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J.R. Wren-Ingalls Poem
Globby pearls, dog smiles
Huge glasses, make-up, high heels
Sunlight on eggshell
Copyright © J.R. Wren-Ingalls | Year Posted 2019
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J.R. Wren-Ingalls Poem
“Deep, deep, deep. Listen and hear our faint gait.
Sanitation, fluorescent lights, and a PC pillow for smother.
Agree! Agree! Atone! Suck it in and suff-o-cate.
White-ness. Black. Ev’ry creed, faith, and color. Listen to Nanny State and call her your mother.”
A wilting flower and grass that’s mowed
Are ever learning why the wilt and why the harm
Innovation, creativity, and where Americana once flowed
Abandoned by the Deep as “fly over” and robbed and made empty the house and the farm
Nude, nude hush in the cellar and the hand can’t hold the gavel
“Trade with China, take arms to China. In Syria sustain the war.
Rude, rude, rude! Abuse of power and a ban on travel.”
Rightful tariffs to the farmers and the market still tends to soar
“Bully the one we call a bully or brute.
A triggered, flying milkshake will save a safe space.
‘You get out and make a crowd!’ You fight! You punch! -- You loot!
And if you see his son about, spit in his face and invade the place.”
Knowledge of good and evil, and the tree from which it sprang
Covet, covet, corrupt in Kiev; greed was found a-Bidden
An Arkansas mansion mem’ry and sight on the oval did haunt and did pang
An outsider, and drainage of septic forbidden
“The farmers don’t want handouts or charity.”
But past year’s labor sets this year’s price
And The Salt of the Earth today will have clarity
The cream off the barrel of tariffs is their due, and the tycoon’s not calling it “nice”
“I’ll still call you a hater. You deplorable vulture!
Because the map in November robbed us our due!”
It’s not 'the other' we hate; it’s your stainless-steal culture
You polled the what, -- (here a hint and a Midwestern clue)
you owned the what, but Deep, my dear, you forgot about us and left sour the Who.
Warm, warm, yellow warm incandescent nourishes
Blue, blue, sterile, starving, hopeless erie --essence
Nanny off the hitch and hands uncuffed --a dirt road gives and flourishes
With the death of equity and the light of equality. And the tapestry shall dawn irid--escence
The long bulb dies along the edges and fringes
Clinical, global culture to the bin
The gate has fallen off its rusted hinges
And the incandescent will win.
Copyright © J.R. Wren-Ingalls | Year Posted 2019
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J.R. Wren-Ingalls Poem
Blue Light Bulbs and a Bottle of Bleach and The Incandescent Must Win
(part 1)
By: J.R. Wren
A wilting flower and a blade of grass
No presumptions of the way things ought to be
Feeding plenty on light through a tinted glass
Patiently waiting and resting in what it means to be free
“Steal, Steal, Steal. Make it up and patch it.
Feel. Feel Feel. Facts don’t matter and from all myth gleans.
Reel. Reel. Reel. Fish it in and match it.
Lies from the lounge and drunken dither. -- Our ends will justify the means!”
Knowledge of privilege and equity to learn
Servers, red phones, and Benghazi aflame
Crossbones, Chicago, Philly and -- -- Her turn!
“She will win! She will win!” Crumpling papers did proclaim
Deep, deep, deep. In plain sight -- a hidden gate
“He doesn’t win. Right? -- -- Right? ---Isn’t that right?
Steep, steep. Drip from a leaking deep state
What's fusion? It's cash stowed in the store late into the night
A wilting flower and that blade of grass
May not have thoughts of what ought to be
But the Deep aim to crash through lids of glass
The steady, sure swap of twenty-one to rid of sovereign - ty
“Steal. Steal. Steal. Lick it up and stamp it.
Feel. Feel. Feel. Feed the Feds and nothing of the Deep careens
‘Real. Real. It’s real!’" TALL thinks FISA won’t catch it.
“Checked (not checked) but might be confirmed!” And the judges are part of the means
They say “check your privilege” and “equity’s sublime.”
But the phone kept ringing and a message was left
Equality and equity can’t be done at the same time
Not by the color of my skin, but a perfect dream left bereft
A blooming rose and a patch of grass
And a new child doesn’t carry what the elders see
Feeding plenty on light with no prejudice of gold or brass
Seeing no difference between daffodil or lily
Hare over turtle “and beware the snitching fox!"
“Feel, feel,feel for all our shadow’s past."
A broken doll in an empty box.
Lemon spiel and Meadow’s blast
An abrasive sponge and a bottle of bleach
Fluorescent morgue lighting - “ask for their consent!
The clinical culture is calculated for all and for each”
Ballots appear. Nanny will fear. “And soon we’ll get you out of that tent.”
Copyright © J.R. Wren-Ingalls | Year Posted 2019
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J.R. Wren-Ingalls Poem
An old hotel in Portland
Rain hitting street lamps
The buzzer
Click
Surveillance camera
“Can I get a room?”
It used to be called the "Burnside Triangle" back when it was still gay
Bump Bump da Bump da bump
Nightclubs bangin’
Young twinks in their twenties
They chat and drink
The hopeless live upstairs
By flickering neon sign
An old hotel in Portland
“That’s $40”
“Will I be directly above the”
Bar of soap, towel, and remote
“These aren’t already in the room?”
When will she leave!
Needle, syringe, just waiting on
Tar on the street shines with Oregon rain. Back when Stark Street used to be Gay
Waiting in the room
Bulb lacking a cover
Ugly fluorescent
Bed bugs and the dark lady
Getting sick
Waiting on
“Dope! Man that’s dope!
We can get some E in Chinatown”
Twinks downstairs ain’t waiting yet
Their day will come
It’ll come like it did for me and now,
Still waiting on that great fall in the
“Elevator?
Is there an elevator here?”
When will she leave!
An obstacle in the way
I am out of rhythm
I wait! And wait
Arrival
Buzzer
Click
Door
Water
Melt
Cotton
Slam
Ellipses
.
.
.
Okay. I’m rockin’ and rollin and feelin’ human
The rhythm of life has come back
I try not to think about the jones that’s a lumin’
For now, I see gems in this shack
“It’s still happenin’ here on the Burnside Triangle.”
I say to a street urchin bummin’ a smoke.
“I don’t see it no more” the cigs bob and dangle
“Well Scandies is still bumpin’ and the bar’s filled with folk.”
“This place is just a shadow of what it used to be.” he said walking away
Gotta get back upstairs and fold the sheets for the people that work during the day
It’s called Harvey Milk now, which means that it used to be gay
It happened to Union Avenue before gentrification, now it’s call M.L.K.
Copyright © J.R. Wren-Ingalls | Year Posted 2019
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J.R. Wren-Ingalls Poem
Snow, mountains, white horse
Flop side to side, bounce and flop
Majestic bumbling king
Copyright © J.R. Wren-Ingalls | Year Posted 2019
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J.R. Wren-Ingalls Poem
Crumpling Paper
By J.R.Wren
Caw, Caw, the voice is rusty and the fry will always be true
The crows don’t know a suit, a camera, nor a comma splice
War Machine MSNBC has messy hair and forgot to tie their shoe
Tariff money, the farmer’s due, and the Tycoon’s not calling it “nice.”
“Don’t tell them that story yet; they won’t understand it.
What’s the format today? Are we mixing in op eds with obituaries and news?
We call it a ‘narrative’ today, and we look for the Monk to help us to land it.”
Talking heads continue to spin, and War Machine still needs to tie that shoe.
“Sit on the truth, till the snitching fox and voice-fried crow calls our hand”
Crumpling paper says they do the same job -- same, same, like a clone’s clone
“We don’t get leaks from the Deep, it’s all honest reporting we demand.
Now report it before we get had!” And CNN is early at the driveway of Roger Stone
Caw, caw, the voice is rusty and the fry will give a clue
Salt of the Earth have spoken, and they leave the tabloids on the table
Crumpling paper, and War Machine too, MSNBC, tie your shoe!
The deep hates, just hates, that a new mind is the thing to make us stable
And Foghorn will be red-faced again if they continue to ignore the Who
Crumpled paper, stop telling us WHAT, and start thinking about us and the WHO!
Copyright © J.R. Wren-Ingalls | Year Posted 2019
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J.R. Wren-Ingalls Poem
The Wheel of Worry
The whirl of the wheel whistles as it whisks
A ferris wheel of blades, shame,
Every bad memory and accusation
“You’re a loser.”
Discard
Let it keep whirling
It has to say
Something true
The wheel goes on, but the patient warrior waits
“You’re a loser. You’re a flake.
You let people down all the time.”
Discard, discard, toss to the pile
“The landlord’s gonna throw you out.”
Uh huh. Keep dealing
“The rent’s due, and you can’t make it.”
Fact! Hold that card! The rent’s due!
Action! A phone call.
Side work tomorrow and cash in the bank
Gremlins on the wheel
Fear and worry meant to paralyze
“Covid-19. Massive death in Italy.”
Discard
“Maybe you can’t breathe.”
God has not given me the spirit of fear
“What about your family?”
But the spirit of love, power, and a sound mind
Fear discarded and faith overwhelms
Action! A prayer.
In his presence is the fullness of joy.
God inhabits the praises of his people. Praise is action!
Action! Social distance and leave toilet paper
This not done once, but done every day
Until the last card is tossed
And the disease is spent
And a virus washed away
Copyright © J.R. Wren-Ingalls | Year Posted 2020
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J.R. Wren-Ingalls Poem
Jones
Day
Unwelcome sun
Wait
Wait
Wait
“Hey Claire, see if that old queen next door’s got anything.”
“I don’t think she’s up yet.”
“I will give five bucks for a rinse.”
Wait
Wait in a parking lot
Wait
A man at the hotel
Nodding off
Hugging himself
Ignoring
Everyone in the building
On the street
I hate him
Why do I hate him
I hate him
I hope he falls down those
Arrival
Buzzer
Click
Door
Water
Melt
Cotton
Slam
Maybe 3 minutes and I don’t think I can get there
I can’t get well
7 balloons
Kids birthday party, present but not there
And oxy
Lighter
Desk
Crunch crunch crunch
sniff
The rocket launches off the pad, and it looks like it will get beyond the point it was last time it was there, and just at that moment, when you think you will get there...that you will get into that space you were at the first time, gravity pulls you back down to the earth. Not where you were before the launch, but further, you fall so much it pulls you into the floor. So much, you look up at the back of the floor.
I hate that old man because he shows me it’s possible. It’s possible to not die young, and to live long enough in that hopeless dance to really be old and alone and still want to get high. Still try to get there, but not. I hated him.
Tired
I give
Can’t do it no more
Time
Veins scream
Blood craves
But it’s okay
Ellipses
.
.
.
Copyright © J.R. Wren-Ingalls | Year Posted 2019
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J.R. Wren-Ingalls Poem
Up, down, manji gamei
Flack on shoulders, somersault
Quadruple full flip
Copyright © J.R. Wren-Ingalls | Year Posted 2019
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J.R. Wren-Ingalls Poem
“Now listen to Nanny, while the nurse gives you a shot.
I’ll tie your hands fast, so you can’t throw a swing.
Potion injected will tend to burn hot.
Like and consider all people. And now go into the ring.”
“Would you like to come and stay at my neighbor’s house?
Partake of his food and sleep in his bed?
You can watch their TV and wear his wife’s blouse.
And we can tax them again, once they are dead.”
“No vetting, no carding, no forms to siv. Pass the suckers in the visa line and find a place to live!
Red rover, land rover, voter come over, and ballots? -- They’re mailed in the Fall.”
State, oh Nanny Great, that’s not your gift to give
“Free Pre-K , meds, carousels and goodies on pallets for all!”
“We never got anything right. Land raiders and trailblazing wagons
Went up the dirt road and settled and never would leave them alone.
How can our countrymen not see our past filled with dragons?
We can afford it to give and we have a past for which to atone.”
You want to give to all, even those to whom we have no debt.
State, oh Nanny Great. That’s not your decision to make.
You want us to pay the way for those we have not met.
And for them you’d like to share the coffers and later to drain the lake.
Nanny on the couch and the nurse in the chair
“What will we say if they disagree?
We’ll play the race card and shame them to share
What, Xenophobe, you hate them, their ways, and their pedigree?”
“We already have the minority -- don’t worry ‘bout them till November.
Take the black bandana, and if one objects, shut ‘em down and leave them no ember.”
Immigrants new who stood in the line -- Even those siblings are in need for the wall!
“We don’t have to have a real program, just say ‘pay in the NAME of our free-for-all’”
Pander, pander the sucker and for a chad offer him a pop
Slander, Slander the objector and take their home and clear their land of crop
Tell the uniform you love them, and on the street just say you hate the cop.
Have crinkled paper and foghorn tell your tale and election day, you’ll be on top.
No confusion for Salt of the Earth and in their minds there is no murk.
But keep your eye on the bozark because with that magic trick he will lurk.
They extract your vote, and pull strings and accuse you “You hate latino, Slav, and Turk.”
A worthy counsellor in court, and on the world stage, for us, we’re grateful he’s a jerk.
Copyright © J.R. Wren-Ingalls | Year Posted 2019
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