Keep At The Task

I've been working on some revisions lately of poems that previously appeared in this blog. This one is probably the least changed, but I still think it's a notable improvement. It used to be the unmade bed or unhung clothes signified Something, perhaps that I didn't much care How things looked or how they were, But now it's more that I do not have the strength To keep at the task, to keep it up, To clean it out or clear it away. In my youth, good fellows like Bill or George might Volunteer to rehang a door or mend a fence for a friend, Or dig a needed ditch, or cook a deer or pig for the feast, But that was seldom me. I just smoked and watched— Because I was no-account, I suppose, Not because I was so watchful. I think I liked it better when I was just lazy or shiftless Than now when I’m willing but Can’t raise my arms high or bend my knees low Or keep my feet moving fast and long enough To defend myself or you against these greater Outer-world diseases and despotic politicians. rcs. Original: o4/23/2009 Current draft created on 12/25/2009 3:37 PM

The Mourner’s Vigil

From priests and Popes To the lowliest form of fool without a woman, Who’s lost all hope or hangs imprisoned in his mind, His spirit hostage, his heart and bones buried in grave solitude— Even for the least bit of scum afloat on the pond, Nothing is ever finally settled except the silt and mud, So nothing much is gained by merely talking. Whatever it is or is not that you believe, Should BE believed, But need not be discussed, I think, Except with others of your cult— You know, your own selfish ilk— You should please leave others alone. From priestesses and princesses Out of their skirts and down to their pants— Religion’s just another pretence of reality that we whistle past. Oh what a sham, what a dance—it’s worse than TV! Everyone at the old swimming hole in my dream Was worried to death that they couldn’t be saved And my team seemed to be losing but we outgrew all of that. Whatever it is that’s bothering you, Was thrown down or cast away by others years back— I gave it up myself, long ago— And nothing in our youthful views Ever effectively warned us That all those things we loved were leading to This early cold despair, this eerie dirt repose. Relations sigh and Settle back on their heels When they at last arrive and then begin— “There are so few monuments to lean against Or sit upon any more”, lame old aunt Edna whines As she surveys both left and right, “But there’s just as many dead…” Last year’s mourners are soon dog-tired again— For nothing's buried so deep as these sinking bones Nor is so thick as the silt which fills the bronze urns, Uncared-for and forgotten since the last time. It’s as stuck as hard red clay or black Texas gumbo— Nonetheless flowers must go in. We shiver as our kin labor long to clear the fluted vase, but We pull the earth in over us and still we feel no warmth. rcs Created on 10/27/2009 11:00 AM

Killing My Computer!

While wrestling with the inoperative wireless mouse earlier today (see previous post), I unplugged the power cord as one of many wild actions I took to see if it'd revive the mouse power. Then I forgot about the power cord, forgot that I should at least be keeping track of the "power remaining" message that the computer gives me. So, when it got down to about 5%, the screen went to black and the computer died! Took me by surprise, I promise you that!!! I've used battery power before, of course, but usually not sitting right here near the charging station, so I was taken unawares when it died. I never had used the battery power down to that level, so at least now I know what it does when it's at the brink of death. It saved all the files I had open (some on the Internet and some MS WORD files)and everything was smoothly restored once power was back on.

IT'S ALIVE!

Had trouble last night and this morning with my wireless mouse. Replacing battery didn't work. Tried an alternate brand of battery, tried a new battery, tried a newly-charged recharge battery, all to no avail. Considered stepping on it like it was a real rodent, but I abstained. On a lark, I used my hand-warmer (hair dryer) on low and fumbled with it for a while until I noticed a menu screen had popped up for some reason, then disappeared. WAS IT ALIVE? Did more warming for a while and it seemed to wake up. It DOES get cold out here in my study and my hands can testify to that! Strange, though. I would never have considered that the equipment could get cold and go into hibernation!

Mission Impossible

More Death, More Sex!
Wait a minute--how come we can't have suicide bombers, too? What's so hard about it? It's not like it requires any special bravery or intelligence. And you'd get to screw all the angels in Heaven, too, I hear! Boy, what a deal! Calling all former Marines, Special Ops, and CIA operatives who are running out of patience! You take the risks and we deny all responsibility!

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None Of It Is True

I still like to jump up sometime And give the impression I can move around And get things done. I like to think I can hurry if I try, But none of it is true. Whatever it is, I’ll probably drop it Or throw it against the wall in fury!

You Can Buy Me

Now here we are Where all the black or yellow or brown men Look too much alike and not like me And all the women disguise themselves so much alike, Assume the same eye-catching postures. They seem Like clones, or one invented fantasy for all the glossy covers, Sometimes with Attitude, sometimes not! See them there on the rack, Beaming out in every skin hue and hair tint, Saying, “You can buy me on my back for $9.98!” To all the timid black or yellow, brown or white men Whose fate, it appears, is to gaze so intently, so rapaciously While they foolishly pretend that they Aren’t really looking, they aren’t really there.

Tenrecidae

Did I Really Need To Know That?
Unusually among placental mammals, the anus and urogenital tracts of tenrecs share a common opening, or cloaca, a feature more commonly seen in birds, reptiles, and amphibians. They have a low body temperature, sufficiently so that they do not require a scrotum to cool their sperm as most other mammals do. Does this mean some things are weirder than me?

High School Disease

I think sometimes about high school reunions And how I’ve avoided every one of them so far. I have small desire to see those people again, So I’d have to be tricked into being there— Maybe lured by the prospect of boffing a head cheerleader, Or, better yet, a fat cheerleader’s nubile daughter. “One of you can French while the other one phones for the pizza.” rcs. Created on 12/11/2009 2:05 PM

Shadows On The Edge

Pursued by shadows on a silver plate, There is little—no, nothing—to hold the darkness back. And at the edges cold chagrin is always grinning And that's not the way it's supposed to be Despite all we hear and all we feel And all we wish or fear! We are repelled, that's all, Compelled to lives of sadness, Badness, cadness, call it what you will, Redness of eye and blackness of heart— We go on with it and prosper Whether we have cancer, diabetes, or a stroke, Whether we are the surviving half, A madness of disease, Or live alone, a joke that can't be pleased. rcs.