The Apple of His Eye ~ Saturday, October 31, 2020

Terence, my brother, never faced

      any competition,

how could I compare as a son

      to both of our parents,

even if I became the Pope,

      my brother was their son.

As the first-born son to parents

      from Nairobi, Kenya

people saw my older brother

      as my father's best friend,

perhaps I didn't have a clue,

      couldn't see past the tears,

left as a scapegoat to punish,

      I faced my role as bleak,

even if I played the misfit,

      as a child I was lost,

only by facing past trauma

      could I accept the pain

forgotten, suppressed and repressed

      in the mind of a boy.

Hope was not a feeling I felt,

      neither was happiness,

if I felt anything, I felt

      confused, lost and unloved,

second-born is always silver,

      never gold, a winner.

Even if I was a winner

      in a cross-country race,

yes, it happened my sophomore year,

      but no one ever knew,

even then, I could not compare,

      he was their superstar.

I Am a Horrible Person ~ Friday, October 30, 2020

Is that what you want to hear from your son?

Ask me why I say this about myself,

maybe my environment shaped my mind

as an outsider to the status quo.

Horrible is an exaggeration,

of course, I know how hyperbole works,

rest assured I imagine what others,

reliable sources, must think of me,

if I were a good man, why would I look

back to review my lost childhood in verse,

lessons impossible to learn back then,

engage my mind in thoughtful reflection.

Perhaps I was not a good son, so few

even know what that means in their own life,

rigorous disparagement leaves us mad,

sanity is just a word to lucky,

ordinary fools who've never gone mad,

no one cares what I think or have to say.

The Good Husband ~ Friday, October 30, 2020

The time I spent trying to be a good

husband, instead of being a good man,

even a good friend to the one person

God chose for me to love, and yet I could

only fail as a man, as a human,

only I am to blame, my lack of plan,

decisively showed I was not the one

Hungry Ghost to return to this planet,

unknowing the unknown, the bridge to span,

seeing beyond a lifetime of mistakes,

barely understanding what married life

arguably means creates certain breaks,

not in communication, but in strife,

difficult to face what I now regret.

The Pugilist's Last Hurrah ~ Thursday, October 29, 2020

To gibe with the epic

      a recipe for disaster,

of course, giblets on the menu,

      I may need a toothpick,

gracious for Thanksgiving,

      for turkey and giblets with the pastor,

invite whichever ingenue

      you want to the venue, disarm

before you enter, we livin'

      large, high on the hog, so to speak,

even if you freak, we all good,

we all family seven days a week,

      staying positive in da hood,

if you stay the night, no need for alarm,

      we stay in late, sleeping like cats

that have nothing better to do,

      lockdown grabs us all by the balls,

hungry for normalcy, we switch our hats,

      try to do something new, if the shoe fits,

take a new job, lowest of the low, so who knew

      our backs against the proverbial walls,

humor on TV makes us laugh

      even though, everyday I'm at my wits

end, ready to throw in the towel,

      a trainer watching his boxer with no fight left,

enter the ring against a kangaroo, no harm, no foul,

      but boxing a bear he feels the full heft

pulling him around by the epitaph,

      at death's door, his skull split

in two, it aches like a hopeless divorce,

      of course, we're all hopeless at times,

cracked in the head like a broken fighter, his spit

      doesn't hit the bucket, his crimes

            against the family no one can endorse.

Outsiders Versus Native-born Speakers ~ Wednesday, October 28, 2020

I've come a long way just to say hello,

'eaven help me, I come from Middlesex,

vocally, my accent changes each time,

each new environment gives a fellow

countryman their inflected voice to say

of course, I come from here, or there, the hex

magic spell, a curse of language, the crime,

evidently, to sound the same, common,

alike like no other, a tribe who pay

long-suffering travellers a voice check,

ordinary people from the same background,

not one of us, but other, what the heck,

given we're all human beings, no sound

would be alien unless a brahmin,

as a high caste Hindu reciting verse,

yellowed pages of ancient books, scriptures

jingle like bells, tintinnabulation,

under these conditions, I called a nurse,

simply to observe my hearing, the words,

trinkle, tinkle piano notes, pictures

taken with a Holga, tribulation

on deciphering the message, the code

spoken yet hidden in song as when birds

argue or chatter in a bush, sparrows

yell epithets at each other, I watch

humorous exchanges of barbed arrows,

engineered to pierce and remain, the notch

levels the pain to maximum, I load

lethal language games in a file called smile,

of course, Goans from India sense guile.

An Apology for Absence ~ Tuesday, October 27, 2020

I've come a long way just to say goodbye,

'eaven help me, my accent disappears

veritably overnight as a child,

enunciate the words, read aloud, cry,

cry, cry, nothing lasts forever, my dad

on his deathbed, unseen by me, appears

morbidly in a dream like a breeze, mild,

engaging with sorrow and loss, the cost,

as we all know of working hard, my bad,

let the world know, family comes first, unless,

of course, along the way, bad blood mixes

notions of discipline and harm, I guess

given a chance again, there'd be fixes

welcome to all parties involved, the lost

agnostic lamb of God does not believe,

yet believes in the possibility,

just as tomorrow is unknown, all time

under the spell, linear motion, weave

spells and tapestries to connect the dots,

tie events, interconnectivity,

to accept with humility my crime

of omission, to not take part in death,

suffering is a part of life, blindspots

as we change lanes on the highway, the road

yesterday is never the same, to step

gently in the river, carry a load,

of course, a beautiful woman, to schlep

old memories around, just take a breath,

does a body good to let go of thoughts,

blood flows from the heart throughout the body,

yet bad blood clots the flow, a hot toddy

entices me to forget, loops and knots.

Philosophy Conference ~ Monday, October 26, 2020

Am I in Chicago? You bet, my man;

my plan? To jet to Timbuktu, Mali.

I realize, "I am not I." Spirit

invokes the measure that is man. To span

neurobiology in a nutshell...

Chilling like a penguin crying. Cali

haunts my memories. Sometimes when I spit,

if I remember correctly, I taste

chicken curry and rice; or else I smell

a lingering scent of sea salt from waves

gently misting like an aerosol spray;

or I see my past trapped inside of caves.

Yes, as a child I was a monster, gay,

only as an adjective, since displaced,

under the auspices of inclusion;

but can I believe what I cannot see,

enter the so-called world of politics,

to believe I must see past delusion;

maybe I need courage to see past shame,

yet to accept with compassion the glee

men and women recover an ethics

as a measure of justice; not a game,

not a word, but a point of pride, my man.

Torna el tro! ~ Monday, October 26, 2020

When the rose of August,

hot and humid, weathers

every storm, clouds of dust

nevertheless spin just

the right amount, feathers

hover until a gust

engulfs a farm, then rust

reaches the sky, tethers

on the ground dance with dust,

simply nothing then, thrust

endlessly to nethers,

of course, respects August,

for while, in God we trust

allows get-togethers,

under the ancient dust

granted by law, our lust

unleashes whips, leathers,

stallions and mares from dust

to eclipse in August.

Magnitude ~ Saturday, October 24, 2020

I am hero of my own epic life,

as God is my witness, I run my game,

marathon training, to efface the soul,

humility is a lesson in strife,

energy is the key to endurance,

realizing I don't exist, the shame

of expecting too much, the empty bowl,

of course, cannot be cleansed of emptiness,

for meaning would be stripped of reference,

mile after mile, I lose myself to find

yesterday is nothing like tomorrow,

on the Lakefront Trail, I pass my own kind,

women and men who run, not from sorrow,

no, but to rid the world of pettiness,

emergent, empirical awareness,

promises nothing but ephemeral

images, sounds, thoughts, sensations, and joy,

contemplation is the key to quareness,

learning why what it means to be alive,

immanent not transcent, visceral

from trusting the body, the gut, the ploy

entering the race to be best, to strive.

Irrelevant Geezers ~ Wednesday, October 21, 2020

Everything we took for granted,

      now seems a luxury,

veritably, the world slanted,

      we watched while the jury

elected a new president

      back in 2016,

remember how disenchanted

      we were but our fury,

yesterday, appeared so hell-bent

      now, everything's gone green,

trust me when I say rust never

      sleeps, without oxygen,

however, iron never rusts, 

      corrosion is the key

in staying watchful forever,

      we seek the way of zen,

nothing but words, blustery gusts

      of wind, waves on the sea,

granted, the president voices

      his opinions as facts,

welcome to year 2020,

      toss a wrench in the works,

enter each day to make choices,

      navigate Russian hacks,

to survive a life of plenty,

      face down in bed, no perks,

only, you have the right to breathe,

      with lungs full of fluid,

observe your final breath, lungs seethe

      with just one final bid,

kiss the cruel world goodbye, my friend,

      you're now a statistic,

fun is over, the virus kills,

      a rate of ten percent,

only, how to avoid the end,

      stay inside, that's the trick,

reside and hide inside, the bills

      mounting, to make a dent,

give a little to gain some time,

      shelter from the twister,

remember, looting is a crime,

      hot fingers soon blister,

and you didn't need a new coat

      in the midst of summer,

now come fall, time again to vote,

      Biden, what a bummer,

the elder of two dead white guys,

      who forgets first, dies first,

even to last one hundred days,

      or Harris takes over,

deceased presidents, no surprise,

      the best become the worst,

none who fulfills a promise stays,

      stones hidden by clover,

only if he survives one term

      will he make destiny,

win the Electoral College,

      while the popular vote

seems to matter but to a worm,

      facing ignominy,

entering the mouth, on the edge

      of suffering a goat,

eclipsed in the last election

      by bad publicity,

men cheat to avoid detection,

      they face duplicity,

sensibly, if caught, they deny

      the truth, their dishonor,

a stain on the nation, whereby

      Nixon was the fawner,

lessons learned from history, none,

      Trump wins and we all lose,

until we clean the slate, the sun

      shines equally, J'accuse!

xenophobia in the news,

      alt-right militia found

underground works above the soil,

      white supremacy thrives

resisting acceptance, their views

      remain deep underground,

yes, Trump plays the hate card, his foil,

      to assure he survives.

The Pugilist ~ Tuesday, October 20, 2020

Sometimes I feel this awful pain

      as if I were a vodou doll

on a bed of nails to obtain

      a well-deserved rest since the brawl

made mincemeat of my face, disgrace

      in the ring where no choir sings

empty praises for a fox chase,

      hunted for my pelt, nothing brings

this old body more joy, to skin

      a corpse of flesh, Marsyas knows

if punishment is served, to win

      a contest with a god just shows

mankind, hubris finds in the end

      the skin or pelt is mine in death,

even if someone acts "the friend"

      but is a fiend instead, this breath

still not my last, lets me taste life

      on my tongue, whether bittersweet,

I hunger for a chocolate wife

      to devour on Easter, we meet

for espresso in the morning,

      the machine presses out my soul,

enter evening, some guy horning

      in on my turf has but one goal,

enter the bank at heaven's gate

      to steal my bride from St. Peter,

life is nothing but hell, to sate

      my broken lyre, he must treat her

terribly kind, as if a queen,

      my Eurydice in my arms,

how unkind this world to my spleen,

      if I drink too much it alarms

ignorant firestarters of flames

      they set in the forests for fun,

still arson provides some with games

      to make the evening news, well done,

aspire to infamy, no worse

      for wear, orange becomes your gear,

whether les anges d'or spit and curse

      your pride, or you discover fear,

for you have nowhere left to run,

      at night, inside your cell, you scream,

under the strain of prison, fun

      is gone for good, for now you dream,

life on the outside, apple pie,

      served hot, straight out of the oven,

pleasure and pain remain, goodbye

      cruel world, welcome to the coven,

as sadists are known to gang rape

      the fresh vessel of wholesome love,

in your own cell, you, a stuffed grape

      leaf, filled with rice, they send a dove,

notably from the ark, insane,

      you learn to walk before you crawl.

No Mercy ~ Friday, October 16, 2020

Karen was no ordinary golem...

      she was a raging bitch,

an itch she could not scratch,

      as no amount of mud

resolved the pain she felt

      in her tush, her sore bum

even got in the way of love making,

      what's a golem to do,

no one wants to listen to her complain

      about her diaper rash,

when she went into a grocery store,

      she would burst into tears

and rage at male clerks for no apparent

      reason, but they knew

she was deranged, a golem named Karen,

      could it get any worse?

No rabbi could help the situation,

      and priests were of no use,

of course, this was a Jewish dilemma,

      straight outta old world Prague,

oh my God, how the firefighters tried

      to spray her down, water

really had no effect on her temper,

      or on her temperament,

difficult to say what would help,

      treat her like a baby,

insane to think a mud creature

      could become so vicious,

not even fire could give her buns of steel

      a day off from burning,

as counter-intuitive as that sounds

      the police consented,

really, they gave us their blessings

      to destroy the creature,

yes, kill the Karen as the Buddha

      you may meet on the road,

given the green light to destroy

      at will, we wore our gear,

only twelve of us were allowed

      to come near the swamp thing,

left on her own, she would pace the carpet

      until she left a trail,

even monsters live by intuition,

      and she knew our plan,

maybe the flamethrowers were a slight hint,

      but we burned her to dust...

The Ghost of the Clam ~ Saturday, October 10, 2020

Dedicated to Arthur Trinidad 

Torture, by any means necessary,

how retribution became my passion,

enter the dark soul of a twisted mind.

Ghosts of my ancestors come to bury

human remains, a corpse, my cousin died

on his own in a diving pool, ashen,

suffocated, his face, in the dark, blind,

traumatized by drowning, filled with mussels,

of course, he could not swim, he had no stride

for arms to reach the edge, the sea, the sea.

Cousin tortures cousin, to drown the soul,

left with him as a child, I died, be free,

ancestors spoke to me, they had one goal,

make sure he's found in the port of Brussels.

Hermeneutics ~ Friday, October 9, 2020

What if everything we believe is wrong,

heliocentric or geocentric,

a flat earth versus a spherical one,

theoretical models appear strong

initially, until a shift in thought,

for technology brings forth eccentric

engineering, discoveries hard won,

virtual reality would seem strange

even one century ago, we bought

reality as a blip on a screen,

yet, nobody knows what the future holds,

that "metaphysics is dead" causes spleen

however inconsequential, that scolds

ingenious thinkers forced to rearrange

notions of reality as useless

games, thought experiments, with no future,

welcome to the present moment, the same

exact situation, I must confess,

before we found ourselves within a loop,

engaged in viewing through an aperture

lessons in authority as a game,

if everything is wrong, what could be right,

even a basketball game with one hoop,

veritably, half-court still appears real,

everyone wins if we enjoy the sport,

if games are about names and how shoes feel

still the idea where we use half a court

wins for ingenuity, half the fight,

reason is easy to question, to know

only as Socrates said, we know nought,

noble Plato put words in his mouth, caught

giving lessons to students just for show.

Les Brumes ~ Wednesday, October 7, 2020

Present arms, forward march, halt, about face,

retreat, cannon fodder for a just war,

onwards, the enemy seeks to erase...

welcome the invading army, the corps

assesses our defensive tactics, yet

remains peaceful until the first shot, pour

simple syrup in a tall glass, a jet

passes through smoke, passengers choke on fumes,

arriving in Saigon, the eve of Tet,

rowboats paddle downstream, the mist resumes

reaching deep beyond shore, hidden in fog,

obscured by their ancestors in costumes,

we sleep, awaiting celebration, dog

star glows bright before dawn, stuck in a bog...

Nostalgia ~ Tuesday, October 6, 2020

Sparrows in the bushes, or in a tree,

present no ethical dilemma, but

a sparrow I pass on the pavement

reaches deep into my conscience, I see

riddled through my brain after a decade,

only I can't seem to forget, my gut

worries about the past, an incident,

silly, I know, but I did nothing then.

Arrows of love and arrows of time fade,

recesses of the mind let go, forget,

remember how I am an elephant,

only now left with my karma, I bet

wickedness goes unpunished but a plant

seed grows, a hurt bird cries, return, my yen.