I asked of Nature

Who am I, who should I be?

I asked of Nature.



But it kept moving—

wind through grass,

light shifting on stone, water

down the hill.



There is no lesson here,

it seemed to say.

Be yourself or not—

just let me be.



French Fries: Because I Love It

Consumed one at a time or all at once,

or shared with friends, the ones who've earned the right.

It's not potato wedges, mashed, or baked,

but golden strips called fries, ones eaten dipped

in ketchup, gravy, ranch, honey mustard,

sour cream, mayo, tartar, poutine, hot sauce,

with fried chicken, burger, grilled steak, kebab,

enjoyed by all around the hungry globe.

————

How would you like being

boiled alive in murderous waters,

then dipped in the thick-skinned oil—

so loud the sizzling 

of your flesh echoes?

Because I love it.

The Blue Bird

little depends

on

twit

ter accounts

even those belonging to heavy

weights

clucking all day like

chickens

I’ve Nothing to Say (a poem that is the “opposite” of “This Is Just to Say” by William Carlos Williams)

You won’t drink

the milk

that’s outside

the microwave

but milk

I certainly won’t

be having

for dinner

I'll blame you regardless

for drinking spoiled milk

that’s gone sour

from all the heat.

Goddess Panacea at work

He spotted the goddess Panacea,

in the superstore shopping for popcorn.

Are you making healing popcorn? He asked.

"No, regular," she said. "Well, with sugar

and cinnamon." But why? He demanded

to know her secret. "I'm watching a film,"

she responded, looking vexed. Will you cure

someone after the movie? "No!" she raged,

"I have a life outside of work, you know?"

And so this is how it happened that she 

punched the annoying man and then had to

heal his bruised lips, which was, not, at all, tough

except this all happened on her day off.

That Mythology of Paperwork

It's the thirteenth time.

Torn (no, ripped), taped back together, 

bleeding ink,

signature-tattooed,

official, regulated, proper,

destined to arrive there,

at the wrong time,

the wrong department,

in the wrong hands.

The white envelope dark

like Hades, smirks,

mocking my inability

to follow elusive instructions.

I must have sinned.

The form's my boulder.

Why do I bother?

Why do I bother?

Sonnet IX (Bastardized)

Is it because you think you can, that you
engage in so much bow-chick-a-wow-wow
to bring to life another human who
is but a poorer version of you now?
A selfish, ugly, stupid, clumsy thing
that eats and sleeps and burps and pees and poops?
You think yours will become a queen, a king
who will some day rally a million troops
to war and win, a doctor, judge—what bull!
What you been smoking? Just listen to Will:
Homie, the world's already much too full,
what is the rush for having babies? Chill!
And when you do the nasty don't forget
I'd three of them and each one I regret.

A Mistake

Yew rote
aye halve maid
"a mistake."
Butt yew mussed
byte you're tung.
Eye'm nut
rung!

Myriad Dreams

In my dreams Plato practices Pilates.
Nietzche eats cheddar cheese with Chinese chai tea.
Heidegger's a haggard egghead who's hungry.
Kant can count in Catalan and Cantonese.

Or Can It?

Pigs can’t fly.
Though The Simpsons put that theory to test.
The sun can’t rise in the west.
Unless astronauts who seen it do lie.
The stars cannot rearrange themselves in the sky.
But on this moving Earth, that is what I have seen.
The clock can’t strike thirteen.
But on my digital watch that's just irrelevant.
A mouse can’t eat an elephant.
Unless it's elephant-flavored cheese in a can.
A circle can’t have corners.
Well that's just bigotry—if it wants to, it certainly can!

Under the Spell of Rhymes

I came across the third word, spell,
in the local library's lost and found,
next to a smartphone heavy as a dumbbell.
The second word, the article of the,
was bestowed upon me by a grand poobah,
the young, recently crowned Maharajah.
My readers shall not wonder much longer
where I found the very first word, under:
I discovered under right above
the fourth word, the preposition of.
The last word, though I seeked many times,
it was only at the end that I found rhymes.

Donne Tell me Not

"Death, be not proud—" "Hey Donne," Death interrupts,
"I'm trying to sleep here!  Don't speak so loud!"

The Weird Tail of a Whaling Wail with a White Tale

To be exact, I liked the white tale in the tail,
the wild waves, those sounds, save for the whale of the wail.
Some made no sense: I never learned how the made maid
the sea hare happy housed inside the ship’s pail pale?

When you wondered out loud about the weigh to way
a whale in ship full of hey, and when you yelled "hay",
my mind was somewhere else, not hear. I could not here
your views on whale’s pray either.  Pardon me, I prey.

I had left the animals and there plight right their,
since for sea hair and blue fish I care not a hare—
that’s not write, baleen whales are mammal, I should right,
not fish!—Sorry to air, I’m human…I breathe err.

To the Thief

I'll be brief.
This, to the thief
who stole—to my grief—
my Kobe beef
and ate it here
guzzling my beer
with no fear
that we will hear:
Your worse crime
was adding the lime
and all my thyme!
Hope you do time!

The Story of a Young Man who Furtively Penciled a Snail with a Man's Head in the Margins of a Medieval Manuscript

There was a young man of some artistry
Who penciled illustrations furtively
Inside of the margin
When somebody barged in
So fast was the shrinking (and shamefully)

Money Doesn't Grow on Trees

At daybreak sauntering along a blind,
My eyes were drawn to something odd behind
the silver gates there, giving off a sheen,
a soaring tree with leaves of grayish-green.
I saw...but no!  It can't be that...it can't!
That Mr. Andrew Jackson?  Franklin...Grant?
Saw thousands of them swaying in the breeze.
Let's go, dad said, money don' grow on trees!

De Niro

Mr. Robert Anthony De Niro
Has always played the tough-guy type hero.
They say when his daughter said her first word "daddy",
He looked severely at her: "You talkin' to me?!"

Eliot

Where did Eliot write his poetry and prose?
At home or maybe some coffee shop close?
It's safe to assume he'd take his black coffee to go
Should women there be talking of Michelangelo

Impossible Discovery

The teacher adds, “I’m very sure
Oxygen had been discovered
During the seventeen hundreds—”
“But no!” The student interjects,
“Professor, with all due respect,
What then did people breathe before!?”

It Sulfur Charity

"It Sulfur charity, they want to go to Polonium."
"Lithium go", you said, and now the boys, all of them,
Argon.  The Copper said they tried to get Radium,
But he Krypton after them from Francium
All the way to Germanium, just to Cesium.
"When will Uranium in?"  I often asked you about them.
But It's too late now, it's time to Barium.