Amazing

 

The words of hindsight sages

ring out with loud and clear tones,

how could we ever again

duplicate a blunder of such unbelievable proportions?

 

Speeches, sermons, lessons and meetings

gathering the host of witnesses

in nodding agreement

over the fact such moronic mistakes

have no reason to ever happen again.

 

Books written in meticulous detail

analyzing the error

until no question is left.

 

Laws passed, commentaries abound,

so proud we gained wisdom

from this utter moment of pure, self inflicted disaster.

 

Sleeping soundly in the security,

systems in force to shield the new dawn.

 

Right up to that very second

when there is a rerun of that catastrophe

caused by brain cells snoozing.

 

It all makes for great satire on the news,

bloopers, which make us shake our heads in amazement,

made more incredible

because it is a script wrote yesterday

acted on in the future

with rehearsal and accidents

repeated with such embarrassing accuracy.

 

 

When His Dream Non-Stop Flight Ran Out Of Gas

 

My boss was a visionary pessimist

always imagined hope to come that would always die,

so he planned our work routine

in keeping with his dementia.

 

Sent us out during rush hour

to try and collect supplies as quick as possible,

totally aware the gridlock gnomes

ruled the concrete during those moments

and nothing moved faster than a slug.

 

Always followed a plan

made from thoughts he randomly organized,

it was a collage of incoherent data,

which nobody could possibly understand.

 

Having tried to give it credibility

by using original copies

of notes he had destroyed

as his idea of security.

 

When all his antics failed to get results

you could see the panic in his eyes,

immediately he ordered us all to put in extra hours,

defining us a paid volunteers for that time

so we could prove our loyalty

without it costing any extra money.

 

Then adding to our joy

sending us home with more things to do,

calling it a paid vacation

by his Scrooge view of fair.

 

But the days wore thin on his brain

all that bent thinking leaving him

clearly confused,

babbling his instructions

uncaring they lacked any reason.

 

Eventually his dreaming ambitions came to a halt

that he thought would fly forever

after he suffered a nervous breakdown

with his mind found missing.

 

Keys

 

Who will unlock the cuffs

chaining the heart to a dungeon

where everything dies

and nothing survives without going insane

in the moans from the deepest wounds?

 

It’s tea time for the princesses

dwelling in basements filled with screams,

they fake laryngitis to avoid the truth

you can’t dress for a ball

to cover the blood

flowing from scars that never heal.

 

In the long, silent afternoons

of dull, throbbing temples

and recitals in the head

for ballets in torn gowns,

the shackles created in the mind

keep the day imprisoned

while pirouetting over graves

where dolls and tears are buried,

 

Nobody will hear the sounds of grief,

none will notice another’s absence,

because they are all too busy

looking for escape

from their own cellars.

 

Bouquets

Flowers from his heart
still fresh within her head,
alive with the scents
from love’s bouquet.

She takes them out
to remember their petals
when alone in her nakedness
draped in the sanguine cloth
of her thoughts,
stained by questions that haunt.

Hope’s bath
turning her blemishes
into ivory dreams.

June In The Heart

Savoring summer’s cerulean sky thoughts,
emerald landscape shimmering serenity
and the azure peace of streaming rivers.

Feeling the storms inspire
endless sunlight in expectations,
living with passion’s burning
from June in the heart.

I Didn’t Ask

Don’t tell me how to solve life’s problem
with some self anointed bellicose blast
of your private hell’s jailer jokes
that you want to blame on everyone else.

I don’t want to know about conspiracy theories
regarding the paranoia phantoms living in your head,
so weary of all the people that talk about the “they,”
who can’t prove such individuals even exist.

Can’t we have honesty
instead of fabrication’s window dressing?
What’s wrong with admitting
we all screw up too many times,
do we have to find a villain
just to avoid any sense of guilt?

So perhaps it would be enough
if so many just stopped talking at all
rather than depressing the rest of us
over all the crap we know
will never get fixed anyway.

Just go and peddle your anxiety
somewhere that you can find more ears
who want to waste their time
complaining about the obvious
and never doing a thing to improve life.

Let’s finally stop giving out headaches
because of living in a pressure cooker
since being steamed is hard enough
without cooks adding to the fire.

The Power Of Prayer

 

Dear Lord, I have learned my lesson,

this pride of mind has been slain,

I got the message and will never do it again.

 

My lips will only speak uplifting words,

never again will I dare to pray

some spiteful request unto your throne,

only please this time

can you undo this mistake  made.

 

When I asked you to end

the evil of the jerks I had on my mind

by turning the ones who acted like asses

into real life donkeys,

no way did I think

that it applied to me and my brother!

 

Now as I look back I accept

how some of our actions

might have bordered on the sinful,

after all we were just trying to gain

your prosperity blessings,

under paying employees wasn’t really that bad,

and not keeping those promises to our customers,

well it was just so we had more profit

in order to give more at church.

 

And honestly, all those women we took to motels

were so lonely as they could be,

did really promise someday to take care of all the kids

they had with us,

just got busy given speeches at schools

about abstinence and the joys of fidelity to marriage.

 

So if you we give us another chance and change us back

we will be so grateful and do so much better,

right after this weekend is over

where we were going to help try and redeem

all the ladies in that escort service

while using a phony credit card

in order that our money was saved for Sunday offering plate.

 

The Eagle Has Landed

 

That famous phrase came

over every television and radio

when the Apollo craft first touched down on the moon,

I was a teenager on the summer,

working at a fair, watched the event

on a black and white 13 inch television inside of a trailer.

 

The war continues in Vietnam,

President Kennedy dream lived on after his death

and we, a nation in turmoil and trials

stilled sent that American Eagle in flight,

walking where no man had ever been.

 

Though the program ended

Nasa focusing on the shuttle,

this moment of triumph still declared

how the human spirit refuse to stop reaching

where dreams and stars.

 

Getting side tracked by so many challenges,

even enduring when martyrs must fall in the quest,

yet moving on with our resolve

to let our imaginations dare to invent

gateways to the impossible.

 

 

Crooks!

Political thieves!

Stealing my dreams,

while voting them

back into office.

 

Onge-Ob Are Ants

I sit as a man in my fifties

asking myself over and over

why I should even know names

like Squidward Tentacles, Patrick Star,

or some pet snail called, Gary.

 

Is this something a mature adult

should really know?

Thank god I haven’t accidentally

mumbled those words at work.

 

Alas, I do have an excuse,

because I am a grandpa

with a two year old grandson

who thinks, “Onge-Ob Are Ants”

as he calls, Bob, is a god.

 

And being a loving grandfather

there are times we sit before the television,

watching Nickelodeon

along with Noggin,

sometimes for hours!

 

It’s okay, I’m doing my best

to search that show for secret messages,

thus far I’ve concluded

how the program happens to be a metaphor

for Bikinis representing ideal cities

if shaped like a sexy bottom,

leading to utopia.

There our minds as sponges

could discover that pineapples

are really the ultimate source for inner peace.

 

Ahem, watch the show to figure that all out,

meanwhile I’m going to lay off

helping my grandson eat his cookies

when it is on.

 

Remote Control Therapy

Poor Jennifer was in such a predicament

loved a cat and husband,

but thought she had it in balanced,

until she started watching those talk shows

all those therapists who treated

every fractured mind and dysfunctional life

that could be found on the planet.

 

Became persuaded under the sway

of the deluge in multimedia, metaphysical,

psycho-babble, past life regression,

phobia and childhood traumas,

none of which she even thought were her problem,

that her cat has issues over a kitten memories

to do with tuna and gold fish,

learned that from calling a psychic on one show,

then that her husband

most likely suffered from suppressed desires

related to his passive, aggressive

introverted, claustrophobia inclinations.

 

It made her head spin just to imagine

how each gesture either pet or spouse made

was possibly some hint of a “Freudian” slip.

 

Finding happiness in the acceptance

her life needed change,

convinced once she got a home for both

her tabby and mate

things would get perfect.

 

(Hopefully it will give her peace

before the effects of that latest talk show shrink,

who talked about toilets causing insomnia and paranoia,

gets her to have no choice,

but to replace her john with an outhouse.)

 

Barriers

To build a wall
from the heart’s bricks,
is to paint with the graffiti
expressing those childhood balloons,
created when one glared at the sky
and still believed
there were enchanted winds
that could lift life
above the boundaries
so many voices claimed
were impossible to break.

A smile stains with memory’s brush
reliving the times in sweet joy
when nothing existed you felt was fake
and freedom was the beauty
of a seeing the world
not having any limitations
or fears to making one a prisoner.

Time brought those stones of facts
constructing the barriers over the mind,
those harden images you can’t tear down
shrinking your surroundings into a box.

Still reclaiming in the mind
those sketches of youth
preserved with imagination’s artistry,
allowing one to keep on dreaming
with the glow of hope
tomorrow can become
a land full of surprises and happiness.

You’re Not Trying!

 

Though it was ages ago

I still remember that age of pain.

My gym teacher was also the football coach,

a former professional football player,

and every class was to him,

THE SUPER BOWL of sweat.

 

So even if you were on his team

during the football season,

afterwards you were lard rear slime,

in need of running till you puked.

 

No mercy in his eyes, no excuses for fainting

once he ran you till you couldn’t keep going,

push ups waited anyone

which stopped before he blew his whistle.

 

With him volleyball was a contact sport,

if you didn’t get a wound

you weren’t doing it right.

 

Did we really need one of his fiery speeches

just to do sit ups?

Was their logic in making us imagine

some calisthenics were as critical

as winning a homecoming game?

 

How I looked forward to football again

at least I had a helmet

to protect my head

from the times he would bounce

a roll of tape off somebody’s head

that he thought didn’t try hard enough.

 

Miracle Of The Ages?

 

Now there is peace

for the modern man,

a new invention

has streamlined cost

of making homes.

 

It replaces the lumber mill

and construction crews

can slice and dice

hammer and pour

all in a single day.

 

Well that was the claims

from its creator

sounded like perfect cure

to skyrocket cost of home building.

 

Might have actually worked

had they not chosen

Microsoft for the computer hardware,

downloaded off the net

so filled with viruses.

 

Darn device ran amuck

ate three cars, two cows

and even a train.

 

Oh the promise to make improvements,

but nobody is all convinced

because the darn thing’s

on board lap top super chip system

actually started to talk,

rambling about being a god,

with plans on making a throne

by chewing up a city!

 

The Circus

 

I sleep in a tent of my memories,

a canopy spreading with recollection’s images,

on it appear the creatures from my past that come alive

during the rambling journey

from my pillow to all the passages

rolling around in my head.

 

They are a circus of thoughts,

each having an act to perform,

twirling and spinning,

leaping in their fantasy gestures

to bring to life the moments I had lived

as a vivid sugary satire

so I can forget those times of tears.

 

My nightly views of their antics

has so many varied features

for I can’t control when they turn bizarre,

acting out some darker, macabre expression,

which gives my admission into that slumberland theater

some twists to the mind and snarls for the heart,

waking with confusion and heaviness

over a visit that turned so strange.

 

Still tomorrow I’ll wait for the event to return

because sometimes I get to play a part

when the ringmaster has my face

and all the players follow my party pointers.

 

It is an escapade that makes each evening

the opportunity to transform what was into an entertainment,

happily undoing for a while

what used to be recalled with only sadness.