Bright is the light of
a straw man burning
and briefly warm.
But ash makes a poor foundation
and anger needs fuel.
What will you burn tomorrow
when the effigy is consumed?
Tag Archives: poetry
A Casual Prayer
God bless every cause
and every contradiction,
every asshole with an idea.
Give them bullhorns aplenty
and acolytes.
Let their visions take root
in the face of ridicule
or fall under their own weight.
Give them freedom always,
but grant them no power
greater than their voice.
Gone Fishing
Lone spearmen walk the banks,
Sharp-eyed and selective,
they choose their prey:
A meal reserved for few.
The act itself, exclusive.
Others prefer hooks,
taut lines, and sinkers—
bells on their poles.
They wait in lawn chairs
talking weather.
Bottom-feeding
at the sound of a strike.
Ships, less particular,
use nets. No time
for shoreline discrimination,
they sort their catch later,
or not at all
then sell it to the masses
by the pound.
I prefer a bobber,
red and white,
rhythmic.
I can go for days without a bite.
Sweet
This patch could be any other:
A spot of grass below
a blue and clouded canvas
and I, an ancient king
eating apples from a nearby tree,
reveling in my royalty,
or the simple glory of the day.
In fact, I could be most anyone,
from any time or station
and the fruit would be as sweet.
Mephisto & Yahweh Bounce a Spliff
Mephisto:
Hit this, Bitch… I mean, Your Honor.
Watch your monkeys dance,
when I pull their strings and dangly bits
and offer them a chance.
At what? Who cares?
It hardly matters.
Offer one a crown.
Some will fight and some will follow,
but all are going down.
Yahweh:
Bitch?, your best?
You never were creative,
but I guess that I’m to blame.
‘Mephisto’, though’s a disappointment,
You’ve shortened up your name.
A ganja conch, how quaint. Oh blimey,
have you got a light?
Of course you do,
what was I thinking?
Damn, dis stuff is tight.
Mephisto:
Man, Oh Man, what are you saying?
Gimme back that shit.
I had them in your little garden—
She for apples, he for tits.
I’ve LoL’d throughout the ages,
delighted in their wars.
Helen launched a thousand ships,
but I invented whores.
Yahweh:
Dude, pass that back.
I’ll make confession—
One you need to hear.
Those monkeys are your own obsession.
I’ve moved on and
I don’t care.
Love Redux
And you would have me share—
Are you crazy?
What don’t you get about insane?
My will is a warm straight jacket
Lending steel and spine—
Invertebrate,
a jellyfish of eyes
and quick emotions.
I jumble my words
and choke on anger.
I can stare down the devil
or wither at a song.
Duty, I understand,
and obligation—
I am my word
and my word can be anything.
My creditors can be angels or whores.
Once upon a time I wrote you a hero,
A virtuous knight, a champion.
We enjoyed the fiction,
content to play fools.
Only, I wasn’t acting.
I have always been a fool.
Let me lie to you a lifetime.
Don’t ask me to share,
Just pretend that you still need me.
I am lost without this role.
Love
She asked me what I meant and I fell silent,
and falling dumb, I fell upon my knees.
To mean is to maintain in spite of violence,
a steady and illusionary peace.
I battered her with doubt, I begged for something,
anything by which to be defined.
I am, it is, they are – Dear God, have mercy:
A stranger in a world to which I’m blind.
“Love”, she said, distressed, as if an answer.
I lost myself a moment in her eyes.
I rose both to her need and to embrace her
and spoke a gift of comfort and of lies.
Snooze
My alarm clock shrieks out
’till I slap it a promise—
“15 more minutes
and I’ll slap you again.”
Puddles
The street is peopled and gray:
Dots flee raindrops.
Buses don’t care—
Indifferent to puddles
they splash their way to the next stop,
denting the herd,
culling the careless.
Flower-gathering – Robert Frost (1915)
I left you in the morning,
And in the morning glow,
You walked a way beside me
To make me sad to go.
Do you know me in the gloaming,
Gaunt and dusty grey with roaming?
Are you dumb because you know me not,
Or dumb because you know?
All for me? And not a question
For the faded flowers gay
That could take me from beside you
For the ages of a day?
They are yours, and be the measure
Of their worth for you to treasure,
The measure of the little while
That I’ve been long away.