Sunday, October 28, 2012

Grief and Sparks

Do you remember what the bishop said?
A series of elaborate remarks
Impelled by puffing sounds and random barks,
Unusual impressions of the dead,
And patter songs. The matter in his head
Was like a mix of perfume, grief, and sparks.
He praised Isaiah and the patriarchs,
Then split his pants. His face was very red.

You take these lessons in humility
With equanimity; it wasn't you
Being embarrassed, was it? You puffed, too,
And you also performed some mimicry,
But your pants didn't split, and I can't see
Isaiah on your lips. Still, yours turned blue.

Thursday, October 11, 2012

Unpleasant People

Unpleasant people fill the world with shame
And bitterness drips from their mouths like spittle.
Demanding our forgiveness and acquittal
For all their crimes, they shiver and duck blame,
And blithely make the most outrageous claim
Of having earned the dark right to belittle
Because their souls are pure, their small hearts brittle,
Despair their surest friend, who speaks their name.

We're all the same, catastrophe-fed fear
Is in our nature, is our nature, sings
Its siren song to us. What each day brings,
Along with pressure to be insincere
And load up on emotions and bad beer,
Is insults, chains, disaster, and mood swings.

Thursday, October 04, 2012


I hereby do assert the right to be
Identified as author of these works.
I can't employ a regiment of clerks
To watch for violations constantly,
So no one's standing there to oversee
The actions of some plagiarizing jerks
With loose lips, looser morals, evil smirks,
And cheap hearts, but I call that robbery.

I don't expect to make much money here;
The business of poetry is hard,
And all the poets I know have been scarred
By desperation, accident, or fear,
But copyright subsists, that much is clear,
In every single verse. Ask any bard.