Sunday, September 27, 2020

Frosty ~ Sunday, September 27, 2020

"No, sorry, I can't stay. I have to go."
Only I didn't have to go. I spoke
those words without thinking but then I left.
Her eyes full of terror, frightened, although
I lived across the hall, not far at all.
No, I know I should have stayed but this joke
gave me a smile, so I left her bereft.

Go on, then, tell me how she died. I know
only a little of her past, her fall,
little by little, bit by bit, into
dementia, the madness in our family.

Cold? Yes, you might say a person turns blue,
as if listening to a homily
not just made her lose oxygen but show

signs of cyanide poisoning. Her death
took a moment to register, like why,
after decades going to church, the sky,
yes, the azure sky, takes her last breath.

Friday, September 25, 2020

The Devil in Hyde Park ~ Friday, September 25, 2020

The bus driver was not drunk but I asked,
how much have you had to drink? God, you stink!
even though everyone heard me, my masked,

ordinary face received not a blink,
no one knew what happened but they all fled,
exited in a rush, I gave a wink

while the bus driver sat like he was dead,
honor means nothing to delinquent youth,
only I wasn't young, simply well-read,

careful to blend in with the crowd, in truth
a line of people waited for the Six,
no one spoke a word, just got on, for sooth

does the law show up, he was in a fix,
only I, Satan, with my bag of tricks.

Friday, September 18, 2020

Under the Table ~ Friday, September 18, 2020

Possibly the best beer money could buy,
until you taste it, you will never know,
kiss all other beers goodbye, you won't stop
even if you want to, you'll start to cry,

in your hand the last can after you drank
not just six but a whole case, don't go slow

as tomorrow you'll be passed out, a cop

caught you drinking in public, behind bars
as you wish the cops, "Sweet Dreams," the drunk tank
not only stinks of soiled trousers, your pants

befit a homeless beggar, did your friends
eventually leave as you chose to dance,
entertaining everyone as time bends,
room revolving, you singing "Life on Mars"?

Thursday, September 17, 2020

Defiance ~ Thursday, September 17, 2020

Compliance doesn't require a degree in life science,
only a mask for each of the drunken masses meeting up at the meat market, lonely
men and women hungry for sex with swine in a pig pen,
pigs don't care whom they eat, living or dead, an old man digs
literal graves for the dying masses, each body dragged through littoral
infested waters, billionaire sharks swim after decisive proof of vaccines untested,
ask me if they'll feel bad when all the doctors die, money in their pockets, wearing no mask
not unlike the President, the fat fuck of American politics, senile, brains gone to rot,
criticize the virus for our stupidity, our blind spots, our lack of foresight, as we alphabetize
every book in the library, without regard for previous systems of disorder, while lost in reverie.

Agathodaemon ~ Thursday, September 17, 2020

As children grow, we learn rules of interaction, the rules of engagement,
since childhood, my conscience acts as a beacon light to guide and shine brightly,

covered over by soot and grime, it took me years to learn to keep it clean,
how did I lose my way on the path clearly set before me as a child,
if I did not listen to my parents, they beat some sense into my head,
listening to my gut, these feelings of instinct, teach us how to survive,
driving forces impelled me to act against rules as I craved attention,
religion could not help keep me from doing wrong, not doing the right thing,
exactly because laws set upon stone tablets millennia ago
never taught us the art of living in this world, truth and consequences,

gaining in reflection as an adult of past mistakes during childhood,
realizing the art of practice, of training to run a marathon
of course takes discipline, patience, understanding, affecting all aspects
working through adulthood, become your own parent, take back the art of play,

wonders, the marvelous aspects of everyday, quotidian lifestyle,
enter into a pact with eudaimonia, with my prosperity,

lessons learned in childhood teach us psychology, the nature of our thoughts,
entering the body to complete an action, revealing our own minds,
as children overwhelmed by the metaphysics of ethical judgment,
religion cannot help by offering the law without authority,
nothing present, nothing observed as real, as true, as not simply fiction,

remembering the gut, the visceral feelings within create conscience,
understanding we can Ignore these gut feelings or act on our instincts,
left alone as a child with only my brother and his friends, I lacked truth,
endlessly misguided by myself and others, I craved the attention
strict and harsh discipline offered as a comfort to a lack of sense felt,

of touch by a hard slap, a kick, a punch, and rage instilled into a child,
for love can be brutal at times, behind closed doors, this is how I found truth,

in the Seventies, kids had both parents working, teachers ignored the signs,
no one knew we were bad, why we became rotten, gambling, drinking, smoking,
that girls became mothers at twelve was no wonder, the kids were having sex,
entering the Eighties, everything changed, the shift in culture was clearly
reactive by parents and the politicians, conservative leaders,
as children, we rebelled against Reagan and punk was our outlet to fight
conservative party politics, we listened to music that spoke words
to enthrall teenagers with anger and outrage, to pick up instruments
in our own bands and sing, burn down bridges with noise, anarchy and chaos,
of our own destruction, we watched ourselves take drugs, to escape confusion,
no one could save our souls, no one cared if we crashed and burned in the nighttime,

transcending past mistakes as an adult, I grew to learn how to reflect,
however, I became stunted, reality took time to figure out,
eventually, money became our sole concern, after education,

restless youth seek outlets to explore their future, our lives tied to pipe dreams,
under occupation by conservative groups we rebelled, paradise
left us no solutions to our present problems, and Reagan's government
engaged society with repression and fear as tactics of control,
sentiments ran rampant entering the Nineties, with rap and indie grunge,

only inner city gang activity was news in the suburbs,
for the kids in L.A., gang membership became a fact of life or death,

engagement as adults was a double-edged sword, where life means in for life,
no one considers crime as craving attention, but sociologists,
given training in school to decipher actions taken by young adults
argue against closed minds, conservative leaders creating three strike rules,
garnering attention from police who shoot first and ask questions later,
entering the Noughties, all hell has broken loose, we've lost sight of conscience,
mentally, I have grown since I graduated from college, an adult
entering middle age, looking back at time lost, and good times gone for good,
no one to celebrate with during the lockdown, as we shelter inside,
that my karma is mine alone is the knowledge I gained as an adult.

Wednesday, September 16, 2020

An Argument ~ Wednesday, September 16, 2020

To the sleeping mind of a person born under the constellation of Cancer,
outside beneath an open bedroom window, a man trims the edge using a weed whacker,

the sleeping man dreams of his body in a tank being electrocuted by hundreds of jellyfish,
human consciousness cannot take this noise for long during a nap,
everyday someone somewhere, probably in a prison, gets electrocuted. 

Systems of justice deem this sufficient torture to end the life of a person, back in the day,
laws broken by individuals decided by a jury in a courtroom their fate,
even if they were innocent but proven guilty by the state apparatus,
even if they were found guilty by a judge and jury of their peers inside a courtroom,
perhaps no one deserves the death penalty more than a heinous convicted murderer,
indeed this is a fact of our justice system,
nothing is more important than this fact,
given we are only human, however if you or a loved one were there on death row,

maybe, just maybe, you would think about what it is like beneath that mask awaiting death,
indeed, if we were not so sure of our own innocence, each time someone is electrocuted, or put to death,
numb to the core, we are jolted awake by hundreds of jellyfish stinging us,
despite the pain, we remain asleep in a dream, in this metaphor we call life.

A Skeptic Looks at the Weather ~ Wednesday, September 16, 2020

Thank you for making me make myself heard,
heard above the din of thunder, after lightning
answers the prayers of our despondent earth,
no one realizes earthquakes, fires, tsunamis,
kith and kin of hardship and tragedies, speak

yet go unheard by citizens of planet earth as if
only their needs need be met by their maker
until the virus trying to destroy the population

finds a better method to complete destruction
of the wayward species of mammals, askew
regarding their orientation toward eco-culture

ministrations to realign their accountability in
acts of commission, acts of omission, acts of
kindness gone awry when good intentions
involve harming others or the planet, benign
neglect occurs, even malicious acts happen,
granting the earth a special office with God,

maybe you believe, or maybe you don't believe
existential arguments for the proof of God,

maybe you need a different type of proof, as if
arguments solidify faith, but faith is a concept
kings, queens, and other royalty take on faith,
exactly because faith needs faith to overcome

measures of resistance by nonbelievers, as if
you and I knowingly ignore arguments written,
saints be praised for their work to save a soul,
even my own from eternal damnation, as if my
life were worthy of grappling with faith in God,
for heaven's sake, Mary, if only I had accepted

heaven, hell and the Afterlife without question,
endless discussions with Asa, a man of faith,
as I understand him to be, all this speculation
reads badly, for I cannot accept the unknown,
demonstrate how prayer works, I cannot hear.

Tuesday, September 15, 2020

Das Kapital for Beginners ~ Tuesday, September 15, 2020

For years, literally decades, the fog remained
on the coast, in our little town, a beach city,
relatively stable, without ever fading away.

Whispers under their breath at microphones
hold politicians accountable for their words
as well as deeds in their personal affairs, but
the loophole being they didn't know it was on.

Dancers express fluidity, motion, design, as if
ordinary experience needed an interpretation.

Young upstarts at the gate, whinny and buck
on adrenaline, chomping at the bit to start,
under no obligation to stay calm, passive.

Yesterday, Mr. Gabidar woke up from dreams,
everyday, he wrote about his childhood, as if
a fog lifted, his awareness of magical realism
restoring imagination to quotidian rhythms,
nothing pleased him more than l'élan vital.

Purity ~ Tuesday, September 15, 2020

The hegemony of Nazi ethics and aesthetics
haunts the present unti global condemnation
elicits a universal response for positive

historical understanding, change and action,
effortlessly affirming clarity, not delusion,
given the ease of leaders to shamelessly fool
even their own constituents to get the vote,
mandates of assent by a majority decision
only pull the proverbial wool over all our eyes,
needlessly allowing authoritarians to rule,
yet, in an alleged democracy or republic

of checks and balances, power falls evenly,
fortuitously, over time when change is due.

Nationalist policies spread between the wars,
as financial depression enforced the market
zero returns on bad speculations, machines
in Europe, against harsh economic sanctions

engaged a nation to build before all others,
taking the world by surprise by infiltrating
honored borders until it became much too late
in the eleventh hour to find a way to overcome
concentration camps and propaganda, a war
started as revolt against values of restrictions

against erroneous beliefs, when eugenics
not only thrived as a science, its acceptance
determined that millions would die in camps

assessed by the powers that be as acceptable
even for those interned in these sham camps
set up to fool outside observers of actions
taken elsewhere where death and suffering,
however unreasonable, became the norm,
entering into a no-win situation for all parties,
though the Nazi commandants regarded
ignorance of karma and faith in swastikas
created a well-operated system of camps
secure in one goal, ridding Europe of vermin.

Sunday, September 13, 2020

Insecurity ~ Sunday, September 13, 2020

Embroiled in an imbroglio,
muddled interests at stake,
burdened with taskmasters,
righteous indignation
oils the gates of fury
in ecstasy before the fall,
little could be done but observe,
egos blow up like pufferfish,
disorder at the heart of mind,

incidents create precedent,
no one is immune to judgment,

another dollar lost to shrinks,
no one recovers their money,

in the confusion, a boy leaves,
musters strength to return,
bitter almonds, he leaves again,
returns as his older brother,
organizes a ring to steal,
given the poverty, poor folk
lift what they can't afford,
in the interest of basketball,
only the rich enjoy their sport.

Crash and Burn ~ Sunday, September 13, 2020

Are we good for nothing,
redundant as a wave
eternally flowing,

wave after wave, surging
endlessly up again,

generating motion,
overflowing levees,
overpopulating
demographic models,

feeding loop into loop,
order into chaos
resulting in endgame,

no pawns left on the board,
only a king and knight,
this is no way to win,
however both sides lose,
interminable sport,
no winners, both losers,
grease on the track, wipe out!

Friday, September 11, 2020

Summit Expedition ~ Friday, September 11, 2020

Until I awaken,
naught but a dream, this life
trembles at the semblance
in my mind, mistaken
literally by sense.

I struggle, full of strife

as I make my entrance,
welcomed by all to play
a role as we commence
kissing our days goodbye,
exiting the dark stage,
no sound until I cry,

naught but this silent rage
against the light, I bray
until a donkey speaks,
gifted the sound of speech,
how Balaam's ass could teach
truth from these mountain peaks.

Thursday, September 10, 2020

Joie de vivre ~ Thursday, September 10, 2020

There is a certain joy,
however transient,
ephemeral, fleeting,
residing in a coy
entertaining stillness

involving salient
strategies for greeting

a sunrise with a toast,

casting aside illness,
ego, despair, distress,
resolving to remain
true to this game of chess,
as we observe a crane
in flight along the coast,
nothing else matters but

jouissance in this life,
only pleasure can cut
yesterday's toil and strife.

Tuesday, September 8, 2020

Mother Goose ~ Tuesday, September 8, 2020

Some of us got lucky,
only we never knew,
maybe that was karma,
even ducks feel plucky

on the lake for a float,
floating goslings, grey-blue

under blue-green dharma
sink to submerge blue skies,

gather around a boat
on the lake for a lark,
together they gather,

lash against the bulwark,
under watch of mother,
causing quite a surprise,
kiss the goslings goodbye,
you and your ginger rye.

Dreamers ~ Tuesday, September 8, 2020

Adjust to the new norm,
direct to redirect,
justice simulates tears
uninspired by the worm
sloshed drinking tequila,
the bottle, its effect

translates Mexican beers
on the border with lime,

taste the upper Gila,
how water transforms land,
even the river knows

never settle for sand,
ever mindful it grows,
winds through rock over time,

nothing flows to a halt,
only a well-made dam,
restless goats on the lam
make a climb to lick salt.

Customer Service ~ Tuesday, September 8, 2020

In this fake-ass real world,
nothing is as it seems,

tomorrow is long past,
hope is a flag unfurled,
insults fly, yet we face
servitude in our dreams,

forget when green eyes cast
a hungry, tender stare,
kick time to outer space,
enter a timeless zone,

absence becomes present,
sinister becomes bone,
sinister remains bent,

remember that nightmare
evening at the bookstore,
a woman comes inside
looking for her order,

welcome the retail bride,
out on the mad border,
restless, she knows the score,
level the playing field,
dare lift the sword I wield?

Sunday, September 6, 2020

Frozen ~ Sunday, September 6, 2020

Mephistopheles feels cold in summer,
even if the keeper of hell resides
perennially here on earth, the heat
here on our blue planet needs a plumber
in his own opinion, since he suffers
stifling humidity as his insides
turn into ice cubes, his heart skips a beat,
obviously, he does not belong here,
personally, the time he spends covers
his own worst punishment, what could he do,
even the devil must pay his dues, but
leave him in Death Valley or the Congo,
everywhere gives him chills, it's the climate
stupid, send him to hell, he has no fear.

Exitus acta probat ~ Sunday, September 6, 2020

Mrs. Gabidar gave her soul away,
really, she thought, who needs this burdened weight,
simply give it away to anyone.

Granted, she gave much thought to go astray
as wanderers lose sight of a mapped trail,
burdened by life, by love, she took the bait
in the same way a mouse steals cheese for fun,
deliberately, she tried to give her soul
away, as she wanted to lift the veil
right off reality, a magic trick,

generously made known by drunk vagrants
as they pee outside on walls made of brick,
virgin concrete, freshly paved as a chance
encounter with dark hype, that was her goal.

Vain Angels Inclination ~ Sunday, September 6, 2020

Gotta find a way out
of this darkness within,
the light ain't bright enough
to live without doubt,
a lack of confidence

follows this life of sin,
if only I were tough,
never mind the whiskey,
dutch courage makes no sense,

alcohol is a crutch

welcome in every home,
almost every home, such
yearning under the dome,

outside a bumblebee
under the cool fire blue,
this blue whirl burns clear through.

Saturday, September 5, 2020

Perchance ~ Saturday, September 5, 2020

"To dream of baboons and periwinkles."
~ Wallace Stevens

To fall from grace, a loss / of favor, of kindness / shown, of talent bestowed,

of aptitude and skills / to pay the bills, to make / money, to make ends meet,

disenchant the dreamer / from the dream, illusions / disappear, spells broken,

remain disillusioned, / disappointed by love, / by life never-ending,

eternal universe, / time, a Möbius strip, / a Klein bottle, evolves,

a crab with claw held high / walks the length of the strip / an infinite mirror,

mirror left, mirror right, / make the crab walk the plank / on a ship lost at sea,

or space, lost amongst stars, / solar energy, light / travels the universe

faster than the fastest / object in the universe, / light encircles the strip,

binary, on or off, / one or zero, photon / or the absence of light,

astral navigation / at sea with Columbus / to the ends of the earth,

bitter as Camões, / imprisoned in Goa / for debt, later released

on his way to nowhere, / to finish a poem, / a book of his travels,

overseas he travelled, / a military man / with a fondness for rhyme,

no one but us baboons / read epic poetry / in Portuguese or Greek,

slant rhyme disenchanted / the use in formal verse, / later practitioners

abandoned all end rhyme, / accentual meter, / rigid syllable counts,

not until poetry / discovered slam break beats / in spoken-word hip-hop

did rhyme play with meter / in explosive lyrics / for the performance stage,

pretend I remember / when poetry flourished / here in America,

even if my madness / hadn't made me insane, / circling the gyroscope,

recognition never / seems to come with time served, / effort like a prison,

inside with no release, / no reward for work done, / no one appreciates

wisdom until they face / their mistakes with relief / and acceptance, not grief

inside the conscious mind, / pushed down in repression, / suppression of past acts,

none care to remember / the darkness of past days, / unfold a quilt of stars,

kindness entails kindness, / we judge, cast the first stone / against ourselves, others,

lest someone else looks back / at their life of mistakes / and accuse us falsely,

ever since I was small, / I could not help but fall, / fall down and fall from grace,

skinned my elbows and knees, / I cried ten thousand tears, / no one heard, no one cared.

Thursday, September 3, 2020

The Devil Finds Useful These Idle Hands ~ Thursday, September 3, 2020

Mrs. Gabidar knew many people,
even strangers others gave a wide berth,
paid no heed or offered nothing to help,
homeless, helpless, hopeless, minds left feeble
in the wake of trauma or disaster,
street urchins left hungry, their parent's worth
transformed by the system, their children yelp,
ornery, rambunctious, worse than stray dogs,
people abused, in need of a pastor,
herd her flock to pasture, to graze the land,
end up tending a church of lost pilgrims,
lonely, solitary, without a hand,
everyone needs a helping hand, systems
suffer with the devil, turn men to logs.

Being Necessary ~ Thursday, September 3, 2020

Would I have had a better chance...

                  Would I have had a better chance...

      Would I have had a better chance...

                        in India? Where I was born...

            in the land of my ancestors.

                              In that respect, I was lucky!

Only I had to leave...

                        I had to leave...

            to leave...

                              India, my homeland.

                  Never to return, not even after I die.

      When did I die?

                        How did I die?

            How did I know this for a fact?

Under the circumstances, am I still alive?

                  I know because the past predicts...

      the past predicts...

            predicts the future for all humankind.

Let me just say...

                  I may have had a better chance...

                              a better chance...

      a better chance...

                                    elsewhere.

Despite all appearances to the contrary...

            America lacks an indigenous culture.

                        Through hate, rape and murder...

                  we killed any bonding culture.

            We killed all the Native Americans.

      The indigenous culture before Columbus.

            Before the Age of Discovery by Europe.

                  Before Manifest Destiny.

                        Before we lost our innocence.

      And so, we make shit up as we endure...

                              go on...

                                          go on...

                                                      go on...

            But nothing ties us all as one people.

                        Not the Constitution...

                                    Not Independence Day...

      Not the upcoming Presidential election.

I may have had a better chance in India.

                  No one will ever know...

However since...

                        since I...

      since I was brought here to witness...

                  the crucifixion...

                                                the crucifixion...

                              the fucking crucifixion...

            of equality...

                                    of democracy...

                        of humanity.

And so, I must accept my role as observer...

                                                not as participant...

                        in the impending civil war.

Tuesday, September 1, 2020

Ἀμάλθεια ~ Tuesday, September 1, 2020

Mournful flames lick the edges of the pot,
overflowing liquid lapped up by tongues,
under such tremendous heat, they sizzle,
religion dictates we stir whom we caught,
nibble the flesh of our victim that melts
fluidly off her bones, we sing our songs
until our lungs burst, then gnaw on gristle,
learn our ancestral methods, how we cope

from loss, we catch a kid, strap her with belts,
leave her to cry in boiling oil, listen
as the god possesses her tongue, her voice,
my child, my child, you never had a choice,
ever so sweet, we watch your flesh glisten,
seems a waste, you weren't born an antelope.

--

"The pot was soot-black and the feeble flames that licked its sides showed pale pink and bordered with black, like flames in mourning."

p.47: The Invisible Man by Ralph Ellison
Second Vintage International Edition, 1995. Random House, New York: 1952.