Long Exhibitions Poems
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Sometimes I think of all the lives I could’ve lived, all the careers, plans, and people I could’ve met, and I sit with myself and sigh, “Ah, if it weren’t because of him.”
I wanted to be a hairdresser, but he laughed at me.
I wanted to be a cook, but he said that it’s already my duty.
I wanted to be a teacher, but he mocked me.
I wanted to be an artist, but he couldn’t let me be.
Some other times, I think of all the places I could’ve been, all the cafés, the exhibitions, and the little shops I could’ve liked, and I sit with myself and sigh, “Who’s stopping me?”
I wanted to be everything, anything, all at once.
And I remember that I still could be.
" ...betrayal begins with trust."
Quote_ Phish
Shall I compare you to Judas Iscariot, the one,
Who, like an intimate friend, the trust of Jesus Christ, won;
Worked, hand in hand, like the nail and flesh, or the vein and blood,
Dared to betray him, with a breeze-like unassuming thud...!
As though dropping a precious star from the constellation,
You dropped me without any conscience or hesitation;
You dared to cut off our garland-like collaboration,
Indulged in infidelity and credence castration...!
Was your romance, like the morning glory, just for a day?
Was your passion without compassion and inner array?
Have all those attitudinal exhibitions falsehood?
Are our dispositions as feeble as the fire and wood...?
Yet, can you breach your trust? Can a flower betray the bee?
Can waves run away from the sea? Can fish from the sea flee?
Once given my heart to me, could I be your enemy?
Though values and virtues change, upon truth can't we agree...?
Could the sky betray the earth, or the sun betray the moon?
Or any element of nature their dependence hewn!
History, yet, is a witness dear, in truth or in tales,
...betrayal begins with trust; soft coffins have, here, hard nails...!!!
23 May 2023
My sporting parlay tickets are locked away
In the draw where they will stay
Due to a bug
That stopped the world from giving a hug
With nothing on the Las Vegas Sports Book board
Not even a score
Tables and slots are still there
If that is one’s fare
Of course for short term fun
A quick fetish that in a few seconds the life savings could be done
There are many televisions around this desert oasis social place
That will be turned to rhetoric programs that build the bug’s terroristic case
Repeats of sporting exhibitions
That were played by one’s own decision
Are also being broadcast
To remind fans of the past
Leaving the dice and cards behind,
Off to the beach and its sunshine
Won’t be back
Until the Starship Troopers are done with their attack
Kill them bugs was the cinema state mint
Maybe the masses will take the hint
Eradicate the Corona fear
Then Have that Mexican beer
Then enjoy the nice feeling of cheer.
It is time for communication decisions
To be the true diplomatic missions
A competitive artistic way to deal with rings interlocking
Due to egotistical intentions wanting information blocking
As they watch the wise grandfather clocking
Veteran memories tick and tocking
Every four years spend two weeks
Staging sporting exhibitions innocent like a child’s smiling cheek
Presenting these athletic events
Replacing anger that spurred war time resent
Seductive entertainment good for the soul
Reminding the world about being bold
When dealing with those deadly and cold
Cast warriors script them to spill sweat and tears
Observed by an audience enthusiastic with cheers
Applauding having no fears
Drafted professional participants in a game in which they are paid
No longer bothering conducting a raid
On the college students getting the grade
Today an invisible competitor has been lured
It is the diabolical health care monster control wanting the floor
Challenging everyone; Is this what you want? Are you sure?
Addressing the issue needing a cure
That tested our patients unprepared and uninsured
With a nasty flu rotten like an apple’s core
And finally, it is time to show it the door
Sending a message
Hoping for a confession
By putting on a display
Symbolically it will say
Stand together
Fighting this emotional weather
Lock those rings
Stating to the leaders, Presidents, and Kings
“We do not want combatting killing hate
Controlling and conquering attitude thinking this action is great
Instead interpret information to get it straight”
Using this thought on a hook as bait
Reeling in God we trust
Into a situation where problems find themselves arrested in a bust
Clearing the blurry lines turning them into dust
And discovering kind humbleness is a must
Light that cauldron with a flame
Wishing those who have fame
Shoulder to shoulder to others having no name
Good luck to you all
Answering this peaceful call
Moving out feels much sadder
than moving in, more gladder--
which is poor grammar
for severance of love's embodied glamour.
Packing up
feels more like packing in
and down,
cutting ties with my own stage,
this playful working space,
for everyday self
and other witnessing life
love
hate
joy
anger
courage
fear
healing
suffering
Not a fabulously grand stage
but my intimate memories
triggered by damp basement
through dusty attic,
inside resonant
and outside growing resilient,
front yard exhibitions
and back yard more inhibited glimmers
and shivers,
dimmers
and emotive rivers
Moving out
without regard for loss
feels too surgical,
masochistic,
violent dross,
silent shriek of bad faith,
cross,
divestment from personal
political
economic
cultural placement
more sacredly cherished
than secularly calculated
in clock time to move on.
My best therapeutic intent
to know I leave this tiny spot of Earth
at least as healthy
and beautiful
as I have found her
while unpacking
in her abandoned
neglected
bramble thorned sadness
inviting my hope-filled gladness
too few years ago.
It is not because I chose this
In deed it was your breath and kiss,
Which wander’d through protective fences,
Guarding me from love’s pretenses.
I was a hurt flower,
Nestled in a tower,
Not ready for anything deep,
Vaulted instead in earthly sleep.
In small traces you opened a door,
Reaching in, you placed a seed in my core.
From sediments below a tree of life did grow,
A story rose, a light I came to know.
For she whose faith proved to be my mate,
It never came too late.
Leading the way, my heart from doubt,
Feeling finally what love is about,
A path appeared before my eyes,
Calling, calling, forget past lies.
The moment my soul kneeled,
Our future in absolute blood was sealed,
Which is to say,
By stroke of metaphorical play,
That the water of life is to be found,
Not under our feet in the ground,
But in the words we commit to,
There, and only there, is the mighty clue
....
The topos of life is layered,
In themes beyond the mighty herd,
Whose role is to keep the jungle order,
A dull knife wedged upon nature’s border:
To keep the words away,
Whose birth would surely slay,
The exhibitions of felt thought!
By which the icy laws have taught:
Out of nothing can not come something more.
A mighty wrong equation, that’s for sure.
they say that
the traveling carnival
will visit our town soon
whether the weather
has been lately
somehow filled with gloom
and I'm just lurking
by the railway tracks
waiting for the ghostly train
and feel in my bones
that something wicked
is on it's sinister way
buy the ticket,
take the ride!
shout the jolly jesters
through danse macabre
balloons and darts
to the house of wacky waxworks
the imaginarium
lures everyone in
to explore the forbidden
fantasies of lust
with unknown consequences
something's just wrong
with this carnival of rust
what about the somber freakshow
the panopticon
the maze of terrors
thrills and spills
skeletal knife throwers
bizarre exhibitions
dark amusements
or a carousel that kills
beware the carnivores
of the eerie carnival
don't go there when it arrives
beware the devilish attractions
don't believe
the bait of fun times
Trixie, who loves orange, is today clog-dancing.
Her ready exhibitions are becoming so frequent many
poets would be embarrassed
My poems are super confident, so I go along with my enthusisatic minion.
Trixie is thrilled with our stuff.
All prissy delightful, not wanting to edit anything.
Please let us not use "I and me, again," I beg her.
So overdone I tell her.
She laughs and stomps on my finger that was heading for the delete button.
Our top five themes are dragons, pirates, orange, Trixie and me.
A bit boring, I tell her. Let's try some new material.
Trixie gets angry and gets out her battle axes.
She leaves my dendrite alley in despicable shape, hanging in pieces.
She saturates the walls of my imagination with
Sexy, sassy, orange, and yellow. Sexy! Come on! I yell. She howls happiness.
I watch in fascination as she grabs the pen and does her damage.
The bossiest orangest most polka dotted craziest poetic muse ever.
I count on her energetic bossy attitude almost daily.
"All art is erotic", quote from Gustav Klimt
The Kiss... Gustav Klimt
Son of a Bohemian gold engraver
Childhood marked by poverty
Influenced by Japanese art
Developed his talent early in life
Created his own style like no other
Took symbolism and eroticism to new heights
Glorifying the female body
Evocatively exotic and erotic
Lacquering it with gold leaf
Controversial during his lifetime
Now on display in Vienna
Those not destroyed during the war
Traveling in world exhibitions
Or sold for multi millions to art collectors
Unfinished paintings when he died
World-wide fame celebrated anniversary
One hundred and fifty years
Death and Life
A golden tribute to Klimt
AP: Honorable Mention 2021, Honorable Mention 2020, Honorable Mention 2020, Honorable Mention 2020
A powerhouse of gregarious silliness
for our delight and entertainment
Chuck Barris weekly orchestrates
his national amateur talent show
comprised of bizarre exploits
none of your conventional class acts
unique offbeat eccentric spectacles
for the questionable and less discerning palate
guaranteed a few good laughs peppered by
resounding sounds of the gong ong ong
Walks in brown bag over head
the unknown comic snickering
unloading sarcasm by the truckload
taunting daring wingnuts on standby
Chuck invites lineups of hopeful contestants
out to show off their disputable skills and talents
performers dubious absurd and outlandish
come for their five minutes of fame and glory
most delusional hoping not to hear reverberate
resounding sounds of the gong ong ong
Comes singer Boxcar Willie followed by
Gene Gene the Dancing Machine
the anticipation at an all time high
it’s a circus invasion on our tv
flaunting their wares publicly on air
exhibitions with guts and little pride
worst acts of the week preposterous
scores on scale 0 to 10 overruled
contributing to the silliness of our youth
the resounding sounds of the gong ong ong
Published in my 24-page photo/anthology ~RANDOM MUSINGS VOL.2~ 2020
AP: Honorable Mention 2020
Submitted on August 27, 2020 for contest LIVING IT UP FOR LAUGHTER sponsored by CHANTELLE ANNE COOKE - RANKED 2ND