Book of the Dead 6
In life, my mother said she longed to travel.
So when she died
Her children took on the task
Of delivering her ashes
to random and various locations,
Widespread as possible.
I traveled on an airplane
With some of Mother’s ashes
In a zip-lock plastic bag
In my hip pocket.
I was conscious of her presence
As I sat in that narrow seat.
And I set them free
In the shadow of Haystack Rock
At Cannon Beach.
She entered the sea
And turned it milky gray
On the first incoming wave,
Then drifted out a few feet
And returned wider on the next wave.
And then, like some kind of ethereal sea bass
Might flip its tail,
She splashed at me and was gone.
I won’t say she hasn’t been back.
Tag Archives: poetry
Book of the Dead 3
Book of the Dead 3
As time erodes,
The past fades.
All our deeds fade.
Memory goes gauzey.
Even morning is translucent by eve.
And by death,
We are making no new fading tapestries.
The image,
The tone,
The scent,
The taste,
The feel
Of fading dust
Is left but shortly.
The dead fade too.
Their countenance,
Their deeds.
Swept away like detritus:
A tie clasp,
A collar button,
A porcelain thimble.
By midnight they can barely be seen at all.
Valentine 2024
This old body has lost its equilibrium.
I stumble around here,
Heel rolling over the toe,
Like an old drunk
When I’m sober as a pastor…
MORE sober than that one pastor.
There are only a couple of things it could be.
My body doesn’t function like a well-trained athlete any longer, or
I’m hopelessly in love with you
and my brain is blindly following my heart to be near/toward/around you.
I’m going with number 2.
I’m not waiting for Door Number 3.
Come stagger with me, my love.
Food & Sex
(From a glossy mag quiz re: food and sex)
At my age do I have a comment about food and sex?
Does a fat old man have the right?
Am I still relevant in the final, um…quarter of my life?
What of audience for my say about food and sex?
After all, I remember the summer of love first hand, so to speak.
(Speaking of love)
I have had sex without love.
I have had love without sex.
And I have had no love without sex.
No love without sex is boring.
Love without sex is boring,
What could be worse in America?
But sex without love is like
(Speaking of food)
Steak without the sizzle–
Steak devoid of fat–
Tofu-based ground meat product–
Not even good enough to make a decent chili.
It doesn’t matter how hot you make it.
Add garlic and chilis and cayenne,
Add salsa and white pepper, black pepper, red pepper,
Add mustards, white, black, yellow,
Even oysters and a tiny bit of chocolate,
It’s still just soy
Dressed up in crotchless panties and a garter belt.
Sex without love is nice,
Nice like low-cal sherbet made from skimmed milk and xylitol,
Nice like soda with aspartame,
Nice like left-handed sugar,
Nice like microwave popcorn with shake-on artificial butter flavored salt substitute.
Fucking your way to love
Is like eating your way to thin,
Or praying your way to heaven
Because in an hour,
Or after a shower,
You just need more.
The itch remains unscratched.
The void remains unfilled.
And eventually you get some disease
Or you figure out that some things aren’t good for you:
That some sex is goofy;
That some sex is a little crazy;
It’s all fun and games
Until you break your dick.
So you lay off and try to heal,
Sitting on the couch
(Speaking of food)
Eating pop tarts,
Tater tots, fish sticks, fruit by the yard,
Wonder bread, Lucky Charms, Fritos,
Ubiquitous bean dip, candy bars,
Cup cakes, Twinkies, smokey links,
Propyl gallate, butylated hydroxyanisole
Or butylated hydorxytoluene,
Potassium bromate, monosodium glutamate,
Ascesulfame K, Olestra, sodium nitrate,
And always, always,
hydrogenated vegetable oil with
Blue 1, Blue 3,
Red 3, Yellow 6.
It’s all in there,
Like good pornography.
And eventually there you are again,
Staring at your reflection in the pool
And wondering why that erection won’t go away,
Understanding the meaning of priapism.
And clitorism,
Or why your panties won’t dry
In the middle of the swirling snow squall.
Trying to come in from the storm,
Trying to come in to the table
Trying to come in
Trying.
You Can’t Kill Love (No Matter How Hard You Try)
Dedicated to you. If you think it’s you, it is.
I tried to kill my love for you.
I shot it full of holes—
Stabbing, choking, poison—
In a battle for my soul.
I tampered with its brake lines.
I stretched it on the rack.
I surgically removed my heart,
But it kept coming back.
FEMALE CHORUS
Love SAYS, “I didn’t vote for
This fate for you, my friend.
But I’ll be here, year after year,
Until the very end.
Until the stars wink out at night
And the sun turns cold and stark.
‘Til Entropy rules splendidly
In a last act cold and dark.
I tried to drown it in the bath.
I held it down for hours.
I tried to bury love for you
Beneath the yellow flowers.
But up it leaps from way down deep
And struts upon its stage.
It reads the saddest tale of all,
But never turns the page.
MALE CHORUS
I tried to drown it in a bottle
They made in old Bombay.
I persevered for 10 long years
And 27 days.
But love kept coming back
Like a cat with 7 lives,
With big sharp teeth, a screeching voice
And claws like switchblade knives.
I tried to hang it on my chest
Like a medal for the brave.
I tried to spank it publicly
In hopes it would behave.
But it acts just like a spoiled brat
With snot upon its nose
And so I beat it ceaselessly
With a stick and rubber hose.
FULL CHORUS
Brother-Man, Joe Troyer comes through again! This is an early run-through of the song in his best country/folk rendition. Thank you, Joe.
The Solstice and the Poet’s Metaphor
Winter Solstice is the Poet’s Holiday–
Maximum darkness
With flat gray skies
During a short, sunless day.
The chasm, at night,
Between dark and light,
Grows bottomless.
Accustomed to their night vision,
The Poets peek
Through the veil
At their glimpse of despair
(for Despair is the finest of poetic feelings)
And bear witness to
The false promise
Of the returning light’s respite.
Tomorrow is new.
We count the days.
Wrung Out
After all the diuretics and tears,
When I die
Throw me away
Like an old
Wrung out kitchen sponge.
[292]
My Heart is Heavy
The moment I woke today I said, “My heart is heavy,”
But I did not mean it.
Why do we say that?
The heart isn’t heavy, no matter how sad we may be.
A man’s heart weighs something like 10 or 11 ounces,
A woman’s is even less: 8 or 9.
If your heart is heavier than that,
It isn’t from sadness.
It has become enlarged from some medical condition and it may be treatable.
And even if you had a heavy heart,
Say five pounds or so,
It could sit in your lap with little difficulty,
Like a cat or a small dog.
A cow’s heart weighs about 5 pounds
And would not weigh me down much.
Even a horse’s heart is easily managed at 8 pounds.
I have had dogs in my lap bigger than a giraffe heart at 26 pounds.
An elephant heart is something like 60
But it would still fit in my lap.
It is not the heart that is heavy;
It is the world.
“The world is heavy,” is what we mean to say.
“I can no longer bear it in my lap.”
It is my heart’s job to weigh the world.
The weight of the world can crush a man’s heart to jelly
And his bones to powder.
That is what I meant to say this morning.
The world is heavy
And I am in danger of being crushed.
[269]
I’m Watching Late Night TV
I’m watching TV sell goodies to me.
I can still buy CDs.
I can buy DVDs
Of the old BeeGees.
Rendered now in full 3-D.
I can cure ED.
Buy gas from BP,
Get shoes orthopedy
And Beefy BVDs.
I’m watching TV sell goodies to me.
I can watch three monkeys
Fling mealy feces.
I can buy a green machine
that makes trees leafy.
I can fly to Fiji.
I can feed the needy.
I can take a GED by the light of GE.
I can watch I dream of Genie.
I can meet ET.
I can see the big ol’ boobies
Of a witch named Phoebe.
I’m watching TV sell goodies to me.
I can buy a PC.
I can take PE.
I can get PG.
I can go PP.
I can get touchy feely.
I can beat the heebie jeebies.
I can eat more kiwis
Than a dog named Queenie.
I can watch a man fish in a lake that’s reedy
Or fix his lawn that’s really, really weedy.
I can watch the PD
Storm a hotel seedy,
Bust a whore with VD
And symptoms of TB.
I can watch a guy who’s creepy
Just before he gets the DTs.
I’m watching TV sell goodies to me.
I can watch some plumber TCB
With some plastic pipes of PVC
Fix a toilet that’s leaky,
Make it flush away the TP,
And once again, take away the PP.
I can Watch the QB
score the winning TD.
I can watch an old movie
‘bout truckers on the CB.
I can watch dinosaurs all scaly and creepy
Back about a million years BC
Act like members of the GOP
In the halls of congress in today’s DC.
They both were greedy
And they both ate freely
Of the eggs and babies of other little meaties,
But the big ones ate the little creepies
And were eaten in turn by the bigger blue meanies.
And I watch all this till my brain gets leaky
Then my real world life begins to look pretty freaky.
So I’m watching TV sell goodies to me,
And I know it’s time to quit the habit of TV,
But it really isn’t all that GD easy.
I can still buy CDs.
I can buy DVDs
Of the old BeeGees.
Rendered now in full 3-D.
I can buy a PC.
I can take PE.
I can get PG.
I can go PP.
I’m watching TV sell goodies to me.
[245]
I’m Tired of Living in a Country Song
Let me make it clear: this is not tale of my life today. It was a time in my marriage that was much different from now. But I can’t deny it was a real time. Also NOTE, regular text is spoken, italic text is sung.
I’m tired of living in a country song
But here I am,
Sitting in my truck,
Looking down an endless highway
With less than a quarter tank of three dollar gas.
I’m tired of living a country song
So, I’ll take the truck and drive along.
I’ll let the dog ride shotgun next to me.
But any old road that I choose now,
Well, that’s a road you won’t go down.
So, we’re headed in different ways, it’s plain to see.
The only thing I know for sure
Is you don’t want me around no more
And I’m staring down a highway I can’t drive.
I’m sick and tired of mad and sad.
I’m looking hard for a little glad,
And we’re layin’ down this song in concert live.
The biggest question we have right now
Is who gets custody of the last dog,
And if I have time to get my teeth fixed
Before the insurance runs out.
Highway moves from town to town.
But staying here just brings me down.
I just can’t be the me I wanna be.
I know you know I’m not the man
You tried to make when we began,
And I can’t be the me you wanna see.
So maybe I’ll grab the dog and drive away
Drink some beer and
Learn to play the slide guitar.
Wish you luck
And catch your act in Wichita.
All duets will end one day
And each of us is less, they say,
Than half of what we were when we were one.
But less than half is more by far
Than all of any falling star
That burns completely out before it’s done.
I’m tired of living a country song
So, I’ll take the truck and drive along.
I’ll let the dog ride shotgun next to me.
But any old road that I choose now,
Well, that’s a road you won’t go down.
So, we’re headed in different ways, it’s plain to see.
[244]