Frustration: (Enter Stage Left)

I’m gonna give it up,
because, “I likes you”, but…
I don’t . I love the
things that you, could do, to me:
but-won’t. There’s not
enough, (of you), to come
around my (back-ward,
dirt-road, no-excuse-for-a)
back-door.

Upon the knee
of optimism: “it’s
more colourful
than I thought”…
these township roads Continue reading

SUCKER PUNCH

At her absolute worst, she is
a vituperative hydra-
each tongue lashing hate,
hate, hate, anger. Anger, via silence. The deepest sadness, expressed by inconsolable sobbing,
misdirected abuse and
self deprecating hostility.
So much hate, it breaches the parameters of revenge, and the
cold hard truth is nowhere in sight.
It’s tough love (without the love),
and in her shining moments-
she is me.

She is my friend, my sister, and
my lover. But mostly,
she is the knife in my back,
each time I walk away.

(I guess the hardest part, is that
I keep falling, for her
loving façade).

What a fuckin cunt.

FIN

I KNOW MY RIGHTS

046“it is my right; my pre-pubescant-cowboys right ; from the farthest side of the United States, to the other side of the world, I will never give up my right to…SMOKE…(until manhood is thrust, by way of a pick up truck-fast upon me)…Until each cell in my immature body (starting with-occasionally useful-I’m told; organs); foremost my lungs; my blood, my bones and skin are corrupted in dripping, black, resinous tar-malignant, and spreading like wildfire-I insist on my right-my-god-given-right, to smoke…smoke, (and inhale)-I’ll smoke honestly-openly-I will be exercising (frequently) to: my last painful breath…my (rather unexceptional), and masculine-traditional; my rednecked, family, classical,…right…to…SMOKE”.

BANG IT UP, JOE (NO ONE KNOWS)

Sitting there,

(in hovel number 362B),

assigned by The Minister of Tragedy,

Joe ransomed his

wife and children

(for one more ride),

on the Ecstacy Wagon.

 

Halfway through the

trip, he vowed

He would get them back-

tomorrow.

Tomorrow ‘Joe,

Your Wife’s At The Door!’

 

But he didn’t know

Anyone was knocking,

(so he stayed in bed).

 

Bang it up Joe,

I don’t think she knows

(you’re inside).

 

The day after that, Joe

died

skinny.

In the clutches

of

Too Much Fun

 

FIN

taken from a book of poetry (self published in 1992) The Veal Couplets

HOLE IN MY HEAD

I know why you do

The things that you do

(because I do them too)…

I’ve got a hole in my head

Sometimes

I can plug it,

and savor your

words.

But, most of the time

falls out

of my ears.

Maybe that’s why

I do

things like that-

“I’m no better than that”

I’ve got a hole in my head.

FIN

taken from a book of poetry, (self-published in 1992) The Veal Couplets

Kids Will be Children

She had

blood,

smeared in lips,

across ivory

skin (so soft)-freckle

faced

kid,

even charming at ten.

Adorable, sweet

little girl;

(such a cruel,

wicked

world)-couldn’t wait

to devour precious

curls. Tiny

child,

little girl;

walking home from

the pool,

with her

favourite, kangaroo jacket

(that she tied round her waist)-it

fell off of her waist, on

that

terrible day.

And importance-

impressed,

upon childish, young thoughts-

unfamiliar,

the sickening,

feeling (of)

DOOM:

(spinning round) in her

ten year old tummy. (Such)

big,

beautiful

eyes,

(nearly ravaged)

by tears,

brimming over…

-when-

IMAGINATION

severed

the urgency.

Ugly and

crucial,

an image,

a worry;

Adult,

as her moms’,

(always)

money

thoughts…

‘SOMEONE; it could be ANYONE,

pulling her hood, on a head,

(that was nothing like hers)’…

And this, was a lot (of-

enough) of-

good reason

(to stay out a little bit longer),

and LOOK.

So, searching franticly,

madly and thoroughly;

(selectively blind) to the

dark commonalities,

(should-be-priorities)…

Binding her

hope, to the

sunlight,a thread

(that was more like

a rope),

pulled them down,

to the earth-

to their ends.

So conviction,

and wakefulness,

both

rode daylight

to expiration.

The blackness of night

consumed her.

Waking!

and Darkness!

(and) lost-still exhausted,

defeated. Shivering

from the night cold

(made her long for

the jacket)

she failed

to rescue, so long ago

so deep,

within the ravine.

(Looking up),

there were so many trees,

she felt nauseous .

Her cheeks,

beyond ruddy,

were dirty and stained with

a full afternoon of

her tears.

And she prayed ,

TO THE DEAF EARS OF GOD,

(made her feel, even

younger); in

nervousness, anxious-

she trembled.

Then waited,

and waited…

and NOTHING,

but thistles

and prickles and

mud.

(And foreboding),

that newly acquainted feeling (of)

DOOM,

recurred,

stronger

with each

falling

tear.

When she opened,

the door, (to her home),

it was, nearly

eleven-

her tired eyes,

red (by

the rubbing)-

preparing:

NO TEARS!

(Some lessons (need)

learn

only once).

She inhaled

the familiar aromas (of)-whiskey-

or beer,

cigarette smoke,

a hint of her mothers

perfume.

Oil and grease, tar

were foremost, the

dinner

she missed (gravy, roast beef,

potatoes).

Tonight,

this brought no consolation.

Wanting bed,

in her room;

(was a place)

she could cry,

with her face in the pillow,

unheard-

she had suffered

(the cost) of

a mild

disobedience. Still,

the smallest of favours:

(an ill fated

wish);near the

end of

an unhappy,

day.

(The worst),

she could never imagine.

A nightmare,

(she knew),

she would never forget.

Her moms’ sombre warnings,

(neglected), echoing,

pounding

her skull, inside out.

(It was) “how many times,

blah-blah-blah

not to walk in the creek”…

But, her mind

was on closer things,

dirty atrocities. How

could remembering,

hurt,

just as much (as)…

The adult who found her,

(a bad man who scared her)-

he touched her,

he raped her…(all)

tantamount to,

(nothing more) than a

pitiless

secret-

forever-

she never could

share. (For)

the bruise on her cheek,

wasn’t showing, her lip-

not yet swelling; the blood

EVERYWHERE-

had been wiped away, clean,

yet, still

telling,

dishevelled, torn,

rips

in her filthy, soaked clothing.

(Amassed into)

scared,

silent,

sobs,

panic,

muddy, wet

mess- of a damp

river valley;(she

wore on her clothes,

and her face).

All unnoticed…

(How could they not notice?)

This usual mindlessness,

hurt LESS each day.(And)

she focused, her

(so insignificant) presence

on the handle:

the door-(to)

her bedroom, while

(barely)

restraining,

the mad swell of teardrops…

For forty six minutes,

she waited (until), “just

one more” drink,

finally,

emptied the bottle.

Relief! (as she jumped

to her feet)

was short lived.

Cast over by

cruelty,

drunken-stupidity.

(The stench of bad judgement,

erupted-

predictably).

Daddys’ rough hands

spanked her harder than ever before.

Such an action,

unfair

and confusing

was typical-

mostly indelible.

(You know, unforgettable).

BUT NOT TONIGHT.

 

It took about

thirty five minutes,

to leap

over

puberty…

(Ten more)-

defining fresh injury. (That guy

was vicious): he

made sure the scars,

he inflicted-

were made for infinity.

BUT,

(like most ills),

life

disguises small victories,

unrecognizable,

fortune

comes cloaked, by

invisibility. A

child, still unwise in

her years, yet

distrustful,

(incredulous);

jaded (by)

misplaced maturity.

Gifts, (much like

people), to her,

were suspicious (now);

-new(ly)

deceived, misled, spoiled,

overpowered, degraded…

and hurt-

(not-heard). Not-

clean,

not-

daddys-sweet-girl,

anymore. And the wake

of calamity,

brought out a riot of

unwelcome, (all

grown up),

robust and

pushy-

emotions,

(she’s known all

her life),

despair, loathing, disgust,

(and the regulars).

 

Then, there was

FEAR-

quite alone in

it’s wickedness,

horrible, further- while

boasting it’s

confidence.

A tower beside

her Dad’s

everyday

nastiness.(His

words, always

hurtful)-

biting and

stinging, (were

now), all (like)

bunnies and rainbows;

pale,

subdued, and then

vanishing.

Truly, her usual

penance,

the “threatening

consequence”,

(undeserved discipline),

all the rest, had

already lost (its)

effectiveness-

NOW,

TONIGHT and

FOREVER.

(A gift like no other).

 

Many years later,

reflecting

(at the age, thirty-six);

she wondered-

‘would she ever

be-old enough;

(maybe just drunk

enough),

to be

an adult,

herself?’…

She thought, “probably

not”. But

she didn’t

wait

to find out.

 

She didn’t

wait

for anything,

anymore.

 

 

FIN