Without Poetry

The Bad Dog

When I was a boy, the neighbor's children

Had a bad dog fastened to a fence.

They said to stay away. But I approached it,

Knelt and put my face against its muzzle.

Suddenly it bit me in the mouth.

I remembered this and wished to put

It in a poem. In a couple minutes,

It was finished. It was never meant

To draw some similarity to life.

Like Richard Rodgers writing “Bali Ha'i”.

The Lancelot and Christ in my went sour.

I stumbled back and cussed the hateful dog

That all the time kept barking. I went home.

The neighbor's children watched but didn't speak.

Such a fool they must have thought I was.

 

After Leaving Denny's

I am sure that all they thought

Tonight is that I'm very shy

And crazy. Anyway it's true.

Every time they stopped to visit

I could only laugh and smile.

Ordinary gentle people -

It humiliates me to

Be understood -

 

The Party

I wrote the lyrics. No one gave me praise

But he who did the show and several

People from the audience.

A cute and perfect ingenue

Gave a party for the cast

And invited everyone but me.

Not a sullen raging Dostoyevsky,

But a silly ass who imitated

Larry Hart.

They will die. The party's been forgotten.

Larry Hart is dead. Our cat is dying.

They're like everybody else on earth,

Like cats. And they will die despite their god.

What I missed (the party) is a moment

In life's constant endless repetition.

Music, books and poetry will perish,

But rise above the duplicates of life.

There's naught to life but happiness and death.

An English teacher after I am dead

Will analyze this song before a class.

I can hear him now.

 

Going Crazy In Denny's

Not a slight and boyish man,

A love with nothing in his head,

But a smarter man than I,

But doesn't seem to care

For his own intelligence,

An enemy of art.

He wanted nothing but a friend.

That's all I know. That's all I know.

I can't analyze the earth.

I lack the insight and the depth.

I am sick and crazy now.

Admitting people in my life -

The Denny's crew I've known for years.

They must see I'm crazy, sitting

Laughing, smiling while they talk.

Would Shakespeare say, “I'm going crazy”?
An idiom, I'm sitting here,

Sounding depths I can't achieve.

Shakespeare didn't understand

A thing, but made it beautiful.

Winco

Sex and scandal in the supermarket,

Glancing at the magazines in Winco.

A grocery store at 1 a.m. is where

You're very glad they tell you you look straight.

 

Cat Medicine

When you love somebody, then you trust him,

No matter what he does. If you're a cat

That gets its medication twice a day.

You squirm, you writhe, you clamp your jaws shut tight.

And when you've had your squirt of medicine,

You lie and lick your mouth while you are held,

Until you cease to fight, and you relax,

Allow yourself to stay there. You are safe.

And always were. You know that you are loved.

 

Crazy Talent

It does not make you happy to be crazy.

The madness comes and goes. And comes enough

To qualify you for the monthly check,

And the letter sent to certify

The doctor said you're totally disabled

And permanently. It's settled and official.

A few more years you ought to get the money

To live on while you write. Then you will die.

Will your name be known when you are dead?

Or after? Only if the stars are right

And you have the talent that you need.

Though people without talent can go far,

Then die in drugs and shit and be forgotten.

But Stephen Sondheim seems a gentleman.

How to write a poem

2:30 and eight poems have been written

Just this morning, every poem just

As good as any other I have written

In my life – except the early poems.

It isn't difficult to be prolific,

Except the days when all the verse is bad.

How to write a poem. Teach yourself

Or have it in your brain when you were born,

An aptitude for thinking words in rhythm,

Have a big vocabulary, one

That sends the right and necessary word,

And think of something to write verse about.

There's nothing more. Do teachers who teach art

Teach something different or something more?

Like verbal music and a dozen forms.

 

Without Poetry

Without poetry I'd die

Or rupture and explode -

The ocean would

Come gushing out my eyes

And nose and mouth -

My head would float toward the beach

And settle in the sand -

And my cadaver like a craft

Would undirected drift

Upon the sea -