The Dogma of Dogs
Category: Writing and Poetry

existentialism is what's left

when nothing makes sense

and the olives in your martini

are gone...

this spiritual banter

collides with concrete steps

and formica counter tops

then ricochets

into brick fireplaces

and shoots up through chimneys

into the fathomless sky

my dog died of a broken heart

of this I am sure

she heard us talking about offing her

to save her from suffering

as her old bones started to creak

and her bladder started to leak

we became god-like creatures

dressed in flowing white robes

her wagging tail a sign

that she understood her imminent death

and was prepared for the afterlife

my dog was a spiritual master

like Ghandi she stopped eating

and like Jesus she suffered

but unlike Buddha

she achieved Nirvana

with the steak I snuck her

from the freezer

the day she was put to sleep

for growing inconveniently old

22:42 - 12 Comments - 24 Kudos - Add Comment

stylus
Category: Writing and Poetry

i could take this pen

but i won't

i have others at home

and i don't even need it

i could take this pen

and use it to pry a locked drawer open

but i won't

because the noise it makes could alert my boss

and i need this job

even though she doesn't

or i could take this pen

and create an emergency airway

through the trachea of a choking employee

who was eating a sandwich in the break room

and forgot to chew correctly

but i won't

because of possible litigation

and the fact I dislike all the people I work with

maybe i could take this pen

and hang it from a thin wire

and hang other pens from it

on thin wires

and make a pen mobile

and call it modern art

but i won't

because i hate modern art

if i could take this pen

and use it to write the one piece

that would define me as a writer

and garner me critical acclaim

i would

but there are boxes and boxes of pens

in this supply room

and i am unsure

which one of these pens

would be THAT pen

so i won't

21:34 - 7 Comments - 14 Kudos - Add Comment

Romancing the stone
Category: Writing and Poetry

that old friend
the one that went away
grew a beard
went all
incommunicado

the one that
faded away
like a wallet photo
of a first love

there
but barely recognizable

it came back
fresh faced
the conversation
flowed
like it never flowed
before

these damned words
undammed
spill out from a well
filled with today's
smoke
and buckets
upon buckets
of tomorrow's
regrets

i have not changed
i grip my pen
at the same angle
and the words line up
and make sense
as always

chemicals coat my ego
but the rest remains
untouched

15:35 - 7 Comments - 18 Kudos - Add Comment

4
Category: Writing and Poetry

1
There are things I have prayed for but do not deserve.
Once I hold something, it turns to dust.  I fear death.

2
Today I saw tomatoes growing plump on a vine.
The soil was rich and uniformly brown.  Across the
road there were a cow nursing her calf.

3
Old movies make me cry.  What is it I yearn for?
After dark, a mosquito lives the life of a terrorist bomber.

4
Waiting for work in the fall…I am back at this computer.
Outside is only feet away. My cat, Emma, sleeps
on my bed all day. Jim Morrison said that change is coming.

I think I'm dreaming.

04:40 - 9 Comments - 20 Kudos - Add Comment

The Face Of God (inspired by Antony)
Category: Writing and Poetry

i saw jesus at the laundromat

his face appeared in the dryer

and I looked him in his eyes

we had a staring contest

and he won on a technicality

the dryer was done so it stopped

and his head fell off

i saw kurt cobain at the library

he was looking at a book in the sci-fi section

i said, "kurt why'd you do it?"

and he said he forgot

because he was really high

then he checked out Slaughterhouse Five

and asked me to autograph his book

i saw the virgin mary in a porn shop

she winked at me and gave me a high five

she says jesus never comes around any more

and no one wants to mess with her anyway

at this point I'm kinda catching on

this wasn't supposed to be an ordinary day

when jesus, kurt, and the virgin mary appear

it's time to take a city bus and sit in the back

make a huge noise so everyone turns around

because somewhere in those rows of faces

will be the face of god himself

20:59 - 14 Comments - 22 Kudos - Add Comment

art
Category: Writing and Poetry

The words

Fell out

Landed

Here <<<>>> There

E   V   E   R   Y   W   H   E   R   E

Like ten cent super balls

From a vending machine

And where they hit

They stayed

And it was art

It was art because I said so

It was art because Jerry Garcia said so

It was art because Jackson Pollock sucked

And he did the same thing with paint

Jackson Pollock sucked

Because I said so

03:40 - 18 Comments - 22 Kudos - Add Comment

The Man In The Moon
Category: Writing and Poetry

I took my class on a field trip to a planetarium/museum last month. There was a lunar themed exhibit and those kids may as well have been on the moon itself.  I looked around at their faces and saw wonder.  Not interest, or curiosity, or excitement, but pure unadulterated wonder.

There was a moon rock set in the middle of this exhibit on a pedestal in a glass case. It was  unusually dark and didn't really look like any other rock I have seen here on Earth in my lifetime. A few kept asking, "Miss Linda, is that REALLY a moon rock?"

I realized I didn't know.  I was unsure.  Maybe it was, maybe it wasn't.  Who could tell for sure?  Maybe the curator faked it.  Went out in his backyard and found a dark rock and dipped it in some chemicals to make it look all not of this world.  Could be that that the moon rock scientists who gave the moon rock it's stamp of scientific authenticity were smoking a big fat joint when this particular rock went by their moon rock checking station and they just laughed and let it go through. Could be a hunk of the old parking lot for the museum before they ripped it up and put in the new one.

At what point did I become so jaded? Was it before or after I heard reports that the lunar landing and the ensuing lunar walk the world cheered on was actually filmed in a studio made to look like the surface of Mars somewhere in the Nevada desert?

Then I remembered going to The Smithsonian Institute with my father when I was eight, the same age as my students.  It was 1967, right before Neil Armstrong walked on the moon. We walked into the space exhibit and I was filled with wonder; not excitement, not curioisty, not excitement, but pure unadulterated wonder. 

"Dad, do you think a man will ever walk on the moon?"

"One already has. He lives there.  You've heard of the man in the moon, haven't you?"

So when Neil Armstrong landed with his crew and we were all sitting in front of the black and white TV transfixed, I was the only one who was not filled with wonder.  I was actually a little bit worried.

I was hoping that the man in the moon wanted company.

12:50 - 11 Comments - 18 Kudos - Add Comment

dog gone
Category: Writing and Poetry

That face
so unbecoming
half mad
half stark raving mad
enough foam to cap a cappuccino

If you could snap a leash
you'd lunge just for the effect
we've been over this before

I don't get
how you don't get
that this is not your day
and that every bitch
you sniff and admire
does not belong to you

Still you rise up on hind legs
and position yourself
for the  promise
of a dry biscuit
tossed in your direction
and another atta boy

Go to the door

sit

stay

don't speak

and I'll let you out

03:32 - 12 Comments - 22 Kudos - Add Comment

Spears :-)
Category: Writing and Poetry

I heard on the radio today that the soil on Mars supports the growth of asparagus.

And I know that if I am patient, the joy that should come from that news will overcome me when I least expect it.

So I will wait.

In the meantime, I am wondering what planet will be tapped for the Hollandaise sauce.

16:17 - 7 Comments - 14 Kudos - Add Comment

Jaffrey.
Category: Writing and Poetry

the wind rushes around the trees
looking for a place to hide
it finds no shelter and perseveres
blustering and blowing along
undaunted by branches and leaves

but oh how the slowing of its course
stirs the oak's budding boughs
and settles pine needles on the forest floor
as if it was preparing a precious path
with the breeze of a soft sigh

14:09 - 9 Comments - 18 Kudos - Add Comment