Failure to Communicate

Some men you just can't reach. 

You just don't listen boy.

You leave me no choice.

So you're gunna get what we got. 

                                                          

"What we got here is failure to communicate."

Those wild blues eyes 

disguise what's not there.
No surprise you're dying 
those lies are tearing you up inside

"Sometimes nothin' can be a real cool hand."

Real Toad are putting our favourite movie lines to work in a poem unrelated to the line or character. So hard to choose but in the end I had to go with my man Paul.

Domestic Bliss

I’ve been tricked into domestic bliss.

Behavior alteration with

Soy lattes and strawberry whips

Pavlov’s dog could not resist.

An upward mobile Stepford man.

who salivates at Starbucks cups.

Florescent yellow pee flows freely

in the sweet spot where the beautiful

people glow and flutter with utter disdain.  

And God forbid I give the kid

a damn hamburger

or raise my hand in anger.

So I smile and wave and walk the line

no matter what it is I crave. 

I trade my whiskey laugh for a golf clap.

Attend south-beach-high-fiber-low-fat-candle-parties.

I volunteered for social circumcision

in the missionary position; where only

momentary indecision and the

cesarean incision stand between

me and my vasectomy…

Have you met the new-improved

extremely made-over version of

who I really ought to be?

Five pounds from my pre-pregnancy weight

Beaten into a state of reasonable complicity. 

But this is the time of my life.

Just ask my wife.

And on third blue moon when the stars line up

We steal a moment to ourselves 

and put the rules up on the shelf.

And for those few stolen moments

we allow ourselves to be overcome by ecstasy.

And nothing so sublime as this ever could exist

without the painful sacrifices  of Domestic Bliss.

*******

This is one of my poems from my chapbook I just finished editing today. I pulled it out of the closet for the the D'verse second birthday. I am just fumbling around trying to navigate my first upload on to Kindle Amazon. Anyways happy birthday guys!

Bang Bang Bang Crash

Today at D'verse Poetics we are dipping into a summer with Claudia:

"Fata morgana – chimera – mirage – summer heat illusions – you name it, a blend between reality and a short drift into that blurred space that dizzies our brain a bit on days when scorching heat hits heavy from a cloud-less sky–"

I only missed our return to Anglo-Saxon roots form with "Bang, bang, bang, crash" alliteration (more here). I tried to combine the two. I took at trip back to my summers growing up  in northern British Columbia where we did a lot of  Banging and Crashing!!

*******
Moonshine by moonlight well after midnight we howl
like madmen and make the ground shake.

Crashing our cars and careening off fenceposts
loosing our lunch for the love of the chase.

Wild whiskey weekends at remote country lakes
with stock cars and shotguns and sexy ex-girlfreinds.

We're kids from the country, we have cow-tipping fun.
Rednecks run rampant  - we always say Ma'am.

Sunshine soaked summers with tears in our ears
and we Bang and we Bang and we Bang and we Crash!!!!!

*******

scandal at the rally

oodles of conservatives
saturated monologue
transparent arrogance
double dip deserve tripple pay


freeze cheese snapshot
bouffant scuba suit
egg face happenstance
red-handed riverbed today

punk rock relative
sucker punch clutch purse

whimsy imperfection
celibate, buy a bit, give a bit away.

*******

Don't ask ... I've been reading ee cummings all day.

The Root-word of Happiness.

This is my Father's Day confessional poem. It's pretty raw (as in unpolished) I fell into and out of rhyme and metre  through out. Whatever, the message is there in its ugly raw form. I will come back another time and beat it into reasonableness -  for now I'm taking the rest of the day to hang with my Girls.  

Happy Fathers Day (single Moms are Dad's too!!!)

Peace!!

***********
I never wanted to be a father.
It just seemed cruel to bring a baby
into a fucked up world like this.
And babies never did a thing to me.

I thought penis was the root
word of all happiness (of all ha-penis).
I kept my sword sharp and sheathed.
Slaying dragons in my sleep.

I slayed Dragons 'till my sword caught fire
I tried to put it out with whiskey
but that just added fuel to my desires

Soon it was the Dragons chasing me.

Fire burned a hole into my soul
Emptiness took control.
Comatose and overdosed I fell into oblivion.

Some divine intelligence; or intelligent design.
Reached into that darkness.
and pulled me out in time.
Whoever hands out second chances, just handed me mine.

I was like a newborn child
skipping stones and summersaults.
You've never tasted chocolate
until you've lost your taste.

There was still something missing
the hole wouldn't go away.
It was tied into my broken bits
I still had to let go.

When my first daughter arrived
I let my first breath out
I'd been holding it for thirty years
of self indulgence and self doubt.

Now I have two more girls
and a wife who keeps me on my toes
It took three decades of adolescence
to see that family fills the hole.

The only thing better than fatherhood
is being a Dad
Happy is the root of all happiness
the opposite of sad.

**********
Linked up at Poets United & Theme Thursday: Destination

Who Created Evolution?

Growing up agnostic

(or was I atheistic)

the origins of life 

were really quite simplistic.

My tidy mind dictated 

a rational solution

scientific method 

of random evolution.

Ideas from my parents

supported by sensation

rejecting fuzzy feelings of

the magic of creation.

First my teacher told me 

I was primordial ooze.

And the preacher lectured me

about the right to choose.

I start to think that maybe

both of them are quacks

and the origin of life

fell somewhere through the cracks.

I may be a monkey's uncle

or the son of Abraham  

No crazy-wild-eyed-nut-job

can tell me who I am.

*******

D'verse Poets Pub: Duality / Twins

Theme Thursday: Evolution

Healthy Communies

Important to note knowledge
and intention in the fall of 2009.
Teaching particular  pre-automobile
pedestrian friendly meet-up point programs.

Increasing pressure helping the urban
software development design standards
that included guides for all  results from
more evident environmental resources.

Progress to date age to create
mixed social programs negotiating
various special interests. Practiced
developing borrowed body of knowledge

Perspective prospect conducted across all
communities developed from adopted success.

(or should that be excess?)

********

Over at D'verse Poets Pub, Charles Miller has us working  on an exercise in the avant-garde art movement Dadaism - an anti-form movement in poetry. The task is to take words from a random print source and rearrange the words into poetic form.

This makes the sharp, tidy corners of my brain bleed.

The magazine I cut up was a back issue of "Plan Canada" - the periodical for Registered Urban Planners in Canada, of which I am Member.

I cannibalised the summaries on three or four articles, cut out one and two word pieces and then had my six-year-old-daughter pick five at a time until ... viola!!! That was fun.

Dusky MInd

Trapped in messy corners
My dusky musty mind
Memories of better days
Love and luck were blind

Love was a simple lullaby
Luck just came with faith
We prayed and played every day
Life fell into place.

Love turned into dusty lust
Luck struck deaf then dumb
Dreams built broken rainbows
that melted in the sun.

I saw you through the looking glass
Springtime sparkle eyes
You reached into my dusky mind
with echoes from inside

Who knows how this stanza ends
Maybe we will just be friends
Trust goes to the safest place
and true love never goes to waste.

*******

D'Verse Pub Night

Powered by Linky Tools
Click here to enter Velvet Verbosity blog hop.

Mornings with Mary

mornings with mary

reflecting and preparing

spring sunshine prayers

spring sunshine prayers

quiet meditation 

mornings with mary

Haiku My Heart

Goodbye Cruel Girl

This will be my last Trifextra at the Trifecta Writing Challenge. I'm moving on or at least taking a break.  It's been a slice and hope to see y'all around. ***** There was elegance to breaking up where we’d first kissed. Fucking my best friend was not elegant. Nor was pushing her off the Edge. Which I did. I really was never that Elegant.