Blue Humor

So very honored to have “Blue Humor” published in The Stillwater Review

“The journal maintains a dedication to the lyric poem—musicality at the heart of it, the delicate ideas at work in the layers. Since that time our journal has published poets like Michael Waters, Judith Vollmer, Paul Genega, Adele Kenny, Robert Mitchell, J.C. Todd, Chuck Tripi, Mihaela Moscaliuc, Diane Lockward, Robert Carnevale, Jessica deKoninck, Edwin Romond, Lois Marie Harrod, and Roberto Carlos Garcia.”

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my little Matryoshka

Concerned with fashionably balanced items on bookshelves–
I thoughtlessly placed her long ago
To this day, she squats, eyes forward, harboring no ill will
Most of my shelved tomes have sat so long, their spines have rusted–
But, eight horse-sized literature anthologies have seen action
Their bulked-up spines are careworn and wrinkled
As part of the publishing team who created them, I’ve perused them plenty
Two houses ago, I held an authentic job–
accompanied by a generous paycheck and a me, me, me business card
When child number one entered into my, my, my world, I exited Prentice Hall
Since then, Springsteen’s Glory Days, endlessly loops in my ears
This might explain my current cruelty to Matryoshkas
Depending on the day, the time and the spider muses in my studio–
my temperament shifts

This morning, I’ve not yet descended into my she-shack, where all creative things happen or nothing at all–
I’m still sipping coffee in my kitchen, facing the ‘family room,’ and the mantel with its bookended bookshelves
Colored spines form up-ended brick paths to limitless rabbit holes
The antique nesting doll guards a Time Life series covered in 70’s drab
The decorative mirror resting behind her bulbous form, lends a reflective quality to the warm palette
You can’t see the dust. I can. The shelves have remained undisturbed for awhile
I never considered little Matryoshka’s thoughts when I exiled her to shelf Siberia
Not a single heart-string of mine tugged for her redundant life–a nonstop amalgam of herself
As I write this, I’m thinking about Matryoshka–
her delicate flower patterns and the firm twist one must apply to reveal her abundance
Perhaps, I am jealous of my little Matryoshka
She knows who she is, inside and out
bookshelvesshot of my family room taken this morning, portrait hanging over mantel was painted 2 years ago, if you look closely at the upper right, top bookshelf you can see little Matryoshka

anthropomorphic animals

four legs four legs on the ground
untainted smooth
inertia bound

there it hides
its hiding there
safe from them
there is nowhere
go stop run
run stop go
from flesh, that flesh
that’s white as snow

must cut away her utility…

when it goes
where it stops
gets trampled underfoot
route unnamed
smudged by earth
man’s untimely soot

must appreciate his underbelly…

polluted vagaries
nest, pack, herd,
colony, turmoil
gaggled words
shrewdness,
heard
the silent sound
tribe, cackle, richness
boom band bound

must reexamine my duel motives…

pride and mob, school and pod
pride and school emergent mob
efforting while in sexual season
sucking up to tainted treason

dissonance parleys the uninformed
murdered the goddamn unicorns
call and alarm all shadows here
their fur hides hide our naked fear
no more, no more, I beg no more
uncork the apple from the boar
knocking, crippling, maturing hell
alarm a shadow, crack the bell

oh, Theodor please help me…

up it stands
on his hands
she be down
on the ground
all replete
on 2 feet
no longer
balking
they are walking
no more
walking
they are talking
walking
talking
when it goes
where it stops
no one knows
oh, but I do

polluted hearts
dirty forms
chatting animals
form the norm

it is never too late, darling…

four legs four legs on the ground
only two now make a sound
earth burnt souls melt in the fold
low bones whisper words foretold…

Interred/change
I couldn’t admit how I adored you
my dead heart must now implore you
so simple back then, my oh my
my Theodor’s eyes in absentia cry
skull-homageI generally don’t attempt rhyme but something grabbed hold of me this morning (perhaps a sprite from last night😉), Animal Farm on the brain while reading youngster Rimbaud’s pain (I admit sadly for the first time)…

writers and artists I admire

Enchanted am I
when I collapse into your world
Inside, my eyes transfix on silent rhythms 
like nowhere else I know
Lost, my mind vexed
neurons dizzied to orgasmic numbness
I am a journeyman to your will
letters impossibly perfect
imperfectly created
Other petulant muses gnaw on my body–
“I saw the angel in the marble and carved until I set him free”
How these holy demons chew at my flesh
like ravenous dogs might cripple limbs

But you–
you, lure me to my knees
While I can only dream of sweating implements–
my hands wake and are forever empty
Bare pulp is sacrosanct, I touch it and abort
But you–
how you create
bringing new life each time, breathing air where I suffocate
Enchanting are you
Enchanted am I
Crashing wands, frantic waves
pulverize my bound world with freedom
Moonlight too, beguiled at your whim
I gaze at her through midnight glass
as a voyeur with insatiable desire and dark appetite

It is all I have–
imagining your soul pierced to my breast
Then it happens
I am transported
I am transformed
white-vampalienvampire/alien no 3 in my new, fun-for-necks, series

well, this is just freakin’ amazing

well, this is just freakin’ amazing
apparently my little book
has gone “temp out of stock”
on both Amazon and B&N
why I’d love to believe it’s selling out like Harry Potter😉
the reality probably is
because it’s a self-pub title
they don’t take it very seriously
and don’t order that many copies initially
geez
it is still available on my book’s site
loveofthemonster.com
but most folks
are going to Amazon or B&N to buy
darn this selling stuff
I’m going to start peddling door to door
so if you hear someone crying
in your hedgerow
late in the afternoon
it will most likely be me
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