The Air I Breathe

Maybe I’m wrong and it’s my solitude That I need most of all. It has long been the air I breathe And it might not gladly suffer a sea change. So, should lady luck in a watery manger Slip into a mermaid suit with an aqualung And manage to please me with her underwater dance In spite of all the danger, There is no telling How much or little influence Might come to fruition between us And spoil the front of my pants! rcs. Current draft: 2/11/2010 Created on 2/6/2010 7:36 PM

Too Much In My Head

I suppose I live too much in my head And not enough where people can see I’m making a mess, But there’s nothing to do and nothing to say That would make it turn out all right. It would still just be fucked up. If you worked in Washington D.C., You could make a bill out of it, But it’s improbable you could make a poem about it. rcs. Current draft: 2/10/2010 Created on 2/8/2010 2:13 PM

I Have Turned Loose

I have turned loose of everything, I sometimes think, And it’s close to being true. Whatever remains isn’t much, Doesn’t justify my attitude, Won’t rectify my course And in hard times won’t even help me Rationalize my way out of a paper bag! I’m trapped and haven’t hung on to much Beyond the pettiness of the physical world. Not much of that, either, but Any character or any morality or any well-being, That’s certainly all gone to hell, Or quite diminished, and that’s as good as gone. Gonna buy a new dump-truck, Gonna Make a new plan, Learn to spell my name right, Empty my trousers of sand. Whatever else there is, I misspent it or I abused it Or maybe I simply misspelled it. I outlasted some parts of myself in an ill wind That blew no one any good, yet There is no merit or gain in any of that! I’ve reached an age where near companions Say, “You’ve made it this far, so why worry?” I don’t know why and I don’t know why not, either. I wish I could give it all up, Just fling aside my attachment to it Like it was a soiled old work-sock, But I can never pitch it far enough! It lingers still! Gonna buy a new dump-truck, Gonna Make a new plan, Learn to spell debt and debtor right, Empty my bedpan of sand. rcs. Current draft: 2/8/2010 Created on 1/15/2010 5:00 PM

I Can’t Say

I can’t say I write the kind of poetry That I’d like to be known for, But it’s all such poems as I might read And might enjoy if they were someone else’s And no one was looking over my shoulder. rcs. Current draft: 2/9/2010 Created on 2/1/2010 3:34 PM

Past Readers, Present Poems

I wonder where all my past readers have gone? I don't check my Site Meters very scrupulously or spend much time at decoding them, but the numbers are worse than they used to be. Also, when I was popular (or just stumbled across with frequency), I used to have more comments from strangers as well as more comments from steady readers, both of which indicated that some visitors did more than glance at the posts with glazed eyes. I have to confess that I liked that! Things have changed. Gossip says that Twitter and Facebook and such have drained away readers from the blogs, and that may be true. I think my glamor and appeal have simply evaporated, leaving me as some kind of unattractive canker sore on the buttocks of the universe! Even so, it's all good, for it's left me with more time for writing poetry, a craft that will, equally with blogs, NOT earn me a living, get me laid, or pay for my front-row ticket in heaven, but it will please me on occasion to have constructed or created a few more things that are "new under the sun"! If you also write and would care to swap critiques, I'm not sure that it would be "great", but I am a little interested. The worse thing I will say to you is that I may not have anything to say at all, but you could try. If you'd like to tell me what you like most or dislike most in one or more of my recent poems, I would be interested to hear it. My ego is a pretty large one, so you probably won't kill me. I'll just get petulant, at worst. I am tired of writing so much in a vacuum, though. And if you'd like to risk it, I'll see if I can say something constructive about your writing.

Look Straight

What good does it do to be this way When we know how little good it has ever done, Whether on graveled streets or paved, Whether on the way out the back door running from the cops Or the weary way back in through the front door from coffee stops. Everybody kick-start, try to look smart, look straight, Everybody toke right, ride steady, break apart smooth, And try not to get caught or get too greasy while we wait, For the road to your execution and mine, says the gypsy teller, Is straight ahead—it’s “already grimly near and grimy”, she laughs. rcs. Current draft: 2/8/2010 Created on 2/5/2010 7:17 PM

Pejorative Words

I feel so tired, I feel like I’m struggling with the whole world. I probably am. I have always been uncooperative, Single-minded, stubborn, even relentless. I don’t suppose that there are many “nice” words for it— They are probably all pejorative and unforgiving, But still I like the things I think! I always have. But I don’t like feeling tired without perspiring And I don’t feel like I can keep on slogging. rcs. Current draft: 2/08/2010 Created on 1/21/2010 2:31 PM

What Kind Of Gun

I don’t know what kind of gun Or guilt you’d bring to bear If you came here for a long-delayed revenge or If instead you departed where you were among the hounds For your own impromptu comfort, But I can’t go around being worried about it, About whether you hit or whether you miss. For all I know, such an endeavor Might be doing me a favor If you just sweetly kiss my ass goodbye And blow my brains out in a hurry. rcs. Created on 2/3/2010 1:18 PM

Astrological Ann

Ann was both mystical and star struck, But she studied at a physical science on the side To keep her feet firm on the ground While she searched the scape of our eyes And the scope of the solicitous skies For ever-brighter stars!

Remembering

I can’t get my hat on right in a hurry (Not one of the six or seven that I own) Or button my shirt up straight without delay Or remember when my battery was charged Or when I changed my pants Or which pocket my keys are in Or if the yardman comes on this or the next Thursday Or even if this is Friday when the garbage truck comes! I guess it’s possible I may have ALL of them right, But I’d rather remember!