"bunyan" poems
I was brought into this house
Ordered from the local furniture shop
Made to order according to specifications
I am a wingback,
Upholstered in full-grain leather
True to my rich heritage
I was placed in the library
Amongst the illustrious works of famous writers
Half- a - century have passed, providing support
To the backbone of the family
Although tired, he finds solace in my cozy embrace
I give him my wings to fly into the world of literature
Cervantes, Bunyan, Bacon, Goehte, Dostoevsky, Chekov, Tolstoy
Some of the names from the illustrious collection
Not all were privileged to have a seat here
He was transported to each era, savoring the rich legacy
Of literature down the centuries
I was privy to the mind-boggling debates
Which he conducted with himself
Trying to reason each work of literature
A mere wingback rose to be a companion
Providing sturdy support on the mahogany legs
One fine day the reading session ended in deep slumber
Five decades of bonding and companionship came to an end
Now, I stand here, forlorn, at the corner of the library
Reminiscing the reading sessions, and siesta
The wingback does not have the wings to fly away from this bond
© Amitav (Radiance)
May 26, 2014
May 26, 2014 at 2:35 PM UTC
this is a medical emergency ossified
in utero part the hair to cover
pink earwax scar innervated this
cochlea this ******* that steals
the spotlight and rooster’s comb
braised sockets for teeth wired through
the rafters kissing corner braces
shallow chromium double-eye poke
like a pile of face bones stacked
paul bunyan forest slide and jump from
the peak to the pool shallow and
undisturbed to dunk your face and
see future pure voodoo spirit board
and voice box locked with tongue-ectomy
removal of cough through neck hole
cardboard cut stickers in half to
write ***** I’m done.*
Oct 16, 2015
Oct 16, 2015 at 4:24 PM UTC
A large red elephant jumped on the trampoline.
Somewhere in the distance a blue eyed babe cried.
Rednecks clad in Paul Bunyan shirts inhaled the fumes of their barbecues.
Moving gracefully, a trapeze dancer tip-toed across the river.
My wife slumbered on our couch,
And wind blew a kite out of my hands.
I fed a goat nectar from my hands.
A crowd encircled the trampoline.
My family purchased a new couch,
And later that day we helplessly cried.
Our wailing could not be heard across the river,
Where rednecks continued to inhale the fumes of their barbecues.
Neighbors massed to celebrate barbecues.
I looked down at my blood stained hands,
Then joined the beautiful trapeze dancer across the river.
My red elephant broke the trampoline
And we were surrounded by infinite crying.
Nobody sat on the new couch.
Many problems arrived with the new couch;
There weren’t any more barbecues,
And my teeth crunched on granola as we cried.
Silky fabric embraced my hands.
Ingrid, my wife, dies on the trampoline.
She was buried across the river.
Some guy drank all the water from the river,
And started living on our couch.
Who would have thought I met lily on the trampoline,
And who would have thought I took up barbecues.
Now I felt warmth on the back of my hand
And I no longer cried.
Only the winter wind cried,
Howling over Ingrid’s grave across the river.
I slapped an elephant carcass with my hand,
Proceeding to cook it with salt and pepper on the couch.
I bored my wife with barbecues
So she went to jump on they trampoline.
Lily died on the trampoline; I always cried.
No longer did I host barbecues, the wind continued to howl across the river.
I gutted the couch, and killed myself with the back of my hand.
Dec 17, 2013
Dec 17, 2013 at 7:43 AM UTC
hitler's mush and britney's bush-
things that make you cringe.
paul bunyan and ***** hoes-
mouthful of wood.
beieber's twig and a dodo-
nobody has seen them for a long time.
rednecks and squirrels-
store nuts for the long winter.
and **** livestock.
this isnt a poem.this is a slur to all of you that take it up.
Aug 19, 2014
Aug 19, 2014 at 5:50 PM UTC
He sleeps on the top of a mast. - Bunyan
He sleeps on the top of a mast
with his eyes fast closed.
The sails fall away below him
like the sheets of his bed,
leaving out in the air of the night the sleeper's head.
Asleep he was transported there,
asleep he curled
in a gilded ball on the mast's top,
or climbed inside
a gilded bird, or blindly seated himself astride.
"I am founded on marble pillars,"
said a cloud. "I never move.
See the pillars there in the sea?"
Secure in introspection
he peers at the watery pillars of his reflection.
A gull had wings under his
and remarked that the air
was "like marble." He said: "Up here
I tower through the sky
for the marble wings on my tower-top fly."
But he sleeps on the top of his mast
with his eyes closed tight.
The gull inquired into his dream,
which was, "I must not fall.
The spangled sea below wants me to fall.
It is hard as diamonds; it wants to destroy us all."
2.1k
it begins crisper than november,
still, chilly, ice blue sky,
then warm, then cold, then crazy frigid,
wind cat-yowling,
and on the windows,
frost feathers that do not melt all day.
the solstice sun creeps warily
across the south horizon,
glancing brilliant off frost-sheathed trees,
so cold the very air is frozen--
sparkling ice crystals float rainbow colored
like dizziness before my eyes.
Christmas eve starts grey and windy--
rain at two and snow at three--
the huge flakes my mom called "horsebirds".
And just at sunset, a patch of blue,
a sky tunnel for those tiny reindeer.
Christmas morning, four together,
first time in years we all are here:
Best-Beloved, sad eyed lady,
maker of donuts and hi-test coffee,
sings a bit, weeps, smiles;
the Exile returns, hoodied, shy smiling,
coffee in hands, and heart full of plans;
and Carborundum Starshine bursts in the door,
in corduroy & goofy hat,
Paul Bunyan beard & glitter cheeks;
and i
am here.
Talk and cookies, hugs and pictures,
Merry merry, the peace-pipe passed,
carols on the radio,
the scents of spruce and tangerines.
the "week between" a roller coaster,
t-shirts one day, parkas the next,
wind that moans like Marley's ghost,
and snow tornados on the road.
new year's eve and big soft snowflakes,
sparkling lights and laughing shouts--
on the street, drunken kisses and auld lang syne--
but not for me, i listen only;
there's work tomorrow, quick to bed,
a brief flight,
all-night jazz
and sleep.
time tomorrow to begin again.
(1-1-14)
Jan 3, 2014
Jan 3, 2014 at 6:44 PM UTC
.
these are things that make me Sad:..
imagining how sad that Powder must be...
...after Labor day.
imagining how sad rabecca Black must be...
...on Wednesday.
imagining how sad quasiModo would be...
...in Gattaca.
imagining how sad rosie oDonnel would be...
...in Ethiopia.
imagining how sad benjamin Button woulda been..
...in Neverland.
imagining how sad sleeping Beauty would be...
...finally waking Up........n seeing meDusa.
imagining how scared free ***** must be...
...of sunshine aQuarium.
imagining how scared jimmy Neutron would be...
...in sleepy Hollow.
imagining how scared that Pingping musta been...
...of Sultan.
imagining how scared that Avatars woulda been...
...of ******
imagining how scared that Petrified wood would be...
...of paul Bunyan. (Dumb xD)
imagining how scared
six jodie Fosters would be
in a Panic room with seven Hannibals.
imaging how bad trig Palin would be...
...at Trigonometry. (too Much..)
imagining how bad epiLeptic children are...
...at Laser tag.
imagining how bad steven Hawking would be...
...at Roller derby.
imagining how bad that Rainman woulda been...
...at Rain dancing.
imaginging how bad helen Keller woulda been...
...at Karaoke.
imagining how bad desiree Jennings musta been...
...at Hopscotch.
imaginging how effortlessly,
robin willams was Acting...
...in will Hunting.
too Soon?...
...Oh........Sorry.
"Thats okay...
...its not your Fault."
Thanks babe.
.
Sep 13, 2014
Sep 13, 2014 at 7:44 PM UTC
Sounds of Construction site
Hammers and power saws - though trying hard
Could not drown the sound of your silence
--
__
How a flashback
Gets off my thoughts
Makes a room, painfully in my heart
--
__
Silence
Pregnant with life
Whispers the colors of sunrise
--
__
The night turned around, before leaving
looked me in the eye
Asked - can you dream alone
--
__
She is on my mind all the time
Wonder what she does
when I am alone.
--
__
SINFUL PLEASURE
_______________
__
I slipped in joyous stream
Bit by bit, pleasure eroded me
The river is on its way with my pebbled blood
--
__
FARAWAY
________
__
She walks alone on the beach
Tidal waves, stormy sea
Me, morning and my scattered dreams
--
__
Sun paints the sky, red
My thoughts start turning, blue & black
Night fall on my white hot loneliness
--
__
THE FALL SEASON
______________
__
Old Bunyan tree
Tapped on temple door with a floating leaf
A boon came out to see
______________
Om Namah Shivaya
Sep 27, 2010
Sep 27, 2010 at 2:18 AM UTC
Paul Bunyan is up and at 'em
with his trusty **** wacker, slicing
through to the other side
of suburban nightmare. Zeus,
in barreling breath, holds low
his mighty leaf blower.
An American hero and Greek god,
hell bent on getting what's
greener on the other side, begin their
Battle of the Lusher Lawn.
Paul's Babe, in her royal blueness,
is star-studded and singing, "Glory Glory"
as she banners the front porch
in red and white stripes. Zeus' sister-bride
Hera, turns a goat on spit, thinking,
"these Americans know nothing about
good barbeque." Later, the two will be
promising recipes over the side fence
of their baba ganoush and ambrosia salad.
The boys will be reminiscing Gallipoli,
slapping each others' backs,
and choking back tears.
May 30, 2016
May 30, 2016 at 6:15 AM UTC
The puppy seemed happy to see me
when I seen her at the park that other day.
you coulda seen it right away.
So the shrink lady she say, so what?
Dunnno, jisayin' somebody seemed happy
after seeing me naked paraded before all
who may have noticed,
maybe not.
What if nobody noticed and I am happily
seen a naked thing I am
unnoticeable save for seekers of knowns
believed to be known or
knowable
by you, down in the slew, Bunyan's slough,
ya got iron in yer blood?
ya areckon.
Yer Uncle Sam needs ya, boy,
you leave that Kansas lass to
stare at those July buttermilk skies,
there's a war awaitin' for Rough Riders,
Arizona reared and steered
Say what, sir? Steered? Not me. Done my time.
Played footballs, by damtotell, at Fort Bliss,
I threw hand grenades,
Football was Ft. Huachuca, autumn, 1967
Bien Hoa was in the spring, one day after
My Lai, my country's legacy from my year
beyond the whole idea of war. History said,
if we are not the Redcoats, we are the Hessians,
at least.
Allegiance to a legion because they are many?
Perish the thought.
Nov 6, 2018
Nov 6, 2018 at 7:17 PM UTC
I am splitting wood
with my brand new
just bought yesterday
Eight-pound maul.
Gripping its very cool
red fiberglass handle
I whack with abandon.
I am transformed.
No longer just an aging
refugee college professor,
I am become
a mighty woodsman,
a handsome lumberjack,
PAUL ******* BUNYAN!
Only now, my back hurts.
I need a cigarette,
a drink and a nap.
Transformations,
they always come
with such a price.
- mce
Nov 4, 2015
Nov 4, 2015 at 10:28 AM UTC
Note how the title comes directly from John Bunyan's Pilgrim's Progress.
(sonnet #MMMMMMMCMLXXIV)
As hunter's wont, the deer's skull hangs fr'intents
Upon the wooden porch, eye sockets' stale
And empty hollows staring in betrayl
Without a blink, forever, with a sense
Of Death behind their deeper look, pretense
Half shivring down to nothing, bones dried, frail
What? shrinking at the ghastly sight, birds hail
From greenest trees where life sings in defense.
And I...observe in silence, like as twere
Some child. This womanhood I never knew,
Which crept on me ere I was 'ware, in tour
A joke which laughs 'non in my face. Skies blue
With whiter cloud battalions, winds bestir
These Maples to soft whispers in what, too?
19May19b
May 25, 2019
May 25, 2019 at 11:13 PM UTC
For------
The robust and the rakish--
You were a king among them.
You were the last of a kind of men
That petted the Timber Wolf
And stared into the eyes of the
Grizzly Bear.
That breed of chrome and steel called
Harley-Davidson bore you on your
Perpetual pursuit of the wind.
Now we look forward to hearing your
Voice in the free breeze that enticed you
Time and again.
You were cut from the cloth of Paul Bunyan
And John Henry.
You smiled at the arduous, the laborious, and
The heavy.
Your eye was as good as the plumbline,
But the plumbline you still used;
Your work in the construction of bridges in
This Missouri River valley was your signature,
A tangible legacy no honest man could deny
Or refuse.
Sleep now, R--- B----, a well
Deserved rest--
For from among the ranks of Crockett and
Boone, you’re Lancelot--
The shining, the best.
May 8, 2017
May 8, 2017 at 10:39 PM UTC
*Long live the worshipers of the Bracket Bull and Cinderella
Cling ye , to the word of Paul Bunyan , Johnny Appleseed and Peter Rabbit , to Jesus , Mohammed and hobbits
To Tinkerbell , Mother Goose and New Day Prophets
Spread thy beliefs with the sword , with hate fueled -
atrocity and calculation , systematically destroying the world ,
nation after nation* ...
Jan 1, 2018
Jan 1, 2018 at 7:21 PM UTC
From the top of the mountains that rest under Apollos feet.
To the deepest of forest where Artemis has been heard to sing.
The cliffs of Moher overlooking the remains the forsaken Mal.
And to the canyons formed by Paul Bunyan's axe.
Where ball lightening dances to where the Angel she falls.
And even where they ghost danced so that Miwok could sleep.
I've told them all so many times, you must've heard by now.
Surely tales have found you wherein you ought to be found.
Pan himself is tired of my proclamations.
My devil may care position on you sickens even Cupid.
So let it be said and let the darkness be ******
Tell Osiris that I am on my way for maybe he hasn't heard.
One day these words will reach you and then you'll finally hear.
I love you.
Oct 15, 2016
Oct 15, 2016 at 9:04 AM UTC
Johnny Appleseed.
****** us up good didn't you?
If you plant a tree in Eden
You're an angel
But Mom and Dad ate an apple
Cain got mad and killed Abel
With the *** he wears on his head
Now he runs around smoking herb and planting trees
Cain was just like you Mr. Appleseed
Two farmers tag teamed
He made a pretty good side kick
A seed from Johnny's Apples
Was a Johnny Apple's seed
That Seeded an Apple tree
So Johnny's baby Appleseeds
Could seed more apple trees
To eat off Johnny Apple's seeds
Choke on that Mother Earth
Johnny Appleseed's tree is long and hard
Ripe with juicy fruit
And we all know mankind has a sweet tooth
Knock on wood
Paul Bunyan is Jesus
Cutting down trees of life since day one
Just wait til he gets nailed and impaled on one
Meanwhile an angel with a fire sword chased a snake out of the garden
Johnny
Human
Appleseed
Nature
Aug 16, 2018
Aug 16, 2018 at 11:54 AM UTC
I’m on Spotify
I like to see if you are online
I like to hear what you hear
I like to look up the lyrics
of the songs you play
I’d like to walk in your mind someday
by Vashti Bunyan
I posted that one in my playlist labeled with a capital “X”
I’m not sure why I labeled it that
But that playlist is how I feel about you
I like what you play when you are on spotify
I think we have a lot in common
Musically
and I wonder why we can’t hangout anymore
Or why you haven’t even tried
Feb 24, 2016
Feb 24, 2016 at 12:50 AM UTC
Life is short
And time is borrowed;
*“If freed today,
I’ll preach tomorrow”*
...spoken from
His prison cell,
The faithful one
Who conquered hell
When kings and men
Put him to flight
He stood his ground
Without a fight
And gladly took
To shackles – chains –
To prove to all
His Faith remained
---
Life is short
And time is borrowed;
*“If freed today,
I’ll preach tomorrow”*
See, he had been a
Prisoner, freed,
From far more
Fearful enemies
The first of which
Was his own flesh:
A death which died
Its death in Death
The Death of the
Triumphant King –
The Holy One –
The King of kings!
---
The One who
Traded life for Life –
Who gave it all
And took the knife…
…that he would sing
Without a sorrow:
*“If freed today,
I’ll preach tomorrow!”*
.
Feb 23, 2020
Feb 23, 2020 at 9:47 AM UTC
(In memory of Glen Slater)
*Ya stupid sonuvabitch, the place is deserted!
It’s gotta be a ****** night game, ya ****** mook*,
But though the parking lot had the forlorn look
Of a down-on-its luck strip mall on a weekday afternoon,
There was just the hint of activity and indeed a game,
A friends-and-family affair with the Cubs,
Losers if not particularly lovable,
So we departed the ancient Gremlin
(Ostensibly painted cab-yellow,
Though festooned with enough Bondo and duct tape
To make it difficult to tell
Where car began and slapdash repair ended)
Strolling toward the deserted ticket window
To drop the two-bucks per for upper deck seats,
Knowing that we would find amenable ushers
Willing to let us move down to the boxes
After it became fully apparent
There was no last-minute influx scrambling off the 7 train,
And we sat in the sun-drenched field level seats
(Though its warmth a relative thing,
The rays’ angle and the decidedly April wind
Requiring buttons to be snapped
And collars to be turned upward)
Viewing the spectacle of two clubs
Dutifully and somewhat optimistically
Performing the rites of Spring, each nine knowing
There would be no October heroics in their futures,
Their first-rate plays and foibles
Gathering our appreciation or scorn
Between gulps of over-priced watery beers,
And as we sat in this unlovely stadium,
Looking for all the world
Like some Bunyan-esque chipped ashtray
Plopped down on an unprepossessing landfill
(The hopes and wistful dreams of this children’s game
Perched uneasily atop ancient sardine tins and discarded rattles)
We agreed that we would do this again,
But it never came to pass, as life its ownself
Rolled on like the cap of John Pacella
(Invariably flying off his unruly mop
From the effort of launching yet another fastball
In the all-too-vain hope it would find itself
Somewhere in the vicinity of the strike zone)
Tumbling brim over crown in the swirl of the breeze.
Jan 26, 2021
Jan 26, 2021 at 12:07 PM UTC
One thousand years of trees will be standing
And my love for you
It will always go timber
In December,
your limbs kept me warm after dark
I remember,
A light shined so bright
We sparked.
My bearded man,
We flew, at best,
and into history went the rest
Unless, Even if,
One million years of trees stood standing limber
My love for you,
it would always go timber.
Jan 19, 2019
Jan 19, 2019 at 7:04 PM UTC
CONSISTENT CONTRADICTION
I'm a perfectly consistent contradiction.
I'm oiled by tons of lightweight friction.I'm
spending my time with no time to spare;
while suffocatin' on all the fresh air.
I'm slurrin' my speech with perfect diction,
while truthfully expressing science fiction.
There's not a lot more that I can say,
so I won't take long;
just forever and a day.
My past draws ever closer as my future fades away.
I'll see you in Hell but have a nice day.
I have ultralight opinions that hold lots of weight;
can't draw worth a **** as I'll illustrate.
You may think I'm on your doorstep, but I'm a hundred miles away.
See you in Hell but have a nice day. I don't know why you're so
insistent that I have to be perfectly consistent.
Can't you see that I'm doin' OK?
See you in Hell but have a nice day.
I gotta comatose brain that won't slow down;
a friendly warm smile that's sprinkled with a frown.
My mind is racin' 'bout a mile a minute.
Get out of my life cause I need you in it.
I'll take Mastercard or Visa but you don't gotta pay.
See you in Hell
but have a nice day.
Consistency is overrated,
and lunacy is unappreciated.
Every corner of my coaster has got one roller.
I've gone clinically sane,
while being bipolar.
I'm as short as Paul Bunyan and tall as Tom Thumb;a cross between Einstein and Dumber and Dumb.
I'll wish you a Merry New Year in the middle of May ,and I'll see you in Hell but have a nice day!
Jul 10, 2019
Jul 10, 2019 at 8:48 PM UTC