BRUISED AND BATTERED

bruised and battered,

but still ticking.

refocus all our attention on

malevolence and those

flirtatious overtones 

now occurring  in flatulence isle

at nearest Walmart, where

sun never shines, but

where shoppers sweat buckets

while inhaling those fine

aromas only found at Walmart

and associated retail outlets.

life is just one big thrill,

one right after another.

because second none

is better than one to nothing,

taking into account all the

one's failing muster,

becoming one with bluster

in a cloud of nothing ever after.

poetry has gone over the edge;

crashed and burned,  gone over

 the edge; crashed and burned.

and has done this for

more years than most can attest.

but, always, always climbs

back up, even though knowing

it will continue crashing

and burning into the ages.

go, poetry, go!

at the end of the day,

universe is still infinite.

and anything we do

will never change that.

and this friends, neighbors,

and all blue collar workers

is absolutely wonderful

knowing we cannot

in and shape or form,

screw up the universe. 

haters hate. lovers love.

birds fly. nothing more to say.

have a good day and life;
hopefully in that order.  

MOMENTARY LOSS

a momentary loss of good sense,

is of no great concern. 

one should wear exuberance openly;

not afraid of unknown karma;

keeping this totally peaceful.

scent of romance hangs heavy;

stage right where Elvis left building.

alien enters stage left.

yes, where Elvis entered.

now did you know?

what gave it away?

were you following Elvis,

or the alien?

incompetence is not 

a death sentence, per se.

on the contrary; not even

a misdemeanor in a time 

zone with no zip.

an ironclad whip for

all heavy handed labor.

and with ironclad alibi

for generalized operations.

for those with wandering pants,

and sticky fingers;

warrants are being addressed.

should backup, drop kick

this one into next time zone,

where prudence exists. 

my condolences to anyone

that are losing conscience

while stopping here.

just remember: could be worse;

and looks to be heading that way.

otherwise, have a nice day.

so many books.
so little time;
almost a crime. 

UNASSIALED

then comes a time,

need take hand off the mouse,

get up, go crap and

think about things

unrelated to mice, computers,

monitors and the such,

to rest a weary mind.

when rugged rabbit came to town,

pregnancies jumped through the roof.

when rugged rabbit left town,

he had half the town gunning for him.

and from this day forth;

rugged has been on the run. 

half my rights have been wrong.

wrong was late for supper, again.

once more and lights out.

delightful need not apply;

all positions have been filled.

well, tough ditty, kiss my bacon.

was it something I said?

Jan 30th, and our three day horrendous 

wind has finally abated. even 20 degrees

feels good after that belligerent wind.

but that's just life, isn't it? 

BIG DOG

running off of the mouth,

with half-baked schemes,

messing up serious dreams 

of being new tough dog

on the block and elsewhere. 

dream on, big dog.

at a loss for works

never stopped a Bluejay 

from chatting up a storm

with all a Bluejay ever knew.

none of us have complete

control over our lives.

keeping our lives in perspective

while our lives dangle dangerously

over unknown canyons of shadows

threatening, drag us down below.

I don't know. had I known,

would not have blown all

that ugly black smoke up

that dark ugly blow-hole,

only having black smoke

circle back around threatening

my very own ugly blow-hole.

No, I certainly did not know.

symbolism verses martyrdom

on the road to cacophony.

enigmatic shadows looming large

with ethereal images appearing in fog

not easy being who we are not,
or what we cannot be,
or who we cannot be,
but we insist on trying;

driving ourselves crazy
when reality rears up,
kicks us where it hurts most;
in our conscience.

SEVEN HEADED DOGS

in every minute, sixty seconds

seeks redemption and

a clock to call their home,

without that aggravating 

minute leading seconds astray.

possibilities override probabilities

and we are gluttons for solace.

and reoccurring possibilities

never becoming airborne 

while mania begs attention.

dog with seven heads and

a cat's tail. nowhere to go

with this except to the pound

where seven headed dogs go

to blow off some steam,

reflection on all cats with no tails

and  where one headed dogs

laugh their asses off at dogs

with seven heads and a cat tail.

there are folks stopping by here;

many of them thinking:

is this poetry? well, yes, between

picture manipulation, there is poetry.

and, yes, I can understand why those

folks would have their doubts. 

let's end this with another old cliche:

it is what it is.

would like to add something very profound,

but about the most profound thing I've

done lately is take a crap. sorry.

maybe later we'll have a discussion 

over the true meaning of sorry. 

and whether sorry even relevant 

in today's market for more 

arrogance searching for a home.

BLOGOSPHERE

internet blogosphere is a riot.
literally, a riot. 
riot is where its at.
we do love our riots;
if not, would not be so many.
we are violence aficionados.
our favorite interest is to
watch all the rumpus action,
and bitch about it over coffee
with a group of riot prone friends.

yesterday is a woman
I once knew.
today I saddle up
and ride;
ride up and away 
into unknowns. 
and tomorrow 
cries for 
yesterday,
a women I once knew. 

push the envelope
and the envelope pushes 
back. 
and another stutter
step; slap a stamp
on that arrogant envelope,
and off it goes, with
all the bad news
stuffed recklessly inside;
and with goes our pride.

our quest for knowledge
leads us a merry chase;
over hill, over dale,
as those cold north 
winds wail. 

while doing this,
am listening to music
by the Amazonas; 
music from the Andes.
such beautiful music!
everything goes so much
better with music.

spread peanut-butter
over my poems
to make my poems
at least eatable
in not readable

SING SONG

all future has a beginning.
behind the beginning
lies only ruins;
a wasteland of nothing;
with no beginning or end.
no need for sun and rain.

shivering on a hill
windblown snow
freezing one's nose
time to go home

think could cause
discord on left side
of our frontal-lobe.
but not to sweat it;
our frontal-lobe doesn't.

searching for purpose
in all the wrong places,
in all the wrong times,
could drive one over the edge.

simplicity speaks volumes
in cases like these.
all tied up in pretty
ribbons and bows.

digest poetry; volumes.
conceding nothing.
give no quarter; ask none.

leave repenting for those
in need of immediate repose.
shake off those doldrums

with songs by Frank Ifield.
good advice, think I'll take it.
might even sing along.

father of his father
fathered his mother,
confusing the heck out of
the genealogy club
his mother and father
belonged to before
he was even born. 

SIMPLISTIC

half-baked ideas; strong,

sonorous voices ringing;

discontent of such notions.

concept of immorality;

looming heavy in wake of knowing

no history precluding present.

mechanics of bondage;

simplistic in its simple existence.

not to judge ethics in such

unorthodox matters.

in all things prevalent,

conquering fear becomes

most relevant pursuit

keeping mind over matter

constant and wavering. 

control over ourselves;

over our desires, our lives,

our need to succeed. 

our need to live fast;

too fast, missing much

of ourselves along the way.

as we armor our  hearts

against life itself

what we thought peanut-butter,

was, in fact, poop in a jar.

pranksters should eat their pranks. 

PROPER WORK ETHIC

was born into work,
and work I surely did.
from young life forward;
never stopping.

with a good work ethic
instilled in a young life,
that youngster will never
stop working.

even retirement
will not stop working.
and nothing burns us more
than useless so-and-so's 

happily living of the system,
that we workers worked
so hard keeping afloat.

cannot rush art.
art must have time to simmer.
true artists know this,
producing such fine art.

having drawn conclusions
fact west to south;
but conclusions, regardless,
will stand facing front
to back, with no regard of

jet stream flowing to and fro.
only a fool would test a
conclusions's resolve in
delicate matters such as these.

a cold and windy January
day with snow moving in;
enticing one to their bed
for a long winter's nap.

lives hang in the balance
of all we conceive 
of paths we have tread upon
of all we have become

there is immense satisfaction 
looking back on it all
knowing one has done
the very best one could do