.    Freedoms Will Have To Be Surrendered

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°          NOTICE TO POETS:

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°          The Bureau of Poems’ Department of Rhymes,
°          has outlawed all free verse and similar crimes.
°          The statement which details the styles which will do,
°          is found in our manual on page 92.
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°          See paragraph 40, subsection C-9,
°          which fully expounds on poetic design,
°          conceiving and writing, then how to bring closure,
°          plus first-aid protection from free verse exposure.
°
°          Read sections that cover “safe” free-verse destruction,
°          with pictures of free-verse blast chamber construction.
°          To put it quite bluntly our country depends,
°          on having you finger your free-verseing friends.
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°          Thank you for your anticipated cooperation,
°
°          James Olsson,
°          (Commandant)
°          Bureau of Poems,
°          Department of Rhymes,
°          Enforcement Division

Locust Tree

Say there, say, old Locust tree,
whose sting lays low the rough-hewn brute,
who shades the belle and yields the root
that brews a pot of toxic tea.

Say there, say, old Locust tree,
who’s poised to challenge prairie gusts,
who paints the ground with greens and rusts,
when all your leaves are lifted free.

Say there, say, old Locust tree,
whose twigs ensconce the sparrow nests,
who makes a home for many guests,
who have no use for lock and key.

Say there, say, old Locust tree,
whose trunk and branches now stand raw,
who fills the heart with frozen awe
as winter dusts the sylvan sea.

From Black to White

The paradox of winter’s quest,
to lay a blanket, heels to chest,
in drifts of snow from north and west,
may thusly be accounted best:

the cloud formations dark and black,
descend from high on jet stream’s back,
and flake by flake the piles stack,
while we’re sound sleeping in our sack.

The morning breaks, the sun is bright
our ret’nas blinded by the light,
but as we slowly grasp the sight,
this monochrome of brilliant white,

we’re led to wonder how and why,
the blackish clouds in bluish sky,
can lay these mounds which blind the eye,
not one inch deep, but four feet high!

Abstract To Be Taken Littorally

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In the mangroves of the margins,

through the sub aquatic reeds,

to the fringing reefs and waters,

and the estuary’s weeds;

live the isopods and plankton,

with the limpets, clams and krill,

there’s a host of microflora,

photosynth’ing chlorophyll.

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Near the bed of shallow grasses,

in the silts of long repose,

where the brittle stars and blenny

feed on anything that grows;

to the coral beds and ledges

in these intertidal zones,

there’s a field of rising bubbles

which the underworld disowns.

Twelve Foot Pipeline

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You should know I’m only jestin’ when I mention “small intestine”

but the French Horn is a strange contorted beast.

Like a sculpted brass spaghetti it’s a tiny bit unsteady

for the novice with no inkling in the least.

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There’s a mouth-piece thread connection to the hairpin tube collection

with some stubby little valve keys for control—

there’s a note that’s soon in coming as it travels through the plumbing,

though it sometimes takes a minute hole to hole.

Melodies

There’s Slacker and Cracker, Black Sabbath and Who,

Foreigner, Coroner, Into the Blue,

There’s Blasters, Disasters, King Kobra and Queen,

The Others, Blues Brothers, Deep Purple and Clean.

There’s Onyx, Delfonics, Led Zepp’lin and Kinks,

The Bangles, Keith Mangles, Head East and the Finks,

There’s Journey and Bernie, Joan Jett and the Cars

Funkstation, Elation, and, Yes, Men From Mars.

There’s Weezer, the Geezers, King Crimson and Cramps

Blue Oyster*, the Cloister, Clockhammer and Vamps,

There’s Ozzie*, Fugazi, The Fixx and the Facz,

Replacements, Pop’s Basement and Panic Attacks.

There’s lots of good music and genres to suit,

From Elvis’s crooning to Jethro Tull’s flute,

submerge in the richness of each sonic sweep

from Manfred Mann’s keyboards or vocals from Heep.

Those rappers are dyin’ as bluesmen are cryin’,

The jazzers are spastic and weird,

The life support’s failin’ for Willie and Waylon,

But rockers are kicked in high gear!

This healthcare is costin’ a CD of Boston,

and maybe a download of Queen;

I think you’ll be glad to see “Aerosmitherapy”

sets you back, maybe, thirteen.

So stand in defiance to all the old science,

I s’pose this will come as a shock–

Be wiser than Gandhi by jammin’ to Blondie,

and get your nutrition of rock!

Take It Easy (take two)

Well, I’m a burnin’ up the road,                         “Come on, baby, don’t say maybe.”

as I’m haulin’ a load,                                            He’s gotta know if my sweet love’s

I’ve got seven coppers on my tail:                      gonna save me.

four that wanna grill me,                                     I may lose and he may win,

two that wanna kill me,                                       but I will never be the same again.

one says he’ll see me in jail.                                So grit my teeth, and let it’ in,

.                                                                                and take it easy.

Take it easy, take it easy,

don’t let the flashers on your tail                      Well, I’m a hidin’ in the trash,

drive you crazy.                                                    as I’m tryin’ to make a dash,

Light one up while you still can,                         got a world of trouble on my mind…

don’t even try to understand,                             lookin’ for a passage

just find a place to make your stand                  to smoke a little grassage,

and take it easy.                                                    but it’s so-o-o hard to find.

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Well, I’m a rottin’ in a slammer                           Take it easy, take it easy,

in Mobile, Alabammer                                          don’t let the sound of sniffing dogs

and such a damn fright to see:                           drive you crazy.

it’s a great big hunk, and he wants my bunk    Come on, help me, don’t let ’em scalp me.

and he stops to shoot a wink at me.                   I gotta know if this sweet trash

                                                                                  is gonna save me.

.

                                                                                   Oh, we got it easy,

.

                                                                                   we oughta take it easy.

.

                                                                                     [fade]

Indulgence, Mine or Hers?

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I bought my girl a diamond ringed in golden filagree,
she pawned the thing in Dublin for a U2 mp3.
She plays it for her exes, yet, she may still come to me;
I’ll shake a little harder on that good old “money tree!”

.
I bought my girl a snazzy ride for ninety-thousand quid,
it’s seats are white chinchilla, there’s a smooth electric “lid.”
She’s put it up on ebay, so I guess I’ll make a bid;
she’s such a little prankster like some brash precocious kid.
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I bought my girl a ticket to the sunny South of France;
she said she hadn’t been there so I thought I’d take a chance.
A Monaco vacation is conducive to romance,
but “clever little vixen” jumped a different flight to Nantes.

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I bought my girl a castle, it’s a PURCHASE, not a lease,
it seems she’s going to keep it, which has put my mind at peace.
The drawbridge spans a pretty moat that’s home to swans and geese;
she warns me if I cross it she’ll report me to police!

.
So now I sit dejected in my dark and dreary house;
it seems a futile exercise to mope around and grouse.
Oh could there be a tiny heart beneath her shapely blouse?
I doubt it since she’s sentenced me to “hard time” with my spouse!

.

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I would really love to tackle
how the blackbird, crow and grackle
have evolved from early Cenozoic days.
I could give my allocution,
on the role of evolution
as it appertains to creatures’ DNAs.
.
Might I speak on grains and grasses?
Zebras, horses and jackasses?
Would you like to hear of deer and swift gazelles?
Could I tell you of the “nature”
of a fickle legislature,
and the sordid brand of evil that it sells?
.
As I’m sitting here expanding
how this project’s too demanding,
understanding you won’t likely be amused;
I can’t choose a category
from the faunas or the florae…
.
…it’s my NATURE to be fuddled and confused!

American Gigolo

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The Speed-Date advert made a claim
to match up girls with guys
and now I wonder, “Who’s to blame,
for spreading heinous lies?”
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Oh, don’t assume it came to naught,
and didn’t change our lives,
though nearly fifty men lost out,
I’ve now got fifty wives!

.

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Desolate Voyager

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I’m wont to say the breaker’s price is much too much for me;
these rusty plates and rivets left their profits far to sea.
With holds too small and hull too slow and engines caked in grime,
the Blue Riband was well in hand for other Ships of Rhyme.
.
Nay, I am just a hollow hulk with garbage barge in tow,
this worthless freight and dunnage was devalued long ago.
With clouds of smoke and trails of oil I’ve briefly left my mark,
upon this sea of memory while sailing in the dark.

.

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Did I mention Dundee Brewing and the rotgut they’ve got stewing,
In some vats where even cats avoid the smell?
It may be a poor man’s lager, but as window-pane defogger
It’s a formula which seems to work quite well.
.
Don’t forget ol’ Samuel Adams, used by all the whorehouse madams
As a sauce for perming plush bouffant-style hair.
It’s a wonderful elixir as a fast and dirty fixer,
Just ask Charo, Phyllis Diller, and/or Cher.
.
Now I don’t intend to bicker, but if you think Schlitz Malt Liquor
Is in any way “exception to the rule,”
Then you must’ve gotten pasted well before you ever tasted
That reformulated jug of llama drool.

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It’s a shame U.S. libations are complete abominations,
When compared to great concoctions overseas,
They’ve got stature, backbone, merit; they’re the eagle, we’re the parrot,
With our drinks which don’t declare, but only tease.