THIS THING

Imaginary Garden With Real Toads

Sometimes
something is there
waiting for you

you don't know what it is
you have to see it
touch it
smell it

you have to find out
what it is
and what it's going to do
to you
or for you

you won't know that until you
see it
touch it
smell it

and even then you will likely
have only a clue

you have to
play with it
let it touch you back

gah damn
what is it?
how did I find it?

you didn't
it was just there
waiting for you
though you may have walked
by it a thousand times before
head buried in your phone
(read butt)
never realizing it was for you
just for you

or that this thing
you don't know what to make of
if you caress it
and nurture it
and let it grow
might just be able to show
you the way
 to a new beginning

IN PRAISE OF LONELINESS

Imaginary Garden With Real Toads

Easy come
easy go
I've watched the parade
march in and out my door
the flute players
and the drummers
the only thing they share
in common
is their transience

while I play the silent monolith
stoic
with eyes that must
not water

I see the couples
when I'm out and about
so many of them look
mismatched to me
but at least they've got something
(a roll of fat maybe)
to hang onto through the night

been in that comfortable rut
before
and a comfortable rut
is still a rut
with
ironically
less and less rutting
taking place
as time goes by

does it matter
which life you choose
when there's no way to win?

but

the one thing I've learned
and maybe I'm "lucky"
in that respect
is that pain
is the only way
to feel truly alive

MAKING HAY

Imaginary Garden With Real Toads

An encore presentation from a couple years back. If you ain't seen it, enjoy. If you've seen it, enjoy.

I'd like to be mysterious
like some I see who never
respond to comments
but just let you wonder who they are
behind the brilliance of their pen
and though my heart is not exactly splayed
upon my sleeve
it's still up there somewhere
waiting to be played


I'd like to lead a hard life
in the Appalachians
and see what kind of verse would
well up from my underground
all blackened and irredeemable
like a coal miner's fingers

I'd like to freeze my ass off
on the ski slopes
somewhere in the Rockies
and then warm it next to the fire
in the lodge with the sound of
tinkling glasses and laughter

Someone said that a poet
is a whole world
inside of one person
choose your words
and your worlds carefully

But then there is me

I'd like to be the proverbial
traveling salesman making hay
with the farmer's daughter

And I can hear you say
I KNEW something like that
was going to come out of you

That's exactly what she said too

BETWEEN THE LINES

Imaginary Garden With Real Toads--dVerse Poets Pub

Hey
I dunno how to tell you this
but your poem sucks
and so do you

Ha ha
you know I'm kidding, right?
I'm a real kidder, ya know

Oh, and that souffle you made
the other night for the potluck
you BURNT it
and it tasted like shit!

Aw...go on...you know me...
it was DELICIOUS

And while we're at it
I've been meaning to mention that
YOU
have been outlasting your
DEODORANT
if you get what I mean

Ha ha
oh man
I'm such a kidder
a regular Don Rickles in cheap clothing

You know you always smell like a rose

Anyway
great to see you
and hey (whispering in ear)
don't let this get out but...

Your poem sucks
and so do you!
(ha ha)

POOP SOUP

Imaginary Gardens With Real Toads--d'Verse Poets Pub

An oldie but goodie! When I read something from a few years back (that YOU probably haven't seen) and I'm cracking myself up again, I say: This one deserves another turn in the spotlight!


ONE

I see...

a home

where the buffalo roam

no more

I see...

a land stained

by the blood

of conquest

I see...

a gypsy palm reader

spitting on your hand--

you spit in her face

I see...

you at the theatre

with your head buried

in your iPhone

for most of the movie

but anyone can see

it's really up your butt

I see...

you incurring substantial debt

for the purchase of material items

that the recipient will neither welcome

nor appreciate

and that is called The Holidays

I see...

You being trampled to death

at a large department store

on Black Friday

TWO

Forgive me Father, for I have sinned...

I wore white after Labor Day

it was kind of an off-white

so I thought it might be alright

no one in my ghetto

seemed to care

Such pretense

when our prehensile tails

are not that far removed

clackety-clack

don't look back

And now Ladies and gentlewomen

here to sing a medley of his most DEPRESSING hits,

the ever maudlin... JOSH GROBAN!

(song playing)

Announcer: We interrupt this song to bring you a news flash...a young woman, listening to our station, has just jumped off her 16th story balcony!

happy

sad

happy

sad

happy happy

sad sad

happyhappyhappy

sadsadsad

the world is bi-polar

(That's north and south, for you geography majors!)

hum dee dum

ya lousy bum

THREE

1st man: Hello, my name is Fu Chow.

2nd man: Pleased to meet you. My name is Egg Foo Yong.

1st man: Yes, I have heard of you...people say that you are a good Egg.

And now, the new craze that's sweeping the nation...SAINT VITUS DANCE!

Round and around

and around and around

and around we go

Take your anti-depressants,

America,

but don't forget the increased

risk of suicide...

EXCUSE ME

but hasn't anyone noticed

that's the exact OPPOSITE

of the intended effect?

Looking for the quick fix

has put us in quite a fix

(Spit on the drug addict

while deluding yourself

that your chain smoking

isn't the exact same thing)

You're listening to Radio KSUK...all Josh Groban--ALL the time...that's right, America, we're JOSHING you 24 hours a day!

(song playing)

We interrupt this song to bring you a special news bulletin...no basketball players were charged with killing any hookers today...

And you wonder why

you have A.D.D.

America,

when there's a commercial

break

every five minutes

Capitalism could have worked

were it not for the

inherent

incessant

need for MORE MORE MORE

built into the human psyche

So go ahead and anoint

your sports teams

as WORLD champions

when no outside teams participated...

You will always be the Earth

that the sun revolves around

until it draws close enough

to consume you in its fire

THIS MIND LEFT INTENTIONALLY BLANK

GOODBYE IRMA (HELLO DOLLY)

Imaginary Garden With Real Toads

bummer
in da summer
and you think it's all been
engineered
in some form
or fashion
don't you?

while one faction (the "Evil Ones")
grows more intelligent
to the point where they can
manufacture a monster storm
and pinpoint it to destroy countless lives
as a form of population control
(or so you say)
and another side grows stupider
rarin' to drag us back to the middle ages
when the earth was flat
(but you still loved your cat)

you know what
I'll take all of your theories
with a jumbo shaker of salt...
still more inclined to believe that
MOTHER
holds dominion over a

chest thumping
war mongering
glorified ape

who'd like to think
he's that smart
and that powerful
but can't explain
(as he gazes
somewhat distractedly
out the corner of his eye)
why his world
is turning inexorably
to shit

NOW I AM YOURS

Imaginary Garden With Real Toads--d'Verse Poets Pub

I squeezed a peach
at the market
to size up its suitability
and then began to move on to another
when I heard it say
STOP
you have taken liberties with me
and it was true
I had fondled it 
excessively

it said
now I am yours
take me home and eat me
and I thought
how callous one would be
to refuse a plea such as that
from just about...
anyone
I guess

so I put the peach in my bag
and took it home
and now I am waiting
for just the right moment
to consummate our  relationship

(I know it's going to be juicy)

all actions
no matter how trivial
we may perceive them to be
have meaning
all actions have a resonating effect

keep this in mind
and somewhere
sometime
a butterfly
may thank you

OPEN WINDOW

Imaginary Garden With Real Toads

From my book: DARWIN'S MOON

the cars

rumble past

and from their

open windows

you hear cackling

or cussing

or some kind

of rap crap

an angry young man

shoutin' bout

bitches and hos

with his finger up his nose

I'm tired of hearing

the angry young man

through your open window

don't care if he's black

or white

I've been that guy

the rallies

and the marches

righteous indignation

like you wouldn't believe

students commandeering

the dean's office

and getting dragged

out by their heels

do you know

how that feels?

there was Haldeman

Erlichman

and Dean

and student bodies

lying dead

on the campus green

hey

at least we stood

for something

besides gangsta worship

all the angry young men

who don't know

what they're mad about

every generation sees

them come and go

you don't live

in the ghetto

and the only thing

you have

to complain about

is your pants

are falling down

and I'm tired

of hearing the

angry young man

railing

through your open window

you think you've got

something to prove

but in truth

you've got nothing to lose

but your youth

so convinced

that you'll always be

the malcontent

but I'll tell you what

it all comes to naught

and a house

in the suburbs

in the end

MILO, THE SHIT BIRD

Imaginary Garden With Real Toads--d'Verse Poets Pub

Oh SHIT, man!" said Jerry. "Something just went SPLAT on top o' my head."

Ben looked up. He heard the flutter of wings and a strange otherworldly cackle.

Jerry said, "What the hell was that, man?"

Ben stared at him, deadpan. "I think you've just been hit by Milo, The Shit Bird."

"Milo The Shit Bird...wha-?"

Ben fished around inside his lunch pail to find a paper napkin for  Jerry--the glob of excrement perched atop his buddy's hair growing more pungent by the moment. "He's legendary in this neighborhood. I know the people who used to own him. He's a Myna bird...they kept him in a cage most of the time, and he made it clear to them he wasn't happy with that arrangement. Then one day when they were cleaning his cage, he saw his path to freedom. Took off out the front door that had been left partially open. Ever since, folks around here have reported that they've been crapped on out of the blue--literally out of the blue--because he hovers over them and then it's bombs away, like he was the Enola Gay or something."

 "Geez," said Jerry, who was a poet. "That's kinda poetic justice. Taking it out on random people. He sees them as the oppressor."

"There's some inspiration for you, Jer," said Ben. "You could immortalize Milo, The Shit Bird in a poem."

"It is poetic when you think about it, man. We keep animals in cages. And because we think that's all right, we put people in cages too. Rather than, you know, trying to heal them."

"Sounds like you want to write about-"

"Man's inhumanity to man."

That's a deep subject, but if anybody can pull it off, you can."

Jerry had just about finished wiping the poo out of his hair when the two of them heard the flutter of wings again in the tree they were perched beneath under the noonday desert sun. And before Jerry could duck out of the way...

SPLAT!

Milo, The Shit Bird had struck again. This time the cackling they'd heard before was accompanied by: squawk...ASSHOLE...ASSHOLE...squawk !

"Jesus H. Christ!" Jerry cried. "Why'd he pick on me...TWICE?"

Ben had to stifle a laugh. "He knows your a poet, dude. He knows you're sympathetic to his plight. The only one who could put into words what many of the rest of us are thinking. Poets have started REVOLUTIONS, man!"

Jerry rubbed his stubbled chin, lost in contemplation. 

Ben glanced at his watch. "Guess we better be gettin' back to work, and find you some shampoo and a faucet to stick your head under."

"Geez," said Jerry. "That kinda puts into perspective what my real job is..."

 Ben closed up his lunch pail and gazed into the vast blue sky--the place where epiphanies that hit you like a water balloon chucked by some nasty middle school kids on a rooftop come from. He started off across the park. He turned back to see Jerry looking pensive and glassy-eyed. "You comin' man? he said. 

"Yeah...sure...I'll be along. I just got a lotta shit on my mind."

"Yes, my friend, I CAN SEE THAT!" 

"The world will know the saga of Milo, The Shit Bird!  First, an epic poem, then a children's book..."

Jerry was prancing around, shouting into the wind. Though just downwind of him was where you really didn't want to be. 

ZIGZAG

Imaginary Garden With Real Toads

No tracks within a good
ten miles of here
but on a misty morn
that horn
is ridin' the breeze
cutting through my brain fog
it echoes
like the call of the wild
from back in the day

I shouldn't have switched on the TV 
cuz some Trumpster shill
is telling Martha Radditz 
who the "normal" Americans are
pretty sure Caitlyn isn't on his list

I traveled all this way 
doin' the transcontinental zigzag
just to end up in a world where
transgender crappers 
would be the hot button of the day 

you can be 
whatever you wanna be
on the inside
the outside's just a shell
that we tortoises use
to deflect the rain 

(and I don't know who I am
but life is for learnin')

so when I present the idea 
of trans-racial
I'm sayin' it's not a bridge too far
cuz we am what we am
and we are what we are

not the same as mixed blood
it means starting out identifying
as one ethnicity 
but waking up one day to realize
that in your heart 
you are something else

never knew why I always wanted
to jump out of this pale skin
til I ran into the lost ones (who
like the Indians Columbus encountered
were never lost to themselves and thus
had no need of being "discovered")
and found there was Cherokee blood
from grandma 

the most captivating woman 
at age 32
I've ever seen 
her eyes foretold me
foreshadowed the coming 
of the little bastard
and one by one the pieces
began to fall into place...

a half-bro
who is half Hispanic
all the time spent 
south of the border
and in the Caribbean 
where I saw a way of life 
that was impervious to sorrow
whenever a street band would play
and knew so strong in my gut
that it was a part of me
and always had been

how my paths zigzagged
and crisscrossed
like an etch-a-sketch sky
spinning round so fast sometimes
I met myself speeding in the other direction

I'm not what I appear to be 
bro
though you would never know

and now I'm reading Sherman Alexie
who says that Indians seldom travel
in a straight line

not even the Crows