Susurration

featured in the poetry forum July 15, 2012  :: 0 comments

The indistinct sound of people whispering, kneading
“Proper” roles for government, media, public,
Without benefit of actual cartography, even
Eye black, bees wax, paraffin, or carbon.

Once and again words fuel inflammatory powers,
Assuage social prescriptions, descriptions, theories of “the obligatory.”
Rather than allow bourgeois meanings to trickle down,
To assign or select, maybe censor, mental sheaves.

Slaves to gist, we shovel our population’s fancies,
Cultural traducements, malicious stratifications,
Savoring such chalaques as negates, malevolently,
Any inducements to better wisdoms.

Thereafter, we balk at limits never approached, accepted, acknowledged,
Right ourselves for imaginary moral battles, trump pretend foes,
Cease to be human, desiring, instead, that imperfection directs
Votes, bequeaths leadership, broadcasts saccharine dispersions.

editors note:

Our magic media wind machine blows hard and loud. Therefore what’s said must be true, right? Louder is better!? – mh

Frozen Green Beans on Your Face

featured in the poetry forum May 4, 2012  :: 0 comments

Frozen green beans on your face
Days after eyebrow plucking,
When ice, like other common proofs of civility,
Remain missing from our freezer.

Instead of camouflage gear, or a fine shako,
I gift your brother with a plastic bowl of fufu.
After all, the nutritional value of malanga
Leaps off of the chart.

Trade winds, as measured by social media,
Make most packs of wolves follow nicely.
Many hours of homework later,
All that wafts is eu de frangipani.

At day’s end, Dear One, good girls,
Like yesterday’s locomotives, stall abruptly.
Even when following procedural strictures,
Such as their mothers’ cues for smiling and nodding.

editors note:

The Schools of Finishing or Following render dubious results; education guarantees no understanding. Best to listen to your Mum. – mh

If Birds were to be Believed

featured in the poetry forum February 27, 2012  :: 0 comments

If birds were to be believed,
Home birthing would make more sense than
Most modern measures of cutting or drugging.

If we listened to cattle’s low,
Funding would spill easier than
Pay per SEO words or term papers.

If grasshoppers were heeded,
Planted truths would multiply faster than
Convergent media cottoning, including their picking among principles.

If we dared to reinforce personal event verities,
Taking responsibility would become simpler than
Combing hair with fingers or brushing teeth without paste.

Hitherto, birdsong, reliable agronomics, media ethics, interpersonal niceties
Remain rarer than instances of assorted rhetorical styles of dead, Greek orators.
After all, commerce’s kudzu reaches no friendly tentacles or praise toward common folk.

editors note:

No kudzu would sate the common appetite, nor graecus oratorius speak an apology. Foreign is foreign and such a shame when all are common after all. – mh

Articulations Calling Peace

featured in the poetry forum December 26, 2011  :: 0 comments

Our articulations can call peace,
As long as we fail to compare my bête noirs to yours.

Likewise, our children can overcome blind spots,
If only we strive not to treat the next generation like remoras; they’re complete, as is.

Equally, despite resultant feelings of prohibition,
It’s possible for us leftover souls to lead among the media’s darlings.

All frazonism in our thoughts needs be clipped, trimmed, measured,
While we willing halt adhering to stupid realities involving exclusive social rubrics.

editors note:

It’s hard enough to have high expectations mostly mildly met, but to turn them into mental strip-search thought crime crenelations meant to crimp others’ comport? No wonder we can’t keep the peace. – mh

Moving a Divorcee and Her Kids across State Lines

featured in the poetry forum November 10, 2011  :: 0 comments

The time was five-thirty,
I woke with a start;
Something was following
My mama’s sure cart.
Shifting from “park” to “drive,”
She toggled to speed,
Pumped hard on the gas,
Mom gave little heed.

Behind us a mammoth,
A terror in measure,
With hinged, metal wings,
Which held fast to our treasure
The bulk of that weirdness,
Its preponderance,
Approached our back bumper,
Threatened to compress.

Mom dove and she darted,
She jumped lanes at great pace,
Yet that overgrown beasty
Well matched our pure haste.
With lights like grand eyeballs,
A windshield as mouth,
It adamantly tailgated
Three states to the south.

Then, deep into the night
In a neighborhood new
With that monster behind us,
We kids did construe
A federal license
A driver or more,
Our cash, our possessions,
The complete “country store.”

They’d been able to link
Our past life to the present,
Had managed to help
Make our changeover pleasant.
With wide eyes we watched
The wine being poured
As cartons and boxes
Transversed our front porch.

editors note:

It’s a crime show, an action movie, a soap opera, a documentary – better’n TV or a Gothic novel. I was worried, too, up ’til the wine flowed. All is well when the wine flows. – mh

Permutations which Transform

featured in the poetry forum September 27, 2011  :: 0 comments

Permutations which transform have long included earrings.
Sampled metal, glass, shells, beads, those gimlets of light and sound,
Bring about adverse, even objectionable fervor.

Off road bikes, too, are known for the advent of physical altercations.
Large trinkets, they conjure the sorts of courage indigenous to rabbits,
Hedgehogs, all road kill, as they truncate otherwise grandiose vacations.

Graduate school, also professional opportunities, likewise promise upward lift.
Until the turning of hotel keys into broad doors buckles, makes applicants queasy,
Forces them to redirect enthusiasm for social climbing toward custodial opportunities.

While it’s beneficial to dust off keyboards, to churn out improper amounts of texts,
Honor guard-like jumping at all sighted ogives raises questions;
Even miraculous environments position generations away from basic wisdom.

editors note:

Questions, indeed! If that iceberg had eyes, would it have moved out of the Titanic’s way? Transformed into water, instead of a gash in metal. – mh

Fire and Rain Running: Saying “No” to an Intimate’s Manipulations

featured in the poetry forum August 16, 2011  :: 0 comments

Bespeak softly, Dear; see fire and rain running
Jointly insane. Not even your quick cunning
Could have dulled this pain. It’s better I explain
Why, when blended, flame plus hail stuns.

Eye Light, Northern Blaze, Sweet Hazy Glow,
Flashing Sentiment, Bane of Darkness, My Heart’s Show,
Your bright, coal orbs heat so-so, meet
My needs in part, but beyond your rage, you know

Combined with raindrops, those tears that glisten,
That rioting of viscera makes me listen,
Search, seek, implore for more and better
Means to push away your clouds plus prevent your misting.

Fire plus rain, Darling, dizzies, corrupts, stains,
Water-fed conflagrations, confused parts, remain
Difficult, like acid, send me raving, turn me mad
Heat, water, jiggered together, tend to strain.

A Glossy Coat of Guarantees

featured in the poetry forum July 6, 2011  :: 0 comments

A glossy coat of guarantees
Provides no permanent home
For perky political causality.
Affairs of state could improve situations,
Would natural silliness cease, perhaps,
To elate hurt like shepherds castrating sheep.
There’s enough gold in these hills for all such fools,
Without their resorting to caustic rhetoric.

Eating broken glass, from time to time,
Sprouts troubles reserved for the likes of axolotls,
Tuataras, and giant salamanders, which, when
Imprisoned in zoological gardens, look
Longingly toward the tree tops, where
Their reptilian eyes alight on habitats occupied
By guans, hammerkops, and whale-headed storks,
Prevented from trafficking with sun or clouds.

Communal affairs would need no handling.
If congregants took care of “the wet stuff;”
Our imagined mansions, jobs, and food bills
Could shrink toward the horizon line,
Restricted, for satisfying durations,
Like so many artists’ wares piled up at the shuk.
Yet, our public managers elect to transverse clear lines.
We remain governed by alien intentions.

Keeping Imaginary Hedgehogs Trim via Liberal Politics

featured in the poetry forum June 18, 2011  :: 0 comments

It’s possible to keep imaginary hedgehogs trim by making them do push-ups,
By flailing those who fail to work out the matchmaking machinations
xxxof “twaddle” and “xylophone,”
Moreover, by running them past families of dust bunnies,
xxxwho otherwise contently breed beneath sofas,
Through wooded profundities, alongside of business entities,
xxxin the middle of calculus homework,
Together with odd representations of life, including umbrae, penumbrae, and antumbrae.

Likewise, today’s technology affords the rescue of frightened chimeras;
Amidst personal bumbling, we can extract myths instead of cottoning our frustrating
Inability to convey the morals of night classes, of barstool warmth, of park benches.
Horned critters, their eggs excepted, future husbands,
xxxalso dogs, remain redeemable via grim mentations,
Like: baseball stats, worldwide electronics, budgie cages,
xxxghostwriting, plus psychology primers.

Gelatinous monsters, of course, will be rescued,
xxxsaved among types of heinous outworlders,
Since their palpable lessons bring to the fore notions that
xxxmonstrosities composed of feral beasts, too,
Will be saved when belly dancing, home birthing,
xxxtincturing herbal medicine, or eschewing our race,
Nullifies Earthly wrong-doing, to the tune of our near genocide;
xxxsuch insights warrant reward.
Despite their colony’s limited habitable land, heroes can’t have too many hatchlings.

What’s more, academic fortes, keen on criticizing ancient rhetorical theories,
Promise to legitimize hedgerows and two-timing algae,
xxxto provide footnotes at the speed of sound,
To concern themselves with the mortal danger
xxxcurrently associated with reptilian modes of neglect.
Middle-aged women, mothers, spouses, too,
xxxwill have to foreswear to fair play with aficionados
Insistent upon exit interviews, upon shedding boring writing, upon basket weaving.

The Checkpoint’s Closed

June 11, 2011  :: 0 comments

The checkpoint’s closed.
Our young soldiers,
Foaming over contested turf,
Stymied by executive orders,
Have been relocated.

“Indigenous” cousins, though,
Capitulate not one single apartment,
Ask new roads,
Covet our “sheep pens,”
Also, our women.

No media banner
According to several million true bloods,
Is worth kowtowing to cowards,
Forgetting historic strictures,
Sidling over the edge of decency.

If I brought a plastic gun into a bank,
Ran the works on YouTube,
Called it art,
Claimed nearsightedness, perhaps economic stupidity,
Would I win?

Modern submission’s more than marching toward Birkenau.
Today, we’re to regard, as small payment,
Land, loved ones, ideals.
Unlike photo moments,
Peace ain’t priceless.