Do you think you can handle me?
I can’t even handle myself.
Oh dearie me!
What a shame!

poetry with two spoons and a salt shaker

~for poet, writer, Lora Lee, unexpectedly~

my symphonic orchestral accompaniment today, musically
unlimited, except by lack of disowning skill, a voice unkempt,
spoons and salt shaker, there in-nate rhythmic opinions off key,
worse, my manly word-smithy, out o’town in June, July, August too?

He, having an affair with my she-muses, left me bereft & berated,
helplessly hoping, the timpani of my words clashing, overrated,
woeful under-something, betraying my need for spicy sriracha,
poetry, sans hamburger helper, no-tasty, even less-than-average

everyone comes rushing in to the kitchen, hearing my to-sky-voices
howling, thinking something wrong, the four instruments rack up a cacophony of rhythmic-less noises, words emerging, to-a-person, they announce, “you’re no Allen Ginsburg, ppp-please not so early next time”

alas, they don’t know the poems are coming hot and heavy, guess I’ll
go outside, serenade them birdies in the trees, the striped bass in the bay, the rabbits procreating/sleeping/eating under their (our) dock

the squirrels know better, have skedaddled to the next-door-neighbor who feeds them classical stuff with a dollop of jazz creme mixed in, but I don’t care, cause I got all day, the rest of my life, to amuse me & you too

to refine the qualitative, to improve my creative, I’ve gone “native” and the rush is the best, the wind beneath my spectacles (haha) drives my rhyming to lowlight heights of prosody, besides seems

everybody has gone to a different beach, so it’s just me and the giant blackbirds cawing holy hell noises, and I’m thinking seriously about baking pie, but they just don’t get the hint, how annoying is that!

harrumph!

BESIDES GOTTA WRITE SOME SERIOUS STUFF...

Where the boulevard nears the bridge
Liesel stands with arms akimbo
Defiant posture deflecting whistles like bullets
And low ball offerings like marbles
  
She heard:
Toss her a nickel watch her shake like it's a dollar
In a pig's eye  
she roared
And spat hard for emphasis
  
Call her a *****
She might be persuaded  
If you smooth your tongue with velvet
And dip your fedora to hide it's fork
  
Her belly rumbles
It's hunger for a snack points peekaboo
Toes towards Harry's good time diner
10 cent burgers draw an unscrupulous crowd
  
Her pious snubs  
Of men who might fill her purse  
Have done little for a definite need of sustenance  
Though the fine slant of uppity *****  
Now lifting her little chin
Seems to have really brought out her aristocratic features
  
Buck whoops and haws
As she makes her appearace
He is a huge fan of Liesel' s posterior
And cannot wait for her stride past
  
A thought hits:
With her rumbling challenging haughty composure  
Feeling on the verge of fainted dead away
She snips:
  
Buck I'll let you pat me where I jiggle
For a five bag of burgers  
And a side of beans
  
Buck grinned ear to ear
And picking yellow feathers out of his teeth replied:
  
Liesel darlin
For that *** I should only buy you three

Feeling insecure?
That’s no reason to gossip about the others and be rude
Feeling two-faced?
That’s no reason to blame others and be rude
Have no self-respect?
That’s no reason to disrespect others and be rude
Have crippling self-doubt?
That’s no reason to doubt others and be rude

Rude to yourself?
That’s no reason to be rude to the others

Angel face, where did you come from?
Living two lives, for your boredom
Are your two lives from the same place?

Angel face,
You sacrificed us for your boredom
I never gave you my consent
Looks like it wasn’t a sacrifice
It was a manslaughter

I can’t live but I have to.
There’s just no other way.
As long as you’re fighting so hard and needing me.
As long as my place to live is open for view.
Although there’s no way that I can live.

It’s cruel but I’m not allowed to say it.
Only to the ones that know and feel it everyday.
Like me cause it’s too much.
Like a slave to life.
Cause whatever I do I’ll end up in hell.
Whatever I try, whatever we try.
It’s a nightmare and even worse.

It’s hell and even worse.
You are the ghost and I’m the zombie.
And our parents are slaves behind the massive broken machines.
Working to keep them running.

Just to stay alive.
Cause there’s just no other way.
As long as you’re fighting so hard and needing me.
As long as our place is open for view.
Although there is no way of living in there.

put all the words
in the world
in my two hands,
each a microscopic dot
of near invisible,
teeming, heaping,
ricochet intersecting
colliding,
cell splendid splitting
leaping,
until they,
wordlessly forming
a sign inquiring,
in neon flashing:

“What did I demand of them?”

”New combinations,” my reply.

how we
laughed together...
as they procreated
My Happy Request