Wednesday, April 30, 2014

Beyond Uffish Thoughts





The last time I smelled beach oil like that,
I lost all sense of direction. The world turned
upside down and the stars became starfish tangled
in my seaweed hair.

My anemone fingers, fluttered in de wabe
far from Jabberwocks and Jubjub birds
—it was just us and we were mimsy.

No frumious thing could enter there where we were
on account of the scent of that oil. It cloaked us
with frabjousness, all chortley.

No vorpal burble could whiffle through and slay
that brillig moment. We slithy toves would just
gyre and gimble away upon the moonlit sea.



Thursday, April 24, 2014

Tell no one





Tell no one
      when you’re crushed inside
Baffled by life’s mysteries
Missing the histories
Shared with people who no longer exist
While you make your list
Of things to do
To bide your time
Until into the grave
It’s time to climb
On in
Just hunker down with the worms
           gnawing on your toes
Sidle up to the moles
           burrowing to and fro
You’re in for an eternity
Of darkness everlasting
Just read the news
And sing the blues
Because there are no how to’s for dyin’.

And when I go
What will my life show?
Can I live through my children?
Hell no.
Get my resurrection by election?
One of the happy few
That Moses, Jesus, Buddha, Mohammed
      or the Beatles knew?
If movin’ on and movin’ up
Is a contest of popularity
Why is it that what I crave most is sincerity?

Sincerity is for sinners—
That’s my domain.
All y’all without sin
Don’t need me –
You have everything to gain
On the other side.
Just follow the rules
Of your denomination
And in your afterlife you will find
No abomination.

It’ll be Easy Street
Pure and clean
Whitewashed and spit shined,
You know what I mean?
No riff-raff to challenge your daydreams eternal
No worries about unpleasant pain infernal.

But sincerity is my theology
With all its mess
And lack of luster
It seems to cause a lot of fluster
When folks are tryin’ to keep their cool.
No one wants to be a fool
About death.
So we package it
Like a Valentine
And pretend it doesn’t
Hurt after a time.
We say
We’re glad the suffering is over
That the ones who died are better off
Enjoying their stay under the clover.
If we mourn the ones we lack
Doctors prescribe pills to watch our back.
We’ve stopped admitting
The reality of feelings
And how we need
Each other
For healing.