucinations
erudite arguments, odd fascinations
old geezers fondling memories of things
most folk would not to mixed company bring
inchoate ramblings of damaged young minds
bubbled through water and cardboard box wine
audible groans from the web server host
these are the ones make me giggle the most
shouting in vacuums, a riotous void
pontificating, or mildly annoyed
grieving, believing, or weaving a string
virtuous outburst that don’t do a thing
rants about orange man and all his mean tweets
and, yes, “Let’s go, Brandon” to make things complete
guns, poo, abortion, yes, all are discussed
sometimes the thin-skinned bail out in disgust
side by side, posting, the sage and the fool
the wise in their youth and those starting to drool
bleeping our excrement down on the page
somehow it all seems to soften the rage
when the bard shouts
when the muse screams
‘bout covid or Vlad
we’re at a computer
with just poo to fling
and that makes me laugh a tad
W T F
Let’s imagine somebody
naive as they can be.
What might they imagine when
WTF they see?
For someone on a diet
could it mean “Withhold the Fat?”
“Wash the Fridge” perhaps?
My mom would think of that!
A girl into clothing could suppose
WTF means “Wear Trendy Fashion.”
“Wear Tight Footwear” no one though
could think and have compassion.
“Wash Tired Feet” might someone think?
Or “Warm the Feet” after time in snow?
“Wrap the Fracture.” Is that done?
I’m not sure that I know!
“Warm the Furnace”? That sounds lame.
“Woo The Folks” could be
a slogan for politicians
who can’t get to ME!
“Whack the Fiend.” I like that.
And “Whack the Fibber,” but
“What‘s the fuss?” sounds better.
than “Walk the Feline”. . . . What?
“Whip the Flesh” works for sadists.
Could “Wave the Fists” sound cool?
I like “Welcome Tiny Folks”
for a nursery school.
Just a few more. How about
“Wake the Family”?
Watch the Fuel” also works
in this economy.
Finally, when I think
of N/A’s from a judge,
if I feel my poem is really good,
I murmur “What the (bleeping bleeping) Fudge.”
Spud's New Car, a tribute to my ever so lovely hamster Spud . . .
SPUD’S NEW CAR
My hammy has hit the wheel, but; doesn't seem to be getting very far
So I thought for Crimbo; I would buy him a new, battery-operated car
First, he gave it the eye-ball; and then he gave it a few indignant sniffs
Next thing he was running round in it; even asked me, if I wanted a lift
O’ for the life of Riley he was just having himself a right old flamin’ ball
Then he decides that he would give all of his other hammy mates a call
Wow smart motor Spud; what has happened did you lad win the pools
As all the other little hammy’s lined up; and, over his new car did drool
It's a Crimbo pressie off me Mammy says Spud; cheered me up no end
Now my bleeping of the car horn is silently driving her round the bend
The other little hammy’s then jumped in the car, each taking it in turns
Revving up the motor; making all the tyres squeal; and, in turn so burn
A Grand motor you have got there Spud; you must ever, so very proud
Aye, said Spud; as yet again, he bleeped his horn, as so very extra loud
Then it was gotta to go lads; for there is something special I have to do
Spud waved his good-byes; and, it was off in his brand new car, he flew
It was down to the local shops for some flowers and some sesame cake
Just like the ones, his Mommy; that just for him used to make and bake
Then Spud; raced back home again, for Mom he did not want to be late
Just to find his beloved Mommy; waiting just for him at the garden gate
It was a fabulous Crimbo really; and, Spud truly loved his brand new car
Mommy; got her thank-you flowers, and, Spud is now away, driving afar
"God Bless His Little Heart" Mom x x x
Indiana <--- Spuds proud Mom . . . : )
It’s all of three feet long, in order it is not,
And then there’s all the other stuff she’s probably forgot,
The first thing on the list, it simply just says, ‘beans’,
Is that broad beans, baked beans, whatever does she mean?
Next is the marmalade, there’s a hundred in the store,
And if I get it wrong she’ll say, ‘it’s the one I had before!!’
There goes another ping, it’s the fifth message to date,
‘Don’t forget the milk’ it reads, ‘if you can accommodate?’
Next it is the bread - brown and white and crust,
With a helpful little note saying, ‘the thickness I’m not fussed!’
But the note that takes the biscuit states, ‘get something for tea!’
Now is that for the both of us or possibly just me?
Course the final item on the list takes me back to the first aisle,
It’s another lengthy trip, so far I’ve clocked a mile.
I reach the checkout desk and there goes another ping,
It says ‘tomato sauce, oxo cubes and a pack of chicken wings.’
The checkout girl senses, my frustration and dismay,
By honestly enquiring, if I’m having a good day,
But I look at all the stuff she is bleeping at the till
And wonder how, with three bags, I’ll ever fit it in!
At home comes the inquest of each item I have bought,
And all items not listed, I’m well and truly caught!
The marmalade is wrong, the butter isn’t light,
But think I’ve done quite well as it’s fifty percent right!