Month: August 2019

This Morning

 
 This morning I woke up
 to the constant chomping
 of the dog chewing
 her dinosaur,
 steadfastly digging through
 the cotton skin
 to get to the plastic
 squeaker.
 
 For a second
 my mind strayed,
 attempting to
 find a metaphor
 connecting fierce,
 extinct Triassic
 giants to this gentle
 domestic creature;
 
 but all there was
 was a dog chewing
 her squeaky toy
 in the morning
 before breakfast.

Clacks and Flashes and Chings

 
 All the clacks and flashes and chings,
 culture becomes a twittering machine,
 lost in distracting cravings from electronic crack,
 it’s shattered attention flung everywhere - 
 stroboscopic Soma.
 
 Myths are changed
 while consensus reality
 is distorted;
 three dimensions are reduced
 to momentary haze;
 
 anger misplaced,
 counterfeit pleasure,
 sentimentality trumps reason,
 truth is played like three card monte,
 and consequences are yet
 to be tallied.
 
 This is another engraving
 on the Bastards’ win list.

Shifting

 
 Like everything else,
 human connections shift;
 from neglect, 
 from ineptness,
 from the stranglehold 
 of family ghosts.
 
 expectations demand retrofitting,
 the broken remnants of disappointment
 are discarded 
 onto the scrapheap
 of loss.

Tentacles


 There are times of energy
 without etiquette, when
 the arenas of chatter 
 overwhelm - 
 
 like enduring the squawk
 of a thousand hungry gulls -
 
 devices and beings
 devouring fragile attention,
 that runs aground
 and is lost.

Wish Your Were Here


 Mischevious temptation:
 to speak,
 attempt to share, 
 to fill a void,
 rather than remain 
 within it’s vastness.
 
 Beyond speaking a single word
 the whole world there for the taking
 all without anything to say.
 
 It’s not a great matter
 of life and death.
 
 Open space,
 without end
 the meaning rests in the moment.
 
 Words are mere symbols;
 not the sky and clouds
 and green grass
 and blue reaching beyond imagination.
 
 They are the luxury
 of sensation.
 
 Time is best served by
 just shutting up.
 
 This place can be known,
 but you have to be here.

Mr. Bombay


 Boxed within his own chaotic discipline
 Mr. Bombay comes to save the day.
 
 A blowman in mirrored  shades,
 he ventures towards a different destiny,
 armed with the conviction of  his uniqueness
 he embraces his faith in outsider status.
 
 With knowledge of the rituals
 of common connection,
 he gets along when it suits him,
 And suits him when he gets what he wants;
 
 steadfast commitment to overthrow order,
 through stunts and shenanigans
 on bedazzled Saturday nights,
 
 ultimately remaining
 a lonely phantom
 when the Sunday sun rises
 and the less desperate return home.

Unattainable

 
 Through the looking glass,
 the display of illusion merchandise,
 come on,
 exhilaration,
 with the promise 
 of pleasures,
 often uncommon,
 and all too often
 unobtainable.
 
 Yet, it is there
 to walk by and notice, 
 to become a star,
 desired and omnipotent 
 in imagination.
 
 Conceived as yours,
 to be shared with no one,
 
 Possessed and 
 to be kept 
 in your pocket.