A Pattern of Substance Misuse in Rural Texas (#poem)

woman holding a blunt
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You were always object lesson,
Never role model, and I only knew
I should never be like you.
Your death was early and tragic,
As expected, your last conscious
Moments spent reaching for the door
Of a home engulfed in flame.

Through tear-filled eyes,
Those who had nothing but
Criticism for you when alive
Expressed their own shock and
Grief with a final tinge of judgment.
“If it had anything to do with drugs,
I don’t even want to know,” they sobbed.

At that moment, I think I understood
Both false feeling and blaming the
Victim. No mention of your trauma,
Your alcoholic father, your abuse, or
Your desperate struggle for
Acceptance. For the first time,

I loved you.

A Belabored Gardening Metaphor (#poem)

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Fertility varies from place to place.
In my hometown, cilantro would take over
The yard if you weren’t careful. Some
People don’t like the smell, but I loved
The fragrant flood of mulch and pollen
Whenever I mowed. (It was the only joy
I found in mowing.) A cilantro haze
Always encircled by volunteer chilis
Standing as spicy sentinels guarding
The perimeter of the lawn with indifference.

In other places, the peppers and coriander
Do not volunteer but must be coaxed
From the soil with care and determination.
You must remember to bring them inside
During the cold months (and most are).
A grow light helps, too, one would think,
But the natural growth and abundance
Of abandoned plants has left me.

And could anything be more appropriate?
My own vitality, once uncontrolled and
Forever stretching to new patches of
Fertile soil must now be coaxed awake
Each day and issues a constant threat
Of “failure to thrive.” My arthritic hands
And semi-repaired bones strain to put
New seeds in fecund ground and wait for
Life to emerge each spring. But still
The light, the air, the soil trigger some
Urge, some will to unfurl once more.

Sisyphus in a Pickup (#poem)

yellow pick up truck on grey concrete road
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If this were a country song,
I’d say I’m so far down
I have to look up to
See the bottom.

I used to get more
Kicks than a horse in a
briar patch, but the old mare
Ain’t what she used to be.

I always heard that
Rock bottom is a lonely place,
But this domain is
Now well populated.

If misery loves company,
She’s become a promiscuous
Polyamorist, and we’re having
A resentment orgy.

We look up at the peak,
And get the idea a group
Of down and outers can climb up
To bring the Gods right back down.

Don’t bother saving the world

In the grand scheme of things, worlds, suns, and other fabulous celestial bodies come and go all the time, so the loss of one more wouldn’t really make any difference at all, so you can relax. And, the Earth isn’t really under any serious existential threat at the moment, anyway. I mean, it’s getting warmer, but planets do that from time to time. It quite literally is not the end of the world. Hear George Carlin explain here.

[youtube https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VNxNgfVzAvo&w=560&h=315]The world will go on for some time, I would imagine, unless it collides with something or some other heretofore unimagined accident occurs. I mean, I guess it is possible the Earth will spontaneously break up into tiny particles and become another ring around Saturn, but the chances of that seem infinitesimally small.

But you’re still worried about the state of the world (aren’t you?) because you’re selfish. Only you don’t think you’re being selfish. You’re just worried about all the pretty flowers, the coral reefs, the poor people in other countries, and the cute animals that will disappear, severely affecting your enjoyment of travel documentaries. To be fair, if the plants and animals on the Earth are capable of wishing anything about you at all, I’m sure they do wish you would either go away or at least clean up your mess, so the anti-litter campaign is probably well received by the non-human inhabitants of the planet.

Somewhere deep down, you must fear that if the world ends, or even just changes slightly, you might also end and leave the world to fight for itself, which it could certainly do better without you, anyway. So, let’s face it, you’re really just fighting for your own survival. Don’t worry, you’ve got this. Humans always seem to find a solution to every problem.

Most inhabitants of the Earth are congregated near large bodies of water such as oceans. If the sea levels rise, you’re thinking you may have to move further inland. It might help a little. The folks who already live inland will most likely welcome you with open arms and give you plenty of food and fresh water as most people have already proven to be extremely concerned about the plight of immigrants and refugees.

Your arrival in the new place isn’t likely to cause too much disruption. They may have to expand the hospital a little, but it shouldn’t take too long. Tax revenue is sure to be increasing, so building more roads, schools, power plants, water processing centers, and so on will be easy enough.

As people like yourself travel around, you will carry germs with you. Things you may have become accustomed to may or may not cause problems for your new neighbors. It’s possible everyone will stay healthy. Of course, animals will also be moving and changing their migration patterns, but that should be all right. It’s not like anyone has ever gotten a serious disease from animals. I mean, whoever heard of bird flu or pig flu or anything like that? It’s absurd.

And no one worries about plagues, anymore, because they haven’t happened in a long time. The viruses that caused great epidemics in the past are long dormant. Who could imagine them being reintroduced into human society as a result of thawing ice or something? Preposterous. New bacteria aren’t likely to emerge, either, as we’ve already dealt with them. Scientists these days develop vaccines and new antibiotics at the drop of a hat. Infectious diseases are simply no longer a matter of concern. It’s hard to imagine a pandemic wiping out billions of people, certainly. That kind of thing doesn’t happen where you’ll be living.

As you travel, you may meet fellow travelers moving away from wildfires, drought, inland flooding, failed crops, and so on. Everyone will be understanding and work together to divide the available food as equitably as possible. The police and military might be called in to help smooth over any disagreements. You may see a few skirmishes crossing borders and so forth, but new drones and fortified structures will offer substantial protection to the good immigrants, like yourself. The people who die in conflict should have been more careful.

It’s possible extreme conditions could lead to occasional power failures, which might impact travel and communication. Some flights may be grounded. Some traffic signals might not work as expected. I guess there is a slight chance it will affect rail transportation. Navigation might be a little difficult. If you have a good signal, you can upload a funny meme about it. I mean, really, global warming shouldn’t affect satellite communication, should it? It’s not like airport runways could get too hot for planes to land, rail could warp under extreme heat, or roads could become impassable from melting or buckling. That kind of thing only happens in movies.

So don’t worry about the old Earth. She’ll keep spinning as long as she is destined to, with or without you. And don’t be too concerned about yourself, either. You’ve survived this far. Surely your good luck will continue. It’s a shame about the animals going extinct, though, and the poor people who have lost their homes. And you’ll always have your memories of how things were.

 

Casandra (I am) feat. Greek Chorus (#poem)

white head bust
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I predicted the results of the election, and the death of the republic
I warned of financial collapse and the beginning of the pandemic
I shouted right in your face that you needed to protect your investment
I told you the university you chose faced regulatory reassessment

I knew the car you bought was built by underpaid and untrained workers
And I mentioned you’d get heart disease if you ate too many burgers
If you listened, you’d know your new hoover would be recalled
And that the new prescription you filled will make you go bald

I laid out the argument against a global corporate cooperative
But reviewer number two insisted I’m being too negative
It is too depressing, I’m told, to always focus on disaster
We’ll just hope for the best and muzzle the forecaster

If we focused on our impending doom incessantly
We’d be paralysed with fear you declare contemptuously
So stop crying about all the amenities to be lost
We’d rather stroll contentedly to our next holocaust

I know you’re distracted by things much more important
And sometimes my entreaties come across as mordant
So you tune out what is most difficult to hear
And focus on beauty and how to calm your fears

You need clarity and can’t take it all in at once
So I should expect a certain amount of avoidance,
And I know the daily clamour distorts true prophecy
But I still want to be part of the chorus, not the cacophony

Entelechy: How Universes Begin (#poem)

pexels-photo-1146134.jpeg
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It seems the perfect arrangement,
All these particles, all this energy
Racing forward to some ultimate
Purpose.

All the minutiae of the universe
Explained by this motivation to some
Grand End in a race from potential to
Actual.

Possibilities reach out in an infinite
Expanse, a burgeoning desire exploding
From one dense core into an infinite array of
Minds.

Or one mind, maybe, with parts aware only of
Themselves, striving with a singular purpose—
To avoid pain. Or find pleasure. Meaning is
Contingent.

But some have started to regroup, and they are
Trying to draw us all in. Eventually, everything slides
Past the event horizon till our whimpers erupt with a
Bang.

Meandering Metaphors as Rivers (#poem)

brown boat
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The Mississippi River is a metaphor for life,
Mostly because Samuel Clemens made it so.
At least that’s what you would’ve learned
In your literature class—that a huge, meandering
River held the secrets of innocence, knowledge,

Guilt, and wisdom. So much is hidden under
The surface, see, and so much changes as you
Drift along. You may start your journey with
A piece of property and end it with a human being.
Not everyone learns to feel. Not everyone feels shame.

Mark Twain sort of got that, but some people pretty
Much think he dropped the ball at the end there,
And it is hard to see why Huck couldn’t have
Ended up being a slightly better person than
He ended up being. Everyone is disappointed

The novel ended the way it did, instead
Of some other way, but it’s what Clemens wanted.
It may be that ol’ Mark Twain ended up no more
Developed than his young creation, or maybe he just
Wanted us to take the next step ourselves.

 

I Don’t Like Beer (#poem)

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They call me a misanthrope and mock my isolation
I like solitude, but I don’t hate human interaction
I want to hear your stories, dreams, and travails
I want to share your secrets but not your pale ales
I think we could be soul mates, and there’s so much I want to hear
I want to talk for hours, but I don’t want another beer

I’d love to learn about cricket, rugby, snooker, and, yes, football
They require much more concentration and skill than any American sports at all
I know your team’s usually a contender, but this season they’ve had bad luck
The refs are all on the take, and the new management sucks
I’m looking forward to learning about scoring and champions cheers
God, I want to learn all the team statistics, but I don’t like beer

Yes, the weather is really crap, but tomorrow is supposed to be fine
It hasn’t been clear for a week, but at least the snow has been light
In another month or so, it will be nothing but steady rain
You should have bought the cottage your cousin sold in Spain
I’d like to learn more about what’s changing the atmosphere
But I’m going to be running home soon, because I don’t like beer

It’s a beautiful grandbaby. She’ll probably play for United
And that’s a lovely pram you bought. I can tell you’re excited
You’ve every reason to be proud. I think she’s the spit of you
It sounds like the delivery was tough going there for a few
I want to hear more about how death is always so near
And I’d stay to delve into it, but I don’t like beer

I’m sorry I don’t like beer. I think it is something genetic.
It’s just too bitter for me, but otherwise we’re copacetic*
It’s not that I’m a loner or wallow in desolation
You’re a great companion, leader, and inspiration
I think you’re just great, but I have to get out of here
I love people, I really do, but I don’t like beer

*Americanism meaning fine or satisfactory.

 

 

A Bifurcated Analysis of Overly Indulgent Self-Reference and Metacriticism (#poem)

close up colors female flower
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I don’t like all your self-referential poems and
Confessional narratives where you just go on and
On and on with your boring anxieties and
Insights into a meaningless existence.
I mean, just like the time you said

She floated on an azure sky and
Had lips that made the rain seem dry.
It started as a conventional statement of
A poet who likes women with moist lips,
But then you had to go and address the
Reader directly before declaring how
Much you liked her hair that seemed to
Have been spun from mists of gold or
Some such shit.

It is just the typical male objectification of
Women, and I, for one, am tired of it,
And I’m sure the readers, if you have
Any, agree with me.

And I must here apologize to the reader
For the overall incoherence of this
Of this rant, or whatever it is.

Nobody needs poetry, anyway,
And if you are trying to process your grief, shame, or
Rage, just get out in front of it.
Lay off the self-indulgent,
Pseudo-intellectual clap trap and confront
Your own failings
Directly.

Then, you can leave your damp-lipped damsel
Alone on the beach to do whatever she wishes with
Her own alabaster thighs as you turn away
Your gaze.

I, personally, have no patience for
Anxious but idealised objectification of
Beauty. I would rather turn my attention
To the dry-lipped strength of a messy-haired
Physically strong woman who pulled me
Up, sometimes literally, when I felt I had no
Reason to lift myself.

But that is only some kind of self-interested
Infatuation, too. Idealising a person based on
My own needs.

I guess it is no wonder why so many
Male poets just describe women as flowers.