Poet's Corner

[Impenitent]

"Stopping By The Woods on a Snowy Evening"

As I was walking down the road
Two witches I did meet
I should have known what this forebode
As they were the first to greet

Had I seen their brother so dear?
T'where this path went along
With him they had been walking near
Then pooft, and he was gone

Their countenance was a mixed bag
Eerily more than good and bad
Tho one certainly displayed my flag
A common evil they both had

"Brother penned pussy little rhymes, in yonder glen
As do you, tho bright and blue
And hadn't you landed thereabouts, about then?
With those socks merely changing hue?"

As i learned, brother had been the black sheep
Friendly and well thought
While sisters were most dark and bleak
Had brother vanished, by their hands t'was wrought

Had brother returned with motives untoward?
His new words more strident and stringent
This could reverberate thru the board
What if he is seeking vengeance?

Could this transfiguration become complete
Beyond my will or knowledge?
But I awoke with rhyme and meter replete
With focused anger I've yet to acknowledge

 

[Capstone]

The Lactating Ewe
(Imbolc 2016)

Now dance and make the torches twirl
to symbolize the Sun,
and trace its image in the snow
where Brigid has begun

to loosen Winter's deadly grip
of unforgiving cold
and promulgate regeneration
of both young and old!

Imbolc, the milk of ewes, is said
to hail the longer days
in which the Sun can kiss the crops
and livestock that we raise.

So come together, one and all,
to celebrate and feast,
for light and warmth the Goddess pours
on every man and beast!​

 

[Impenitent]

Hickory Dickory Dock
The mouse ran out of the clock
His job was to make it spin
But with radiation rolling in
He knew all time would stop

Oil, coal, and atoms, poisons in any guise
Forsake this deceit of the devil, otherwise
You'll all be dead
and then God said
I gave you the sun, the wind, the tides...

Gave us an intellect to act on his behest
And animals an instinct were so blessed
We are his stewards you see
And he commands you and me
Thou shalt not **** in your own nest

 

[Dhara]

Bazonka
by Spike Milligan


Say Bazonka every day
That's what my grandma used to say
It keeps at bay the Asian Flu'
And both your elbows free from glue.
So say Bazonka every day
(That's what my grandma used to say)

Don't say it if your socks are dry!
Or when the sun is in your eye!
Never say it in the dark
(The word you see emits a spark)
Only say it in the day
(That's what my grandma used to say)

Young Tiny Tim took her advice
He said it once, he said it twice
he said it till the day he died
And even after that he tried
To say Bazonka! every day
Just like my grandma used to say.

Now folks around declare it's true
That every night at half past two
If you'll stand upon your head
And shout Bazonka! from your bed
You'll hear the word as clear as day
Just like my grandma used to say!

 

[Dhara]

For The Foxes

by Charles Bukowski

Don't feel sorry for me.
I am a competent,
satisfied human being.

be sorry for the others
who
fidget
complain

who
constantly
rearrange their
lives
like
furniture.

juggling mates
and
attitudes

their
confusion is
constant

and it will
touch
whoever they
deal with.

beware of them:
one of their
key words is
'love.'

and beware those who
only take
instructions from their
God

for they have
failed completely to live their own
lives.

don't feel sorry for me
because I am alone

for even
at the most terrible
moments
humor
is my
companion.

I am a dog walking
backwards

I am a broken
banjo

I am a telephone wire
strung up in
Toledo, Ohio

I am a man
eating a meal
this night
in the month of
September.

put your sympathy
aside.
they say
water held up
Christ:
to come
through
you better be
nearly as
lucky.

 

[Dhara]

The Pig

By Roald Dahl

In England once there lived a big
And wonderfully clever pig.
To everybody it was plain
That Piggy had a massive brain.
He worked out sums inside his head,
There was no book he hadn't read.
He knew what made an airplane fly,
He knew how engines worked and why.
He knew all this, but in the end
One question drove him round the bend:
He simply couldn't puzzle out
What LIFE was really all about.
What was the reason for his birth?
Why was he placed upon this earth?
His giant brain went round and round.
Alas, no answer could be found.
Till suddenly one wondrous night.
All in a flash he saw the light.
He jumped up like a ballet dancer
And yelled, "By gum, I've got the answer!"
"They want my bacon slice by slice
"To sell at a tremendous price!
"They want my tender juicy chops
"To put in all the butcher's shops!
"They want my pork to make a roast
"And that's the part'll cost the most!
"They want my sausages in strings!
"They even want my chitterlings!
"The butcher's shop! The carving knife!
"That is the reason for my life!"
Such thoughts as these are not designed
To give a pig great piece of mind.
Next morning, in comes Farmer Bland,
A pail of pigswill in his hand,
And piggy with a mighty roar,
Bashes the farmer to the floor…
Now comes the rather grizzly bit
So let's not make too much of it,
Except that you must understand
That Piggy did eat Farmer Bland,
He ate him up from head to toe,
Chewing the pieces nice and slow.
It took an hour to reach the feet,
Because there was so much to eat,
And when he finished, Pig, of course,
Felt absolutely no remorse.
Slowly he scratched his brainy head
And with a little smile he said,
"I had a fairly powerful hunch
"That he might have me for his lunch.
"And so, because I feared the worst,
"I thought I'd better eat him first."

 

[Impenitent]

The Pig

By Roald Dahl

In England once there lived a big
And wonderfully clever pig.
To everybody it was plain
That Piggy had a massive brain.
He worked out sums inside his head,
There was no book he hadn't read.
He knew what made an airplane fly,
He knew how engines worked and why.
He knew all this, but in the end
One question drove him round the bend:
He simply couldn't puzzle out
What LIFE was really all about.
What was the reason for his birth?
Why was he placed upon this earth?
His giant brain went round and round.
Alas, no answer could be found.
Till suddenly one wondrous night.
All in a flash he saw the light.
He jumped up like a ballet dancer
And yelled, "By gum, I've got the answer!"
"They want my bacon slice by slice
"To sell at a tremendous price!
"They want my tender juicy chops
"To put in all the butcher's shops!
"They want my pork to make a roast
"And that's the part'll cost the most!
"They want my sausages in strings!
"They even want my chitterlings!
"The butcher's shop! The carving knife!
"That is the reason for my life!"
Such thoughts as these are not designed
To give a pig great piece of mind.
Next morning, in comes Farmer Bland,
A pail of pigswill in his hand,
And piggy with a mighty roar,
Bashes the farmer to the floor…
Now comes the rather grizzly bit
So let's not make too much of it,
Except that you must understand
That Piggy did eat Farmer Bland,
He ate him up from head to toe,
Chewing the pieces nice and slow.
It took an hour to reach the feet,
Because there was so much to eat,
And when he finished, Pig, of course,
Felt absolutely no remorse.
Slowly he scratched his brainy head
And with a little smile he said,
"I had a fairly powerful hunch
"That he might have me for his lunch.
"And so, because I feared the worst,
"I thought I'd better eat him first."

A poem for the flame zone!

 

[Dhara]

The Pig

By Roald Dahl

In England once there lived a big
And wonderfully clever pig.
To everybody it was plain
That Piggy had a massive brain.
He worked out sums inside his head,
There was no book he hadn't read.
He knew what made an airplane fly,
He knew how engines worked and why.
He knew all this, but in the end
One question drove him round the bend:
He simply couldn't puzzle out
What LIFE was really all about.
What was the reason for his birth?
Why was he placed upon this earth?
His giant brain went round and round.
Alas, no answer could be found.
Till suddenly one wondrous night.
All in a flash he saw the light.
He jumped up like a ballet dancer
And yelled, "By gum, I've got the answer!"
"They want my bacon slice by slice
"To sell at a tremendous price!
"They want my tender juicy chops
"To put in all the butcher's shops!
"They want my pork to make a roast
"And that's the part'll cost the most!
"They want my sausages in strings!
"They even want my chitterlings!
"The butcher's shop! The carving knife!
"That is the reason for my life!"
Such thoughts as these are not designed
To give a pig great piece of mind.
Next morning, in comes Farmer Bland,
A pail of pigswill in his hand,
And piggy with a mighty roar,
Bashes the farmer to the floor…
Now comes the rather grizzly bit
So let's not make too much of it,
Except that you must understand
That Piggy did eat Farmer Bland,
He ate him up from head to toe,
Chewing the pieces nice and slow.
It took an hour to reach the feet,
Because there was so much to eat,
And when he finished, Pig, of course,
Felt absolutely no remorse.
Slowly he scratched his brainy head
And with a little smile he said,
"I had a fairly powerful hunch
"That he might have me for his lunch.
"And so, because I feared the worst,
"I thought I'd better eat him first."

A poem for the flame zone!

Ya know, I didn't even think of that until reading this poem a second time! That's funny though, since those folks think I post the poems for them, specifically, LOL. Unrequited love and all.

I dedicate this poem, To Whom It May Concern:

 

[Dhara]

Flaming Red -


Her smile
captured

taken prisoner by the little compact mirror

snapped shut
put back in the bag

her frown
made more noticeable

by yet another application
of scarlet lipstick

her words smudged
by its shade

FLAMING RED!

worse still
when no words are said.

I rummage
in her bag

snap open
the compact mirror

release her smile

by applying
FLAMING RED

to my own
lips

I kiss her
leave a large lipstick kiss
on each cheek.

'You cheeky bugger! '
she laughs.

'It's so hard to stay mad at you! '

'Come here & I'll show you
how it's done properly(improperly) !

She kisses me she kisses me she kisses me.

Dónall Dempsey

 

[Impenitent]

"Our House"

I'll schedule the vote
You call our caucus members
We'll repeal Obamacare again today

Uncaring as we conspire
For hours and hours
Over and over by rote
We'll shove these wrongs
Down their throats
All day long

Paul, I'll show you how
In our smoke filled room
Stall with me now
Relax over this bourbon
As we change from representative legislators
To constitution desecrators
With fiery gems
For a President we intend to screw

Our house is a very, very fine house
With two Texas blowhards
Nancy's record was unmarred
Now everything is kinda sleazy
Because of what we do
And our la,la,la, la,la, la, la, la, la, la, la.....

Our house is a very, very fine house
With two Texas blowhards
Nancy's record was unmarred
Now every thing is kinda sleazy
Because of what we do
And Our ...

I'll schedule the vote
You call our caucus members
We'll repeal Obamacare again today...

 

[Impenitent]

Down in Kansas City where the workers all go
There's a big steelworker named Soptic Joe
Married his high school sweetheart, his perfect match
She had a heart of gold and was so pretty, what a catch
Soptic Joe, now look at him go
Soptic, Soptic
Soptic Joe, go man go
Oh, oh, oh, oh Soptic Joe

She snuggled up to him when they went down the road
They bought a little house, and he happily carried the load
An old fixer upper, making their time together a bit more fun
And had a big back yard, where their little ones could run
Soptic Joe, now look at him go
Soptic, Soptic
Soptic Joe, go man go
Oh, oh, oh , oh Soptic Joe

One day they called him to the office, to see the clerk
They offered him a buyout, but Joe said, buddy, I'd rather work
Work was hard but steady, he wasn't told things had changed
He didn't know the truth, until the day the gate was chained
Soptic Joe, now look at him go
Soptic, Soptic
Soptic Joe, go man go
Oh, oh, oh, oh Soptic Joe

Soptic Joe was out of work, for six months straight
Before he took a low paying job, for his family's sake
He'd have to pay for the health coverage, it was very crude
But Joe had other obligations, like shelter and food
Soptic Joe, now look at him go
Soptic, Soptic
Soptic Joe, go man go
Oh, oh, oh, oh Soptic Joe

It was tough but they lived on love, she was no ordinary chick
Until the day his sweet wife said, honey I feel sick
She kept it to herself, while she gave and gave
Until the doctors told Joe, she was impossible to save
Soptic Joe, now look at him go
Soptic, Soptic
Soptic Joe, go man go
Oh, oh , oh, oh Soptic Joe

/

 

[Dhara]

I've got the children to tend
The clothes to mend
The floor to mop
The food to shop
Then the chicken to fry
The baby to dry
I got company to feed
The garden to weed
I've got shirts to press
The tots to dress
The can to be cut
I gotta clean up this hut
Then see about the sick
And the cotton to pick.

Shine on me, sunshine
Rain on me, rain
Fall softly, dewdrops
And cool my brow again.

Storm, blow me from here
With your fiercest wind
Let me float across the sky
'Til I can rest again.

Fall gently, snowflakes
Cover me with white
Cold icy kisses and
Let me rest tonight.

Sun, rain, curving sky
Mountain, oceans, leaf and stone
Star shine, moon glow
You're all that I can call my own.


Maya Angelou

 

[Dhara]

Watching The Mayan Women
by Luisa Villani


I hang the window inside out
like a shirt drying in a breeze
and the arms that are missing come to me
Yes, it's a song, one I don't quite comprehend
although I do understand the laundry.
White ash and rain water, a method
my aunt taught me, but I'll never know
how she learned it in Brooklyn. Her mind
has gone to seed, blown by a stroke,
and that dandelion puff called memory
has flown far from her eyes. Some things remain.
Procedures. Methods. If you burn
a fire all day, feeding it snapped
branches and newspapers--
the faces pressed against the print
fading into flames-you end up
with a barrel of white ash. If
you take that same barrel and fill it
with rain, let it sit for a day,
you will have water
that can bring brightness to anything.
If you take that water,
and in it soak your husband's shirts,
he'll pause at dawn when he puts one on,
its softness like a haunting afterthought.
And if he works all day in the selva,
he'll divine his way home
in shirtsleeves aglow with torchlight.

 

[Dhara]

Death to the Cynics

I like to think of the cynic as the person who once was optimistic.
And was so optimistic and so let down by it
That it turned around on the fly.

The cynic is there
He shoots dialogue into
The air
He murmurs things of trust and treason
He'll criticise and adore every season
For the same damn reasons you and I do.

The cynic in me likes to believe that despite my bid for greatness
Despite my winning lottery tickets I'll never fly in space, weightless
As good a pop song as I might write,
It'll always seem
Too weird
Too direct
Too off-kilter
Too old
To really make a difference.

The cynic is very fickle, can be very gentle but prefers to kill things with his words
He loves what he loves, hates what she hates and all else BE DAMNED.
This attitude comes with failed romance
And having ten jobs and from all
GETTING CANNED.

Yes, the best cynics are the old ones.
Because the only reason they are cynical in the end
Is an act.
As I see it
If you're cynical to death
You're not going to last very long.
You have to let the joy out sometime.

Gary Diamond

 

[Dhara]

Resumé -

Razors pain you;
Rivers are damp;
Acids stain you;
And drugs cause cramp.
Guns aren't lawful;
Nooses give;
Gas smells awful;
You might as well live.

Dorothy Parker

 

[Dhara]

The Dream of a Common Language
Leigh Stein

after Adrienne Rich

On Wednesdays I take the train past Yankee Stadium,
to a place where it is never a given that I speak the language,
to a place where graffiti covers the mural they painted to hide
the graffiti, to a place where the children call me Miss Miss
Miss Miss Miss and I find in one of their poems, a self-portrait,
the line I wish I was rish. The dream of a common language

is the language of one million dollars, of basketball, of plátanos.
Are the kids black? my boyfriend wants to know. Dominican.
It’s different. When asked to write down a question
they wish they could ask their mom or dad, one boy writes,
Paper or plastic? A girl in the back of the class wants to know
Why don’t I have lycene, translating the sound of the color

of my skin into her own language. The best poet
in sixth grade is the girl who is this year repeating
sixth grade. When I tell her teacher of her talent
she says, At least now we know she’s good
at something. To speak their language, I study
the attendance list, practice the cadence of their names.

Yesterday I presented a black and white portrait of a black man,
his bald head turned away from us, a spotted moth resting
on one shoulder. I told them this is a man serving a life
sentence in Louisiana. Is this art? Without hesitation,
one girl said no, why would anybody
want to take a picture
of that.

 

[Dhara]

The Hand
by Mary Ruefle

The teacher asks a question.
You know the answer, you suspect
you are the only one in the classroom
who knows the answer, because the person
in question is yourself, and on that
you are the greatest living authority,
but you don’t raise your hand.
You raise the top of your desk
and take out an apple.
You look out the window.
You don’t raise your hand and there is
some essential beauty in your fingers,
which aren’t even drumming, but lie
flat and peaceful.
The teacher repeats the question.
Outside the window, on an overhanging branch,
a robin is ruffling its feathers
and spring is in the air.

 

[Impenitent]

Clarence Spoke in Court Today
(Pearl Jam)

At home
Watching pictures
Of crotch shots
With him on top
Legs raised in a V
Kicking away the ladder of opportunity

The Yalie's gave too much attention
To the fact he was Affirmative Action
King Clarence the wicked
Ruled his world

Clarence spoke in court today
Clarence spoke in court today

Clearly I remember
Mocking his accent
Seemed a mindless twit
But we unleashed a lion
Clenched his fists
As he blamed Thurgood for his standing

How could I forget
He was against voting rights
My jaw dropped wide open
Just like the day
Like the day I heard

He showed he was more right
Than his white classmates
He would have more wealth and might
King Clarence had no legacy
But he ruled his world

Clarence spoke in court today
Clarence spoke in court today

Try to forget this...
Try to erase this...
From the blackboard.

 

[Impenitent]

Werewolves of Congress

♬ I saw a werewolf with the farm bill in his hand
Walking the streets of OKC in the rain
He was looking for the Sooner hungry and damned
Gonna give 'em a piece of personal disdain

Ah-oooh, werewolves of Congress
Ah-oooh

If you hear him howling about runaway entitlements
Better not re-elect him
Little old lady starved late last night
Werewolves of Congress again

Ah-oooh, werewolves of Congress
Ah-oooh

He's the tightfisted gent
who filibustered to raise your rent
He'd rather cut taxes for the rich, Than have money for welfare spent

Better stay away from him
He'll repossess your new heart, Jim
And replace it with despair
Werewolves of Congress

Ah-oooh, werewolves of Congress
Ah-oooh

I saw the incumbent hit the landing strip
He was screaming for more red meat
Came straight from The Fellowship
Werewolves of Congress playing trick or treat

-----______________

 

[Dhara]

Dear invisible men,
Who tweet women endless threats of rape,
Who are you?
Are you married fathers of two?
Are you teens crowded round a friend’s phone in a canteen or KFC?
Are you pausing between texting your first love,
To set yourself up as an egg,
And post fresh hate?
Where are you as you type this?
Is your girlfriend asleep in your arms,
As you peer over her shoulder at your phone?
How did this become your sport?
You are not proud of what you do;
If you were, you would not care who knew.
This is strange:
You loudly announce pride in your prejudice
But your invisibility suggests your shame.
There is such an anger in you
That it cannot be cloaked with jokes.
I pity the mirror that has to reflect your misery,
Since it must see so much.
Because the women are everywhere now,
Aren’t they?
They weren’t just content in your beds,
Now they’re not just in your clubs,
Or in the eyes and hearts of other men;
The women are in your classrooms, boardrooms and DJ booths,
They are obstructing you, or ignoring you,
Not needing you to improve.
Swiftly, they are sweeping you from every stage,
And the only place you feel safe
Is in one-hundred and forty characters of rage.
I doubt that, as you type, you will ever pause
To think that, while you promise terror,
The greatest fear is yours.

Musa Okwonga