Exity

She was so sexity
Casting her hexity
Causing me vexity
And anorexity
Too much complexity
I took my exity

Cooking School

It was my turn

Not to burn the roast.

I was mate

For my date

To host the ghost.

I left post taste

Straight for the coast.

Took my freight,

Had too much weight.

No boast I chased.

I hate to learn

To baste in haste.

I’d rather toast

Or await my yearn.

Just my fate

So great a sate.

I ate the taste

And left no waste.

Yuck!

I got stuck
In the muck.

Just my fuckin luck
I admire the mire.

Aging

Aging

At my aching age
At this breaking stage
When harsh quaking days
Fly by in a haze
It’s not easy to gauge
Whose wisdom is sage.
I grope through the daze
Of a maze of yeas and nays.
I rage at the cage
And don’t like the wage
That life pays in this phase.
My mind starts to craze
Like an over-baked glaze.
Time razes my days
As it amazingly slays.

Viewer Discretion Is Advised

Viewer Discretion Is Advised


Viewer,
I advise discretion.
We are talkin’ TV MA LSNV.
You will see language.
Hear violence.
Smell nudity.
And be enmeshed
In sexual situations.
What do you think of that?
TV for mature audiences.
No surprises.
There will be blood drinking.
Penetration.
Balls will be grabbed.
Boobs will bounce.
Be advised.
Discretion is the better part of pallor.

Shot Date

Shot Date


I watched.
She flashed eyes.
Bar seen queen.
A quicker hooker upper.
She poured a hot shot.
He took the bait.
Moved in.  Said words.
Milky dream turned to curds.
Just fate.
Abate the date.
I watched.
The eyes checked the plate.
Fifteen bar stools.
Fourteen uncools.
She looked at me.
Not my type.
Second rate.
Guess I’ll wait.

My House is Full of Gremlins

My House is Full of Gremlins


There are entities
In my house.
I am afraid.
They clog my clothes washer
Every time I put too much detergent in.
No accident.
They plan it this way.
When I forget the steaming veggies
The gremlins burn the pot.
When I overeat
They tinker with the scale.
They leave crumbs of all sorts
On my kitchen floor.
All I have to do is turn my back
And they rot my refrigerated veggies.
They mess with my bulbs to make them blow.

Secret hidden gremlins.
What are they up to?

Student plaint

Student Plaint

I have to write a paper.
They want words from me.
When I give them words
They say this is not a sentence.
I give them sentences and
They say this is not a paragraph.
I give them paragraphs and
They say this is not a paper.
No flow.  No sequence.  No transitions.
I hate writing.
They want outlines.
They want organization.
I want to keep my words to myself.
Thinking should be enough.

I have to write a paper.
I need an idea.
Why should I have to think?
Reading should be enough.

Why do I have to read assigned readings.
Why can’t I read randomly?
Why can’t I be original?
I need an idea.

Why should I have to do what they say?
Is that what I’m paying for?

I need an idea.

Eating

Eating


They prattle about my eating.
You can take that to the bank.
Each delicious dish of fish stank.
They mention the nutritious knish I drank.
I thank them for the prank.

It’s pornographic traffic
To chat about my fat.
I earned this fat the hard way.
At the trough.
I never got enough.

Knifed

Knifed

A life rife with strife.
A wife with a knife
    For a tongue.
She’d come at me
    Hammer and tongues.
I’d stammer and bleed.
Soul oozing
    From every need.
Read all about it!
Extra!  Extra!
Man loses soul
    In tongue attack.

Somehow I got out alive.
Gimme five.
How good to arrive beyond
    All that jive.
I had to take a dive
To arrive where I could drive.

Lesion

Lesion

Testing the limits.
Trusting the cheat
    to treat me
As a life form.
Warm and fuzzy betrayal
Ahead on the trail.
But I pretend
To mend my ways,
End my days
Of depending on this
    not ending.
A neat trick if
I can do it.
    Bet I rue it.

You’d think that treason
Required a reason.
That breezin’ in
And breezin’ out
Would raise a doubt.
We were two peas in a pod.
Pleasin’ each other
Like a babe pleases mother.
Then it was done.
Two became one.
Lesion.

Left, Right, Center, Under

                        Left

I am blind
    in her left tear.
Deaf in her
    right cry.
She had me
    at goodbye.


                        Right

She is bent.  Away.
I  am over.
Overlooked.
Overcooked.
Not over her.
I need a complaintron saint.
It isn’t right.
I’m out of sight.
Seen I ain’t.


                        Center

I have an old center.
Does the center hold?
Where does the center fold?
Is that what the yenta told?
She meant a cold bold rolled note
In the key of me.


                        Under

I wonder if
I understand
The plundered mind,
Bereft of thought,
Left to blunder
By the theft.

Return To Greece

Return To Greece

We have our elder statesmen
In the world of sports
Who send their hands a-wandering
Through young boy’s shorts.

A far cry from the warring
On the sporting courts
Enduring brand of scarring
But of mental sorts.

Fiction

                    Fiction

I love a peroxide
    blond.
She fakes the yellow
    for her fellow.
He cheats on her.
She doesn’t know.
    About me.
I adore from a distance.
This stance.
    Dueling distance.
We make a lovely couple.
    for folks who
    don’t know each other.
Her cheating guy
    does it on the sly.
I want to tell her.
But I’m too shy.
It wouldn’t help.
My self has a
    short shelf life.
I’m getting stale
    in this menage.
I used to want
    a marriage.
And she’d look sweet
    without the cheat
In a rhapsody played by two.
I or the lout
Needs to get out.
My affection is starting
    to fester.
I’ve got to pop the blister.
Let the bluster spout.

Association

    Association

I had the taste of mouth
    in my mouth
Everything was going south,
“Go wing south” I said.
“Fly me a river.”
Buy me a giver.
Diamond’s are a girl’s   
    West End.
I went to Cuba.
    Then Aruba.
Nobody home.
Past my bed clime
In that dead time.
Dreadful heedful of
    fugue moments.
A hurry of worry.
The truth is in sound.
Round sound found all around.
Moog moments.
Synthesize me, Cynthia.
Clone me a liver.
Wha choo waiting for?
Too many claws
    in that pause.
Scratching, hatching.
Give it to me late.
My fate.
I can take it
    like a panacea.
Can I see ya?
Will you show your teeth?

Rappetry:  Low brow poetry for high brow rappers

I was feeling conflicted

                   I Was Feeling Conflicted

I was feeling conflicted
about being restricted. 
Then again being addicted
was so unexpected. 
So I collected my stuff,
said “Tough!”,
and left. 
And right I was. 
All night I was rough. 
But enough. 
One can be gruff only so long. 
So I said “So long.” 
It’s been good to know you.
    Leaving.  Grieving. 
Believing you are losing
what you need. 
A form of greed. 
A seed of suffering. 
Buffering perception. 
Conception. 
Birth.  Mirth. 
All a joke. 
And it started with one tiny toke. 
A poke. 
So I ran.
        I lost my breath.
        Hoarfrost my breath. 
My inspiration. 
My mental respiration. 
Meditation. 
Trepidation. 
Fear comes near
and all I hear is
the call of the wailing wall. 
I run away for a day
and stay in a crayon box
next to burnt sienna.
    Traces of faces. 
Crying erases old places.
    Did you think I drink?
    I never ‘bibe a beverage.
        Too much memory severage.
        Too little salvage.
    By and by I lie on my high horse.
        Of course.
    My source.
    Sigh.  Hoarse.
    Sore.  Throat.
        Horehound.
    I was feeling convicted
of being evicted.
    Neglected.
        Erected.
    Dissected.
        Misdirected.
    It’s hard
on the soul.
    A house
is not a hole.
    A mountain
is not a mole.
    I never intended
        To pretend.
Intention takes attention.
    Pretense is my essence.   
    Trenchant.
        Enchantment.
    The light came on.   
    I woke up with a start.
    With the right name on.
    Sometimes I forget
        my name.
    I regret my fame.
        Secret.
    Moist.
        Testing.
        Resting up before another trial.
    Jury duty.
        Imagine deciding on the
        guilt or innocence of another.
    I can’t even decide on my own.
    You would think you could do that
        on your own.
    Confession is good for the solitary.
        I confess.  Undress my mind.
        Regress. 
    One address is as good as another.
        I stand as a brother
    To those who died.
        A rose that I tried.
        Cried.
    Roses are ready.
        Steady.
        Heady.
    Violets are true.
        Ultra true.
    Old flowers reaching
        for a new custom.
    Teaching.
    Old ideas.  Bust ‘em up.
    Thrust ‘em down.