Poetry

look away, no poetry here

look away, no poetry here

what can I tell you? no poetry remains
at the site of this crime, move along
all gas pumps are empty, no fuel
will be sold. if you proceed to the shoreline
they’re towing the old battleship out to sea

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Death smiles

Death smiles

We drum as we watch death approach
Heralds of war, heart of the dance
Beat of mother, we hear that beat
before we’re born, we hear it every day

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going older

going older

I no longer comprehend sticky tape.
My parents are dead. I have no reason to complain about them.
You never really escape high school.
Everything can be solved by walking.

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Good advice

Good advice

My father would always tell me,
“When the winds are high,
the gales busting down windows,
when the heavens open, fire
pours down and people swear
it’s the end of the world,

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Antithesis

Antithesis

Deborah says, swimming in a lake is so beautiful.
I say, it’s the antithesis of a swimming pool.
Which leads me to ask, what’s the antithesis
of a swimming pool? Is it a woman’s womb, life

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More Poetry:

Good advice

My father would always tell me,
“When the winds are high,
the gales busting down windows,
when the heavens open, fire
pours down and people swear
it’s the end of the world,

Antithesis

Deborah says, swimming in a lake is so beautiful.
I say, it’s the antithesis of a swimming pool.
Which leads me to ask, what’s the antithesis
of a swimming pool? Is it a woman’s womb, life

Forgotten Music Hall absurdist comedies from the late 19 century

One man blows out a candle when another man lights it. The man trying to light the candle runs faster and faster away from the man blowing it out, until he cannot light a match.
Several men, wearing padded outfits and blindfolds, walk around the stage swinging large swords that cut though various obstacles that fall and trip them.

Paper time

Paper is a Time Machine, but it only goes backward in time.
Don’t ask where it begins, I don’t know where to begin,
but I know when you read you’re transported back in time.
I’m certain of that, but not much else. Is it part of the pencil

Radish

Santa Claus of the garden,
you bring snap of winter
to the mouth, crisp frosty heat.
Some call you icicle, watermelon,
breakfast, French, pink, orange, purple
(dirt had a real grip on that one.)

The killing and dismemberment of Osiris

Gods are murdered in ritual,
with family in attendance.
If not as executioners, then moral support.
The god must be torn apart
thrown into all that is and is not.
Sister brides always grieve
journey to join the god together,
as he has always been put back together.

Mom on deck

Call for Mom.
She’s needed on deck;
no one else will do.
Who could possibly replace her?
Santa Claus or God?

Epochs of taste

Paleocene had a light tawny appearance and a semi sweet palate.
Eocene was the name of donkey in a play by Sophocles that became an eponym for stink.