Thursday, November 27, 2008

Hello Again

Impressive as it is, your ignorance
Is not complete, but just as well might be,
As wide as summer skies, deep as the sea,
Spectacular as gross incontinence
Supported by unceasing flatulence.
I know you didn't want to hear from me,
But here I am, facing your poverty
Of knowledge, sympathy, and competence.

We're neither of us harmless or benign.
Benighted? Sure. Bemused? Yes, and beset
By demons, dogs, and dimwits. We're in debt
And in denial, hoping for a sign
That something will turn up. Here's where you shine,
The feckless optimist. I've brought a net.

Wednesday, November 19, 2008

The End of My Indifferent State

I reached the end of my indifferent state
When Becky was suspended by her hair
Above an overturned black Windsor chair
Beside the window nearest the front gate.
The ignorant, ignoble reprobate,
Her father, simply left the window bare
So passersby could ogle at her there.
I drew the curtains, stood up on a crate,

And got her down before her mother saw,
Not knowing whether she might disagree
With what I did that day, especially
As her own feelings always seemed so raw.
The episode was sticking in my craw,
And I was spurred to action, finally.

Saturday, November 15, 2008

Our Especial Trick

Malicious, vicious, meretricious, not
Nutritious, expeditious, or refined,
The way we dated, danced, disputed, dined,
And made ourselves unpleasant, was it fraught
With indolence, unnatural yet untaught,
Or merely what would come to be defined
As our especial trick, seen from behind,
That art of attitude that can't be bought?

I ask the question only as a lark;
The answer doesn't matter, what you think
Is even less important. Have a drink
And sit here, lonely, with me, in the dark,
Reciting poetry. Make no remark
About the patchy brickwork, and the stink.

Friday, November 07, 2008


Once saddled with a nickname, we are lost
To all attempts at melioration, right
And wrong go out the window. Only spite
Remains, together with a sort of frost
Aimed at one's friends, a bitter coldness crossed
With hapless, sad neuroses, shapeless fright,
Distraction, undigested appetite,
And sour disdain, acquired at such great cost

The bridge between our lives shakes, bends, and buckles,
Leaving all our joys behind, soft stuff,
A world made out of puffballs, wind, and snuff.
I offer you my anger, truth and knuckles;
You call me Hedges, and you call me Chuckles,
Maybe Frankensniffer. That's enough.