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ogdiddynash Jul 2020
she inquires why I write so many poems,
easy comes reply:
It gives me a fantastic living,
it makes and gives, each poem,
a calculation, a reconciliation
of who I am...a miner of the
wealth in my veins
ogdiddynash Jun 2020
woman asks a why-oh-why

seeing that tears are rolling down
old poet’s face as we transverse
these United States,

on I-80, Heading to San Francisco,
over the George Washington Bridge,
commencing in Teaneck, New Jersey,
2,906 miles, not including getting lost.

Are you sad for any reason particular?
Are we lost already?

weeping for my country, for with every mile,
see amity and wisdom disappearing,
out the open window,
both by wind taken,
both forsaken,

our route is clear,
but I see what
I most fear, we are not lost,
but my country,
our poor country
everywhere good people,
desperately seeking mercy now!
Mercy Now
Mary Gauthier
My father could use a little mercy now
The fruits of his labor fall and rot slowly on the ground
His work is almost over it won't be long, he won't be around
I love my father, he could use some mercy now
My brother could use a little mercy now
He's a stranger to freedom, he's shackled to his fear and his doubt
The pain that he lives in it's almost more than living will allow
I love my bother, he could use some mercy now
My church and my country could use a little mercy now
As they sink into a poisoned pit it's going to take forever to climb out
They carry the weight of the faithful who follow them down
I love my church and country, they could use some mercy now
Every living thing could use a little mercy now
Only the hand of grace can end the race towards another mushroom cloud
People in power, they'll do anything to keep their crown
I love life and life itself could use some mercy now
Yeah, we all could use a little mercy now
I know we don't deserve it but we need it anyhow
We hang in the balance dangle 'tween hell and hallowed ground
And every single one of us could use some mercy now
Every single one of us could use some mercy now
Every single one of us could use some mercy now
ogdiddynash Jun 2020

phasers on full,
having violated
someone’s human rights,
prepared to be eliminated.

on trial for a continuance
to keep on breathing,
gave a summation speech:

an untitled poem
is a diamond with
a single imperfection,
casting shadow doubt
on the flawlessness of
a huge finger rock

it’s an angel without a halo,
it’s a cat without any claws,
it’s a ice cream sundae sans cherry,
it’s a rudderless ship, no captain,
it’s rock ‘n roll without **** Jagger,
country with no Bonnie or Jolene,
female songwriters with no Adele

it’s a woman you’ve met on a train,
falling in love, instantly, whimsically,
she says I love you too! but there’s
no profit in it, no chance of success,
leaves without leaving her name

it’s a poem without a directive, a legendary,
imperfect perfection without a signpost pointer,
it’s the only loving worth having, that when lost,
unforgiving, the thousandth cut, so when she asks,
“forgive me?” your silence chokes, you cannot reply

incapable of completion,
you’re un-entitled,
you’re untitled,
a blank,
nameless as well

^ feel free to substitute man, it makes zerodifference.
ogdiddynash Jun 2020
you write of dismembered leaves,
pains too sweet,
using incontrovertible idiocies like
quiet rain, droplets shining like sunlight,
edible goodbye cheerios,
tastes that burn eyelids colored in
blood stained mustard yellow,
the gladness of sadness,
reversible rivers flowing heavenwards,


dechambered hearts, ventricular mysteries,
brains wearing wooly sport jacket helmets
and others, more weirder too,
wonderfully inexplicable,
other jimmy olsonian beauties,
non-lexical non-commonsensical
ecumenical hysterical
chemical verbal reactionaries,
and then you wonder why,

ogdiddynash Jun 2020
if my true name you uncovered,
and called me out by same,
without spasm-ing,
first middle and the lost at-last

you, like me would wonder
what the heck my parentals
were imbibing
at such a joyous occasion, my
cursed naming ceremony

but thanks to them,
I’ll be buried with a full head
of fair thicker hair;
that’s why parents say:

“**** good thing you kids don’t get to pick your parents names!”
ogdiddynash Jun 2020
many women do yoga.
many men do ***.

women prefer,
ah, never mind,
you know how that ends!


If we draw a
Venn diagram,
one circle, yoga,
the other, ***,

in the middle,  
overlapping sector,
is the
Venn Zen Intersextion
well I’m chuckling and I WAS paying attention in 10th grade Math

google search Venn Diagram Templates. Very Erogenous!
ogdiddynash Jun 2020
there are so many
types of pockets,
especially for jeans.
my favorite is the “ticket pocket,”
that little pocket stitched
inside a bigger front pocket,
maybe also called a
“watch” pocket,
a cowboy designation
for safeguarding
their chained pocket watch receptacle.

who ya kidding?

anyway, a second naming
more to my liking:

seems cowboys put their train ticket where they could easily
retrieve them as the conductor conducted himself properly,
asking each passenger after every stop to show his ticket.

so it came to be,
Levi gave us pockets of variety,
durable, baggy ones to
carry our jewels comfortably,
one for tightly ticket embracing,
and further inspired that
sewn on the hat of
every railroad conductor,
a russian motto,
Trust but Verify.

I myself use the ticket pocket for
my keys,
which in any other jeans pocket, movement
causes cruel and unusual pain,
but not if that huge bunch of jangling
instruments of torture are tightly tucked
in their own prison interior,
incapable of doing hot yoga or
any other stupid exercise requiring
Bo jingling jangling movement

Just don’t you dare ask me
what the purpose of each key be,
it is just a tortured secret for men
in the private parts of their soul,
to confess that keys carried
for three houses ago,
are a metallic proofs that men
are indeed as dumb
as women think they are...

show me a rusted lock somewhere,
I got an hour to try ‘em all
ogdiddynash Jul 2020
loved many women
in my daytime life,
still, not enough,
to satisfy my needs.

that is why god created
the inhabitants of a
priest-cohen holy dark,
so we can be alone
when we
fill out the list
I deny exists.

keeping it safe,
so only they
can see me,
& vice versa,
so apropos,
nobody else can.

Romance is great,
when it is
wordless and silent,
no interrupt-us
when writing many
imaginary imagery,
only love poems
with both
ambidextrous hands
ogdiddynash Oct 2020
the jew in you,
you long suspected,
or long lamented.

too bad,
the absence of
this moniker if it  
ain’t applicable directly
to your sorry ***.

after all who doesn’t
want to be among the
ch-ch-chosen peeps?

this blessing
in disguise,
it’s very special
to be hated by

the great equalizer,
highlighting your
choicest features
race, gender, roman nose,
etc., etc., etc.

but like the song said,
though somebody may
hate unlucky you,
everybody, no exceptions,
hates the jews.

everyone knows
the jews own the banks.
everybody hates the banks
who leave you on hold,
leaving you, wondering why,
they won’t give you back
at the ATM, the good money
you lent them,
so you must be
minimum 10%
shrewish (shhhh-jewish) or
whaat! why?

yup, your deposit is
a liability on their books,
(they owe it back to you)
so you too are
a moneylender,

welcome to the club,
the club of being
a liability.

we jews travel
around the world,
chased out from
almost everywhere.

so we invented the
and the world gave
us steerage class
to remind us,
even the jew in you,
that’s OUR special place.

(All) Jewish Lives Matter!
(don’t get me started...)
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