Everything That I Know
All the world’s poems include
banana splits of hypocrites
soda fountains spewing mountains
and iPhone fairies picking berries
empty caskets
torn straw baskets
Turkish rugs of
sinister shrugs
I wonder…
What would happen
if I shred them
add compost
and plant me?
***
Winter window wondering…
amateur artist can’t get it right
his monotone canvas: harbor
reflects sky’s stubborn gray light
whimsical white drifts down
in hypnotic specks
freeze drying monotony
I am whitewashed,
quest for color
write what I know…
as tug boat commerce
pushes the harbor
nature in reverse
forces my focus
to find inner crocus…
I realize…
there will always
be snow jobs
and blowjobs and
those prone to hobnob
devouring kabobs
drifting…
I mix Dylan Thomas, Maya Angelou,
Pablo Neruda and Langston Hughes
and me, when I was really, really sick
shred my worst, which got me hoots
scrape in the mud from my boots
mix with mom’s best kitchen beater
cement truck’s drum, turn on the heater
try to remember…
playing cards anticipating
syncopation’s masturbating
pulls sheets over innovating
ends the game lacerating
***
fretting foghorn infers:
Give up!!!
I’m not a quitter
or a quilter
but look at life
through my filter
volcano rising
emphasizing
hope for crocus
color, focus
***
rainstorms of doubt, erase ink
like writing poems in a sink
lightning in an eagles beak
thunder follows, it will speak
do not crassly cremate wonder
write it down, embrace blunder
sparkling magic
and cookie crumbs
Botox flashing conundrums
trampolining the humdrums
pregnant thoughts
wrought with ought
beat empty baskets
and their vastness of
prosaic droning madness
nurture seedlings,
compost and grow
umbrella up,
hailstorms and snow
part the clouds
of innovation,
view boring thoughts
and their cremation
and tickle those pickles
which tend to be fickle
so streynjhot ben kickle
ver moisten don rickles
and always remember
say thank you and please.