Long Respectability Poems
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Charles Bukowski Road Not Chosen
While reading Charles Bukowski poetry
On the metro ride home
Listening to Buddha bar music
On my oh too hip IPod
I begin to see myself as I was
Over 30 years ago when I was merely a bit player
A minor character in a Charles Bukowski poem
A wild young underemployed intellectual
Hanging out in dismal bars and dives all over Asia and California
Hanging with disreputable women and drunks and drinkers
And characters out of his kinds of haunts
A mad poet bard of the underground
A drunken poet in a drunken bum show
That nightly played in his head
Then one day I met the women of my dreams
And went down a different path
A long slow path to respectability
And now 30 years later
I am no longer a wild man
I am still a poet at heart
But I am now also a bureaucrat
In a button down suite
Doing the people's business
Working for the Government
I've become the Man
Sometimes I wonder
Would I have been better off
Going down that another path
Would I have ended up
Somewhere else
Doing something else
Would I have been as happy
Would I have been as successful?
There is no answer that satisfies
The longing in my heart
For that wild thing
That still lurks beneath
It's civilized cover
And I know that I am still
A mad poet at heart
Railing against the injustice of the world
As I work day by day in the belly of the great beast of State
I recall the ancient Chinese saying,
"Confucian during the day while Taoist rebel at night"
Playing out in my head and nightly dreams
In the true American Upper class patrician tradition
I close the book and look out the window
Get off the train, and walk slowly home
And realize I had no choice
But to take the path that I’ve trodden on
And so I put aside my misgivings
And say goodbye to my "Bukowskian"desires
For another night of domestic contentment
Was it worth it all to take the conventional path
And not take the bohemian road to hell and back
I look at my wife and realize
I had no choice, had no choice
But to follow her to the ends of the earth
And beyond by her side as we walked our path
Of shared destiny
Goodbye Charles Bukowski wherever you are
May I meet you in a bar in the next life
And figure out where we should have gone
Until then the drinks are on me.
"I" lends respectability
To extant personality
And offers much to those it serves -
Perhaps more than it should deserve.
Important as this "I" might be
It lacks depth in humility
And sometimes fails humanity
By being its own efigy.
Beyond the realm we know as "I"
Is that which we identify
As beneficial harmony
That honors truth and equity.
It is a place of selfless grace
With neither gender, class nor race;
No self-proclaimed philosophy
Nor strident religiosity.
It prompts no economic scheme
Of gain derived through plan or dream
And holds the harness of the Id
As Ego, superego did.
It gives no thoughtless verity
To "sunshine days" integrity.
Unawed by status or by wealth -
This is the realm of "Beyond Self."
This realm is blessed with keen insight
Enhanced by self-reflection's light
And tests responsibility
In terms of our civility.
Here, selflessness is our just cause
Relying on a moral clause
That accepts human frailities,
Conditions and proclivities.
As a young avid reader
I always read the Introduction or Prologue,
when offered,
to see if this treatise overture
would take me some place I cared to wade through.
As an old avid reader
I always begin with the last chapter
because I may not otherwise have time to get there
Here I listen to learn if it might transport me
to some place I care about and believe in
and might even faithfully hope for
A place I have not yet been
promising a pause
wondering where I might be now
had I only visited earlier.
Biographies are especially telling
as the end where history has brought each writer
to remember what these reassembled lives and thoughts
have felt together
Now replete
unfolded
for all to see and rediscover
how extremes of final stages,
like commencement of embryonic birth,
then infant interests,
seem to land as we began
Withdrawn from adolescent fuss
and middle-aging blunder,
both respectability and revolutionary thunder
So good in our coming to,
and escape from, ripe time
now echoing warnings to intend
to start and end
each new narrative's last chapter first.
I might not have sufficient time
to invest in earlier stages of this story's redevelopment,
especially if the last chapter doesn't resound
at least as health wealthy as my own
last day and night so far
Which I probably should plan
to finish writing soon.
We became blind to His love for us
Failing to honor Him in our worship
His choices now offend us
And our offerings now offend Him
Our hearts refuse to take Him in
So, we go through the motions
For the appearance of respectability
We are hypocrites
Asking Him for His blessing
While dishonoring His name
We have turned back from following Him
Our speech becomes ever more sinful
Showing partiality in His instructions
Showing lack of influence by the Spirit
We are disillusioned
Accusing Him of injustice
Because the wicked are prospering
While our own service to Him is unprofitable
So, we withhold from Him
And become more self-assertive
Dealing treacherously with each other
We are lacking spiritual kinship
Yet, it's because of His justice
We still have space to repent
To return to Him and regain His blessing
To avoid the curse and coming judgment
He will send Elijah before that Day
To break the stalemate
A respectable girl was she; or so she appeared to be
Living alone in her dear little cottage at number seventy three
Each day she left home bright and early, as she walked to the railway station
Awaiting the train she would ponder upon her total transmogrification
Travelling first class to London, dressed in a suit and leather brogues
She was the picture of respectability, but nobody really knows
Heading straight for the club in Soho, where she was paid to perform
Descending the stairs, she took a deep breath, as she completely transformed
Into a girl named Sinitta, where dirty old men queued to meet her
She danced with seven fans and with carefully positioned hands
In her copper coloured wig, for she had nothing else to hide behind
Dancing in a trance, she would escape to her unconscious mind
She danced her eyes shut tightly, giving a zombie like display
Her only way of getting through the dance each working day
Whilst traveling home she calculated monies she would earn
For she had reached her breaking point; it was the point of no return
All monies that she’d earnt so far, went to support her dearest Ma
In the best asylum she could find; for sweet dear souls who’d lost their mind
Written 31st October 2018
Contest No 512
Sponsor Brian Strand
1st placement
Joseph Pujol, Flatulist
1/6/1857 - 8/8/1945
He started working as a baker
And ended up being the same
But for nearly thirty years he
Enjoyed international fame.
Using his natural talent
For quite a long while
He entertained the elite
In his own unique style.
He could break wind at will
With superb sound control
Wore a special pair of breeches
With an appropriately placed hole
And, with a series of tubes
Could play tunes on a flute
Blow out a distant candle
Imitate a duck or coot.
He gave delight to millions
With his travelling show
Cheered and feted wherever
He was invited to go
He couldn’t compete with
The noise of the first Great War
So he retired back to his shop
To become a baker once more.
So, All hail le Petomane
The man who made of it an art,
And added respectability to,
The discreetly dropped fart.
Before crowned heads of Europe
At the height of his glory
Sadly the modern world has
Almost forgotten his story.
The time had passed, they knew too well
when first they fell under true love’s spell
That delight they felt, a-stir in the garden
no longer tolled the arbor bell…
‘Respectability’ had pierced their fairy dreams
exposed them to sundry maudlin whims
rerouted their lodestars toward middling others
knitted them labels of ‘sister and brother’
THE PERIMETER
Leaning against the fence
that divides me from them,
I gaze outward into the
landscape I’m destined to roam.
Behind me, inside the fence,
are sounds of laughter and music,
sounds that don’t exist here,
sounds that never existed here.
I wish I didn’t hear the sounds.
Though I know it’s hopeless,
I turn and start climbing,
but it happens again like
so many times before.
I climb—the fence grows taller,
I climb again, it grows again.
I climb no more, it’s useless.
I can’t get in there, I never could.
I wish I knew the reason why.
Outside the fence, in the perimeter,
is where I’ll stay, obscene rabble
cruelly shunned by the insiders
proud in their narrow virtuous views.
Out here is lonely freedom—
freedom to think,
to feel,
to create,
to live,
unbound by fetters of respectability.
Out here is where I belong.
During last night’s draft coverage, ESPN would reveal
that the Cleveland Browns and Philadelphia Eagles made a deal.
At the last minute, Philadelphia sent their first-round pick
to Cleveland for two Browns choices in a move that was quick.
With pick number twenty-two, the Browns chose Johnny Manziel.
This was a move many Browns fans thought was swell.
Cleveland folks will be happy as hell welcoming him here.
He was the first Heisman Trophy winner in his freshman year.
Johnny hopes to bring the Browns back to respectability this season.
Cleveland is quite happy, and Johnny is the reason.
From a sports news story found on ESPN.com
repugnant racist republican reviled - rickettsia re:itch ruler.
rapaciously ravaged revered reverential rubric.
radical ruthless renegade rapidly riotously rips rigged ramparts.
refrains retaining remnant redolent regal, resplendent rafters.
riches rudely rupture rooted rectified rights.
ruckus ricochets revenant reign.
ratified rattlebrained rules roil reductionism.
rumbustious rapscallions rollick; render ruinous ramifications.
rusty razor razing revenge rents reprisal.
rabid rectal rictus rotten rebrands re-calibrate.
rambunctious revolutionaries rejoice.
ruffians ride roughshod routing reigning royalty.
reiterate revetting robust recidivist rationality.
ride Rolls Royce relentlessly rendering rock ribbing.
riffraff raconteur raise reactionary response.
revisit rancorous restrictive redlined realigned rightward rivets.
robocop ridiculously rubber-stamped reorganization.
recalcitrant reactors release rapture.
rash Russian roulette reconnaissance raconteurs rack rubles.
red room reflects republican RNA.
rap risible rheumy ratiocinated rug-rats revoke righteous refulgent repertory.
rapier robed robbers ransack reliquary resounding retaliation.
retaliatory redcoat regnum reformation remembered.
Rudy robotically recoiling rapprochement
raison d'être rosily revered rifled relics raffled.
rookie raves ripe rackful rubenesque reliably ranked.
refulgent rotundity requisite requirement re: reappointment.
road-tested, roadworthy redeem reapportion routed role.
reprehensible reassignment rapidly recognizes response.
rife rampage removes respectability - respect.
responsible roused restitution refuted.
risky resultant reconnoitering runaway railroad reverberates rivalry.
reflexive ramrod reaction reconfirms redoubling ridding revitalization.
reconfiguration realpolitik reinstates repudiation
rebooting Roosevelt regime reconsidered.
requisition requires resilient reseeding republic.
regrettable riley roars remorseless ribbing.
rare recount restoring recondite renown reprobate Rapunzel.
Republican representatives rejoice reclaiming reins
registering retarded romantic remains
re: Rastafarian revered reliquary rests!