the deer were rather mute (revised)

Regarding the hunting
tragedy in Wisconsin,
the deer were rather mute.
They didn’t try to understand,
they didn’t try to shoot.
But instead lowered their heads
after the two-legged had gone
with their toys of destruction,
tin horses and synthetic psalms.
And took a drink of something
the heavy footed had never known
or at the very least had stopped
dreaming of, and with each drop
they inched closer to the source,
aware of more and caring less
that the strange and unnatural
would be back again.

The Lover Who (revised)

There’s always someone there

to remind you of someone you

only thought you knew. Who
is that child and why are they
dunking his head in the water?
And what if he were you and

you were to learn there is no

savior then, now or ever? Would

it make it less appealing, the big

vanilla mountain in the distance,

the cherry less red as it bobs

in and out of memory? And what

else can we do, but get lost in

its creamy ephemeral thickness,

me and you in the soft vanishing,

not me, not you really, nothing

but the center of forgetting,

the time now the time when

we too shall be devoured
by the Lover who made us.

My Favorite Movie

Just give me something with a good story,

something perhaps I’ve never seen before.

Barring that, at least take me someplace

odd and a little forbidden, somewhere

off the usual path, where the light and

angle conspire to make me dapple in

the place where the leaves and straw

and I have always been; if not, then

how about a soundtrack that drops

me off in a cold barren place and

conjures up a warm wind when I

think there’s no escape; and if that

is asking too much, how about a nice

leading lady, one with the charm and

grace and humor of a fine narrative,

moving like music through space; if

not, how about a little cleavage, or

two long bare legs reaching up to a

higher cabinet, searching for the right

sustenance to meet an even longer day;

and if that is not possible, then how

about a smile, a wink, a shrug, silence?

And I will take it from there.

 

The Whole World in Their Hands

I’m laughing pretty hard

as I read this poem by Bukowski

who got pretty darn famous

for being drunk and honest

and living outside the system

like we all wish we could

and I’m imagining him listening

to Beethoven in his underwear

and going to the window

to see a hot young thing reading the Bible

and just as it crescendos, like the Jews

entering the Promised Land, Buk declares

I am God! When just last night I was driving

home to my apartment where one could plainly

see a naked man exhibiting all he had

in the well-lit rented hotel room

and this got me to thinking:

Does this guy have frequent flyer

miles and do this in every town?

And is this all the poetry he can muster?

Now the kids here they’ve got a good

sense of humor, they lined up on

the street to take aim with their

BB guns, now the cops didn’t think

it was all that cute, but the kids

got off lucky and were smiling

in Bible school and saying

Yes, Ma’am the next day

and trying not to giggle

while singing He’s got the

Whole World in His hands

Meanwhile the surgeon and the nurses

are laughing pretty hard

as they try to extract the little pellets

from this poor guy’s poetry stick

with Beethoven’s 9^th punctuating

their laughter in the background

and sometimes in the evening when

all the banging stops, you can almost hear

Beethoven cupping the moonlight

in his two hands and see the woman

he wrote it for, easing her soft fingers

closer and closer.

Pop! (Revised)

 

 

High above, a child opens her mouth wide

hears the popping in her ears, says

listen to those funny clouds, mommy.

Down below, a bored priest turns to the man

in the seat next to him and says

‘Hearing a nun’s confession is like

being stoned to death with popcorn.’

The man turns to the woman with him

and says ‘Let’s get out of here.’

The actor turns to the audience

and says ‘This is where we get naked

and say things beyond the script,

the director, the final edit, so please

listen up, even we don’t know what it is.’

But the nun keeps on whispering

and the priest keeps on replying,

‘Well I suppose it’s ok if you imagine

it is Him.’ Out in the street the woman

turns to the man and says ‘You know

I love the way you touch me. You’ll

always be like a god to me. But you

belong with your wife and child.

And you don’t really love me anyway.’

Inside they’re listening intently

to the bubbling naked soliloquy

of wide open mouths uttering

sounds as inarticulate and eloquent

as the kernels of a cloud.

‘Look mommy,’ she says,

‘The whole world is white.

And we’re going straight through it.’

 

 

 

 

Note:  Hearing a nun’s confession…is a quote from Fulton J. Sheen

 

High above, a child opens her mouth wide

hears the popping in her ears, says

listen to those funny clouds, mommy.

Down below, a bored priest turns to the man

in the seat next to him and says

‘Hearing a nun’s confession is like

being stoned to death with popcorn.’

The man turns to the woman with him

and says ‘Let’s get out of here.’

The actor turns to the audience

and says ‘This is where we get naked

and say things beyond the script,

the director, the final edit, so please

listen up, even we don’t know what it is.’

But the nun keeps on whispering

and the priest keeps on replying,

‘Well I suppose it’s ok if you imagine

it is Him.’ Out in the street the woman

turns to the man and says ‘You know

I love the way you touch me. You’ll

always be like a god to me. But you

belong with your wife and child.

And you don’t really love me anyway.’

Inside they’re listening intently

to the bubbling naked soliloquy

of wide open mouths uttering

sounds as inarticulate and eloquent

as the kernels of a cloud.

‘Look mommy,’ she says,

‘The whole world is white.

And we’re going straight through it.’

 

 

 

High above, a child opens her mouth wide

hears the popping in her ears, says

listen to those funny clouds, mommy.

Down below, a bored priest turns to the man

in the seat next to him and says

‘Hearing a nun’s confession is like

being stoned to death with popcorn.’

The man turns to the woman with him

and says ‘Let’s get out of here.’

Just then the actor turns to the audience

and says ‘This is where we get naked

and say things beyond the script,

the director, the final edit, so please

listen up, even we don’t know what it is.’

But the nun keeps on whispering

and the priest keeps on replying,

‘Well I suppose it’s ok if you imagine

it is Him.’ Out in the street the woman

turns to the man and says ‘You know

I love the way you touch me. You’ll

always be like a god to me. But you

belong with your wife and child.

And you don’t really love me anyway.’

Inside they’re listening intently

to just what these actors might

reveal as they slip out of their

costumes, naked as a mouth and as
wide open as the screen on the world,

uttering sounds as inarticulate and
eloquent as the kernels of a cloud.