Harmony was missing in the breezy hills,
lonely paths were gleaning with fresh rain;
eagles owned the chilly, noiseless heavens:
stillness reigned over the barren terrain!
Then a slender boy sprung from the creek,
he carried his backpack bending his spine;
he skipped school to explore another peek:
the steep climb was mentioned in his zine!
Three days after spring broke its dissonance,
the finches and the geese began their flight;
bewildered Bob watched them in blazing light:
sprightly skies regained their magnificence!
Could another kid be happier than he would?
He whistled and hummed, each small discovery
was a joy and he paused to taste tranquility;
close to sunset, he headed back to his world!
Harmony was missing in the breezy hills,
lonely paths were gleaning with fresh rain;
eagles owned the chilly, noiseless heavens:
stillness reigned over the barren terrain!
Then a slender boy sprung from the creek,
he carried his backpack bending his spine;
he skipped school to explore another peek:
the steep climb was mentioned in his zine!
Three days after spring broke its dissonance,
the finches and the geese began their flight;
bewildered Bob watched them in blazing light:
sprightly skies regained their magnificence!
Could another kid be happier than he would?
He whistled and hummed, each small discovery
was a joy and he paused to taste tranquility;
close to sunset, he headed back to his world!
in memory of my great friend
Rudi Rubberoid
Grossialdo! Grossialdo!
Rip the face off Uncle Waldo!
Scare that fellow once too often!
Nail 'im in a wooden coffin!
Plant 'im nicely six feet under!
Leave 'im there and let 'im wonder!
Dig 'im up when heartbeat ceases!
Cook 'im for his giggly nieces!—
Yuk! Old Waldo's brain is oozy!
I can't look! It makes me whoozy!
Ship the corpse to Colorado!
To his mother! GROSSIALDO!
.
[This poem first appeared in a mail artist magazine edited by Rudi Rubberoid, Nomo the Zine Spring 1994. It was collected in my volume Daisy Zoo and Other Punk-ass Nonsense.]
A Controlled Reply to a Skinhead's Brain
Just when I thought some real evolution
Of moral thinking
Just might be taking place these days,
I run across this Neo-Nazi piece of crap
Masquerading as a poem,
Shrieking wanly in an open, small-press 'zine.
This fool blames the ills of the world
On "World Jewry" - the old, rusted-out line
Of his Volk.
Ah, well - simple things for simple minds.
I'm glad I finally got past actively hating your kind;
Why give you fuel to feed your blindness?
Now you just excite my pity,
You wastes of skin, skinheads.
Sorry you ejected your brains,
Like seaslugs, who don't need 'em;
Sorry that you choose to live on the bile of your hate,
Sorry for your infantile pains,
And sorry that you can't appreciate
This free society
That lets you parade your ignorance
For all the world to see.
The wind blew exactly right
For the flying of a kite.
Kites were nearly everywhere:
In telephone wires
And high in the trees,
One or two were in the air,
Blowing ever higher
On a gentle breeze.
Then all at once the wind increased;
It blew and blew, it hardly ceased,
Pulling all the kites so high
Into the clouds,
How high they go!
Pulling children in the sky,
Above the crowds
That watch below!
Children hanging by kite strings,
Dangling over homes and things,
Higher, higher, beyond sight,
Each child dangled from a kite.
Then there was a change in the weather.
The wind stopped blowing altogether.
Children fall, down they drop, one and all,
Plop…plop…plop.
This is another poem from the ongoing series "Lucifera's Questionable Daycare Poems and Stories." It previously had very minor publication in Pamela Olsen's mail art compilation zine The P&E Newsletter volume 2 number 9, October 1993.
When taking a bath in the tub
The first thing you'll notice, if you stay in too long,
Is how your fingertips shrivel.
Then, as you rub and scrub,
You might see bits of skin coming off your legs and arms
And you begin to grow little.
Some children pay no attention
To the warning signs I mention;
They stay in the bathtub all afternoon,
Until they start to dissolve.
They get smaller and smaller and smaller
Until they're far too small to holler;
They get wrinklier and wrinklier and pretty soon
They've shrunk so much there's nothing left
Except a ball of wrinkled skin
Where once a healthy kid had been.
This wrinkled skin is dyed blue
And sold in the store as a prune.
"How Prunes are Made" was in Nomo the Zine, November 1991, and was reprinted in The Ratty's Gazette 8, 1995. It is a poem in the ongoing series "Lucifera's Questionable Daycare Poems and Stories."
O, little birdy,
haven’t you heardy?
You will be plucked today.
Cooing and lovin'
soon in the oven
baked on a silver tray.
Glazed honey sweetened
you will be eatened
served on a plate e'er long.
So, little birdy,
O!, little birdy,
sing to me one last song.
“O! Little Birdy!” was in Rudi Rubberoid’s NOMO THE ZINE, January 1992; then in THE RATTY'S GAZETTE 8, 1995. It was gathered into my chapbook collection LAKE OF THE DEVIL: POEMS OF MOROSITY AND JEST (Seattle: Duck's-foot Tree Productions, 1995) limited to 75 copies.
of mice an men aye n'er doth quit
dialing countless times google
fascinating to this human caboodle ling kit upon porcelain goddess,
most brilliant ideas congeal in me mind, and thou' loo pee did lit
this sole seasoned bugs bunny car tune character son of kit
soon after traipses superhighway road viz imagination
fired with fleeting thoughts that hit
sweet soft spot futilely attempt to net ideas in me mind flit
i yam a poet favoring words that rhyme a bit!
iambic pentameter strands crochet themselves magically con verse
interleaving like boughs of - arbor shielding this solitary soul
wherein shafts of sunlight dapple cerebral canopy
affecting dark shadows at the edge of night to disperse
from outer limits of the twilight zone
ebbing and flowing in tandem & nsync
with circadian metronome this trolling
troubadour lost in space transformed
into edenic serenade from Mother Nature
while unseen terrestrial oeuvre
reassures don’t fear the reaper’s scythe silent curse.
Mid-Ohio Valley Poetry E-Zine was officially published on May 6, 2013 at www.ezinespace.com. Those interested in accessing the ezine need to have permission from the owner Marvin D. Schrebe. Subscriptions to the e-zine are ten dollars per year. Send a check or money order to Marvin D. Schrebe, 1208 Latrobe Street, Parkersburg WV 26101-4522.
Hypothetically
we have seen the
last of that
zine
If we remember
anything
It is a few
good lines
of poetry
which were printed
in its pages
Did they urge one
to convert to anything?
Some political
philosiphy
Or perhaps a
new age religion?
No, just a few l
lines
To relieve
the angst
which (of course!) we all feel
first day of the year
a snowflake falls
onto my shawl
Visit: LYRICAL PASSION POETRY E-ZINE http://lyricalpassionpoetry.page.tl
Shows about reality
Get my news from MTV
Ugly people everywhere
Kids today just don't care
Where's the passion where's the fun
Video games eclipse the sun
Online conversations rule
The internet's our research tool
End of times? Have to wait and see
Things today so literally
Tsunami here, earthquake there
Freaky weather everywhere
Why's this poem got to rhyme
No problem man I've got the time
Got your gold card, big SUV
Welfare generosity
No more teachers, no more books
E-zine publishings the hook
Find the paper, find the pen
Find your niche, your call, your zen
Talk to people get a clue
Don't let it be the end of you
Get a job, take a chance
Grab some rythym, bust a dance
Try a new thing, remember the old
Be a big baby when you catch a cold
Pamper yourself, flatter your friends
You won't find yourself alone in the end
Hope you like it, hope you care
At least I had the strength to dare