Archive for May, 2016

2¢ Cash Value

May 24 2016 Published by under Poetry

Here is the charge: a penny for the grog,

caricatures for two and zero sense,

a magnum in exchange for dialogue,

or rent the fare per diem—ninety pence.

But, friend, we’ve drank together for so long.

Dear friend, pretend I didn’t say a word.

I sang, but you cannot return the song,

and if you called the tune, I hadn’t heard.

Biergarten gnomes, with funny little hats,

will pour til poor, then prod for you to pay.

Just load the spring, and set the cheese for—rats!

I wouldn’t bite, but what are you to say?

I wrote myself a check and paid my fee:

Each word I speak in confidence is free.

No responses yet

Who Is She?

May 23 2016 Published by under Poetry

Perhaps the gilded slipper doesn’t fit

that girdles tight her arches under step,

and, barefoot, Eros’ tower she’ll acquit

for me to follow cloven over step.

A stride by stride, a flight by taking wing,

a part so small has no determined path

as princess-wooing-poet for the king

to only be loved in love’s aftermath.

We’ve heard that tale before, but who is she?

Who is my heroine? How does she feel?

What made her turn her step away from me?

If she looked just as me, would I turn heel?

I know I cannot know her by her face,

but every man would fall upon her grace.

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We Were Wrong

May 19 2016 Published by under Poetry

I thrust a word not wanted in your ear.

The tiger roared; the raven dryly cawed.

I raised my voice up high for you to hear.

The murder flew; the tiger paced and pawed.

There’s nothing, when you live inside a cage

that you have might to break from any night

that lessens your regret or can assuage

your frail and conscious choice to wait for light

and do it all again: a night, a morn,

a lifetime cast aside, a bedding mark,

some scratches on the bars that aren’t worn,

a mating cry unanswered in the dark.

At first I cried for love, but now for song.

You thought the point was sex, but you were wrong.

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An Orange for a Stranger

May 13 2016 Published by under Poetry

Perhaps, the photo’s angle wasn’t right.

A filter cannot make the subject soft.

The focus drifts. I rush and lose the light.

That’s not a pose that strikes a poised one, oft’.

One-offed, and now the poser won’t return.

The gravity precludes a second chance.

The negatives developed and were burned.

The vision is as fleeting as the glance.

Profane prophetic moments under glass

as if seen through a stranger’s windowpane

remind me of the wafers in the Mass

but wrapped in acetate and cellophane.

Each orange is the only of its kind;

extract the bitter seeds and chew the rind.

No responses yet


May 12 2016 Published by under Poetry

I greet you as a dreamer unaware

of any better way for you to catch

this drift that floats its boat to overshare.

The poem and the mouth that roars it match.

To greet a stranger, first express your love.

Recall the reason why, but dally, yet.

Express your love again–be clear thereof!

Remember why; decide if you’ll forget.

Humanity, my eyes reflect your face.

How do you do? I think my name is “Dan.”

Where are you from? You wanna live in space?

(It’s kinda far, but maybe if we ran…)

Each greeting is a poem to be sung.

I know not who you are, but I am young.

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She Is Crying

May 10 2016 Published by under Poetry

To pull the fire of sun down like a bomb,

into the west, is not a spell I know.

From dusk to dusk, from ash to frond of palm,

I call upon the lightning bugs to glow.

The gods of man, too young to know their end,

have written a commandment on the flesh:

“Consume; produce.” What does the mark portend?

I eat my tale and thus fulfill the geis.

Salacious Thirst, no ocean can allay,

Great Hunger, swallow all and thus be free.

Fat gassy beasts, in drunkenness we lay

waste on the earth and urine in the sea.

I am his brother, breathing his last breath.

She is our Mother, praying for Her death.

No responses yet

He’ll Owe

May 06 2016 Published by under Poetry

“Hello, hell-oh, he’ll owe,” I often say,

again, a gain, but seldom hear, “Goodbye,”

not “No,” not “Yes,” not “Maybe in a day.”

A verse to answer, few will send reply.

Such is the ape’s agape environment,

comprising two bonobos and a tree.

The bo’ attends to bo’, to some extent,

so, til they need the tree, it’s Tree and me.

It’s like my private aisle of the morgue,

out here in Cupid’s Stupid Wonderland.

Perhaps, I’ll skip “dot-com” and start an “org,”

“” How grand!

The ferryman collects two cents to fly,

so buy the “Bye,” space cowboy, for a by.

No responses yet

Try Fuqital!

May 04 2016 Published by under Poetry

The strangeness is, my life has not been strange:

I’ve lived my death in fear for many years.

Priorities, by now, are prearranged:

The single fuck I give is in arrears.

“I love you, friend.” There’s nothing else but this.

Fuck money, god, and what the neighbors think.

That last gold drop of hope to tongue is bliss,

as bitter, thick, and acetous as ink.

A passion play trumps nightly through my head.

The flash—the crash—another star explodes.

We’re making funny faces late in bed,

two wacks against two gigaton payloads.

I often wonder when the bombs will drop.

Perhaps a world in eighty didn’t pop.

No responses yet


May 03 2016 Published by under Poetry

This is a fuck; the gods can have it back.

I blew my share—and off were blown her shoes.

I’m done with this, and these, and that girl’s rack.

You sin, you win; you take it back—you lose.

You never win or lose or tie alone.

You lose, and all existence hears the news,

from Hackensack to way out past Bayonne.

You lose some screws and flood the holes with booze.

How tiny, green, and scummy is my world?

My perfect insignificance winks out.

The brick flew straight; the postal metal curled.

The keeper heard within and turned without.

She said, “I’d give you credit, but you missed.”

I prayed for one more fuck, and then we kissed.

No responses yet


May 02 2016 Published by under Poetry

This is a cat-call wrapped around a brick,

and yours is not the first, nor is the last.

The thought it might connect… (Stand back—I’m sick.)

You spoke one word; I never heard the blast.

Don’t think my words won’t drip for her—for her

a condom wrapper blowing in the wind.

I gave them all my tongue! Their faces blur!

Though, not a word in love would I rescind!

They’ll likely never think of it again,

won’t press the rose in yellow pages, blank,

will not appear by magic, (count to ten,)

won’t hate me, overlong. I give them thanks.

One more, two more… I meter out my love.

I’ve written sixty sonnets, none above!

No responses yet