Lunar Halo - other other poems

Regret

Tiny hands find no grouse to
relieve the heavy burden
of a loaded shotgun. And
after countless yards a stray
chirp drifts into bored crosshairs
“Dad,” he asks, “can I shoot that
squirrel?” wanting to shoot something
anything (he was hunting
after all). Neither wants to
let the other down so his
father pauses and says, “Sure, I’ll
use the tail for tying flies.”

Minute

The Stop and Go at 2 AM
envelops him
in washed out glare,
white stringy hair
across his brow severely creased.
With coffee feast
alone he sat
and stared up at
the patrons buying smokes and gas—
a crumpled mass
with smudged off name
no one will claim.

Baking Soda

They (being they that sell estate)
tell us to buy then throw away
their sodium bicarbonate
or baking soda, we might say.

They tell us, “Throw it in the trash
to help avoid malodorous smell—
carpet and toilet need a dash,
and keep some in your icebox as well.

Though still a waste, more fun by far
are banes of countless science fair.
Use reddish dye and vinegar
to make your own volcanic lair.

Two impressions of a rocking horse

the mind of young Odysseus wanders
his wooden steed
clomps with Calypso hooves
in back forth sway
crunching his sister's Barbie dolls
she cries and pleads
like Hecuba at the cruel games
children play

II.

A stallion lame with broken leg
with rolling eyes, with sweat soaked hair
his nervous whinnies ride the air.
Those flailing hooves will soon become
a plastic tube of woodwork glue.

A plastic tube of woodwork glue
adheres the skin of soothing thumb
to tear soaked cheek and ends held square.
His reassuring eyes repair
an ashen mare with broken leg.

Blake in a Tu-Tu

Jagged stripes. Jagged teeth
sheathed in jungle. Prowling
dusky scrub, dire tiger
pounces, his piercing eyes
green blades that broach the sky.
Green blades that broach the sky
caress the meadow lush.
The storm dispersed, lambs dare
to leave and frolic near
the ancient huddling nook.

The Tambalacoque remembers the Dodo

I miss your laughter terribly my friend.
In youth we mingled blood and sap, no roots
of fear in paradise. My young you’d tend
with midwife gut, and I would share my fruits.

Then creaking, speaking, squeeking loud
monkeys, rats and cats to catch the rats
cured your curious innocence
nest eggs ravaged, liftless wings savaged

Your death came lightning swift. I cried at my
impotence, dwindling kin and hope the loud
ones finally found. But I cry most because
I miss your laughter terribly, my friend.

There comes a scene in most Sci-fi
where whatever crew attempts to ally
with a race, whose children mature too fast
or one where an orphan is the last
survivor of strange genocide.
They present the bribe, at first denied
but soon each bite hastens with eyes agleam
to ask for seconds on a bowl of ice cream.

Humans are a short lived race
of primate brains and fangless face
and despite Picard, I do not see
greatness in our curiosity.
But now at last I finally get
that our strength is in our chocolate
and I suppose there are worse things to be
than sugar pushers of the galaxy.

Once I had a tank full of yuppies
always staring at me all wide eyed
as if I was supposed to entertain them.
But I overfed them and they died.

I’m not the same man I was seven years ago.
I’ve changed.
not a vein,
not a cell,
not a strand of mitochondrion DNA
remains the same.
So how can you still hold me personally responsible?
My tongue is not the same that spoke those words.
My brain is not the same that thought them.
My legs are not the same that walked away.
My ears are not the same that did not listen.
And how do you know anyway?
You weren’t even there.
You’re not the same person I didn’t know
nearly seven years ago.
Your eyes are not the same that cried
or heart the same that wept inside.
So how dare you judge a perfect stranger
That a you that was not you only thought she knew.

Not a piece of me remains that took a shit in your best hat.
Not a shred of me remains who didn’t want to kill your cat.
Even my penis is not the same that sodomized your couch.
And after seven years of draught
(that left me quite a bitter grouch)
I think that I technically
have come to reclaim my virginity
that a you that was not you took
so very long ago.

Wait…don’t leave yet.
I told you we haven’t even met
and even if we had it wasn’t us
I know you want an apology
and promises of what will always be,
so I swear that I will never do
what a me that was not me might do
at least according to a you
that is no longer you.
Hopefully this will ease your fears.
Though honestly,
I can only guarantee you seven years.

When is sleep ready to be plucked
from her dream soaked bed shrugged untucked?
For petals green with unrest tense
quickly wilt into indolence
left to long in slothful slumber.
O to know her.
O to love her

a usual night
gives way
to unusual day

with a sun that glares
harshly through the light spray
pin points
on my windshield

with vivid rainbows
just beyond my grasp
and

with wind that whips
thin pressed plastic
into menacing wolves
and gargoyles

and though it intrigues me
i know that
i must ignore it
for I must sleep

Let God out of the box

Turn the crank
at your whim
God pops up
shove him back in
at least until
you need him again

What lies without
a husk
a shell
a surface hardened by callous years
scarred and polished by race and career.
But it will never account for
the sum
the whole
of who we are beneath the veneer
at the spiraling core of hope and fear.

the what will never account for the who
no matter what we are
no matter what we do

For the who defies simple explanation
provided by worldy factored addition
And the only people that can be so
defined
are those denying the who
Who never even try to find
Who never know who they really are
For to know the what
is easier by far.