Poems

The Extra

Shakespeare was pontificating proudly

After the success of several shows

When a little extra elbowed forward

And hollered, “Look at William, how he blows!

Sententious and a couple clever sayings,

And damned if he don't really think he knows!”

7-29-13

 

Limit

Sadly am I limited by nature

At birth to only just a few ideas,

Then everything I think, I just repeat,

Though I refine and polish its expression?

Sartre wouldn't take the Nobel Prize.

He didn't want to mark the end of growth.

Another pose? A tree that's in the rain

And always green, and always in the shade.

Not the sun! Forever strong and hot.

It killed the hero of the century,

Mersault, the summary of human thought,

Of everything significant to life.

7-29-13

The Enemy

If you're up a tree

Or your ship's about to sink,

Never call a cop,

And don't bother with a shrink.

Just behind the badge,

Cops are bullies too.

Shrinks are very rich,

And that's all they can do.

He died at 91,

No country and no war,

In and out of jail,

That's what thinking's for.

7-29-13

 

Genes

Do felines have the brains to ask,

“Why do I want to do this?”
Or following their feelings do they

Dig and pull their claws?

Do humans have the brains? Or do they

Follow their companions

So they talk and look and act alike?

Or making daddy happy,

Do they join the latest war?

7-28-13

Bon Mot

Southern belles and Krakatoa!

I walked in the place.

“Oh,” she said to them, “here comes a fagot.”
I asked without a pause, “Are you

Another goddamned Christian?”
Horror, ice and Armageddon!

How her smile dissolved.

“I guess I said it right,” I said.

“Oh no, you said it wrong.”

Three burly tattooed Jesus Freaks

Thrust forward from the shadows

Clearly there to expedite

My pending trip to hell.

I turned to run and didn't stop

Til the alarm went off.

7-30-13

 

Odetta

I made two good remarks, and got

Some titular guffaws.

The manager no longer is

In sympathy with me.

I remember when she thought

I was a funny guy.

So back beneath my rock and keep

The witticisms clean!

My father whom I hated had

This difficulty too.

I always thought him clever. Waiters

Thought he was a bore.

Unlike Proust who when his father

Stumbled stood and cried,

I never cried until I saw

Him lie at last and dying.

The tears began.

My mother shut them up.

7-30-13

 

Bruce

He collared me and said I am

A knowledgeable guy.

Something that was never said before.

He has read my poems

And he said they had such power

He could hardly read them.

And he came as close to saying

That my verse is great

As anyone I ever met has come.

He is Persian and he tried

To put his thoughts in English.

I couldn't understand him.

So he smiled. I went away.

7-30-13