Spinning around,
Jumping rope,
Something found,
Gave wonder and hope.
Homework to do,
Grades to earn,
Squabbles brew,
Moody concern.
Research to keep,
Always on the go,
Lack of sleep,
Prideful show.
Life still a mess,
Why am I fat?!
Work in progress,
More than one cat.
Rocking chair,
Sitting out front,
Knowing stare,
Memories confront.
A special place was made for the old red Mack
Right out front of the house with its shiny stack
It earned this space
It paid for this place
Forty years from Ohio to the east and back
Is like saying
“I know my way around every corner, but I’m not allowed to walk through the door”
I lost my first tooth there
And I scraped my knee on the sidewalk out front.
My first cat tommy
Is lying
Bones in the backyard
Grave marked by nothing
But those old dead flowers
I used to live here.
absence makes the heart grow fonder.
This place used to be ours
And if you look
You may be able to find my name
Written on the door frame
Next to a height and age
And the nail sticking out of one of the stairs
That I stepped on
And I fell
And momma put a Band-Aid on the wound in this bathroom
And momma put ice on my head in this bedroom
And kissed me good night under this rattling ceiling fan
and I slept in this old place,
under this cracked ceiling
making faces out of the paint chips
making stories out of the sounds
the fridge
the air conditioner
the cars out front.
I used to live here.
It's my childhood home
But now someone new lives here
I secretly think,
It will always be ours more than anyone else's.
a cooling, refreshing contrast
the others provided a richer smoker
taste
a subtle but effective aromatic depth
a floral a bright, a citrusy, accent
consistent and smooth
each compliments the other
blending the sweet ripe taste
of both cherry and strawberries
Bing Chelan and Sweet Kiss,
Mara des Bois stands out as favorites
Natchez throneless sweetness are to
in consideration as Darrow Ponce or Apache
The Triple Crown stands out front
to provide flavor to the full richness of a blend
A creation of a product to be marveled
the world abroad. The felt jacket
may not have been a great choice
as it collected everything
from pet fur and hair.
“Blood Baths”
by Positive Mark
It’s the battle hymn of the furious,
birthed and composed in the bold minds of the curious.
Blood baths are luxurious.
Trendsetters
carving out grooves for the bed wetters.
Howling at moons, sharpening spoons on their lead fetters.
It’s cold out front, and backlashes sting.
Desensitized by the gospels you sing.
You wail.
You admonish them to stop.
Old prayers sent to Heaven for a new cosmic slop.
Case files opened on a day of judgement.
Those who did it to ‘em, and all those who loved it.
Battle hymns are raised to release the spirit.
Aerosolized blood gets mixed in with the lyrics.
Why are you here?
What were you told?
Scare to die now, or scared to grow old?
Live for salvation or die for the loot?
Kneel for the reaper or shoot?
A “For Sale” sign
stands out front
where once a parish
notice board stood
for a hundred years.
Inside, the pews are gone.
A stark, stripped back space
echoes an absence
occupied now by only wisps
of dust drifting through a shaft
of sunlight, a buzzing blowfly
and a spiders web spun
across a window
as if strung to snare
the frayed wings
of the last
escaping prayer.
I open the oven door
to a blast of heat
and hot bread bulging
out of a high tin, brown, crusty
and ready to be taken out.
That smell wafts across
seventy years to when I can
remember bread being delivered
in a horse and cart.
Carrying a big
wicker basket full of hot bread,
the baker would run
house to house whilst his horse
ambled along at a pace
in perfect sync with the bakers
progress along the street.
Weekday mornings
I would wait out front
and rush the hot bread
inside for my mother to make me
sandwiches for lunch.
Mum always complained
that the bread was too hot
for cutting. I had a steaming
slice smothered in butter
before I left for school.
Big, thick, uneven slices
of bread holding metwurst
or cheese or peanut butter
greeted me when I opened
my lunchbox at school.
Bread was never better.
Nearing eighty, I keep
baking bread, writing poems,
as if trying to recapture
those pleasures still steaming
in the past before they go.
Behind and to your left I'll be
Supporting to the nth degree
I don't care to be out front
To play with you is all I want
Turn around if you're not sure
I'll be back there keeping score
Ready with some affirmation,
Encouragement, and motivation
Worry not, I'm covering
All you have to do is sing
And if you start to feel weary
Come and rest your head on me
I'll hold you and I'll tell you things
Words of love in whisperings
And I'll take care of everything
All you have to do is sing
Fifty years ago...the age of self-reflection
Hollow crumbs, shadows of proud vestiges
As minneapolis' jim crow vanished slowly,
Painfully, no longer admired at country club
Cocktail parties celebrating ribbon-cuttings
My family was inside and unaware of history
Working class achievement,
First deli in marble edifice
To corporate greed,
Connecting the longest Minneapolis
Skyway North to Washington Ave.
Dallas barons, puppet-masters
Guilding their empire on the backs
Of working class talent, eager to eat the
Crumbs of capitalism
Spoon (Mr Witherspoon) slaved to achieve the
Pinnacle of jim-crow "shoe-shine" stands in
Pillsbury's new world headquarters
Admired in his community
Proudly placed out front, then moved
To the back of a hair salon, ignoble-crushed
Under the weight of boardroom glare
jim-crow lost it's shine
Spoon
Lost
His
Leg
4-18-25
5:55am
letter and science
dissect-able fraud in statements as advertised to the press
abuse's of power by poor people to create recession
this is underpinning the news
to prefect the crime knowingly able to.....
post rebuttal after the word of crime is witnessed
public relations
public policy
political relations
Damage control for a politician is the response to bad press. It often takes the form of a press conference or news release that rebuts or provides a positive spin regarding the original bad press. It can be a significant part of a political staff and is often referred to as the Crisis Management Team. Damage control is also we a politician is playing defence in the political arena
from a non profitable transaction being a representative in government and out front of a church in tax certification of tax shelter
these crimes are pivot points from a non free speech
all of this investigative journalism finds this pattern of corruption in time
Dreams
Latest dreams: loaning a
small sum of
money to
the daisy patch on the
east side of
the front yard; at an early stage in
development preaching not elementary language to
claylike people; watching expressionlessly bark and
stick ****; furthering the cause of
adverse effects (it’s better to not live a
lie); encouraging the black birds on
the cement path out front to
never go after
money, benefit, profit, power, and
so forth by
unprincipled means.
so that was a shot of pure sunshine
that sublime symphony of
of what
they told me the smokes would pass the time or the test of
never was much for,
but she seemed to have other plans
yeah that blue smoke haze it
drifts down through the dingy back
alley the one with the dumpster
round the corner
it was pure night hawks
out front
this place where the shots are
cheap and they keep em moving
pancakes you name it sky high
broad daylight
this broad, but still you can feel it
couldn’t help but feel like
sure I’ve been,
we were like that
once maybe
that joint, the robot made us
double shots while we smoked
and you talked
it was something sweet I think
poingniant and loving
thats what you said
right.
And all that’s left is what ‘
I so choose and its like that
we stay
in an unending
Muniz motoring down the track
object of affection, heating up
performance wheels. Not
predicated on subjective analysis,
but merely his speed and placement
in the race. No acting required,
just talent, practice, showing up.
Will he be a superhero one day,
admired by all ages? For now,
his stage is kicking up dirt, and
oh yes, he has an audience.
Will he be Malcolm in the Middle
or way way out front. What’s the tell?
Soon he’ll be on the leaderboard
with his full time occupation.
He is over the top excited
to be putting foot to the pedal
in the Nascar Craftsman
Truck Series, seriously!
We will have to
keep an eye
on this young man.
With only twelve keys
the music commands
Some white and some black
their harmony grand
Scoring the melody
eternal and free
Whether Quincy or Frank,
Prince, Peggy, or me
Heaven the audience
Angels out front
Truth for a drummer
Sandalphon conducts
All time in abeyance
the chorus in song
Both gates swinging open
—the silence is gone
(The New Room: April, 2023)
walking out front door
what a grand feat in itself
faced with spiders web
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