Christmas Isn't Christmas, Without My Christmas Poem

I'm such a Christmas sucker
I love those Christmas lights
I love the decorations
in greens and reds and whites
in silvers, golds and tinsels
on garlands and on trees
I mix my famous Egg Nog Grog
from secret recipes
and eat my ham or Christmas goose
- whatever feasts may come!
I snatch up Christmas cookies,
nibble dainties by the ton
And every year I write a poem
a Christmas poem, each year
except this year, it slipped my mind
oh well. They're usually a little
on the depressing side, anyhow.

in feet of snow

in feet of snow
on wings of miles
by travelling
I found my ways
to be with you
in hearts and hearths
on Christmas Eve
and other days
and when the dark
comes gathered in
and spooky winds
blow candles out
I cupped my hands
about your ears
and whispered soft
to still your doubt

Untitled Poem by Anonymous & P.V. Mann

the sweet bitter flavor of lament and regret
is all that you get - it's all that you get
the songs of summer's sweet salty sweat
the beat you keep, the words forget

in a cove on the beach where we first met
though we didn't know then, that's where we fell
into an abyss, caught in the net
and the surf coming over our heads as well

the sound of the surf pounding over your head
is all that you get - it's all that you get
the deep wet thrum of a drum miles wide
the beat you keep, the words forget

with your hair in the sand as the seagulls spied
though we didn't know then, that's where we fell
with the clouds burnt red as the sunset died
and the surf coming over our heads as well

the sweet bitter flavor of lament and regret
lingers long as I savour it on my tongue
the songs of summer's sweet salty sweat
sound in my head like a giant bell rung

in a cove on the beach where we first met
on the rocks and the sand, skin suntanned
into an abyss, caught in the net
we willingly lept, blindly hand in hand

the sound of the surf pounding over your head
lingers long as I savour it on my tongue
the deep wet thrum of a drum miles wide
sound in my head like a giant bell rung

with your hair in the sand as the seagulls spied
on the rocks and the sand, skin suntanned
with the clouds burnt red as the sunset died
we willingly lept, blindly hand in hand

Hallowe'en: You Should Be Thankful

When I was a child
- uphill both ways through the snow -
trick or treats were canned beans
or frozen pot roast or
if we were lucky,
an apple
or if we were really lucky,
it had a razor blade in it!
We would sterilize and collect those blades
and sell them back to the scrap steel mill
at cost plus two over 11.
It was one of the many ways of getting by
when I was a child

Big Number Nine

Big Number 9 ain't got no problems
Nobody gives him any.
He walks around like he owns the place
like maybe he does own the place
like he knows who owns the place
and maybe it's him.
Yup. Big ol' Big Number 9.

All leaned-back strut
with his chest puffed out
like a big ol' barrel
in a tight white tee
and a big red 9 on it.
And who's going to mess
with that?
Nobody's gonna mess.
Not with Big Number Nine.

it would burst

I'm so in love
with this new girl I know
and she was telling me how
the sun would get big
and red
and explode
and that would be it

and I said damn
what rotten timing.

"too much fucking mayo"

and as the world fell
into a predetermined pit
because God knew too much
to put a stop to it

and as wherever you where
at that moment in time
one last thought of me,
sadly,
flit through your mind

and as I, at that moment
attempted to frame
all the thoughts in the world
into one cracked pane

- but I gave up the poem
out of general malaise
when I looked at my sandwich -
too much damn mayonnaise.

Safe

surrounded by things
I should not have kept
and I feel hemmed in
by happiness

in a cramped tight space
with so much of my own
that I can't quite fit
but I don't quite know
what to keep
what to shred
what to burn
what to toss
'cause it's all I have left
but it's all my loss

in a cramped tight space
with too much of my own
packed into the space left
by a heart that's gone
and in the space left
I keep what I've learned
I have packed it with lessons
too hard to be earned:
don't trust her
don't trust her, or her
or you
but my heart will come back
in a box, postage-due
and as soon as it's back
it will squeeze back in tight
and squeeze out all those lessons
even though they were right

I was crying at the liquor store.

I was crying at the liquor store
and they didn't even ask why
I guess they get a lot of that
or maybe they figured, shit
"I am not a bartender."
Well damn it I don't like sitting in bars
unspooling my boo hoo tale to some dick
excuse me, or dickess,
for tips and applause!
I am not this evening's entertainment!
No, sir.
But as I open up my empty home
and set down the heavy paper sack
I take a bow

Rehearsing This Speech Forever

He's been rehearsing this speech forever -
"The only advice I have to give you is never,

Never give up on your dreams. So many times,
as I went through the valley of the shadow
my life had become, I threw hope aside,
and gave up on myself. But something
always came back to me. All the people,
famous and admired, the only advice
they could ever give me was this: Never

give up, and never turn your back
on your dreams. And as I sat there
squinting at the television, I made that
decision. I made that leap, I took that
advice to heart and I kept it to heart, I kept
that advice, and I learned to persevere and
to try twice as hard, and

I believed in myself and now look

look where I am

today

today"

today

he stopped rehearsing.

I stunned a bug

I stunned a bug
and it fell in my food
and I didn't even notice
until I chewed

I Need Somebody ~ or ~ Rumble at the Jahva House

I need somebody
on the bongos sometimes,
to go with this latte and my overall chill
it's turtleneck weather in my soul
though no dark night, no
but the hard bright high
of noon will throw
harsh glare everywhere,
on top of black shadows
as my eyes throw smoldering coals.

In your direction.

- and in your direction:
I can see, there you are
you're even cooler than you are
and it rolls off my tongue
'cause I've caught your name,
just once. And I haven't let go
though I haven't really tried
why, you daughter of a hound
you quit yappin' around
at the bad moon I was born under last night
And sometimes you wonder:
was it better to wonder, or to know?
And sometimes you don't.
And sometimes, you know

But we consider contact
and we eye contact
and we both blink first
from across the moat
that divides this space
which is walled with books
stacked like close-packed bricks
set with coffee stains.

And we each choose one
- we deliberate,
and we're fine with what we get,
but we didn't take pains.

my heart said thanks

There's a feeling in my heart and it said
"hey" "what's up head?"
and my head said
"yo, heart - how's it hanging down there?
way down in the ribcage
that's some prime location right there, SON
very well-protected" but then my heart replied
"that's where you're wrong, BUD
I get all kinds of damage in here,
you don't even know about"
and the head was like "yup.
I heard about that, about how that can happen -
tell you what, heart - I will write a POEM
for you. Get those feelings out."
My heart said "thanks"

soon to be blue

the moonkissed fluffy whitesilver clouds
sink into bluesilver
in the lingering twilight, just before dawn
arrives
there are stars.
still out
as the redsilver light
yellows the brightening Eastern sky
against the mountains
the mountains hold
the dawn, back
and fuck
ain't it pretty?
a whole crowd and procession
of clouds
all different cloud creeds
and cloud races
the puffed-out big round guys
some bottom-flattened with tops like cottage cheese
and little bitty ones like pulled-apart cotton balls
stuck here and there with long cotton tails of steam
trailing off in different directions
and high arcing wisps, wafting across the top of heaven
made of ice
there are
a few odd ones - big and big around,
like a thick fat slice of tornado,
a section of funnel, sliced right from the middle
but gentle, though - minding their tempers
amidst this mixed crowd gathered to meet the sun

but at first, though! You could barely see them all
wallflowers, shying, waiting, not wanting attention yet
merged as they were into the silver backdrop, all of the sky
squeezed into one distance
a surface of infinite shallowness

then, just beginning to pick out the shapes
from the highlights
as they
- their faces,
begin to glow, they
begin to stand out,
against
the sky behind them
brightening
from bluesilver
brightening
to yellow
brightening
to rose
and soon

to be blue

ah!

here it comes

Don't Breathe a Soul of This to Anyone

I can't begin to call you
on the telephone to talk
about this - to explain
the threat - because
every single phone call
is being monitored
by sixteen rooms that don't exist
scattered throughout the country right now.
Maybe it's seventeen now. More locations
to serve you.

So I'm telling you this way. This way
is safe.

No one will see this.

CIA Headquarters. Langley, Virginia.
Fully half the rooms in this building
don't exist.

Think about that. It's a huge risk.
For the structural integrity of the
building, if for no other reason.
But I'm not here to talk about that.
I'm here to take you inside
one of those rooms.

One of those rooms

that don't exist.

This one does. And what goes on in there -
they will deny it. But I can describe it to you,
Perfectly. By means of remote viewing.

"remote viewing"

HA

- big joke, now, right? In this day and age? They
spent millions in black ops dollars, back in the
heyday, exploring the techniques and potential
of remote viewing.

And then, when too many people caught on, they had
to publicly "pull the plug" - claim it's a dry well,
that it didn't really work, a bad intelligence investment
- no more to see here.

Well, like about so much else that goes on in those
rooms that do not exist - they lied. They had to turn
Remote Viewing into a joke, because of the danger
that might happen, if too many people took it
too seriously. They might not find it funny at all.
If the methods became too known, if your average

unknown

citizen

began tapping and developing that ability within
himself,

or herself,

without the benefit and sanction
of government training (and containment) programs -
that kind of power in the hands of the people!
That would be no joke at all.

So they had to publicly shut it down. Pull the plug.
Denigrate. Make it safe. Make a big joke out of it.
Because

they couldn't take the risk

of people like you and me being

in

on

it.

But that's exactly what's happened.

Because I've tumbled to their secret techniques.
Because I've unlocked the ability within myself.
And I have looked
inside
one particular secret room
at Langley Headquarters
in CIA, Virginia,

- and do you know what I found?

Do you know what they're doing in there?

Remote Viewing.

That's right. The bastards never stopped.

I don't think they know I know yet. Whenever I check,

they're all sort of...

looking the other way.

Sin once.

Sin once was a jungle, a
wide, chaotic garden
tended only by beasts
and God. Now, it is
an orchard we have

pruned, to bring
forth fruits in
fecund abundance, their
tart juices grown tame,
fertilized
by method and attention;
pleasure by the bushel yield
harvested, bled dry,
free and easy, cheap.
Tasteless.

We need to try neglect.

Let the orderly rows grow
over, wound and vined
and brambled in with
beautiful weeds,
forbidden trees again
grown wild, grown wicked
in their re-abandonment
grown overgrown

until we, the prodigal
gardeners, return to
the scene of temptation
and find it again
blessed. But really,
though - we know neglect.

It's just another method,
not the best.

close

close

my hands gone cold in yours so warm
you've caught my breath, at last
With just one look you stop my heart, but
my blood flows twice as fast

I can't describe the shape you make
inside my heart and mind
picture all the universe,
as chains of stars unwind
you've knocked them out of orbits
by the sheer force of your pull
they all fall into circles,
concentric upon you

My forehead up to yours
the firmament on 'spin'
our love is heavier than suns
the universe leans in

our hands enlaced
collapsing star
drawn further in
to where we are

and

time skips

lightspeed standing still

we know what comes next,

And we can wait -

forever

The Devil!

Lucifer and Satan are the SAME DUDE -
Yet oddly, behind each other's back,
each is consumed by a gnawing sense
of how much cooler the other one's name

is

Non-Haiku Apocrypha

the towering trees of sky
spread their dark cloud leaves to heaven
while their roots drink lightning from the ground


- Basho, 1697

Disclaimer: Basho died in 1694

so what that let you know

Haiku Time!

Hey, baby! check it -
cherry blossoms back again!
dope, dope haiku time