When my brother was fading away,
black chimes signaled for the demons to play.
They attacked all sides of my hobbled mind.
Treating the heart like an orphaned marble
They were rabid and had brackish intentions
Hope chipped away like a crowbar to cement.
In a dream, one of them took me into its sky
I clung tight to its undercarriage
begging for it to release me
It promised that it would if I said
that I loved it...I relented
It didn't keep its promise as expected
and we wrecked together.
I coddled a little amber cross....
(a field mouse in an owl's greying claw).
I was dismissed into a pillow of tranquility
The demons slowly drifting away...
as did my brother the very next day.
.
fathom this fellowz
whilst i try mine
superior
not
tuh twist
yourn
thinks
Her petticoat
Oh sure
she held unto
normal stand'z
yet
the audience found thuh
wonder
why it's cotton
white
sway'd az uh church bell
miss'n it's
rockabilly frilly
habit
Tap
*In Old English “habit" meant attire or dress.
It originated from the Latin “habitus" meaning
appearance.
*The undercarriage of a woman is the pelvic floor,
which is a large, layered muscle sling located at
the base of the pelvis ,)
I am a bonafide certified mommy-fied leader of a dog pack.
They currently sit at my feet waiting to see what we will do next.
Beau our newbie is the only renegade who keeps running from the pack.
He has never had the run of six acres before, and he loves it.
Sophie, our old lady cocker is sedate and stoic…
unless another member gets too close, then she gives a guttural
warning growl.
She is proud to be the matriarch.
Buddy at one hundred and sixteen pounds could take all of us.
But he is a gentle giant, going with the flow, letting the new baby manhandle him.
Beau at five months, attacks his big bro and often
Play biting his leg and his undercarriage.
They run from couch to couch, moving furniture as they go.
I am super proud to be a bonafide certified mommy-fied leader of a dog pack.
It descended hard and hot -
must have been a rookie,
flaps oscillating mightily
correcting overcorrections,
undercarriage lowered and high angled
wings up and wide
spread out for maximum deceleration.
If there had been a computer on-board
it would have been repeating:
"too low - too low,
terrain-pull-up, terrain pull-up!"
but
there was just a solo goose brain at the controls,
and landing on ice in low visibility is always tricky
even for professional flyers.
It came in fast,
no chance of aborting the landing now,
no time for last moment adjustments,
webs touching down, then lifting up
as the impact jolted it airwards again,
Touch-down, yawing badly,
wings now beating the air wildly,
somehow
the bird keeps a shaky balance
as it slews and skids to a rocking half.
The goose immediately
starts preening and shaking-out its tail feathers
as if to say:
"nothing to see here."
The other geese in that same flight
honking loudly,
hard to say if they were cheering
or jeering.
PAPER PLANE
A project with my small son
After so much paper folding
Sharpening important creases
Anticipation slowly increases
Thumb and forefinger holding
First flight testing has begun
He sees me throw the plane
Into the garden’s warm still air
At first it floats and then dives
A sense of freedom in our lives
What’s a wing without a prayer
Swooping down to crash again
Initial plans were crafted well
Launching to fly into marriage
Reminds me what went wrong
All planes land before too long
Skidding with no undercarriage
Flights suspended as you can tell
Dated 26 August 2022
Over the past 20 years, I've seen millions of people
taking small sips of freedom.
In the past two weeks, they're gulping terror again.
Over the past two weeks
I've seen people held against their will.
Desperately crying to be rescued.
Watched them be shut up-beaten up- blown up.
I've watched them plummet from the undercarriage of a rescue plane.
The most disturbing thing is that despite all the
heartache-
humiliation-
misery
rape and death.
There is still one man on this planet who thinks the whole thing was a smashing success...
And that man can't remember why.
A sign in a Japanese hotel, “Please take advantage of our chambermaid”
Sounds like it could quite possibly involve touching her undercarriage
Steady down, friends
It's only pretend
But on leaving, you should thank her for allowing you backstage
The heart of a lion
The soul of a flea
The energy of a gnat
Please do not let this be me
Reaching into my junk drawer
I pick up three items that give me glee
A candy bar wrapper,
And a playing card with a decorated bee.
Dragons in my undercarriage,
Dolphin party in the sea,
This poem is starting to feel jazzy,
It is lively, and it’s free.
I line up the unicorns,
Who are laughing at my knee.
They ask Trixie to join them,
So she dances away with thee.
Her underling muses
Chip and Dale come running to me.
They are dying to write a poem,
So we line up the junk items three.
Let’s make it funny, says Chip
A cut up we all agree.
But Dale wants a sad poem,
So we begin to disagree.
Trixie's assistants laugh at my consternation
And run away you see,
So this is the end of the poem,
Which made me yell a “whee!”
A sign in a Japanese hotel, “Please take advantage of our chambermaid”
Sounds like it could quite possibly involve touching her undercarriage
Steady down, friends
It's only pretend
But on leaving, you should thank her for allowing you backstage
A sign in a Japanese hotel. “You are invited to take advantage
of the chambermaid” sounds like it may involve her undercarriage
Steady down, friends
It's only pretend
But you may want to thank her for allowing you backstage
Street-lights golden nuggets on a plane
I shimmer with anticipation
Aircraft dips left like a soaring hawk
Golden eyes zero in on its prey
Aloft and descending turbulence
Undercarriage open like talons
Binocular vision so alert
As screeching rubber thumps the tarmac
Decelerate adrenal glands pump
Undoing buckles my thoughts floating
About casual normality
Within casual catastrophe
We have naturally come so far
Yet I feel so unnatural here
Aircraft mobiles cars cities and things
Overwhelming sophistication
Better to lie in my earthen bed
Feeling the pulse of my heart beating
Better to be the hawk in the sky
Feeling the wind ruffle through my wings
I'm a big tree and a vast forest,
I shade the undercarriage,
I'm a kid slash florist.
I live to raid any broken marriage.
This is a stick up, give me the goods,
Wonder, get lost and stolen,
This is a trick yet you hide in the woods.
My technique must be golden.
Leak so i can crush your existence and steal your being,
Why does everyone sprint?
I take everything from anything I'm seeing.
Even as soon as they catch my scent.
I feel huge, it takes two blinks to contain my image,
I play on fields that scare,
I play with real lives and call it scrimmage.
Life is a game of chess, check mate, you stare.
Consider the chance meeting of a man and a dog on the street.
The man smiles and smacks his lips – a calming signal to the dog.
The dog, head down, tail at half mast, wonders what this stranger wants.
The man asks if he may pet the dog and the proud parent says sure, but a little hesitant.
He pauses, the dog strains at the leash.
The man squats and smiles and offers the back of this hand below the eyes of the dog.
No threat, no sudden moves, just soft words
and a quick glance at the undercarriage of the dog to determine the correct greeting.
Good boy...nope, Good girl.
The dog knows a dog lover and a possible friend.
The owner stands straight and proud of his four legged child
and the man sees himself in the eyes of the dog
and knows that he, too, would like to be greeted like this
on the street by a stranger, and clicked at, and lips would smack,
and he would be as calm and loved as the beast.
I am a grossly overweight midget
of later years.
I have a penchant for funny women,
the absurd,
and baked goods.
I have 826 thousand dollars in the bank
and a dose of psoriasis.
My personality is that of a freight train
with two, loose wheels.
I must use bag balm
on my undercarriage and
moisturizers on my elbows.
I burn with barbaric breathing and sweat.
My reptile heart is that of a porkyitalian lover.
I can beat out a double-paradiddle on a snare drum,
or compose electronic pieces.
My time is best passed writing,
and romping
with my 4-legged friends.
-----------------------
If you don't already know, ABOUT ME
usually refers to a section of a web site or
BLOG that tells about the author. This is
parody, BTW.
A cool breeze
like the slightest graze
of the recently passed
flows under the shaded thickness
of the ancient woods.
The worn paths,
sunken below
the forest floor
like water forgotten stream beds,
slide naturally
through this wooded sanctuary.
Broken decaying trees
rest upon the strong backs
of the sun reaching ones,
spreading their
immense girth of leaves
allowing the barest of rods of sunlight
to illumin the undercarriage
of this dense growth.
Stillness presses on me,
making me one
and alone
with this placid place.
Ambering down the trail,
knowing what every
touch of movement
and nuance of the environment means.
In the distance
all I see is trunks,
like a never-ending
collection of mirrors
imposing their presence
upon each other
barely acknowledging my passing.
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