Sent for our amusement, pleasuring admiration,
our funny bones, and galore (glory)  of creation,
Texas squirrels are nuts, like crazy,chasing each other ,
up trees, across the wide expanse of the backyard,
where’s the Davy Crockett sharpshooters when
you really need them? (1)

now that baby rabbit, fearless or stupid, insists on
running on our deck, looking for applause for his skinny
legs hopping neath the chaise lounges, at any ole time,
guess this ain’t the love poem you were expecting,
then again you’d be wrong again and agin, but the
grandkids going, going, gone and applause muted

anyway, one of these days gonna stop and chat with
these two species, what they’re thinking about, the
human menagerie,  its depleted numbers, wherefore
and why, did the reduction of the human stockyard,
emboldened them to occupy territory they’d otherwise
shy away, hear what they say, gonna make a good poem

p.s. the avians yap and caw 24 hrs a day, presumptuous beasties noisy
__________________­_

(1) “In fact there wouldn't be a Texas if it weren't for squirrel stew. Don't condemn the idea of stewing your squirrel problems away. That's right! Davy Crockett and his Tennessee sharpshooters wouldn't have reached puberty if it were not for squirrel stew. Besides, what do you think they ate on the long trip from Tennessee to the Alamo? Enchiladas? Nope! You guessed it--squirrel stew.”

https://aggie-horticulture.tamu.edu/plantanswers/recipes/squirrel.html

Why do we call it a "Performance Review"
When we aren't putting on a show

Why do we call it "talent acquisition"
When nature didn't gift us to them

Why do we call it "workplace culture"
When it's an artifice of art

Why do we call ourselves "employed"
When it's for anybody but the will of God

Why are we stuck in this
Why are we cursed to "field operations"
Why are we lost in "development cycles"
Why are we living for "benefits packages"

Why don't we curse the steel stakes?
Why don't me make our own?
Why get lost in knowing quarterly reports
When there's autumn leaves, spring trees,
summer heat and winter's snow?

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Where your presence is given overtime
Instead give your presence over time
To the love of the one
Who built gardens for us
And will gift us away from the pain of this world
Don't trust any who say it can be here
Don't trust those who say paradise is a product
When we are the product of paradise.

La ménagerie à neuf vies
Flotte  dans la nuit bâtarde
Zébrée  de miaulements d'étoiles de gouttière.

C'est une nuit malotrue
Magnétique
Aux cent vingt-trois nuances de vert de gris
Qui tire sa langue subjonctive et indicative
Comme une révérence au vent voyou
Quand il a trop plu
Qu'elle est mouillée et que la lune Happée par la crème lumineuse
De son gardien de la paix
Lui accorde sa ration de danse ronronnante :
Ses vingt minutes réglementaires de visite cadencée.

A city is nothing but a menagerie
caging different shades of insanity
dusty streets, concrete tombs, lingerie
costumes shooting up profanity

Here I stand
no shade of dignity
*** of cash in hand
shaded with apathy

Things I do with these creatures
in the concealing night
a spoon and a woman, double feature
finished and feeling contrite

Cross the bridge to leave the zoo
back to my normal life
conscience I must subdue
while I lay down next to my wife

I am sorry
I just miss the thrill
I am sorry
I just miss the feel
I am sorry
I just miss the comforts of the landfill
and the parroting comatose safaris

Menagerie…by Jessie 6/06


Too many days are all the same
The will has left, the inert pendulum silent, no longer marking time  
Glass menagerie collecting dust
A ghost town of frail figurines
Lifeless the sheen, pail from coatings of yesterday
Not even the trace of a fingerprint to announce interest
Tawas a time, excitement from the prospect of a new-collected piece, while much deliberation was given to its placement
Diligently, maintenance provided, dusted and polished
Imagination carrying fantasies of amusing situations and images  
Laughter recounted when viewed by innocent eyes
Now the foundations mirrors will not reflect what was or what is
Each days accumulation, another layer, each layer a little duller
Soon the only connection, a web, thin and translucent, linking one to the other
Paralyzed fragile pieces of glass, drowning in a sea of negligence
Your name whispered into a box of mementoes
Awaiting for renewed curiosity of another generation

I'd like to talk about curves
Twist and turns
Dented surfaces

Or talk about God
Childish wishes
Open caskets
Broken promises
Surfing on Universal energies
Deciphering the Poems in the music

I'd like to visit Paris
Everglades sawn grass Prairie
With my palms caressing softly

I need a mental picture of paradise
A motivational quote before bed at night
These nightmares stressing for a fight

I'd like to talk with my dad again
I need a map of manhood
I think I might be doing it wrong
......Or just tell him that I'm a proud son

I want to dance
Waltzing around things I value
With black leather dress shoes
Courting yellows from blues

Using old memories as punching bag
Thinking about that kid who wasn't punching back
Curved spine with a heavy backpack

I want to be here now
No captions, just sounds
.....and curves

Spite contorted smiles
And lips
Drenched in green
Sought the satins that never
Satisfy – Sheets, fallen,
Wings, blistered,
And holes burnt through the
Bottoms of shoes.

So I pace myself parallel
The corner of one left
Eye, peripheral and
Gazing to the
Two-step-stumble
I now partake;
An answer to
Her dance with
Impending desire.

Me, being the reluctant,
Me, being the timid, the torrent
And soon to blow over.

I know I’ll leave,
She didn’t,
And more importantly,
I know she’d find home,
Discovered, empty
With little more than
Lint in pocket, abandoned,
Just one lonely shiver
And looking for warm.

So if my cold hadn’t taken over
Not quite yet,
I’d give her a
Blanket,
It’s the best I can do,
It’s all I can do,
But at least it’s
Something I can do.