What was it
We had to face
Every day? Let me see—
For starters there was
The same old sun,
The moon,
The stars,
The bittersweet feel
Of coarse earth under bare feet.
The main course was grin and bear it
Of course, though it wasn’t
All that bad in the end,
And one thing more
Just for the record—
Insecure brats we may have been,
But we knew for sure
Tomorrow would always be
A brand-new day!
Dear God, have a heart—
How bare
this
Wretched sandlot looks;
Where are all those
Ragtag tatterdemalion holy
Terrors that once played
Their ragged hearts out?
Scroll down your answer—
I know you know, stop
Tearing me apart.
Flighty one, wait
Long enough to see
Your name in lights,
And you’ll miss
Every curtain call
Save the last
Dance for me,
Hack.
Leaf through these
Moth-eaten pages
At your leisure if you will;
Just make sure you
Leave no holes, no
Blanks and no
New leaf turning
Over one more over-worked
Turning point of no
Return after another,
You got that?
Good.
Never a light task
To put down
Whatever dark matter is
Grieving you—
Heavier even the thought
Of how to carry it out.
Deep down thinking
Tells me just maybe
My life’s been spent facetiously
Wallowing in the muddle
Of a clearly shallow pool
Of stagnant water; perhaps
It’s time
I tried dredging this mighty
Fearsome puddle;
No more drudge, no bother, no
More hollering, mum’s the word
Seriously, that’s the only path left
To follow—
Would you care to join me
In this noble endeavor, oh
Fearless, humble lost fellow caller?
RSVP@suchtoungueincheek.com
What’s that you say?
Superkid poet profoundly
Past his prime still
Defying gravity always
More than capable of leap-
Frogging from one fantastic
Telling line to another
In an unbroken series
Of singular bounds,
With no wear or tear
Worth mentioning till
An astounding lack
Of down-to-earth metaphors
Finally sends him and his oh so
Flighty craft soundly
Crashing to the ground?
You must be kidding.
Light-washed columns
Of plain and simple truths
Out of the blue—
Nothing like it in this world
Made to order
For the likes of me and you.
Thus what bound them
Together remained
Forever unspoken, known only
To a blind, deaf, select few
Who knew all too well how
To keep their mouths shut.
You’ll do fine
By it—just remember
To approach
It with caution,
Even though
That unsettling flickering on
And off that refuses
To keep still and let itself be
Snuffed out does not look
As threatening
As the quickening shadows
It keeps on casting.
All the junk we thought
We needed on the way,
But with nothing
Lasting of value beyond
A precious uncertain morrow
Every day.
Believe me,
Nothing to believe in is
Nothing to sneer at—
Just think zilch
And you’ll see how
Grim it is to grin,
And your curling upper
Lip unable to bear it
By tucking it in.
Hell or high water,
I’ll keep shouting it
Till I’m blue in the face:
I’m not going to keel over
And die till I see all three
Of my intimate followers’
Bulging bloodshot eyes
Green with envy, ogling
The body of my work
And me
In my final resting place,
Period.
Nothing remains
The same: It’s been said so
Many times it’s old-hat,
Oblivious to change—
Keep on trucking light
Just the same, tread
Water if you have to,
Always use your given name.
--Corazón, stout dog,
“Poetry Is a Destructive Force,”
Wallace Stevens
To bark with all our might
Straight from the heart is just
What we didn’t want—
We needed something
That would clearly set us apart
From the howling, romantic pack. So
Oh so vain as ever, we found ourselves
Mushing on to wherever it was
We were going,
Forgetting all too soon
That which brings us
Together remains
For all appearances,
A blinding blizzard pure
As the driven snow.
Have a heart, dear
Ham—the persona
You so want the crowd
To lap up, keeps fleeing
Through the riddled
Exit wounds
Of a bleeding ticker.
Patience,
It’ll be over
In a jiffy—
It only
Hurts so
Long as you
Hold it in.
Striving to best
What you already think
You do better than others,
You keep writing, trying
For that elusive special something
Precious to say, never
Once thinking you should have
Packed it in yesterday.
Like that pale
Horse that gallops through
Our thoughts bringing us
A multicolored mane.
It’s a mystery how
The words have always been
Waiting there just as you left them,
Waiting to hear you
Go back.
Mess with innocuous
Ideas long enough
And they become bad
Habits itching
To be scratched
To death
Again and again—
What’s to be done?
Shun yourself
From everything
Blah and dig in, saving
In the process,
Your worthless skin.
Better you
Lose that too bitter
Demeanor quick, Junior—
You’ll find soon enough
It’s far better than becoming
Meaner and meaner.
