Cultivating Life (redux)

As Eliot would say,

I buried the corpses dutifullyIMG_3180

In the garden last autumn

With hopes of ghostly greetings to come.

 

Now, feeding them with

Spikes and multicolored fluids,

I wonder how they will arise,

Whether they will rise.

 

A regeneration, perhaps,

Or a redemption for

Last year’s cataclysm

Of paradoxical fecundity.

 

How does the overgrowth

Thrive so heartily

When I’ve launched such

Devious plots against it?

 

How does the life

I’ve coaxed so tenaciously

Defy me with such a persistent

Affront to my unfounded optimism?

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Cultivating Life

A traffic jam that spans an entire epoch

Is followed by daily punishments of

Dreary Sisyphean meanderings,IMG_2794

Followed by even more traffic

In sweltering heat and sticky humidity.

 

With all energy drained from

Lungs, limbs, and mind,

He shuffles into his house

Seeking only relief and brief reprieve.

 

As he unbuttons his soaked shirt,

“Do me,” assaults his ears

With cheerful urgency.

“My basal temperature spiked today.”

 

Probable ovulation noted,

The expectation is clear.

She lies on her back, spread eagle,

With a pillow under her hips.

 

“Can’t it wait awhile—

long enough for a shower—

long enough to freshen up?”

His pleas are unwelcome.

 

Dejected and defeated, he

Peels off and gets to work.

Somewhere, future progeny

Await their turn at being.

 

And this is how the world blooms—

Not with a bang, but a whimper—

Mechanical sex, dead eyes, routine pollination.

Worker bees serve the Queen

Of procreation with neither question nor zeal.

 

A poet, somewhere, puts down his pen,

And waits for the next fantasy to fall

Into his frail imaginary pool.

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Judging the Judge

Mark Judge knows the judge,
Maybe a bit too well,
The judge wants Judge to fudge,
But in time truth will tell.

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Earth is Burning

They say the earth is burning,

But I don’t think it will affect me.

It is quite cool where I live,Trash-Fire-Pro-2015081716

And warming would be a relief.

I don’t worry about rising oceans,

Because I live on a big hill.

I feel sorry for people in Africa,

Their crops are likely to fail,

But I get my food from Tesco,

So it’s really no big deal.

As Maldives goes under water,

I may have to change my holiday plans,

But I like going to the Himalayas;

I’ll just go there again.

It’s sad so many animals are going extinct.

I’m glad I’m a human, or I’d be worried sick.

Yes, the temperature is rising.

It seems to get worse and worse.

I’m so happy I’m only visiting,

And not a permanent resident of Earth.

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Stupider than Stewart Lee

I’m too stupid to understand Stewart Lee.

And his experiments with Brechtian Irony.

He pretends to be cut from the same cloth

As the smug bastards club of comedic sloth.img_0327

Americans can’t understand the ribald sophistication

Of the comedic genius of a truly cultured nation.

How could I know what this accomplished savant is on about?

I’m just a rube, and his in-jokes always leave me out.

He’s made it clear he’s too clever to enjoy Game of Thrones.

And his words hurt me even more than sticks and stones.

I love his impressions of Jeremy Clarkson and Steve Lamac

But simply can’t understand his more subtle attacks.

He makes fun of James Corden just for being a fan

And any comedian obtuse enough to be American.

Stuart Lee proudly insists he’s a left-wing elitist

Unless he’s not, and he’s just taking the piss.

How stupid can you be and still pretend to be smart?

Is this satire, silliness or a higher form of art?

I would pretend to be smarter than Stuart Lee,

But I know he would immediately see through me.

I’ve always liked finely tuned satire in comedy,

But I’m too stupid to understand Stewart Lee.

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Hagiography

In the Halls of Knowledge

The Great Men shared their wisdom

With emperors, kings, monarchs, and generals.IMG_2596

Great women shared their insights and guidance, too,

But their words are stored in different wings of the Great Hall.

It was the Great Men who laid the foundations

For civilisation, for democracy, for tyranny,

Architectural planning, sewage, and war.

It was the Great Men who failed to save humanity

From the thirst for destruction men can never quench.

Some warned against aggression and greed,

Others advised on the proper path to power,

But the Final Solution was always one fault away.

These hoary gentlemen appear to watch over us,

But their stony eyes have no more sight,

Than the once active brains that planned

A future of deprivation and conflict.

They’ve let us down for three-thousand years, now,

But we keep returning to the font for another drink.

Surely this time Confucius will save us,

Or perhaps Seneca’s sagacity won’t be ignored.

Maybe Erasmus can calm the passions of the commoners.

 

I will smash the stone feet of those assumed sophic.

Their dead eyes, long blind, offer me no vision.

Their petty squabbles resolve no crisis.

Let them rot and roil the dead with their mendacity.

Let them be forgotten for giving us false hope

That we might see a brighter future.

Let their names be trammeled underfoot

As we race to our annihilation.

They should have seen it would be the only resolution.

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(Dis)Associates

Straddling me, you shake your hair, grin, and gaze down.

“What do you really want me to do?” you say.

I really want you to become a fortress.IMG_6604

I want you to be the wall against the hordes.

I want you to be an opaque integument and block the light.

I want you to envelop me, surround me, and smother me.

I want you to take me away or bring me home.

I want you to numb the pain or make me feel.

I want you to make it all go away.

 

“Where are you, right now?” you say.

As your voice quivers, I float back into place.

I settle down in my skin again.

I can hear you and eventually my eyes

Focus on your face and your lips.

I explain everything to you in detail,

But you can’t hear me, despite the screams.

You can’t hear me from the other side.

I will have to cross over—meet you half way.

 

I whisper, “Please don’t leave me.”

You promise to stay forever as I slip

Into orbit again watching this dance.

I see you lean over to kiss the tears

And brush my cheek. To my surprise,

My face seems to respond in gratitude.

It would seem my body remembers

What to do, and you understand it as well.

In the end, the two of you sustain me.

 

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