Category Archives for Poems

Sarcastic Parrot

View from Hotel

 

My parrot sits,
rainbow plumage,
on the balcony rail
far above the bustle
turning a wry eye
to watch me eat my omelet.
LOOK! AWWKK! I’M A HUMAN!
His sharp beak scratches at me
Then . . .
I’M SO DRUNK! AWWKK!
His mocking beak spits at me
tottering drunkenly, slovenly
side to side
on the precipitous rail.
Another fluffy bite of chorizo
MY! BEST FRIEND! AWWKK!
His pointed beak darts up and down
SORRY MARK! AWWKK! SORRY MARK! AWWKK! SORRY MARK! AWWKK!
His broken record hawks at me.

The wind whips around the building’s corner.

A tasty sliver of sausage
riddled with fat
slides past my tongue and gets
sideways, my eyes wide
OH GOD! AWWKK! MARK PLEASE! AWWKK!
His insinuating beak accuses as he
falls backward from the rail.
The attenuating wail becomes lost
as I hack the fatty pork
back atop my omelet.
I stare with tears at the plate
and my sarcastic parrot
alights back
on the rail.

Cold Pasta



How does dead skin taste

I repeated back

laughter muffled

like the smothered homeless

to officer shiny pants.

His partner, vomit-ridden

with us both

for illusory discrepancies

crimes against humanity

omnivorous and blatant

on the green porcelain plate.


Like cold rigatoni

I said

and it turned out to be

too simple a metaphor

too easily grasped

and the shiny pants smile

quizzical, indifferent, numb


transmogrified


because now . . .

now

now

they tasted that rigor mortis pasta

like I did.


And just like that

significant others will wonder

what’s wrong with their simple Italian dishes.

			

	
	



				
					


	
	

					
High Tide

			


		

		




We laughed and played and laughed

As the waves broke on the shore

And the Sun baked the sand

And the children screamed for more


Seagulls clustered here and there

Awaiting special treats

We played until our skin burned red

And sand crept in our seats


Then the growing ball of Orange

Slightly touched the ocean

Testing the water first,

It seemed to cease its motion


“Time to go,” I yelled and

shoulders slumped in sorrow

“No fussing or complaining

And we might come back tomorrow.”


Then the children smiled

A new light in their eyes

“We have something to show you.

It’s a really big surprise!”


They know I love surprises

As I follow them to the spot

Where they’ve dug a rather large hole

For such a tiny tot


C’mon dad they beg

We’ll do it really quick

So I climb into the hole

That they’ve hollowed with a stick


They pushed the sand around me

I played along with a giggle

Until the sand was packed so tight

That I couldn’t hardly wiggle.


One last tip of Orange

Cast a faint glow to their faces

And they smiled even wider

As they ran back to their places


They laughed and played and laughed

As the waves broke on the shore

And I screamed until I couldn’t

My throat raw, and sore


I looked up at the Moon

Brilliant in the sky

And couldn’t move my arms

Though I try and try and try


I cried until I laughed

Then I laughed until I cried

Then I smiled to myself

And giggled by and by


Hours came and went

And boredom took its toll

Monotony crept upon me

In my sandy little hole


I laughed and laughed and laughed

As the waves broke on the shore

Then I laughed and laughed and gurgled

And then I laughed no more.


So when it’s time to leave,

And they wanna stay and play

Don’t put off ’til tomorrow

What can be done today.

			

	
	



				
					


	
	

					
Pillow Envy

			


		

		




There is a pillow between us.


That’s all

just a fluffy puff of cotton and foam

lying nonchalantly, lengthways,

pointing carelessly at the headboard

and forming a T with the other pillows,

a circumspect intersection of downy

hiding its shameful face under the covers.


You are no further away

than before

and yet I can not seem to reach you.


It lies motionless and silent

as do we,

but I can hear it’s muffled laughing.


A feather-light wedge.

The softest of simple machines

prying our sleepy bodies apart

with no effort,

save its cottony presence.


You roll over and I can see

the soft outline of your face.

You embrace the barrier

dividing us and pull it close.


I take a moment to reflect

on the silliness of pillow envy,

then I grab the pillow and cast it

from the bed.


You are startled, but none the wiser

to the melee that has ensued.

I slide to the center of the bed

in victory and gloat myself to sleep

with your arm around me.

			

	
	



				
					


	
	

					
A Million of You

			


		

		
Cell Division




I’ve loved a million of you,

second by second,

through and through.


The one that I met

ordering fries,

a sheepish grin

and a timid line.


I’ve loved a million of you,

minute by minute,

through and through.


The one that I kissed

on top of the car,

the girl you were

the woman you are.


I’ve loved a million of you,

hour by hour,

through and through.


The one who carried

our children with care,

positive and negative

we make quite the pair.


I’ve loved a million of you,

day by day,

through and through.


The one who said yes

then yes, I do.


I’ve loved a million of you,

moment by moment,

through and through.


I’ve loved each and every person

that you’ve gradually become

and all the parts that added

to contribute to the sum.


I’ve loved a million of you,

person by person,

through and through.

			

	
	



				
					


	
	

					
Sin

			


		

		
Water Well




The day I dug the hole

was laborious and solemn,

unkempt hair wild in the rain

with cakey mud and deep

it went down, down, down

only a pinhole of light at the top

and then I threw in the body

and left.


I came back in four years

gallivantin’ on the baked dust plain

and there were rocks sittin’ in that place

circling up a roped bucket that ran down

to the water that the people all drank

and I wondered about bacteria and death

and e. coli blackness and pissed-off cows

or whatever you call it

and out walked that side of the road dead man

from a whirlwind tepee

still wearing that canvass suit that

married us in madness that muddy night

and pointed at me and yelled to the people

who pinched my arms and drug me to the well

where that stranger I knew so well

watched me enter that pinhole headfirst

to cleanse myself in the muddy wallow of Karma.


 

			

	
	



				
					


	
	

					
The Clock

			


		

		


My troubles all started 15 minutes ago

when the clocked ticked a stop and ran really slow.


All the people I loved who didn’t love me back

all seems now, rather matter of fact.

The luxurious items that I could not afford

all the cars that I drove that I did so adore.

But the gold and the jackets estate sales did claim

and the Porsche and the Lexus are all but a name.

And the plasma I watched from the living room wall

and the front load washer standing seven feet tall

are in someone else’s house or in someone else’s hall.

The trophy wife I landed with my TV and my car

Is reading life insurance papers at the local bar.

The estate in which I lived, with movie room and pool

was my kingdom here on Earth which I can no longer rule.

And as I float above my body and the surgeon tries his best

there is one last thing to you that I really must confess.

I’ve had it all wrong from the very, very start

for all these things I mention lie nowhere near the heart.

As they call the time of death I take a moment to reflect

and see my life, like my car, was a crumple of a wreck.

I made myself an island, accomplished well and spent

credit cards galore, and loved every cent.

But it’s people I have missed, that necessary part

more precious than the original, Italian works of art.

Some people take with them the heartache and the sorrows

from the loved ones and the kin who weep for all their morrows.

And dreary though it is this brokenness, a gift

we can carry with us here, far and wide across the rift.

But today no one weeps, no tears for me to keep

as I travel my last path through the far and wide and deep.

I didn’t see my time here as painful until now

I wish to set things straight, but cannot figure how.


So I say these words to you, embrace well others there

and for material things, do not give a care.

For at some point in time, which you will not know

the clock will tick a stop and run really slow.

			

	
	



				
					


	
	

					
The Behavioral Psychology of Woodpeckers

			


		

		
Pull_hair


We both have deadlines


he and me and


we’re not so different really


except he bangs his head against his desk


like a ravenous djinn gone mad inside


his emerald coated bottle of a cubicle


and he does this for three minutes


and then a small hole forms


just an eggshell patina break


and he uses his teeth to snag


some object in it…


Paper!


A wadded, rolled up, already stapled and collated


report for the boss


and I just stare at him and then


I stare at my monitor as he


pulls it ex nihilo from the mini-fissure


in his desk.

Everyone skips to lunch and


I’m alone and behind and


worried and


so I bang my head


like he did


really, really hard


but can’t make three minutes worth


and then I wake up on a nightly vacuumed carpet


and see a circle of eyes peering down


and feel crimson running from my forehead


and I think


just like a Robin


that a Woodpecker


is just a crazy bird.