Michael John

Michael John Aug 30

he was a poets poet
worked through the night
a bottle of gran dad

to wagner or bach..
and ate twinkies or lived
on them..he had a ******* period..

hated poetry..opened for rock
bands..writes like a god
in sentences so clear and simple..

a day at the races?he is the man
o yes-watching an obese family party
he is the one..

but his love poems are so fine
i mean who the hell is tom jones?
he asks,and we say,rather him..

police helicopters circle as
his girlfriends wrestle on the lawn
in his boxershorts..

who´s father was a sadist
and mother was a sadist
who made it..

Michael John Aug 30

love each other

so what might come
poe looks out the dusty window
at the sun

if he knows he is not telling
i read post office yesterday
i find bukowski just too funny..

and he tells of gg s breakdown
o god-and wondered about our brain
my father was in the post office..

will we find our raison d´etre-
perhaps not to suffer pain or inflict it
but to love each other..

Michael John Aug 30

what is in our minds..

she says, when i am out of my
mind
i am more in it-do you understand?
sadly,i do..

man,can not do
why..
too much reality..
i don´t know..

within life there is death
a prospect so fearful
so we dance..

creation is a gift
that is it-all nerve end´s
go where?

poe looks thoughtful
too much sugar-
but if it can be so powerful

on a whim-finished-
with that..
what is in our minds..

Michael John Aug 30

but what is the mind?

i read in one of john updike´s
short stories that rheumatoid arthiritis
has a psychosomatic element..

lily smiles..like a rose..
and mourns bitterly her loss-
poe,investigates..

all that glitters is not gold cat..
yes,one day my mother who suffered
for i don´t know 30 or 40 years

with a dickey shoulder ceased
to feel pain
her brain

said that´s quite suffice..
her smile said it all..
but what is the mind..?

the story is called here come the maples..in five or six short pages he tells a couples life story..recalling some real erudite observation and the flavour of the fifties..a civilized divorce..the law was rather strange..but it ends with their first kiss..

Michael John Aug 30

a gold lump...sparkles..

is it morning or
am i a prison-lily looks
out the window, forever,

a knock on the door..
she puts down her book
what is she reading?

stig of the dump...
a favourite from yore
a little boy finds a caveman..
i recall our teacher..

she says toast halfway to her
jaw-marmalade (in slo-mo) falls
like an avalanche-she yelps
a gold lump...sparkles..

Michael John Aug 29

no-where far enough..

i recall a man´s eye black
with death
a plainclothes moustache
i never looked back..

44 years since then he
looks at me..not in dreams
but for real..i went to the continent
but no-where far enough..

Michael John Aug 24

lily rests her head on the table

lily rests her head on the table
if there were freebread, so as people
could satiate their hunger rather then
their anger..

a knock on the door sunday morn-the table
but we shall have to be naked and starving
and storming the bastille again before
anyone notices..

still, we have food banks-when
marie-antoinette was told the people
of paris were starving for lack of bread
she famously anwered-then,let them eat

cake-which was an inferior product
probably inedible..and such callousness
led to the downfall of the monarchy
it would actually pay the powers that be

to demonstrate some generosity..(more likely
to find snow in july..)
who´s at the door..?pop,goes the cork..
ahhhh..sunday..

ii

why is there such poverty in this
rich country?who is there?
why is there hunger?

traditionally, it has been so
history again..in the victorian era
britain was the richest most powerful
country in the world and yet

3/4 of the population lived in
the most abject poverty..
and now the gap between rich and
poor has spiralled out of sight..

not because the poor are poorer
that would be impossible but there
is the billionaire-there is a letter for her..
she looks at it like where

did you find this..as usual they divide
and conquer-now,migrants are the enemy..
o look a poem from crow..they talk of
the trillionaire-it is like monopoly..

one day one person will-it is called
own everything-i will be the dog..
no wonder people live off rada as they
say..

iii

i will be the dog and you
can be the racing car or top hat
and we will hit the town!

it matters not what they do
we dance and laugh..
donne the crown

the weeping willow
some pretty tat
love and freedom..

i am a do-do
the latest cat
you my queen..

and we go-go
some eternal night
where adam and eve dream..

a no-no
the delicious whites
and black seem

the same woes
the same euphoria blights
is and has been..

as is now
human rights
above everything..

iv

yeah.crow we must go out
some time..pours some wine
though i am a recovering alcoholic

of 31 years..that is mine..
you know time is time
tick-tick..