Channeling Dead Poets

Bukowski sent me a high priority email
from his luxurious bungalow hideaway.
He’s living on an island in the Pacific; said
that Amelia had landed safely….
and that more details would soon be forthcoming;
his having discovered the secrets of the Noni fruit.
As for me, I’m taking up the slack he left behind;
writing drunken verses containing very little rhyme…
on the belly of a dark-eyed girl from Detroit
who has just escaped from a dungeon in her mind….

2008 © T.S.

Wisdom

My beloved grandmother
once told me that masturbation
would lead to hairy palms,
blindness, slow urination
and become a substitute for true
affection....
Eventually she was right.

2009 TS

Speed Trap Catches Old Man Behaving 60 in a 40

I like to write poetry
about that which ponders
my spirit and my soul.
That which stumps my brain
as well as my toe.
When you get to be my age
the square looks more like
an octagon and you'd
do anything
to break free of the confinement.
The borderlines protecting you
appear like double yellow lines
warning you not only
of on coming traffic
but passing
anyone who is unfortunate
enough to be in front of you.
A speed trap camera records your every move
and sends you a summons to appear in court
so you might reflect on the insanity
of your cancers and your many blessings
as they forcibly change your oil and filter….

2009 © TS

Mansfield, Ohio

She comforted me
even as I was blinded to
noticing her
unselfish bosom.
As worthless
as I was
she stilled cared for me
Nurturing my insatiable appetite
my hunger for attention,
her plump nipples
filled the cleft in my chin.
The perfect fit; two imperfects,
created out of some sick desire
to feel loved…

2009 © TS

Dirt Nap

Nature’s biological clock strikes
the final hours and the eventual end
to the advantages daytime holds over night.
There is little time left to prepare
as the noisy and chanting starlings
have already started arriving
from the dark side of once plentiful September color.
They take up residence in the thick shade
of the protective magnolias and pines;
still complaining about the heat of Indian summer.
Their diatribes, denunciations
and reviling scolds resound over those
of the loud and anxious migrating geese
who cackle with concern as they escape
the onslaught of the season's first frost.....
And as the last Robins leave the meadows
all is quieted and the night crawlers go back to sleep.....

2008 © TS

Greed

I hang from the top shelf of a hard life
like a dusty and old lambrequin
Thus tattered by parasitic mites and torn
from the sheer weight of my grasp
I gaze at the many rich food stuffs and prized
white elephants that safely exist
Just beyond my tried and failed reach in my futile
attempt to possess their reward
Like the meaningless shiny things carried back
to the nest by a greedy crow
And placed there in the sunny window
of its relatively darkened existence
Purely but significantly as a trophy to be
seen and thereby envied for its plumage
Though it be of anything other than a strictly
ornamental garnishment or trinket
With not even the abilities of a b_stard wing
let alone provision or stipulation
I hang from the top shelf of a hard life….
Not wanting to quit or give
When I still have the strength to hang on
ten seconds longer than the next guy….

2008 © T S