Friday, April 23, 2010

the cad

it must be sad
to be a cad
and have women every hour
fall like flowers

into your lap
when you're trying to take a nap
or want some solitude
to sit in a somber mood

and create unflinching perfect art
but how can you start
when these myriad creatures
with their softly shifting features

will not go away
but multiply every day
lining up for miles
in kaleidoscopic styles

and wind through city blocks
stopping the tower clocks
of the haughty bourgeoisie
who hate art and poetry

o apollo shed a tear!
but poet, try to persevere
though the world be misbegotten
you will never be forgotten

your words will be on lips
when thinking machines and rocket ships
are wiped from time's black shining slate
immortality shall be your fate

Wednesday, April 14, 2010

voyage to star 25, part 1

there once was a landlord named jake
who had for a tenant a thirty foot snake
he grew so fond of that boa constrictor
he knew in his heart he could never evict her

she was the best friend he ever had, oh
but over his life there fell a shadow
he worked all day at the missile base
and came home at night with a sad face

many tenants in rooms along the street
sat in the gloom staring at their feet
and conceived passions for barely sentient creatures
mental death was one of their features

and the missiles - when would they go off?
the silence was broken by an occasional cough
and a slurp from a bottle of schlitz or bud
the collapse of the universe was in their blood

the windows in the bars were dim and blue
the used car lots were silent too
with burgers and marlboros on their breath
they waited in the shadow of meaningless death

you can't love a snake unless you give it a name
that's part of the game
but words came slow to jake's brain
on the dusty window it began to rain

the snake used a hundred square feet of rental space
but jake took it with a good grace
not so mrs harvis down the hall
who did not care for reptiles at all

and neither did jack d hubbatak
a retired spaceman with a bad back
who lived upstairs in a one room flat
with a seashell collection and an orange cat

he and mrs harvis put their heads together
whether in fair or stormy weather
and drank tea and stayed up late
complaining about the government, life and fate

mrs hervis was forty-four years old
her hair was orange and her eyes were cold
men had betrayed her, religion too
her children were worthless through and through

she did not care much for other females
of their troubles, she did not want the details
her only desire, and it made her eyes grow wide
was revenge against the world before she died

joe archibald was another tenant
he could say "i'll kill you" like he meant it
he had a machime gun tattooed on his arm
and was completely devoid of charm

joe was prowling the hall one night
something just did not feel right
he heard the throbbing music of fear
for which he had a most sensitive ear

he started down the creaking stair
past jake's well-barricaded lair
of the snake he was not scared a whit
in fact he'd like to have a go at it

he put his ear to jake's scarred door
a thing he'd never done before
on the scuffed and worn linoleum
a vision suddenly came to him

jake was nothing but a commie rat
joe was absolutely sure of that
talking to his snake? that was a load -
he was really talking in code!

he was an un-american deceiver
talking to a hidden receiver
probably planted in the snake
it was almost too much for joe to take

"peeping through keyholes, eh, fellow?"
hubbatak, more than a little mellow
swaying in his slippered feet
sneered at joe without missing a beat

"what's it to you anyway, hubbatak?
wasn't peeking through no keyhole, i was peeking through the crack.
"it's not the same thing at all
and besides, it ain't your call."

inside, jake seemed impervious
to all the fuss
but another door opened down the hall
and miss maisie muldoon, willowy and tall

barely glanced at the two combatant gents
as past then she serenely went
hubbatak and joe didn't scream or shout
but forgot what they were arguing about

maisie worked two blocks away
in mrs wilson's all night cafe
the moon looked down and seemed to say
is it her fate to carry a tray?

to be continued

Saturday, April 10, 2010

5 more poems

sad poem

life is so sad sometimes you just want to cry
and maybe even curl up and die
and then you roll over and look up at the clear blue sky
and st michael leans down and says, what's wrong little guy?

so maybe things aren't really as bad as all that
but i wish i had a press card in my hat
and could visit the president of the united states for a nice little chat
and eat hot dogs and ice cream all day and never get fat

and could walk up to people on the street and just say hi
and look them right in the eye
did you ever wonder why
it's not that easy, sweetie pie?

maybe some things are just meant to be
dogs bark, and birds sing in trees
humans alone in the evening breeze
watch the skies and scratch and wheeze

and try not to be taken by surprise
by fate's sly tricks and reality's lies
each in his own pathetic disguise
helpless as the waters rise

the hammer of heaven is always raised
and will surely fall one of these days
no more devilish despair or prayerful praise
and no one left to be amazed

bad beatnik bongo poem # 2

had a cool hat
churchill wanted one
just like that

but his regimental tie
caught the marshal's glittering eye

steel drums in the london night
bongos in the dawn
molotov folded the london times
folded it with a yawn

soft music
through the kremlin played
before the final alien raid

ant men from a distant star
finished off the caviar

little angel midnight
waited in the rain
for raphael and st jerome
hitchhiking from spain

gabriel in the shadows
watching bombers loading
ike lit up a lucky
with a strange foreboding


i ain't never been to the zoo
or the opera either - how about you?


when morning comes the little stars go hide
in the embrace of dawn - the blushing bride


he shot himself in the head
one wall turned black, the other red

Sunday, April 4, 2010

2 poems


comrades raise a glass with me
in defiance of sobriety
though some may deem it blasphemy
i say that drink will set us free

free from the stress of stroil and strife
from squalling brat and scowling wife
shall fate forever twist the knife
or life be ever slave to life

oh precious nectar that dissolves
the endless cloud that e'er revolves
around the weary wanderer's head
from your embrace must we be led

down duty's dark and dreary path
or follow the illumined swath
you cut through universal gloom
to ease our unavoidable doom

comrades raise a glass with me
in defiance of sobriety
though some may deem it blasphemy
i say that drink will set us free

body leaving blues

when you leave your body
your body don't leave you
it drags you around like a comatose cow
up and down the avenue

well my body left me
left me so sad and blue
sitting on the sidewalk
without a mumbling clue

whistling policemen pass me by
laughing schoolgirls too
highbrow ladies with birds in their hats
doing the old soft shoe

seems the whole world has a purpose
a reason to be up and about
can't they see that my poor head hurts
why do they have to shout?

blinking in the sunlight
i got the sidewalk blues
world oh why did you break my heart
and what scoundrel stole my shoes?