Friday, July 27, 2012

PaleoPolish and Six

slip by happenstance,
slipped it right by the waking dream that leaves the mark
old tin of coffee
lard can full of cookies -
those chocolate cookies, you know, filled with a layer of white cream
calendar on the wall, open to April of 1963
and it has been there since April of 1963

slip by happenstance
slipped into the DNA and causes markers to pop right up
is it a picture or a clock on the wall
a picture of the son gone off to war -
the daughter who was killed in the motorcycle accident
two days after graduation
hit from behind outside the tastee-cone
/ blood and plastic everywhere /
the picture sat on the shelf for decades
looking like a clock
ticking away the same time after time

slip by happenstance
and a life changes with memories of puppets
and memories of foam-rubber skin and ping-pong ball eyes
little boys rolling red rubber balls and plastic parachute men
falling like spider webs
plastic parachute men
falling slow
look up in the sky
shield your eyes from the sun and the plastic parachute men
fall like feathers shed by a quiet bird
look up in the sky
look at the ancestors falling like plastic parachute men
falling like dew and falling like mist
like plastic parachutes
and when the first one tears you make a new one
make it from a bread bag
red, blue, and yellow polka dots give wonder
to the plastic parachute men
falling like manna from the old country

Tuesday, July 24, 2012

Did You Hear That Sound?

Basking in a sea of overwhelming memories

Scented with a glimpse of something

Ethereal and unspoken

An emotion touched through centuries

Shared through some outer world, outer realm

Disclosed through time and bloodlines

Flashing ancient remembrances

Of lives never experienced

Except through passageways

On the delicate petals of the cosmos

With a tribute to the swords and

The inner fire ever burning

Friday, July 13, 2012

where were you?

paranormal shoe and a hoe-cake dream
with a list on the tramway a trailer park scream
trailer park shuffle for the lady in red
stick it in a spleen make the other one dead
soulway height make the TV blow
move the rabbit ears - the TV got snow
pop rocks
and pop rock nightmare
jet jocks
and the middle east warfare
pile high, pile high
for the high priest team
the big three networks no video screen
watergate came, watergate went
everythings a gate now
the poet is spent
inflation stagflation recession depression
put a niner to the temple in a jeopardy session
brains on the sidewalk brains on the flag
take the troops outta nam put the body in the bag
schoolhouse rock like a candy pop love
get it out
get it out
nightmares blow
like a triple-tit cow
and the pop rocks melt in the coke and the blow
and the here and the now
drive a pinto to the corner in a flame end purse
for a 40 ounce comfort and the free love session
lovesession obsession depression recession
get it out
get it out
all my memories from TV
and a man called Nixon
and another called Ford
and another called Carter
and we all got bored
and we went off to college
and we went off to work
and we went off to dream
and the dot com bullshit
short sale scream
made a lighthouse eyeball razor in the bag
Marcia Brady wetdream and a three-piece suit
wall street backstreet
and the blow
and the loot
and I stare now
looking at a ghost and a sha-dow
of a 70s kid
and I hide now
waiting for a pop rock sha-dow
when the TV
drop a rabbit ear, and I got snow
soulway height make the TV blow
move the rabbit ears - the TV got snow
pop rocks
and pop rock nightmare
everythings a gate now
the poet is spent

Tuesday, July 10, 2012

Frack - O - Matic !

Broken hope

With a cash stream that’s run dry,

He packs up his lonely belongings

Along with a wallet photo 

Of a distant dream,

Heading for the Promised Land

Of toil and sweat and dirt

And a paycheck to lure back that vision,

So out of reach,

With the swarming and hostile streets

And the locker-room filth and stench

In a crammed shared room

With others trying to vie their way

Back from a lost world

Where nothing else is left

But the oil and the salt

And the chance of luck

Conjured up in the amber

At the bottom of a shot glass.

Friday, July 6, 2012

Elevator Going...

Floating inside the brain,

Observing the lethargy

That sets in after the pain of birth

And the pain of death

And the pain of every new beginning

That makes us weary and reluctant

To accept any more change

And to take any risks

That will cause us further anguish,

Hovering in the ambivalent part 

Of the gray matter

We cannot postpone the sharpness

And the cuts and the blood

And the wounds

Until we can face that holy unknown

That stops the beat.