Plainly, we’re surrounded. Nothing escapes,
No matter how benign. For loving words
(The flesh of poetry) generate japes,
Create expectations wholly absurd!
Down at the paddle tennis courts, a girl
Joined me on my favorite bench and asked,
“Written any poems this week?” Her pearly
Skin, flushed with youth, left me bemused and tasked.
Though pride’s a famous sin, I must confess
I swelled a bit, declaimed my latest wit.
That earned a pout—“You write of Nat’lie’s flesh,
Andrea’s ass, and Lisa’s depth and tits,
For pity’s sake, ‘midst all your sassy glee,
Why can’t you write some verses about me?”
(8/12/12)
First Sunday, eighth month,
The Hare Krishnas
Come to Venice Beach
With Bhagavad-Gitas galore.
Eating sweets and vegetables
Of such purity,
They’ll live way too long—
Foolishly postponing nirvana!
(7/29/12)
Our first delight,
Doubtless,
Is mother’s flowing teat.
Then building blocks,
Candy bars,
Parental praise.
Later (for some),
Bullying a nerd,
Followed by
That first copped feel
At the darkened movie house.
But, as the muddied chemicals
Trapped beneath the skull
Surge and ebb
Within those gray slimed coils,
A dark hole—
With brittle walls—
Forms
To imprison rage—
That strange venom—
The distillate
Of failure, pain, frustration,
And despair.
From time to time,
Packed too dense,
Those thin walls burst—
Smashed bones,
Splashed blood
Ensue.
And, stupidly,
We wonder:
Why? Why?
(7/28/12)
Tachycardia!
What the hell is causing it?
Tremendous question.
Now I’m eighty-two—
Surely angst and pain enough—
Why this trembling heart?
Tight chest, racing pulse.
Five minutes, then calm returns.
Faulty universe?
Twin conspirators
Jab, provoke this pounding heart—
Despair, medicine!
Calling my doctor
Will generate nasty tests
That may do me in!
Truth told: I’m ready—
But would forgo percussion
Dancing me to death.
(7/22/12)
Was gonna write a poem about this girl
(Woman, really) down at the paddle court.
Her body—sculpted opalescent pearl;
Her mind—as yet unfathomed (shallow, taut?).
Was gonna flame another hottie glow
To palpitate the leering watchers there
Until I spoke with her, and came to know
The stress-filled life she’d lived (beyond compare!).
She left the streets, procured a G.E.D.
Stopped hanging with those grungy pimps and whores.
She earned a B.A., Masters—two degrees—
Then—college-bored—became a stevedore!
To gain her trust, I read a poem I wrote.
Her keen eyes revealed how well she knew me.
Her crimson lips responded with a quote—
Lyrics from that ancient poet Rumi!
I gulped, amazed, delighted at my shock—
At Lisa’s depth—Our Lady of the Docks.
(7/22/12)
This morning, in a comic strip¹, I saw
A word I doubt has ever been exclaimed,
A word so powerful, so crammed with awe,
Involving human bliss (or grief) untamed.
Anoesis—check it out! Emotion,
Sensation—pure, untrammeled by the spell
Cognition always casts. Feelings that shun
All thought—shimmering heaven or bleak hell?
The notion took me back to innocence,
To ancient Eden, harboring that tree,
Before morality gave birth to sins,
When male and female wandered nude and free.
One bitter bite (defining virtue, vice)
That cost us all the loss of paradise.
(7/11/12)
1. Non Sequitur, Los Angeles Times (7/8/12)
