Poems from “Take Two”

 

11) Rainbow’s End (A Nursery Rhyme)
 

The Fat of the land

are hungry for power.

Majority rule has

birthed its darkest hour.

 

Nor river, nor ocean

can quite quench their thirst.

Apparently logic

has become quite reversed.

 

The World now sparkles

in the eyes of the blind.

These masses: these billions of I’s

all think they’re divine.

 

And even the Atheist

and the Buddhist too

All pray to themselves

as the truth they pursue.

 

Whatever happened to sorrow

or at least some remorse?

The depression you suffer

is a selfish, self-pitying course.

 

What Utopia can there be,

in this fat land of I,

When all fearless, bold people

are only anxious to die?

 

13) Lady Luck
 

Lady Luck has been replaced

Her rape forced in a tortured taste.

I’d much prefer to lie and cheat

Than pray at her bewildered feet.

 

She never knows what’s yet to come

Her heart beats to a ruptured drum.

-And chances are, I’d bet she’d frown

-whilst I weigh her down to drown.

 

And when I asked to hear her fate

Her frozen tears filled up her plate.

 

I’d rather molest, torture and steal

Than play the cards that bitch would deal.

 

15) Why All Poetry is Useless Forever
 

Silly is the man

Who looks for rugged looks

In the sons of mothers

Of happy homes

for the straightedge jaw and drunken brow

Were hard earned early

In the late night tears screaming

There is no God,

Now what?

Depression at ten

Is the midlife crisis

For those who die young

And spend the rest of their lives

Bored and lazy next to other’s chit chat

Splayed in generous portions

On attempts to enjoy a sunny day.

'Tis like you’ve found out the secret

And no one asks

You any follow up questions after lecture.

The edge of your seat is all that’s left, still,

The credits won’t roll

There is no bed to come home to.

There is no darkness.

And like I’ve said before,

The end

But Now what?

 

18) No Need for Feet
 

The flag pole sits heavy, burdened

With shame. All that’s left on the face

Of this country is a calm cool night and a cigarette.

And the wind. Overexposed strangers

Saunter in file, flashing blind

Salutes, masquerading over cell phones, shamelessly

Plucking away at their friendships past and past.

The flag belongs to them now. It mourns

Their procession.

 

19) How Many Wrong Turns to Get Back to the Beginning?
 

Home is a shoe

On the sixth floor;

a sock to hide all your secrets,

To stuff and soil until

The last place it’s allowed in public

Is an overpriced oak crate

Six feet long, rancid,

And hoisted above the crowd, shepherded

Through town like an Egyptian pharaoh.

Murder is a gift.

 

My coat closet is bursting with petrified butter

And glows orange on the high walls

Lined with Canadian wine labels.

Next to the vase of fresh dandelions sit

Three TV’s, one atop another.

And people wonder if the apocalypse is coming.

Invest in a low-risk mattress.

 

Hugging the bed

Is my moat of pornography:

A collection I began soon

After the tearing down of the wall

To my parents’ bedroom.

Why beat your children,

When damaging them psychologically is so much more permanent?

 

Atop the smut, sit sugary snacks

And retractable canes: leftovers

Of abandoned plans for world domination.

People who still have goals are merely lazy.

I sit down to rest my feet

On my desk next to the photo of some stranger,

And I didn’t even stop to think;

Is this my room?

 

22)
 

No, I can’t come out and play

Because I don’t know what to say

I’d just be getting in the way

So I won’t come out and play.

 

If only it would rain all day

Then in my mind I’d safely stay

And you won’t lead my thoughts astray

Where in the rain they’d surely fray.

 

And then my voices would all start

Discretely tearing me apart

And when you turn your back to part

I’d slowly stab you in the heart.

 

I said I can’t come out and play

But now you’re dead, go rot away

Hey you can’t leave, there’s just no way

So join my voices; have your say.

 

23)
 

Let your voices be heard.

Stand up and be counted.

Let the quarantine begin.

 

Lay all your love on me.

Let me lead you to salvation.

I supply your 401(k).

 

You put a man on Mars.

You’ve been on Dancing with the Stars.

Hey buddy, I just clean the shitter.

 

The world is my oyster.

Heaven awaits beyond pearly gates.

I’m allergic to shellfish.

 

26)
 

Suppose I know how

The world will end now.

That idiot Frost

Knew not of exhaust.

We choke on our lies

And the joke in the skies.

Our savior awaits

To sell tablets in spades.

 

27) Why Am I So
 

So tired, so sad, so hungry and poor

I don’t understand the things I adore.

I don’t really know how

I could love myself now.

Off the chart, off the globe

I’m so, so, so more.

The more I give up

The more I don’t want.

I’m so wild, I’m so

Crazy but my intentions are hazy

And I just come off as a goof.

I’m so dead, I can’t breathe

But I’m not on my knees

I burn coal with the world’s edge in my sight.

I’m so happy, so lucky, so still looking around.

So disgusted, malnourished by the world I have found.

The frogs and the princes have shat on themselves.

They’re hunchbacks, they’re guidos, they’re playstation elves.

I sit and I stare, no tomorrow in sight.

So, so deserted without pain, without fright.

 

2015