No boarded play, however grand
contains within those scrambled hands
behold, the lowly ampersand
No seriously rightful due
akin, alas, to double-u
are Bob & Hugh or me & you
The case for “and per se and” lies
within the work of ancient scribes,
is utterance; and there it dies
The double-u however, though,
is used in terms like woo and woe
and other witless words we know
Some hundred years ago was dissed
deposed from alphabet’s long list
the ampersand does not exist
not so curious the snowbird
flying off to warmer climes
when harsher winter weather hits
to leave the ice and chill behind
so it seems a sound migration
something I might find appealing, this
to leave my frozen tundra
and that cold that I’ve been dealing with
and of course the warmer summer months
can be ablaze with scorching heat
and stifling humidity
the trip up north would spell relief
‘tis a wonder, chasing weather
so to be outside all day
it’s a luxury of modern times
it’s not your standard get away
so harken now to basal times
with geese and wrens and robins
remove thyself from winter’s frost
it’s freezing soon forgotten
These were not common, these camp followers
these devoted few women of those sparse survivors
sanctioned so to live or so as cold Sibir awaited
them and theirs to harshest toil and
they themselves impoverished aristocracy
among them none of those five hung – and three hanged twice –
for wanting just to see the end of serfdom’s slavery
made for them the hope of somehow being
in the farthest east Yakutsk or yet perhaps Nerchinsk
the rough and crude, abusive solitude
this callous rule, this cruel administration,
ruthless, tsarist exile could not cause to waver
yea, could not unhinge their fealty
these dedicated brides of brave but doomed men
tho’ sickness and starvation caused to perish those
who could not make it through the bitter winters
these were women of steadfastness, loyalty and ardor
local folk, admirers of the ones who would not swear,
assisted as these women swept their mud floor huts and wept
their husbands hushed and placed in chains in mines
the utter desolation kept at bay by dint of love’s hard labor
no, these were not common, these camp followers
these devoted few women of those sparse survivors
sanctioned so to live or so as cold Sibir awaited
the critical
self-loathing self
appears,
addresses
all so harshly
all the burns,
abrasions,
acid flavored
bitterness
of petty wanks
and piles it on
‘til no one’s safe
from skeletons
or caustic
acrimonial
exchanges.
intolerance begets
intolerance here
with convenient,
random indifference
there with
laser focused,
sharp-tongued
condemnation.
unity of purpose
has escaped
the conversation.
and perhaps
there is no goal,
no glorious
over-arching
expectation –
only fear
of what
we’ve not become
as hatred
for each other’s
view
replaced our love
for one another.
our critical
self-loathing self
appeared,
became
our personality.
Did she stay with you ‘til morning? Did she fly about the room like a modern-day Samantha with a black hat and a broom? Did she cook you up a potion sure to make you fall in love? Is she who you’re dreaming of?
Did you dance across the ballroom in those patent-leather pumps? Or did you boogie in the mosh pit taking in those grinds and bumps? Did she swoon when you embraced her as she praised the lord above? Is she who you’re dreaming of?
Did you dine in fine extravagance – froufrou by candlelight? Or did you slam a couple burgers at the bar on Friday night? And does her mother really ever wear white satin gloves? Is she who you’re dreaming of?
Did she stay with you ‘til morning? Did she awake within your arms? Did you promise to protect her from all evil and all harm? Is her touch that special feeling that you’ll never get enough? Is she who you’re dreaming of?
Were they miracles or
magic?
or innovations
based on science?
Was it alchemy or
something in between
the day and darkness?
Did he conjure?
Did he cast a spell
or cross himself and
ask for help?
Porcellius practiced magic
That’s as far as
they could tell
He never wrote about
the who or what
or how it came to be
He left a legacy of
unexplained
events, triumphs
and tragedies and
stories simply told
of wond’rous deeds
and dark results
Porcellius practiced magic
That’s as far as
they could tell
Perhaps a mathematician,
politician or physician
out in front of what
was known or
understood
by those affected
His arrival was
a mystery
His departure
undetected – yes
Porcellius practiced magic
That’s as far as
they could tell
it seems to me
that two pi r
has gone to where
too few would dare
and pi r squared,
it also seems,
is loathing some
where in between
so all the way
around i see
the point; it has
come back to me
and covers lots
of ground within
to ponder to
my own chagrin
when it comes
with night lights blarin’
razor sharp an’
winkin’, wailin’
tuneful troubadours with
tales of woe an’ wonder
tales of loss an’ left to wander
hearts an’ souls
can’t bear to be alone but
never seem to stay together
so late at night
with night lights blarin’
razor sharp an’
winkin’, wailin’
tuneful troubadours
their passions pulsing
reliving every cut an’ stab
the harshest times
that never die
so crisp, so clear
come share their pain
can’t stay away
over an’ over
again an’ again
my mind has
become a city
streetmap
that started out
as nothing more
than an outpost
then became a
hamlet then
a village
the very first
settlers had a
different idea
than those who
followed; these streets
had a purpose then
that others changed
and everyone who
came to live in
my town altered
how to get
from here
to there
and now I live
in urban sprawl
in my mind
sometimes I
am not so sure
of how to get back
sometimes I
get caught in
my own rush
hour traffic
She was a witness to disaster
And emotional upheaval
She’d seen families that were torn apart
And in economic despair
There were carnal violations
There was blood upon the easel
But she didn’t seem to notice
Or she didn’t seem to care
You said happiness is a puzzle
Some unworkable conundrum
And life is never really that
What life appears to be
Love and hate and in between
Sorrow, joy or boredom
We’ll not project the paladin
And not impose our sympathy
I was sitting in a diner
You were right across the table
I was drinking coffee
You were busy with your phone
I asked if you were happy
You didn’t even answer
I thought I caught a smile from you
But I could never know
i did for you
what you wouldn’t do
for me
i shaved my chin
why don’t you
shave your legs
on spring day number thirty-seven
i remember nothing new and wing
along inside mind’s eye
to capture so to speak
a prize, a gem of introspection
one that i might share and pen
my quiet jubilation so
the cause of what i might expect is simple
seems to be neglect of all which bears
resemblance to a memory
or ample contemplation oh
now there’s a thought-
ful pause inside this realm of mine
to realize that what is not is
new when it becomes i see the
light of day beside the elm tree
fade away as bits of cotton battin’
float northeast away to shade
some other place and when
the sun comes back to me and
i beside the elm tree watch
a bird, a fly, a bee
i catch an armadillo bug beneath a
rock with seven slugs and then i
roll the little fellow as a ball
around the trash can lid
and this he does so patiently until i
smash him to the ground it’s
all she wrote for mr. bug the
fall was just too much, no parachute
like dandelions which
sail forever they can float
back down to earth or glide in
to a neighbor’s weeds I shouldn’t mind
if those weeds grow their roots
across the driveway birth is such a
lovely thing
And though I walk these fields alone
I want only to be gone
I think I hear you call my name
I think you seem so far away
And while the summer breezes blow
From seeds the roots begin to grow
I think of you
But you’re so far away
Take the passions from my past
They cloud the present story
The good times fade – the bad times last
And keep us from the glory of our lives
And though I walk this field alone
And wishing only to be gone
I think the world is still the same
I think you’re still so far away
And while the summer breezes blow
I know we reap the crops we sow
Regret the bargains that
We cut so long ago
Take the passions from my past
They cloud the present story
The good times fade – the bad times last
And keep us from the glory of our lives
We know that
Everybody has one
And we all make excuses
Every single person has
An evil friend
We also know
The day is long
And, too, the night is short
How can we ever live without
Our evil friend
We do things
That we should not do
We don’t do things we should
We struggle yet accommodate
That evil friend
We rarely challenge
And sometimes, too
We all become
Some other’s
Evil friend
‘Cause we all know that
Everybody has one
Why? We don’t quite know
But every single person has
An evil friend
so big is spring
(with a mr lenny)
so big is spring
like i see green
an’ geese
goin’ north ta breed
so big is spring
that no winter
ever
stopped its coming
it’s so relieving
it’s so damned
refreshing
so big is spring
an’ i ain’t cold
from snow
or north dakota wind
“ya don’t have ta tell me
it’s april, mr . . . i kin see”