They move through the maze,
Papers wavering like
thin-skinned truth,
Each signature a quiet uprising
Against the slow- grinding
Manuel Materials
That call themselves order.
Their voices catch on procedural
irritants
Cracked syllables lagged
Across desks,
Needs folded into Manila envelopes
That wander office to office
Like pilgrims pleading for
Charity.
Red tape coils around them-
A serpent made of statues,
A ribbon intertwined from regulations,
A binding charm diffuse by
Hands
That promise representation
But deliver hesitation.
Paper pushers sit behind the
Writing desks,
Shuffling lives like loose
Documents,
Moving stacks instead of
Solutions,
Measuring urgency in forms
And stamps,
Instead of human obligations
Still they push forward,
Bearing the bulk of civic expectations,
That drag of political formality,
The discomfort of being heard
Only after being processed.
And in the end,
Their persistence becomes revelation-
Proof that even disordered
Systems
Cannot silence a people
Who declines to be filed away.
measuring
masking
duct
Scotch
painters
carpenters
tape
tapeworm
tape firm
tape recording
tape rewarding
wordplay
word say
tape
Tape Measure
The very deep breathing of
the tape measure continues to
affect my
USB holders cha-cha rehearsals.
Sticky Tape
My sticky tape roll has an air of
snobbery and
unforgiveness about
her.
Turn up the radio and ...
It's the same ol' situation,
The same songs, same band
That raised my generation
That was then, this is now
Nothing's changed but my age,
And four numbers, somehow
On a calendar's page ...
It happened again today
In the store where I shopped,
In the restaurant, I heard it play
Proving the 80's never stopped
That was then, this is now
O, to revive a faded fad,
If we never forget how
Good times can still be had
Life, like a cassette tape
With two sides, was designed,
From Side A, Side B can't escape
If you just press rewind ...
What do you do when duct tape won’t fix it?
Y’know, when that “I got this” attitude is shattered
When it’s not things, or stuff, or “errors”
That require the questionable solutions of the “fixer”.
Souls are hard to comprehend and come without service manuals
No graphics or guidelines, no “call this number” bailout.
And yet they fail, suffer breakage, weaken with time
Outlive their expiration dates, idly linger.
Daybreak’s sun rises dimmer and fades to futility
As darkness intrudes into a vacant emptiness.
My tool box is useless, its contents befuddled
By an invisible break, an un-noticed fissure,
The silent slide into a dreaded abyss
Of distance, doubt, disconnection.
I am the duct tape and I cannot fix it
Save to cover my eyes and deny its presence.
Santa’s workshop was full of singers of every kind of voice.
The loudest one that sounded like gravel was my cousin Joyce.
She was wrapping and humming, and they all sang along.
We are in the best holiday mood! Said the happy elf throng.
They are off key a listening robin said as he stopped to peek.
We don’t care, it is unity, peace, love and harmony we seek!
The robin left, and a heavenly messenger, a red cardinal flew in
Let’s take it from the top, he said. Your voices are all a win!
Life can be funny when one can't see, an opportunity to view things quite differently...
My daughter flew in recently from out west to visit me.
One dark, rainy day we went to the mall.
I was buying her some clothes as I recall..
We entered one store where the lighting was poor.
I browsed around as she shopped some more..
In the middle of the store was a glass display with
a variety of flowery fragrant sprays, to help women
smell good in delightful ways...
I glanced at the counter and then looked down.
I was quite puzzled at what I had found..
The thought didn't linger long in my head, so
out loud "your selling fudge" I quickly said..
The clerk laughed, "it's not fudge", so feeling
bewildered my shoulders I shrugged.
"It's bra tape" she giggled as she informed me.
Now this is some thing I might just want to see.
How does one use it for goodness sake and how
much bra tape will it take??
This world is full of surprises for little old me.
I learned some thing new at almost 73.
There was an old man from Missouri.
Biting his nails, he tended to worry.
Taping his fingers to stop the bad habit,
he switched to candy wherever he could grab it,
and once he was full, he always got purry.
Sex tape
Touch my heart
And free me from this needs
I have been watching you
You look lonely
Let me be your friend
Allow me closer to your heart
Cos your beauty is amazing
Despite your sad looks
You still shines like a morning star
You are the light in my mirror
Each time each moment I see you
I feel blessed to find a princess
In a cold world
Just let me be your friend
Allow me closer to your heart
You are the star
I wish to bear
My love for you
Will never die
You are my desire
You are my satisfaction
I love you till the end of time
Sex tape
The night can't be sweeter
With you
Your sweat still roll down
On my heart
All night long
I felt the heat of satisfaction
This is a dream come through
This is better than a miracle
Nothing feel better than love
Finally my wish comes through
And now I got my eye on you
Like a horny man watching a
Sex tape
My love for you
Will never die
You are my desire
You are my satisfaction
I love you till the end of time
Where are those beautiful moments?
Yes, I have heard that asked before.
Can a moment be captured, recorded?
Even on a camera?
A tape recorder?
Would you look at it,
hear it,
feel what you felt
when you felt it?
Perhaps this morning conjured magic
but is now just that moment -
yes, something I felt
merely felt, then.
That is in the past tense.
(May 2022)
They examined me with tape measures in their eyes as I entered
superimposing famous female faces over my own in their minds
like pictures printed on clear plastic sheets
placing one atop another onto an overhead projector
my teachers used years ago in the classroom
contemplating the magic of makeup
the limits of lighting
I could see in their stares what I’d learned to recognize
though the expression on their faces
remained stoic as if carved from cool, smooth marble
True talent was to them a secondary consideration
It wouldn’t matter in the least how well I delivered the lines
interpreted the character or set the scene
Audiences are apathetic to a poor performance
if the actress is sweet enough eye candy
I was more on the savory side like sage
used to spice up the flavor of roast turkey and dressing
I gave it my all anyway as I always did
though I already knew the outcome would be the same
They’d forget my name and number the moment
I passed through the door behind me back out on the street
my phone playing the part of a medieval monk in a monastery
who had hidden himself away from the world
taking a vow of silence
Stereo Typical G.I.
David J Walker
Admittedly
I was way to easy
The stereo typical G.I.
The guy Willing to buy
The cool green Lights in a
Teakwood box connecting
Overpriced
Hi-Fi
Speakers to a
Belt drive
Turntable connecting to an
Open reel really cool tape deck
But what the heck
It’s only one paycheck
Every month to month for six months
Dead broke alone in a barracks
Full of other fools
With stereo’s and
No place else to go
Or money
To buy new records
If you care to look in your cupboards,
You might doubt being out of bed,
As all you will see is red.
If you rush to the bathroom cupboards,
For something to keep you out of bed,
You may start to wonder if you are dead,
As all you find there is red,
If you dare to open more cupboards,
You may well end up under the bed,
Where you will find only more red.
When you have opened all your cupboards,
And established you are indeed out of bed,
Proof that you are alive not dead,
But have cupboards full of tape that is red.
Now will you clean out your cupboards,
When you come out from under the bed,
And stop acting like a bureaucrat who only uses tape that is red.
If you care to restock your cupboards,
Instead of going back to bed,
You will no longer think you are dead,
Your family will be well fed,
And you will no longer be seeing red.
My brother found an old cassette
Recorded several weeks
Before our father died and yes,
My dad both laughs and speaks.
There was no voicemail then and so
My mother did record
A little message; thereby
Both their voices have been stored.
My mom talks first, with updates
On my father’s health; I’d bet
They had no clue how dire
The situation soon would get.
A visit to the doctor next;
My dad was short of breath.
In three weeks’ time, we’d get the call
To tell us of his death.
Despite today’s technology
And knowledge we’ve amassed,
What’s magical to me is hearing
Voices from the past.
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