Long Opposable Poems
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My granddaughter asks what music is—not how
it works but what it is and I realize
I don't know. I tell her what I've learned
Plato says it's the cosmos tuning itself
Aristotle teaches it's virtue in training
Schopenhauer explains it's the will made audible
Nietzsche proclaims it's the reason we endure
Adorno touts it's the last room the market hasn't bought
Einstein calculates it's what we do when equations fail us
But the truth? Music is my mother crying
Music is my uncle's calloused fingers
Music is the subway violinist's beautiful mistake
Music is my wife pirouetting on the grit of dirty floors
Music is the kid beatboxing in the tunnel
Music is Einstein scraping Mozart across catgut
Music is the thing we make when we can't speak
and the thing we make when speech isn't enough
the thing we make when we need to remember
we're animals with opposable thumbs and auditory cortexes
and this strange compulsion to score sound
into patterns that hurt us and heal us and
make us want to live another day
So I tell my granddaughter: music is the question
you just asked. The wanting-to-know
The orchestra isn't in the concert hall
it's in your chest when the song
moves through diminished chords to major resolution
something lifts. It's in the breath
before the downbeat. It's in the silence
after the final note when we're
listening, waiting, still hoping
there might be one more measure
And there is.
There always is.
The song doesn't end
we just stop
hearing it
To God I am thankful for many gifts;
But none more than a creative mind,
And the hands which are the finest tool,
With abilities to create that I easily can find.
As a child I first learned to cherish
My God-given opposable thumb,
Knowing how versatile a device
It is for whacking a fortuitous homerun.
And stubby fingers were early to meet,
And with artistic freedom employ,
All the many vividly colored crayons
To make graphic forms and scenes to enjoy.
And off running into the world of nature,
My hands kept quite busy in work and play.
Without them I found that I couldn’t climb
Nor protect myself in the occasional fray.
My hands loved to tighten and repair my bike,
Seeming to be a mechanic of special training,
Taught by a higher intelligence unknown
For handling every task without complaining.
With maturity the hand becomes more adept,
A magical marvel for all creation to behold.
And in God’s world of many forms to grasp,
It becomes an unique gift worth more than gold.
Then you find there’s nothing your hands can’t do,
‘Cause God has made them in His special way,
With the same loving care you make toys for a child,
Who might find nothing any better for hours of play.
We need to show God that we feel very blessed,
That He was the architect of this precious treasure;
So that we may join with Him in majestic fashion,
Giving the world with fervent impact endless pleasure.
Donald Trump Das Fuehrer's Braggadocio
Wrapped up in the Christmas holiday spirit,
I surmise doth allow
nationally collective obliviousness
to steer ship of state
(these United States)
to suffer retaliatory browbeat
ting activates, detonates, generates
je nais sais quois maliciousness
upon North American consciousness
from wickedly vehement uproarious tirades
the "FAKE" president doth crow,
whereby every word uttered
by the misfit mealy mouthed madman
in the Oval Office directly
impacts Lady Liberty, sans dow
wager even when the brash,
defensive, haughty...commander
in chief doth raised by alternately
by one or both colored eyebrow,
which nonverbal hostile
body language triggers
concomitant domino fallout
to devastating effect,
whereby analogous nee
palpable invisible reverberations
trigger thee threat
of global mortal Kombat flow
war moves the dial on
the Doomsday Clock to foreshadow
the stark realization of glow
bull thermonuclear conflict to hoe
var ominously over planet Earth,
which scenario haint Noah Joe
king matter, cuz
more'n juiced *****sapiens know
wingly, would be decimated,
where from Noel fierce
riding hobby horse, could
weather thee irrevocable low
down, once bombs away loosed,
and poised to strike
every fibrous marrow
with an irreversible tendon cee,
yet some hardy
species might narrow
lee escape radioactive fallout,
and blithely usurp meaning overthrow
this most menacing creature,
whose opposable thumb didst pro
pell the nasty, short tempered,
and mean minded
to upset status quo
and shred of a fatalistic,
graphic, and horrific roadshow
no Wizard of Oz (zee us born)
negating, obliterating, and pulverizing
the uninhabitable landscape
with burnt offerings
much more frightful than scarecrow,
which worst case scenario,
could explode today or tomorrow
leaving no trace of unlovely bones
merely mass cremated powder,
hence forsaked salvation
from... say Beto
O'Rourke, whose actively
democratic gumption joisted paradigm
grim fate recklessly
(hypothetically) did veto.
The Dodo, it’s curious
Lived down in Mauritius
A bit east of Madagascar,
You can’t get there with your car.
It’s an island, and it’s quite remote
But you wouldn’t need an overcoat
You won’t get there with your time machine
Unless your machine floats.
Right off the Indian continent,
If a Dodo was incontinent
What would he wear not to spill content?
Well, that just Depends…
‘Cuz how would they pull them up,
Or change them when they’re full up?
A question supposable
When they haven’t the opposable.
A question pretty clumsy
And I'm just all thumbsy
And it doesn't matter, 'cuz they're all extinct,
I just know that it stinks.
There’s one thing I’m sure I know
If I had a pet Dodo
I might call him Bilbo
But more likely it would be Frodo
And I’d have me a hobbit hole
For all of those Depends, you know
And that's where all the dirties go,
And I’d call it Bag End.
H/T to Terry Flood’s Do Dodos Do Doo Doos
Ooh...this... just an amazing grace note
recalling how I felt like an ass
and wanna toot 'bout me getting steered
(as a heavy metal kid Rocker)
toward befriending a brass
see gutsy, horny,
and MainLine snooty upper class
action button down
(grace fully slick as vaseline), airily glinting
forcibly hawked, laundered, and pawned
by the instrumental
Mister Deangelo O'Donnell, High School
(mud flapping, ornery hearing,
and quid juicing Ska Welch ching)
music teacher oompah crass
tone deaf when aye trumpeted desire
to master the Coronet
analogous to pursing lips
blowing tightly held grass
blade between two abetted,
cinched fastened opposable thumbs,
which tooting a supposed aural aphrodisiac
to attract a zaftig well proportioned lass
(ideally shaped like a miniature Tuba)
with one steel funnel like mouthy mass
that probably explains, how such a gal
could easily emulate
facial pucker earning pass
to illustrious honorable first chair
and blasts gratitude akin
as Gabriel would declare
heavenly expressions conducting
angels thru atmospheric ether
alighting on mortal ushering melody
with rites of harkening
springtime Renaissance Faire
solar rays golden raiment
splays rainbow fragments off
beveled, bellowed, and
bedecked polished flare
audiological sound waves trick
saw toothed reflected
silhouetted orchestral shadows
to dance as conductor's baton gear
musicians horns ensemble
epochal feast to hear.
I write like bakers bake
my rhymes make earth shake
Going into contest with me was your biggest mistake
I control the earths plates, tectonics, your rhymes are bollocks
I cause land slides and earthquakes
I don't hate but I do devastate,
Is the rhythm of your rhyme hidden?
I'm going back and forth with my decision
I'd like to think it's something I'm missin'
but I cant see it in what you've written,
You stagnate rhymes
I contemplate the punishment for these crimes,
don't harp that you'll defeat me
I'm a giant you can't even see me
Now back and forth like red and meth I hand you over to little missy,
you pissed us both off so we share a rhyme to make you look silly..........
Your rhymes don't even matter
my pockets is gettin' fatter
Yours getting flatter
When you heard the glass shatter
That means me and my homies gathered
Now you bout to feel the wrath of
Somethin' that you wished you hadn't of
And all I can say is back up because I'm bout to act up
It might not concern you but
I'll thermonuclear burn you, you're a human sacrifice
Cuz I be smashing mics with the Passion of Christ and
Stay fully loaded, equipped with action devices
Me n trim shady here to party like Tom Brady
We stay cooler than an Eskimo baby
V is for Victory, we mastered your trickery
Tryna clock like dickory, get smoked like hickory
So please stop the bickery, you can't get rid of me
Fire colabs from here to infinity
you heard her infinity
even with a radar and map you cant find our reality
we're in another galaxy
you've barely the ability of a fetus
how dare you compete with us
and this U S U K special relationship isn't putting you at a handicap
it's natures act, you can't rhyme or rap
put your dick between your legs and make a tail
walk away with your head down cus your insults fail,
the only insult that landed is that you went up against us
with terrible stale dribble
that you squiggle
all brainless and minimal
like an unevolved mammal
writing without the opposable thumb by miracle
sounding dumb and undesirable,
when I read it I became miserable,
I desire a quick fire high flyer
like me with quick wit that aspires but you were dire
and dim, you aint no Trim,
you're a fool who should return to school.
collaboration with Brenda Chiri
first and third Trim
second Brenda
Takes the form of a human,
an animal lies beneath
for what are we anyway
escapologists from the trees
Maybe we’re special, intelligent,
if still a little dumb
outgrown that inbred purpose
to breed and thrive
Humans need satisfaction,
a journey, fantasies and thrills
Always just beneath a willingness to kill
Content, we are under control
happiness is to be free
adrenaline keeps us awake and alert
My god they’re all chemical signals,
highs and lows passion, depression,
just imbalances of the mind
The illusion we’re so much more
is insane, and true
It’s forbidden to overtake evolution
but we did yesteryear
exceeding the laws of nature,
left the animals behind
So what now,
we’ve outgrown natural selection
one small step was never our threshold
next the forbidden one giant leap
Perhaps we don’t see it coming,
inexorable and inevitable as it is
We’ll never stop, never be satiated
we only ever had one goal
to become god.
By David Kavanagh
Why…..why…..must it be so hard??
Would that I had antlers
to woo the docile doe
lock in mock battle
of tree bark as foe.
Perhaps fine tail feathers
to spread in an arc
dance without castanets
from dawn until dark,
A wondrous scent
to slowly unfurl
sweet scented pheromones
to make her hair curl.
Maybe a chatter,
a click or a roar
to lead the sweet vixen
straight to my door.
Alas, being human
with opposable thumbs
I gaze at the screen
go droolingly dumb
fumble with texting,
tweets, and hash tags
fearful these beauties
might just be….. old hags.
John G. Lawless
11/22/2015
He walks alone through the hush of morning,
dew balancing like prayers on blades of grass.
above him, a red kite wheels as geometry drawn
and for a moment,he forgets what we’ve done.
the earth is still kind,still spills blossom from trees
we’ve maimed all that is good with our distain
let rivers write sermons through concrete and spillage.
yet even now,she forgives us, the mother can be kind.
As he stands beneath a birch that grows despite the plastic
coiled at its roots his hand touches the bark there’s warmth.
Its life refusing to retreat from it greatest enemy homoerectus
the weight and menace of opposable thumbs.
If you could be an animal,
Which one would it be?
Which one shares your personality?
Would you be mammal, or amphibian,
Perhaps a reptile, or a fowl,
The strength and memory of an elephant,
Or the wisdom of an owl?
Or maybe one that science says is probably
A branch upon our family tree?
It's anthropologists' contention
That the simian's most like us,
Though that theory's raised an awful lot of dust.
They cite the chimpanzee, especially,
As being anything but dumb,
He has a brain as big as ours
And an opposable thumb.
Of course, if being a monkey's cousin makes you cuss,
Blame Charlie Darwin for the fuss.
Or maybe you'd select a species
That's endangered or extinct,
Each few years the list is adding one or two.
But we'll keep chopping down their habitats
To put up shopping malls,
Apartment homes, and parking lots,
'til one day it befalls
The ones who're left
Will dwindle down to just a few,
And they'll be living in a zoo.
Evolution proves we're better off
As the species that we are,
There's no need to alter chromosomes or genes.
But as the human population here
Continues to explode,
And unless somebody figures
How the excess to unload,
Then it won't matter who we know
Or what our means,
We'll have no choice but be sardines.