Showing posts with label free verse. Show all posts
Showing posts with label free verse. Show all posts

Tuesday, February 11, 2014

Mind Games

Do you think you are a good person,
you demand of
the liberated me
your scream
between the porous legs of present and past
 as you carp about terror, truth and stunted lives

as you try to saw through my last nerve

as skinny, slant eyed
whiskey whores
parade through purple haze
gorge on your coffers
tramp through your lies
nightmare channel
briefly appeasing you
with their sweet meats
and clotted cream

as the clock strikes past twelve
as you curse in bold print
dripping swear
that you
are a good person.

Sunday, September 1, 2013

Requiem for a Star

Yesterday we remembered and honored Dad.

Requiem for a Star

He died, just short of his 80th Birthday

survived by Mom, their three daughters, three son-in-laws, four grandchildren and one great grandson

so we stand here today in his garden

to pay our last respects

and to remember

the funny,

I’ll finish it tomorrow

lovable despot, that we called Dad.


He used to tell me

“Don’t touch me, I’m a star”

and I believed him.

I aimed high

and I followed my star to Hawaii

where I raised a family and flourished.

He expected great things

from his offspring

and we produced, as good offspring do.

And I oft times wondered if it was enough

I think it was, because Mom tells me so!


So we gather to remember the good

to heal, to reconcile the past.

We gather to laugh, shake our heads

to raise our glasses

and toast

the loose boards

hanging wires

half driven nails

and let us not forget

the bamboo, the sumac, and the poison ivy

because in spite of it all

he stayed long enough to

know, love and praise his four precious grandchildren

Jason, Kenny, Taylor and Lauren and great grandson, Chad

indeed, he loved us all.


Dear old Dad

a happy-go-lucky sort

rich in aspiration

and poor everyplace else.

A tyrant

with a dream of restoring a drafty old summer house

without running water

nestled on a hill between a rock pile

and a wild jungle of vines and sticker bushes

a house that sucked up money

like a good HEPA vacuum, leaving us just enough to get by


He had envisioned a sparkling jewel

and she stands to this day

an earthy un-pinned floozy.

a small poorly lit home

where he and Mom raised

their three sparkling fashionistas

each one of us

a strong-minded finisher


Dad’s shining example.


Mom, Angie and Chrissy

brilliant, polished and uncut

and me

chasing stars

cherishing faint memories

of an iron-willed father

too hot for mere mortals

flawed but sweet

a man

whose light still shines in the garage

because like its creator

there is no off-switch

a man

resolute and irreverent

who never kowtowed to the crowd of popular opinion

an imperfect German perfectionist born in the free city of Danzig

a master electrician, a craftsman, and a ham-radio man

who shocked us with his frayed wires, his genius

hot-wiring his way into our hearts and minds

an enthusiastic family man with hopes and dreams

who touched us with his light

and left much too soon.

A man whose legacy includes

a bushel of antenna wire

three Bic lighters

and a nude statue of EVE

causing me to

rise each day before the dawn

gaze up at the sky

and to wonder

which star

might be his.

Monday, September 19, 2011

Golf Rant

Golf makes me ponder
life’s eternal mysteries
and scratch my head
how hard can it be
to hit a stationary object
from a stationary position
with the sun shining in your eyes
three hundred and fifty yards from a four-inch hole?

Did I mention
that you have to swing with
your inferior hand and arm
not the one you are used to using 
the arm and hand that has a mind of its own
that would bitch slap you if it could
and who is the jackass who invented this game anyway?

I mean, whose idea it was
to sink a white-dimpled ball into a four-inch hole
in FOUR strokes or less
two of those strokes being putts?

Putting is a key component of mastering the game
because that hole
is getting smaller as we speak
and don’t tell anyone this
but I saw the hole move
to the right 
on more than one occasion
and it’s always after I make my putt
And No, I wasn’t drinking!

This makes me think
that you have to be either manic 
or a serious alcoholic
to keep up 
with moving holes, undulating greens, and passing cloud bursts
because on the off chance 
that you aren’t either of those
you would have to 
spend every spare moment
or LIVE ON the Golf Course
and we all know that people who live on golf courses
don’t play golf
because those little white balls
crash through their windows
from time to time 
annoying the family pet
who has more pressing things on his mind
like how to get out of the weekly
grooming appointment
because darling Mr. Pepper
doesn’t do Frufuu
and he ain’t wearing
No Stinkin Pink Bows!

So that wayward golf ball 
crashing through the window
could set this stressed-out canine off
resulting in some pretty nasty repercussions
like rapid-fire barking and
confiscating said golf ball 
producing a domino effect
witnessed by other stressed out golfers 
intent on hitting
their stationary ball
now distracted
and missing their shot
aiming instead at 
the aforementioned poodle
with the pink bow
who has a white golf ball
in his mouth
and won’t let the said player
have it back 
who in turn
won’t let anyone else play through.

Now have I mentioned 
that the rules state 
to play the ball as it lies
or take a two-stroke penalty?

I mean, have you heard of anything dumber
then playing a game where
you are expected to penalize yourself
AND be honest about it?

I’ll give you a minute to think about it.

Friday, September 9, 2011

Make Me Hot

Make me hot
I want to sizzle
like an egg sunny side up
with my edges lightly browned
no humdrum lines
or snot
diminishing a
first impression.
I want them
to inhale
my scent
like hungry dogs
hot on the trail
of a
drop dead sinew
and pearly white

Sunday, September 4, 2011

Trending Pointless

I admit it
I am
not the sharpest knife
in the drawer.
Actually I hail from
a whole set
of dull knives.

In fact, the sharpest one
is currently afflicted with
a pitting problem. No cure
missing some stainless parts
if you know what I mean.

It is surprising
shocking really
that not even one
sibling in the drawer
has an ounce of steel  
or any hidden alloy
of any cutting edge value.

when the big guy upstairs
was doling out sharpeners
we all
skipped class.

I must admit-- I’m worried  
the makeup exam
appears to involve
massive pumpkins
and no one’s trained
in carving
except of course
our distant cousin
an ancient
serrated edge
with a long handle
sketching a subliminal

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