Poem for the week: "Bad News"

Bad News

Is there ever a good time

for bad news, like the day

before my birthday and long

July weekend, summer perfect,

weather we’ve waited all year

for? But bad news really has no

seas0n, coming when the gods

decree, and there’s nothing we

can do but deal with it; but not

right away. One needs time to

heal from the blow before one

rallies the wounded soul.

Poem for the week: "The Housefly"

The Housefly

Washing out the coffee pot this

morning, I woke up a big black

housefly and it buzzed frantically

 at the kitchen window looking

for a way out. I put the coffee pot

down and picked up my dishcloth

and frantically tried to capture it;

but the big black noisy housefly

was too fast for me. Yet I persisted,

and almost caught it. Then it flew

under the window blinds and I could

not get to it; but so frantic was the

fly that it buzzed into a lower corner

of the window and I trapped it under

my damp dishcloth— “Gotcha!”

for a fleeting moment my heart went

out to the poor creature, and I thought

of taking it outdoors and setting it free;

but that was much too inconvenient,

and I flushed it down the sink. Now

I’m so full of guilt for going against

my better nature that I don’t know

how to make up for it; and I can’t help

but feel that it was providentially

designed for that big black housefly

that’s floating around in our stinky

septic tank to be at our kitchen

window this morning just to

remind me how highly

evolved I am.

Poem for the week: "Dogs of Desire"

Dogs of Desire

Every murder mystery writer

writes their story from back

to front, omniscient of all the

facts of their story, but we don’t

know that; that’s what makes

them a murder mystery story, —

And so is life a mystery story

like the murder mystery writer’s

story, fraught with red herrings and

dead-ends, but who is the author

of this fabulous story? And how

do we solve this mystery without

an author to guide us? —

What if we work backwards, like

the author of the murder mystery

story? Can we follow the clues

from back to front and see the

big picture? But how can we

follow the clues from back to

front if we are dead? —

The case lingered…

As chance would have it, he found

a clue in something a poet said about

a man who went on a journey into

a desert and died of thirst but came

back to life again; and he studied

the mystical poet and his case

was resurrected, —

“Die before dying,” wrote the mystic

poet, dropping his best clue, and he

embarked upon a journey into the  

arid dessert of his lost soul, and every

day another dog of desire died a sweet,

excruciating death—how he craved

a single drop of water! —

And the clues kept coming…

Emaciated, he kept searching for the oasis

of precious water, but it was so far away;

and when he lay down to rest his last dog

of desire sprang to life, and he dragged his

weary soul to the life-giving water and

died of sheer exhaustion—the final

clue that solved the mystery, —

Case closed!

Poem for the week: "Pinning the Devil Down"

Pinning the Devil Down

I hate it when a poet

tries to be profound with

what he does not know, forever

struggling to free himself from

his shallow grave;

and I hate it when a poet

tries to be cavalier with deadly

serious matters, making out

like he’s above the fray;

and I hate it when a poet

assumes an air he has not earned,

wearing the poet’s mantle

for authority;

and I hate it most when a poet

gets it right, because he’s pinned

the Devil down and wrestled

all the wit, charm, and

deceit out of him!