Zandvoort Storm
February 12, 2020 § Leave a comment
Nature paints a violent portrait
In a thick impasto of worried gray, bruised maroon, frigid blue
Gulls get stuck in the oil
Invisible wind punishes the sea grass
And blows sand onto the canvas
Blending with the palette’s tortured colors
Half a tube of titanium is squeezed
To frost the curling surf
Endless coils of leaden thunder break
In silence behind rain distorted glass
The stormy world melts with a Van Gogh eye
Psittacine Standup
December 4, 2019 § Leave a comment
I bought myself a parrot
A kaleidoscope of tropical hues
Bleeding from jungle flowers
I tried to teach her to talk:
“Pretty bird”
“Pieces of Eight”
“I love you”
“Scotch and soda”
She just squawks
She flaps her clipped wings
She makes a mess
Yet each time I try,
Each time I try returning her to the pet store,
She talks me out of it
Sleepless
November 12, 2019 § Leave a comment
Whenever I have a bout of insomnia I try to make the best use of my time. I usually try and sort things out that I have been ruminating on during the day. But I never accomplish much. Moreover, it is very dangerous. Although I am conscious of being awake, I think my subconscious is more active than I realize and I can’t form coherent thoughts. You can’t trust what your mind tells you in this state. It must be what a schizophrenic experiences when a shadowy character in his head tells him that nothing good will ever happen and he should go jump off a building. If you make it through the night things always look better in the morning. Even still, insomnia is a miserable way to spend the evening.
Sleepless
Seven shards of moonlight
Shimmer on the sill
Brittle as silver ice
Shaved from a frozen block of midnight
Ghosts pace their cells
Behind glowing bars
Sliced from brutal street lamps
By Venetian blades
Never welcome 3 A.M.
Or shake her sable hand
She tricks you into talking
In dark, spinning circles while she snores to mock you
Four turns five in nine chimes
Wood grain drinks the melting ice, ghosts go free
The Angel of Dawn descends
And slowly stretches out on the carpet
Prayer for Rain
October 31, 2019 § Leave a comment
I compose a humble prayer for rain
The paper drinks my ballpoint dry
Below a sheet of baking tin
In the steaming thicket locusts drone
Like monks they murmur
Invocations for a cool shower?
Maybe.
Who knows what locusts want.
Food, obviously
Locusts are always hungry
“They will cry out with shouts of victory”
A plague of drought descended earlier
It’s too too late for supper
Our crops wither
Down the highway rolls the swarm
Gnawing tires whine and hum
Off to McDonald’s or the markets?
Perhaps.
God knows what humans do.
I check my empty refrigerator again
The air is cool like a cloudless sky
Above a sheet of baking tin
My prayer for rain remains unanswered
Bottle Rocket Requiem
September 6, 2019 § Leave a comment
You were
Born with
Flames in your eyes
Showers
Of sparks
Firecracker surprise
Black gunpowder, short fuse
Built for beauty, for speed
Waiting to go up in smoke
One spark is all
You needed
A glass
Bottle to be strong
Countdown
Lift off
Into oblivion
Wake up you lazy Guardians
Will you sleep too through this blast?
Prepare a room in Father’s house
Here comes another bottle rocket
Faster
Than life
Exploding into night
Red
January 3, 2019 § Leave a comment
We know how Red feels
Warm
The more it is touched
Hot even
Inflamed
But how does Red taste?
Like blood? The blood of Christ?
Wine then.
Ruby Bordeaux with a ribeye
Seared blue
Red and blue coalesce into luxurious purple
The palatine shade of sovereign indulgence
Red meat on the bone and exclusive vintages
The color of a pulsing vein
Engorged with warm, hot, inflamed
Red
Puzzle Wit
November 2, 2018 § Leave a comment
A bright light in the Texas sky over Walmart. Also, spoke that guy in German. Joyce filled Ulysses with enough symbols and metaphors to keep readers busy for years and criticized critics who criticized him for his lack of prudence and restraint for being puzzle wits. How does one reach a puzzle wit who tosses your masterpiece aside for a fast paced bit of pulp fiction? Is the author responsible for edification or entertainment? A concertina is limited but can still play a memorable tune whereas the extended range of a clarinet playing Schoenberg is ignored and from it a hasty retreat is made. The bright light in the sky over Walmart advertised a special on bratwurst. Sausage is a popular menu item at a Texas barbecue restaurant. It is has lineage to early German and Czech settlers who got lost on their way to Midwest homesteads. Just like Ulysses. Well, sort of. I wouldn’t know for sure because I am a puzzle wit who tossed the novel aside to watch the Dallas Cowboys. My mother’s family is from Texas but are not German or Irish like the brilliant James Joyce. Or, for that matter, Czech like Kafka who said of Ulysses, “one should not write while drinking.” Kafka was an Eastern European puzzle wit who might have benefited from the vitamin D in the Texas sun but he would have found the sausage too spicy, probably.
The Lament of a Veggie Sandwich
July 5, 2018 § 1 Comment
I’m the lonely veggie sandwich on the catering tray
No one wants to eat me and I’ll just get thrown away
Despite my zesty pesto and portobello meat
Ham and Swiss that old standby on rye is hard to beat
Grilled on open charcoal my zucchini hits that spot
Yet pastrami gets the attention with mustard that is hot
The tuna and the turkey breast are popular indeed
Even though I’m served on bread topped with pumpkin seed
Roast beef with smoked cheddar is a hearty midday meal
Yet somehow roasted peppers carry no appeal
Even the egg salad fills a culinary niche
Like curry chicken salad wraps, I might as well just be a quiche
Regardless of my first-rate healthy lifestyle cachet
I’m the lonely veggie sandwich who will be thrown away
For Leilani
May 14, 2018 § Leave a comment
Photo credit Steven Hager
I am an active volcano
Beneath my mantle is magma fommented
Sulphur roils into toxic venting clouds
Seams tear through my crust, opening
Furious pools of boiling crimson, spitting
White, scaly ash in the air, landing
All over everything like oily snow
Capricious Pele is offered sacrificial ointments, salves and creams
Pacified, the inflamed goddess sleeps
Dormant for days, erupting again with no warning
And yet I am not Paradise rising
A gift to Heaven from the Sea
Covered in flowers, fruit, and trees
