Sunday, October 30, 2011

Word Verification

I don't know about you but I've found the nonsense words on Word Verification for post comments interesting.  Some of them almost seem as if they might make some profound sense.  So, following an idea I've been thinking of a while I thought I'd write a poem using some.  Be prepared.  It's really effed up.


The Mutwar thinned the herd
And made us purer. I feel my blood
Rejuvenated as the filth is gone.
My heart, however, feels the toll;
I feel it twerse for having had
So many friends now dead.
Ralloco ground them into
Fertilizer; Scessi sleeps
Beneath the pumpkin patch.
I still hear her screams at night;
She was a bliede, drenching the
Landscape in her blood; tearing me
Apart, perhaps a little more than her,
As I caress my Unsul; that void where
Life and love had lived with laughter.
But now will pine and mourn
For what I’ve done and can’t undo.

Friday, October 28, 2011


I'm of the opinion you can write until you feel better.  Note, of the opinion.  I'm not sure if it's true.  I tried it tonight.  It's nice to get the feelings out.  As always, as grizzly as they get, I'll share them here, because you're all supportive and lovely like that.


I’m fresh out of metaphor;
Eat my shit. Just let me be.
There’s nothing left and
It seems as if there never was.
Damn. Goddamn it all.
I’ll sin my heart out;
I’m in hell already.
A bullet to the brain
Can only bring me back.
What options do I have?
Listen to the endless drone of platitudes
Or drown myself in alcohol?
Fuck my heart and
Fuck my soul; already raped,
Torn, discarded, left to die.
I need a minute, month or decade,
Can’t be sure. Time will only scar;
A poor excuse for healing; yet all
That I look forward to.

Tuesday, October 25, 2011

Because I'm a Fuck-up

This poem is featured in Ben Ditmars' chapbook of poetry, Night Poems. Available on Amazon for Kindle and Print.

The words aren’t right.
They never could be.
Because I’m a fuck-up.
It all seems insincere.
I try to back-track.
Can’t convey.
It’s all the truth;
It seems a lie.
Because I’m a fuck-up.
My laugh is hollow;
Echoes off your face,
Retracts, jams down my throat
To choke me as I gasp, you watch,
Considering your next move; to save,
Or let me die.  But you know the latter
Has more solace in the end for me.
Because I’m a fuck-up.

Sunday, October 23, 2011

The Vote!

I've set up a poll to vote for our Blogger Book Club's book.  I was thinking we could start in November and have a month to read.  I added a book by Toni Morrison I didn't put in the original list with a description so I hope that's okay.  No hard feelings?  Really?  I tried so hard!  Just kidding.  Have fun voting!  The polls close Midnight on November 1.  So the night of October 31st.

Saturday, October 22, 2011

The Day Hope Died

Note: I don't really like this poem, so I don't really expect you to either.  If you could try and just not hate it though, I'd feel pretty good.


July 27, 2003–
The day Hope died,
Left us with a quiet frown,
Trickles of slight tears
To know the end had come
Expectedly yet suddenly.
We were raised on Hope,
Singing, laughing as the world
Began to take more than it returned;
An empty ended hourglass where we
Could see the sand and almost touch
But never quite as we believed in Hope;
Somewhere now the dream’s alive,
Unburied, still performing for the ones
That need it most to take another step.

Thursday, October 20, 2011

In Dedication to Mr. Roberts

I first met the acquaintance of Mr. Percival Roberts on the dreariest of dreary April days. His long tailed coat was, as always, immaculate; far superior to rags which, I’m not ashamed to say, I wore to the occasion. The first words he and I would ever speak were not most pleasant. I was a famished, sickly, meager soul who saw a beacon shining through my misery. “Mr. Roberts,” I began, begging at his feet, “Might you help a poor man eat today?” His face showed immeasurable contempt. “Be gone, filth!” he spat, pushing me to the ground and going on his not-so-merry way. I never forgot the occasion. Nor would I remain as destitute. Through perseverance and a little luck, I fought my way to higher ranks. It came to be in time, my standing equaled Mr. Roberts even. Thus, when he passed away the local gazette asked if I might dedicate a word or two to the late, departed industrialist. I looked deep and gave them three: fuck that guy.

Monday, October 17, 2011

100 Word Prose Poem on My Dancing Friend

He shows up once a year. To dance. He doesn’t talk. He doesn’t think. He moves. His body speaks the poignant words his lips can never manage. Passion manifests itself in snap and groove. Love is made; hearts are broke, each step by step. Sleepless nights and days in bed get told through his eyes; the angle of bent hips. Hair becomes the breeze; shoes an ancient rhythm as common as the birds that sing; he’s been doing it as long. A groove to come and go each Spring; immortal like the sky. Constant, fleeting, footwork past the February cold.*

*Yup. A Spring poem in Fall.

Saturday, October 15, 2011


They put sugar in my coffee,
Unasked, unwantedly
And dulled the flavor.
Suddenly my tongue’s confused;
Having had one love and now another.
My buds are screaming to confess to bean,
This love affair with sugar cane.
I didn’t enjoy it; it was hell, I thought
Of you in ecstasy; I really did,
If only just a moment as I came
Saliva and embraced a mess
And residue so sweet to stick
Beyond my mouth.

Friday, October 14, 2011

Blogger Book Club Suggestions

I've found some interesting books to suggest for our book club.  If any one else knows a good one I'll add it to the list as well :-)

Maurice by E.M. Forster: A tale of homosexual love in early 20th century England, following Maurice Hall from his schooldays, through university and beyond.

Ham on Rye by Charles Bukowski: Written in Bukowski’s characteristically straightforward prose, the novel tells of his coming-of-age in Los Angeles during the Great Depression.

Hocus Pocus by Kurt Vonnegut: The major plot event concerns a prison break in a small New York village, located directly across from a prominent university. The protagonist's life revolves heavily around both the prison and the university, and the community that must accommodate both.The main character is Eugene Debs Hartke, a Vietnam War veteran and college professor, who realizes that he has killed exactly as many people as the number of women he has had sex with.

The Beautiful and Damned by F. Scott Fitzgerald: It tells the story of Anthony Patch (a 1920s socialite and presumptive heir to a tycoon's fortune), his relationship with his wife Gloria, his service in the army, and alcoholism.

Brazil by John Updike: Tristão Raposo, a nineteen –year-old black child of the Rio slums, spies Isabel Leme, an eighteen-year-old upper-class white girl, across the hot sands of Copacabana Beach, and presents her with a ring. Their flight into marriage takes them from urban banality to the farthest reaches of Brazil’s wild west, where magic still rules.

S by John Updike: The eponymous S. is Sarah Worth, Boston bred, upper-class WASP, and when we meet her in this epistolary narrative, she is on an airplane, writing to tell her doctor husband she is leaving him to join her guru on an Arizona religious commune. In a whimsical twist, Updike makes Sarah a Hawthornian counterpart to Roger in Roger's Version: one of her ancestors was a Prynne; her daughter's name is Pearl (Publishers Weekly).

Tuesday, October 11, 2011

Late-Night Riff

I was thinking over how one
Makes another care. Not just glance,
Or nod but really care in some
Spiritually transcending way.

I realized the answer went
Beyond the store or simple
Marketing.  A TV ad for soap
Will seldom bring epiphanies
That change a life’s direction.

Passion’s not a manufactured good
That you create and sell.  It’s
Something that was always there
Beneath the surface.

The artist is a miner
For feelings and lost goals,
Dreams all but given up
But not forgotten.

From the safety of their chair
And the terror of their minds
They must battle cave-ins
Not so different from those
Poor souls who sacrifice their lungs
For meager wages.

Saturday, October 08, 2011

In Paradise

Stevie Wonder sees again
In paradise. And we see him.
The grass is greener on
Both this side and the other.
We can’t remember why
We hated, sought to bring
Each other down. It’s all
A faint and laughing memory;
Tickling, not festering the
Bottoms of our feet.
Our tears are tears of joy
And nothing less.

Friday, October 07, 2011

Too Late

Up too late
to write this poem
or rhyme for you.

Up too late
to punctuate
my love for you
with hearts, colon
dash and asterisk.

Up too late
to see a solid shape
for what it is. It could
be you or me, or
merely nothing.

Up too late
to feel your touch
and know that I'm
not dreaming.

Up too late
to taste a taste
to smell perfume
and lose myself.

Wednesday, October 05, 2011

For Steve

Steve Jobs, the former CEO of Apple died tonight after a battle with cancer.  I wrote of it on Facebook "A man who had his hands in Pixar, Atari, Apple and every facet of innovation in pop culture, a college dropout who slept on floors and went on to change the world has died too young, too soon."  I had really never stopped to think of the ways this one man had influenced my own and countless other lives.  The movies, games I saw and played with family, growing up that were in large part a product of his work.  A song on the go that picked me up when I was down.  I wish I had took more time to appreciate the remarkable man behind so much inspiration.  I don't know how many poems I've wrote after listening to an ipod, or later from itunes on my Android, but I know it's been a lot.  And I know a man who fought adversity and poverty succumbed to a disease no one should ever have to suffer through.  But I take solace in the fact he did the most anyone could ever dream of doing with the time that he had.

Heaven & Hell

HE had two daughters;
one named Heaven
one named Hell.

The first was blonde
and full of light;
the second dark
and brooding.

Heaven swam through life,
her head up in the clouds;
hell more down to earth,
fixed within reality.

In truth Heaven was
the favored one.
Hell misunderstood,
impossible to reach.

But that was just her way,
the shut in intellectual
to contrast with her sister’s
beauty pageants.

They were different,
largely opposites
of light and dark,
both breeze and fire.

But as the years went by
Heaven saw herself in flames
as Hell was pulled in by the light.

Both had lived through different lives
yet were the same.

Sunday, October 02, 2011

Ghost Thoughts

A family recently moved into an old, long abandoned house.  Using the latest in paranormal technology we have recorded the thoughts of the spirit that drove away these new inhabitants.

Ghost: Hello and welcome to my humble abode.  Is there anything I can help you with?

Mother: This place sure is shabby.  It’s going to need a lot of work.

Ghost: That’s a bit obtuse, don’t you think?  I’ve done my best with it.

Daughter: I’m scared.

Mother:  It will feel just like home once we renovate.

Ghost: It already feels like home you shortsighted twit!

Mother: Do you want ice cream?  I bought some groceries last time I was here.

Daughter: Okay.

Ghost: I’ll take a mint gelato.

Mother: Here you go, Karen.

Ghost: Why are you leaving?  Hey, you forgot the gelato!  If you take one more step I swear… we won’t be BFF’s anymore!

Mother: Karen, go upstairs.  I’m going to do some work on these walls.

Daughter: Okay.

Mother: Now, if I just hack through this part…

Ghost: Why are you hacking apart my house!?

Mother: Hey, something pushed me.  It must be evil!

Ghost: Yeah, you break into my house, don’t get me my gelato, and I’m the evil one.

Mother: I’m a bit frightened now, but why not fondle some of these personal objects?

Ghost: Hey, that’s my blue ribbon for the second best squash! You’ll smudge it all up!

Mother: Oh my word, that ribbon was knocked right out of my hand!

Daughter: I might as well go exploring by myself now.  That scary door surely can’t be dangerous!  I’ll just open it a bit…

Ghost: Hello, nice seeing you here.  I’ve got the loveliest hat to match your blouse.  I’ll go and get it for you.

Daughter: It’s breathing down my neck!

Ghost: There’s just no pleasing the living!

Daughter: Mom, let’s get out of here!

Mother: We’ve put a lot of money in this place, but the minor inconveniences are simply too much!  Leave your things and run with me!

Ghost: I was just kidding. We can still be BFF’s!