well drill baby drill
the earth’s but a glory hole~
digging our own grave
Did you go
to the gym
the Poet asked
Or just write
weakened
the verse untasked
The vowels and
consonants
stay unflexed
With words
atrophic
— their muscles vexed
(The New Room: December, 2024)
The clown, yes, a clown, she did stop for gas.
Surprised, yes, I was. I saw her through glass.
With sparkle of hues,
And squeak of her shoes,
The clown, yes, a clown, did step out for gas.
So far, the reddest river
But does not flow forever:
A coursing through enclosures
Vessels furnishing closures…
For journeys should Heart Pump thank:
They would cease, if The Heart Sank
To be left a congealed mass
While owners eyes ‘doomed shut glass…’
Lots of information stores,
Not the same a saint’s and a whore’s;
Medics who checked the river
Could pick out one with fever…
Many things run in the blood,
Some of them unleashed ‘foul flood’
The Best from this Red Fluid ‘Gift’
Which from parents did lift…
On robes Automatic Stain -
Their wearers always in pain:
Means they should face the way home
And for replacement dress comb.
While dealing with blood: gloves,
For even he that one loves.
Pump on, lest death may play its part,
with weight of sin or righteousness.
It is not ours, this beating heart.
Indeed, when schemes may fall apart,
though souls be gripped by frightfulness.
Pump on, lest death may play its part.
And though the wiles of a sweetheart,
her leave to cause much woefulness.
It is not ours, this beating heart.
Or when death nears, and angels dart,
seek not redress for life’s caress.
Pump on, lest death may play its part.
All things forever from the start,
are linked as one through timelessness.
It is not ours, this beating heart.
Life is but hues of nature’s art,
not bound to whims of false noblesse.
Pump on, lest death may play its part.
It is not ours, this beating heart.
Ram pump going
ka-thunk, ka-thunk
Water flowing
ka-thunk, ka-thunk
Rain’s not slowing
ka-thunk, ka-thunk
Spray still throwing
ka-thunk, ka-thunk
It’s good knowing
ka-thunk, ka-thunk
Uphill rowing
ka-thunk, ka-thunk
Still mind-blowing
ka-thunk, ka-thunk
Summer growing
ka-thunk, ka-thunk
Berries showing
ka-thunk, ka-thunk
Who’d a-thunk?
Looking at the need
They devolved the
means to which they
Would create
Examining detail and
Formulating plans to
Create that which needed
To be.
Which needed change and
Structure
Which needed fabrication
and making
In full respect of each other's
abilities and short comings
they labored to plan
With full detail
Calculating every minute
From man power
and machine hours
Beyond the boundary of
Not knowing
To scale within the realms
Of the mechanics and
Sciences trusted and truthed
All there were in the agreement
Of creation
The work in progress
Encouraged by the nessicity
Of need
A very crucial thing this is, this part of the greater whole
It hides, quiet, in the wings, so vital this thing
Never seen yet works so hard, does its job, day after day
Circulating, delivering, controlling the demands
Sometimes we need slow, or fast, it is taken for granted
And then it ages, develops flaws, performance gone
So, we slow up, until it fails and all comes to stop
Marooned, mired, our voyage ends
If lucky we can replace it, come back to life
Our journeys dictated by a high pressure pump
Aug 2021
THE SILENT PUMP ORGAN
This wooden brown spinet…
it waits in a back room
in this Clovis museum
till someone can fix it.
Played at a home or church?
Its last song?
How long must it stay voiceless,
its last song
played in a home or church,
till someone can fix it?
In this Clovis museum,
it waits in a back room,
this wooden brown spinet.
This is a palindrome poem (Last line is the same as the first line, penultimate same as the second, etc.), first published in Medusa's Kitchen.
Water Hand Pump
I wonder whence the pipe goes?
Underground Niagra, Mississippi or Caspian Sea?
Working the Up-Down Handle like Punching a PIN,
A Subterranean ATM of Cool Crystal Quench,
Sometimes the Handle Ignores Rapid Work,
Just as Licking a Stamp, I Have to Prime,
Give to Get, Down Goes Wet, Up Comes Sublime,
As If Sensient, What Goes Around, It Understands,
Physics Doesn't Play Games, Invest the Good,
Even Salt Water Brings Up the Sweet,
Not Machine Psychology but Leather Swelling,
Sealing the Gap Between Bucket & Sub-Dwelling.
Now Primed, Pumping Towards the Ground,
Creates Cavity 'Tween this World & Maybe Hell,
A Spurting Fountain Results from the Well.
If Only All Life Were Clear & Transparent,
Nature's Dignity Comes from Innocence,
In Figuring Things Out, I Stand More Erect,
Glimpsing, Enacting Cause & Effect.
If your gas tank is empty,
Unless you're inept,
You can fill it yourself
In all places except...
Oregon and New Jersey
Where you're not allowed.
If you tried, you would certainly
Be disavowed.
It's a mystery why
Such a law's on the books.
Likely some politician's
In debt to some crooks.
So when I'm in New Jersey,
In gas lines I'm stuck.
Though the prices are better,
It's not worth the buck.
pump em’ full of roids
don’t give a *****about baseball,
don’t care about basketball,
could give a **** about football,
could give a piss about the Olympics
& i wouldn’t watch the Tour de France if
you paid me,
but i know one thing---
if i was one of these schmucks who
shell out an arm & a leg
for a seat in the stands to watch the
pituitary cases run round on a field
in their little uniforms,
i would want my pituitary cases
pumped full of roids,
writhing with performance enhancing
drugs &
buzzing with stimulants of all shapes &
sizes,
because i would want my goddamned
money’s worth---
all of these athletes who used &
succeeded, surpassing the sloths who
chose not to, are the real
entertainers &
is that not what these muscle bound
maniacs
get paid to do?
entertain us mother****ers!
entertain us
&
worry about what all the drugs did to
your body,
when you’re sitting home,
old, senile &
surrounded by trophies.
speak out
silence hangs
unproductively
*if you are not part
of the solution, you're part of the problem
act with mercy and kindness but, do act non-the-less
you were born with mind and spine, so soldier on doing what needs be done
2,3,5,11,13,17
*Philosophy Of Eldridge Cleaver [1935-1998]
In a world that is just Go, Go, Go
sometimes I have to yell "Slow, Slow, Slow"
A sunrise is slow, so is the sunset
for everyone rushing you should let,
the colors trap you like a fish in a net.
Today youth wants age, and Age wants youth
Look All the make-up creams as my proof
My brother is so small, but he can't wait,
until he blowing the candles to his 18th cake
I tell him, "It's okay to pump the brakes."
See, rith now it's fine for you to play in dirt
Years later, you'll cuss when it's on your shirt
The bills on the counter will make you grow enough
and empty gas tanks makes life really rough
Not to mention filling the house with expensive stuff.
They say life is highway, no it's the autobahn
you have to cut people off just to get on
Nowadays it's give me, give me, then let me take
slow down everyone, please pump the brakes
One day, there'll be no more birthday cakes.
I need to boast on all the blogs I own and write you see,
That I am a diverse writer of creativity!
~
I need to enhance my ego of mine for all to view,
I need the self esteem high that is all mine and so due!
~
I need to make sure you know I write intelligently,
This calms and soothes my demons inside of me.
~
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