Looking out from the launch
Swans were gliding on by
There were boats on the water
And more birds in the sky
Kids were down by the boatramp
Sailing boats  of all kinds
they were captains and pirates
At least in their minds
The small lake was covered
With vessels galore
And up past the boat ramp
You could rent out some more
Paddle boats sat *******
Waiting till late in the day
When the weather was better
And the swans were away
Further on up the shore
Sat an old french fry stand
The fries were just perfect
But, their burgers were bland
Cotton Candy as well
Made their menu  a treat
And the old carny posters
Made the building complete
When the park was first christened
seventy years or so back
The fry stand was opened
They just sold "******* Jack"
As time passed it added
More items to buy
Like their bland old hamburgers
And their fantastic fries
The posters were left
From an old carny show
They had amazing old pictures
Of the geeks, so you'd go
To attract some attention
They stuck some on the side
Like "Phillip" the lizard
And his hairy faced bride
Away just a bit,
Were some rides all closed down
There were bumper cars, zipper
and a train back to town
They were all closed and shuttered
And weren't used any more
And the train had stopped running
Not long after the war
By the boat dock, a building
Full of lockers to use
There was just enough room
For your clothes and some shoes
A quarter would rent one
If you wanted to store
Your valuable items
While you went by the shore
In the afternoon sun
When the kids came from school
You could buy some balloons
And get face painting too
Clarence, just Clarence
made balloons every day
He made whatever you wanted
And took whatever you'd pay
He'd paint up their faces
Make them scary or sweet
And he did it each day
with clown shoes on his feet
Clarence, just Clarence
was there every day
He showed up around lunchtime
In the heat of the day
No one knew Clarence
By any more than
Clarence, just Clarence
The smiling old man
For thirty odd years
He'd come down to the park
Showing up around noon-ish
And not leaving till dark
He took what you'd pay
For his air filled  creations
Making creatures galore
From his imagination
He'd buy fries for his lunch
And a coke to wash down
The bland hamburgers
That were just flavored...brown
He created more smiles
Than anyone by the lake
Painting faces for children
He never made a mistake
His wasn't a fortune
But at the end of the day
He'd made money and smiles
And they were worth more than pay
When the boats were all stored
And the fry stand was closed
All the boats were locked up
And the sidewalks were hosed
Clarence, just Clarence
took two quarters in hand
And he went to the lockers
Behind the boat rental stand
Inside, there were showers
And a bench just to sit
And he'd open two lockers
And he'd think for a bit
He'd wash off his face paint
Change his clothes of the day
Then he'd switch them for others
He had lockered away
See, Clarence..just Clarence
spent his life in the park
Making smiles in daylight
And he slept here when dark
He locked his persona
In locker nineteen
And he took a small pack out
All camoflauge green
he left the small building
And went down by a light
There he spread out the contents
Of his pack, for the night
A blanket, one pillow
Just the size for his head
Then on the hard bench
He'd lie down...go to bed
He'd be gone the next morning
Before the park saw the sun
He would gather his pack up
And he'd be off on the run
As the weather got colder
He'd find a tropical place
To find one more park
Where he could paint one more face
He'd leave here each winter
But be back in the spring
His life was a circle
You know...that has a nice ring.
So, Clarence, just Clarence
made balloons and made smiles
And he lived in two parks
Spread over miles and miles
No one knew Clarence
Or just where he came from
but Clarence, just Clarence
will be missed when he's gone.

August 28, 1922.** Clarence Samuels is holding his wife’s hand, she’s groaning out limbs by the minute, pushing hard enough for life to cry out of her. He can no longer feel his fingertips from the vice grip she has on his knuckles, but that is just one more piece of himself he would give for his family.
November 16, 1924. Clarence’s daughter is over two years old, and they are taking walks to the beach. She takes interest in a dark feathered bird with a snowy underbelly like the way God only sees things in black or white, its combination of threat and promise. She asks Clarence what it is, says she would like to have one, would like to be one. But he notices, those birds only come around when it’s raining and he hasn’t seen the storm clouds yet.
March 31st, 1925. The Samuels’ daughter hasn’t stopped vomiting in two days, her radiance turning achromatic. The doctors have been prescribing medication but nothing seems to work because she cannot keep down any form of help. So Clarence starts looking up that shadowy bird they saw in the fall. Maybe that could take her mind off her affliction, maybe it would help him too.
September 4, 1925. Clarence now whispers “I love you” like the flickering flames of prayer candles, but hasn’t seen the inside of a chapel since the funeral, since he stopped being able to look into his wife’s eyes. His days are filled with sacrilegious drunk, his kitchen floor littered with whiskey labels and scotch tops, wondering what he is if not slain by this everything holy. He’s scrawling out letters to his daughter on the napkins he took from under his drinks at the bar. He’s got enough to write a book or his suicide letter.
September 30, 1925. Clarence notices that instead of crawling out of bed, the bed is crawling away from him. He chokes on the muscle memory he still retains when he walks into his daughters empty room, now turned office because his wife seems to be the only one working, the only thing still working. On the desk is his research of the bird that haunts him since that November, the Parasitic Jaeger. Their name begs question of the godless nights spent bent wave sea sick over the toilet seat, innards cascading past the roof of his mouth, making friends with the holes in his teeth. He has managed to drink himself swiss bone garden.
October 1, 1925. Clarence walks to the beach, clutching a picture of his daughter. He planned on drowning himself in the tide to mimic her, choked up on bile and lungs. Before he stepped foot in the water, the Parasitic Jaeger flew past him chasing a gull.
October 1st, Clarence went home and slept.
October 2nd, Clarence returned to the beach all guilt and full body, BAC hitting a record .25 and he slipped into the sea only to watch the same Jaeger chasing another gull. Clarence watched as the gull emptied itself open casket into the water and flew away while the Jaeger feasted on the sick. Clarence took another small step into the shore line, now chest deep in more than regret. The bird turned his head slowly towards the human moving closer him. Clarence, open arms and locked eyes whispered, “I am sick too, do not forget me.”

By: Cedric McClester

Between Uncle Clarence and
Wife Jenny
Integrity they haven’t
Any
But nerve they have
A plenty
See neither one of them
Are worth a penny

Between Uncle Clarence and
His errant spouse
Which one is running
Their house?
And  who’s quiet
As a church mouse?
The same one who’ll
Never grouse

Between Uncle Clarence
And his wedded mate
There’s a bond of love
And lot of self-hate
That’s easy to
Calculate
By the one who carries
The most weight

Between Uncle Clarence
And his beloved
It had long ago been
Discovered
That one of ‘em was
Totally smothered
Underneath the dark wings of
A buzzard.







Cedric McClester, Copyright © 2022.  All rights reserved.

By: Cedric McClester, Copyright © 2022.

Justice Clarence Thomas
You’re the one who you most hate
Could it be because you know
That you’re second rate?
Or is it because of
Your ultra conservative mate?
Who you so assiduously
Always try to placate?

Justice Clarence Thomas
Reconcile the fact you’re black
And way back in the day
You were a daddy mack
Until you met your wife Jenny
Cos opposites attract
And she’s all the white you need
As a matter of fact

Justice Clarence Thomas
At your dinner table
You and your best friend Jenny
Discuss all that you are able
So is it any wonder
That draft ruling slipped
After all my friend
Jenny had been tipped!

Justice Clarence Thomas
They say that justice is blind
But you continuously
Choose to cross the line
You insist on voting
When you should be recused
It doesn’t seem to bother you
When the law’s abused


Cedric McClester, Copyright © 2022.  All rights reserved.

Black and white photograph
lives lived
A whole lifetime ago ago
in a forgotten time forgotten life
Nanna Flynn and Uncle Clarence
live on the wall photographed

By: Cedric McClester, Copyright © 2022.

Once again Clarence
has come up short,
He needs to be removed
From the Supreme Court
Which he has treated
Like a blood sport
That he and his Jinny
Have  overwrought

It’s alright that he’s
A Conservative,
Since that’s the way
That he’s chosen to live
And so with him
It’s always more take than give
But Court secrets
Get revealed like sieve

And Clarence is more than
Well aware
That  with his best friend Jinny
Just sitting there
Court secrets become
A community share
Of which she makes her friends
Quite well aware

Now there’s an uproar
Over a leaked draft decision
That Clarence assigned
To another with derision
While abdicating his own
Rightful position
Now his wife lacks the courage
To make her admission







Cedric McClester, Copyright © 2022.  All rights reserved.

Poor old Clarence Posey
His neighbors are so nosey.
They peek in through
His windows and
They catch him wearing hosie.

They don’t come in
They just stay out
They stay judgmental;
They scoff and pout.
They have no pleasant
Words to say.
They run through all
Synonyms of gay.

Pity Clarence Posey
His neighbors are too nosey.
No matter which
Fabric he likes to wear
They dislike what he chosie.

It isn’t like
They dress themselves
Some way that could
Be seen as flattering.
They’ve guts and butts
Like barnyard stock.
To see them naked
Would be a shock.

Poor old Clarence Posey
His neighbors are all nosey.
They’re nothing but
Awful aunties
That catch him wearing *******.

Fair stood the wind for France
When we our sails advance,
Nor now to prove our chance
Longer will tarry;
But putting to the main,
At Caux, the mouth of Seine,
With all his martial train,
Landed King Harry.

And taking many a fort,
Furnished in warlike sort,
Marcheth towards Agincourt
In happy hour;
Skirmishing day by day
With those that stopped his way,
Where the French gen'ral lay
With all his power;

Which, in his height of pride,
King Henry to deride,
His ransom to provide
Unto him sending;
Which he neglects the while,
As from a nation vile,
Yet with an angry smile
Their fall portending.

And turning to his men,
Quoth our brave Henry then,
"Though they to one be ten,
Be not amazed.
Yet have we well begun,
Battles so bravely won
Have ever to the sun
By fame been raised.

"And for myself (quoth he),
This my full rest shall be;
England ne'er mourn for me,
Nor more esteem me.
Victor I will remain,
Or on this earth lie slain;
Never shall she sustain
Loss to redeem me.

"Poitiers and Cressy tell,
When most their pride did swell,
Under our swords they fell;
No less our skill is
Than when our grandsire great,
Claiming the regal seat,
By many a warlike feat
Lopped the French lilies."

The Duke of York so dread
The eager vaward led;
With the main Henry sped
Amongst his henchmen.
Exeter had the rear,
A braver man not there; -
O Lord, how hot they were
On the false Frenchmen!

They now to fight are gone,
Armour on armour shone,
Drum now to drum did groan,
To hear was wonder;
That with the cries they make
The very earth did shake;
Trumpet to trumpet spake,
Thunder to thunder.

Well it thine age became,
O noble Erpingham,
Which didst the signal aim
To our hid forces!
When from a meadow by,
Like a storm suddenly,
The English archery
Stuck the French horses.

With Spanish yew so strong,
Arrows a cloth-yard long,
That like to serpents stung,
Piercing the weather;
None from his fellow starts,
But, playing manly parts,
And like true English hearts,
Stuck close together.

When down their bows they threw,
And forth their bilbos drew,
And on the French they flew,
Not one was tardy;
Arms were from shoulders sent,
Scalps to the teeth were rent,
Down the French peasants went -
Our men were hardy!

This while our noble king,
His broadsword brandishing,
Down the French host did ding,
As to o'erwhelm it;
And many a deep wound lent,
His arms with blood besprent,
And many a cruel dent
Bruised his helmet.

Gloucester, that duke so good,
Next of the royal blood,
For famous England stood
With his brave brother;
Clarence, in steel so bright,
Though but a maiden knight,
Yet in that furious fight
Scarce such another.

Warwick in blood did wade,
Oxford the foe invade,
And cruel slaughter made
Still as they ran up;
Suffolk his axe did ply,
Beaumont and Willoughby
Bare them right doughtily,
Ferrers and Fanhope.

Upon Saint Crispin's Day
Fought was this noble fray,
Which fame did not delay
To England to carry.
O, when shall English men
With such acts fill a pen;
Or England breed again
Such a King Harry?

Clarence Allan I am travelling around between Saturn and Jupiter


You see, Brian, I hated Newcastle in the 70s, I hated being an old man cranky with his
Grandson, but it was the Buddhist karma that made me as angry as that, but I am enjoying
Flying around in outer space, and I can tell you I am Ryan Clatk, yes, I still wanted to be
Close to you, but I still don't want you to meet my earth body, and that is why I stayed away, you remember when I my wife asked you if you were watching home and away, that is because I knew, if you watched it, you will like Sam Marshall, because I got into the home and away writers, minds to get them to create a character, that brings my grandson Brian closer to being respected by younger people, and I don't really want you to, stop your running, cause I don't want you to ruin your achievement of goals, even choosing the date
When you die, because, you need to be fit and healthy, and Sam Marshall is your role model,
To tru to be like more than anyone, I was sort of angry when you thought I was Macauley culikn, but really mate, he is a total drug addict, who can't control his addiction,,and I let
You believe I was Macauley Culkin, because it was a belief, but you really thought that Sam
Was you when I was alive, and mate, yes he was, I remember you bring like him too, and I am impressed that even if he was a bit different to you in parts, you are still determined to
Believe he is like you, and I admire that in a person. You are going to go a long way especially when you aren't ******* people off.
I wished you still watched Bondi rescue, but dude that is my earth body's Joh, now look at my wikipedia and see how much the movie I was costs, keep it, Just to keep it in your collection, you are the only one in your family, that believes the truth, and also you are the only one in your family that will gain good respect by me and all the others.
So keep doing what you do, and enjoy your life, dude

eph you see kay etouffee if you see Kay tell her a catawampus catahoula hound hog dog crossed bayou levee last night all right what did you say if you see Kay tell her a catawampus catahoula hog dog crossed the levee last night all right i heard what you said the first time why you got to repeat eph you see kay you ******* ****** **** what? what did you say you ******* ****** **** heard you the first time you **** a **** a ***** a ***** hello stop end begin believe conceive create no thank you i already ate what? what did you say begin believe conceive create no thank you i already ate quit ******* repeating yourself  you ******* ******* hello stop end begin believe conceive create eph you see kay etouffee if you see Kay tell her a catawampus catahoula hog dog crossed the levee last night all right

the renown physicist dressed in brown wool suit brown leather laced shoes white shirt burgundy knitted tie wild curly graying hair climbed the stairs walked across the stage stood at the lectern adjusted narrow support pole height reached down into brown leather briefcase retrieved his thesis concerning the relative theory of everything tapped microphone composed his posture made a guttural sound clearing his throat looked out at packed full auditorium it became evident to the distinguished audience the renown physicist’s fly was open and his ***** hanging out it was unanimously dismissed as a case of professorial absent-mindedness

all the creatures of the earth (excluding humans) convened for an emergency session the bigger creatures talked first grizzly bears stood upright explaining demand for gallbladders bile paws make us more valuable dead than alive sharks testified Asian fisherman cut off our fins for soup then throw us back into the sea to die elephants thumping heavy feet stepped forward yeah poachers **** us for our tusks rhinos concurred yes they **** us for our horns wild Mustang horses neighed about violent round-ups then slaughtered processed for cat food whales complained of going deaf from submarine sonar tests then sold for meat many dolphins sea turtles tuna swordfish sea bass smaller fish swam forward pleading about getting caught in long line nets barbed baited hooks over-fished colonies chimpanzees described nightmares of being stolen from their mom’s when they are very young then used in research labs for horrible tests song birds chirped about loss of their habitats land tortoises spoke in gentle voices about being wiped out for housing developments saguaro cactuses dropped their arms in discouragement masses of penguins solemnly marched in suicidal unison to edge of melting icebergs polar bears and seals wept honey bees buzzed colony collapse disorder bats flapped about white nose syndrome coyotes and wolves howled lonesome prairie laments the session grew gloomy with heart-wrenching unbearable sadness sobbing crying then a black mutt dog spoke up my greyhound brothers and sisters and all my family of creatures i sympathize with your hurt but it is important to realize there are people who care love us want to protect us not all humans are ravenous carnivores or heartless profiteers a calico cat crept alongside black dog and rubbed her head against his chest an old gray mare admitted her love for a race horse jockey who died years ago a bluebird sang a song suddenly lots more creatures advanced with stories of human kindness Captain Paul Watson Madeleine Pickens Jane Goodall a redwood tree named Luna testified about Julia Butterfly Hill the winds clouds sky discussed concerns by Al Gore lots and lots of other names were mentioned and the whole tone of the meeting changed every one agreed they needed to wait and see what the next generation of people would do whether humans would acknowledge the cruelties threats of extinction and learn grow figure out ways to sustain mother earth father sky then the meeting let out just as the sun was rising on a new day

there is a cemetery in Paris named Père Lachaise buried there are the remains of Jim Morrison Oscar Wilde Richard Wright Karl Appel Guillaume Apollinaire Honoré de Balzac Sarah Bernhardt the empty urn of Maria Callas Frédéric Chopin Colette Jean-Baptiste-Camille Corot Nancy Clara Cunard Honoré Daumier Jacques-Louis David Eugène Delacroix Isadora Duncan Paul Éluard Max Ernst Suzanne Flon Loie Fuller Théodore Géricault Yvette Guilbert Jean Ingres Clarence Laughlin Pierre Levegh Jean-François Lyotard Marcel Marceau Amedeo Modigliani Molière Yves Montand Pascale Ogier Christine Pascal Édith Piaf Marcel Proust Georges Seurat Simone Signoret Gertrude Stein Louis Visconti Maria Countess Walewska and many other extraordinary souls it is rumored at late dusk their ghosts climb from graves gather drink fine brandy from costly crystal glasses smoke fragrant cigars and once a year on November 2 party hard all night culminating in deliriously promiscuous ****** **** it’s difficult to know what the truth is since the dead don’t talk or do they

“CAAAAMON-CAAAMON-CAAMON-CAMON. *******. *******, YOU STUPID *******!!!!”  I slam on the brakes as the traffic light turns red, the front end of my car now parked in the middle of the intersection.  

A bunch of headlights begin to move towards me, and I rev the engine, slamming the car into reverse.   Now behind the white line, I lean back and take a few breaths.  I sound like my old man.  That nasty, fat ***** was always screaming at those useless racehorses as his soggy, limp cigar would bounce from his lips, spit landing all over the paid-in-full fakies of whatever blonde ***** was cuddled up next to him for the afternoon.  Having lost everything by the end of the day, he would always plod home and deposit his soiled, checkered pants on the laundry room floor and crawl into bed to make love to my mom.  

Ugh. I need to stop thinking about him.  I already wish I could be one of those old horses who gets shot in the head.  Today was my five-year work anniversary, and on behalf of the entire department, volcano-face Emily bestowed upon me a massive dog bone, which now sits tauntingly on my passenger seat.  As she suppressed that nasty giggle of hers and handed me the bone, the room erupted with laughter, someone shouting from the back corner, “Hey, Ed! Get it?!  You’re always like a dog with a bone!”  Maybe I should go back to work and make that ***** play fetch.

No. I’ll save that for later.  Right now I am going to go get that Philly Cheese Steak sandwich that’s been on my mind all afternoon.  That is if this light ever turns green again.  But ******* is my mouth salivating just thinking about that sandwich.  

What the hell is that?

A Ford Bronco is blazing towards the intersection, directly into oncoming traffic.  It swerves onto the shoulder, speeding past the rows of stopped cars and blasting through the red light.  The driver is leaning out the window, swinging around a sword.  He notices me staring and looks straight into my eyes, solidifying his unspoken threat by pointing his medieval weapon straight at my heart.  

Fine.  If that ******* wants a duel, I would hardly be a gentleman if I did not oblige.  I reach behind the passenger seat and grab the antique cop light that’s been gathering dust on the floor ever since I purchased it at the neighborhood thrift store.  I slap the thing on the top of my car and punch through the red light, cranking the steering wheel to make a quick u-ey.  As I gain some distance, I can just barely make out the license plate.

DR PEPR

You’ve got to be kidding me.

Dr. Pepper ignores the fact that I am only 20 feet behind him and turns up his stereo, blasting a Renaissance dance tune from hell.

I’m going to end this, and I’m going to end it by sticking that sword up that Shakespeare *******’s ***.  

Dr. Pepper slams on his brakes, the sudden jolt causing him to drop his sword.  The passengers in the back of the cab burst into a slow-motion uproar, and I take the opportunity to cut off their escape route.  Now stopped, I pull out my mocha-flavored e-cig from my front pocket and look over at my dog bone as the vapor fills the car.  I snag the bone and step outside, feeling the weight of the rawhide in my hand as I approach the truck. Not stopping to bother with the driver, I head towards the back, kicking the forgotten sword into traffic.  My clothes are bathed in red from the brake lights, and the coked-out frenzy of the Renaissance men reaches a ****** as I stand before them, looking like the devil himself.

Adrenaline is surging through me.  As I take a drag of mocha, I scan the faces of the annoying pukes in the back of the truck and locate the nastiest in the bunch sitting in the middle of his troupe, completely stiff with fear.  I look deep into his eyes and slowly exhale.  I pull one more drag as I raise the massive bone and bring it crashing down, making full contact with the left brake light.  The red shards explode into the sky, and I do not hesitate to follow up with the other break light.  Adrenaline coursing through my veins, I can’t help but swing even harder.  

Wow - what a beautiful explosion.  

“Unsheathe thy sword!  UNSHEATHE THY SWORD!”

Dr. Pepper searches frantically for his sword as I casually approach his door. “Dr. Pepper,” I say calmly. He continues to desperately ***** around the truck, so I lean forward, “DR. PEPPER.” He turns begrudgingly to look at me.  Wanting to bid farewell to my defeated adversary, I raise my right hand into a 90 degree angle and wiggle my fingers “bye-bye” in his direction. His blood-shot, brown eyes widen, and it’s clear that he is terrified that his face will be the source of my next fireworks display.  Lucky for him my stomach growls, reminding me that my quest for a Philly Cheese Steak sandwich remains unfulfilled.

I walk away, the cherry light still flashing on top my car, so I take my bone and take a hard swing, unleashing the last set of fireworks in my perfectly-directed scene.  I get in the car, and as I start the engine, the oldies station is blaring Clarence the Frogman Henry’s song, “Ain’t Got No Home”.  It’s the best part of the song, and without hesitation I begin to tap out the rhythms on my steering wheel and sing along with Clarence in that high-pitched voice of his:

“I ain’t got no sister,
I ain’t got a brother,
I ain’t got a father,
not even a mother,
I’m a lonely boy,
I ain’t got a home.
Whoo-woo-woo-woo-woo-woo-woo-woo!
Whoo-woo-woo-woo-woo-woo-­woo-woo!”

UNCLE CLARENCE
By: Cedric McClester

Between Uncle Clarence and
Wife Jenny
Integrity they haven’t
Any
But nerve they have
A plenty
See neither one of them
Are worth a penny

Between Uncle Clarence and
His errant spouse
Which one is running
Their house?
And  who’s quiet
As a church mouse?
The same one who’ll
Never grouse

Between Uncle Clarence
And his wedded mate
There’s a bond of love
And lot of self-hate
That’s easy to
Calculate
By the one who carries
The most weight

Between Uncle Clarence
And his beloved
It had long ago been
Discovered
That one of ‘em was
Totally smothered
Underneath the dark wings of
A buzzard.







Cedric McClester, Copyright © 2022.  All rights reserved.

Aka
The Hang mans Rap     Ghost Town Version and Mix    

By, David John Clare

Take off this noose, Im on the loose, like a double deuce spruce-goose
Your gallows is to shallow for me, its only for your own in home abuse
Dont crush my hand, cuz you cant understand the plan
She and me need to be free, Mr. Law man
Shes not your daughter, dont doubt her, Ill dote her, Miss Senorina, with my *** gun
Give us water and feed, we're the Wild West creed, of a new century seed
So concede and give heed, were gone like a tumble-****, off to breed
Like a slow-blizzard-breeze, get on yours knees please, you cant seize these mysteries
Hangmans Rap, (its the hangmans rap)
Hangman Rap, its hangmans rap, likes a One-Eyed Jack
Hangman Rap, (the hangmans rap)
Hangmans Rap, its hangmans rap, likes a One-Eyed Jack yall
Im hanging out at the beech, far from your long arm reach, Ill be back cuz Im planning my attack, like a One Eyed Jack, Marlon Brando cant be catched, no deputy dog can claim my ******, so watch out when you fall thru own hatch
Ma Baker and sons, like the undertaker, are the new setting sun, movers and shakers
Annie get your gun, were on the run, get on your high horse, were born to run, break every law like a saloon-brawl, here come the Sheriff after us all y'all...
Hangmans Rap, (the hangmans rap)
Hangmans Rap, its hangmans rap, likes a One-Eyed Jack
Hangmans Rap, (the hangmans rap)
Hangman Rap, its hangmans rap, likes a One-Eyed Jack yall
(Marlin Brando cant be catched)
Loving like we cant be dead in a Western ghost-town, its all your head, give us this day our daily butter and bread, its like I said move slick or live in club Fed...

Gun powder blast, shattered glass, Im riding the range like a social-outcast, were on the run, having fun, you tub o-guts, Ill grab my scatter gun....  so hide the girls, Im heading for the hills, no thanks doc, I aint taking no pills, what you want from me? my whole life history? Or, a bottle of wine of Dubonnet on this Valentines Day, dont act stupid, go ask cupid to shoot you with his arrow in the court room with a Clarence Darrow, stay on the straight and narrow, its a harrowing call, to be a Too Tall Jones, outlaw yall
Hangmans Rap, (yeah, the hangmans rap)
Hangmans Rap, its hangman rap, likes a One-Eyed Jack
(Marlin Brando cant be catched)
Hangmans Rap, (the hangmans rap)
Hangmans Rap, it's  hangman rap, like a One-Eyed Jack yall

Heed to the call, the-call-of-the-wild, Im the blazing-trail child on the way to my home on the range, some think Im strange, no matter at all, Im the lonesome-ranger, trying to avoid all kindsa danger, thats all
Hangmans Rap, (tiss, the hangmans rap)
Hangmans Rap, its hangman rap, likes a One-Eyed Jack                                                             ­                                           
Hangman Rap, (oh, the hangmans rap)
Hangman Rap, its hangmans rap, like some **** One-Eyed Jack yall

So, get back from me, Im on a quest and where I go you cant plainly see I aint no toy, try to catch a glimpse of the real vision in me, ok cowboy?
Hangmans Rap, (yes, the hangmans rap)
Hangmans Rap, its hangmans rap, likes a One-Eyed Jack

Hangman Rap, (just, the hangmans rap)
Hangmans Rap, its hangmans rap, ****! a One-Eyed Jack yall

Im hanging out at the beach, far from your long arm reach, Ill be back cuz Im planning my attack, like a One Eyed Jack, Marlon Brando cant be catched
Hangmans Rap, (do the hangmans rap)
Hangmans Rap, its hangmans rap, likes a One-Eyed Jack
Hangmans Rap, (****, that hangmans rap)
Hangman Rap, its hangmans rap, likes a One-Eyed Jack yall

Take off this noose, Im on the loose, like a double deuce spruce-goose
dem gallows is to shallow for me, its only for your own in home use
Hangman Rap, (wo, the hangmans rap)
Hangmans Rap, its hangman rap, likes a One-Eyed Jack
Hangman Rap, (yeow, the hangmans rap)
Hangmans Rap, its hangmans rap, likes a One-Eyed Jack yall
There he go

D. Clare   Clairvoyant Music/BMI     copyright in Perpetuity      all rights reserved

I know this vampire Clarence,
He is a hippy vamp,
He never wears dark cloaks,
Or wanders like a *****.

This ghoul is non confomist,
His clothes are sunshine bright,
His fingernails are azure blue,
His favourite drink is sprite.

His blood comes from the blood banks,
He files his fangs twice weekly,
His friends are *** head hippies,
And , ******, he sleeps so sweetly.

He enjoys sleepovers with his girlie friends,
And loves to bathe in milk,
His coffin looks more like a scoobydoo van,
All covered with pink silk.

Im looking forward to halloween,
His parties are the best,
We boogie, all liquered up,
So next day, we can rest.

Oh, the sensation, the media frenzy,
The spotlight, the fame, the hullabaloo,
When anti-evolution laws
Were challenged by the ACLU!

The year: 1925.
The place: Dayton, Tennessee.
To say it was an extravaganza
Wouldn't be hyperbole.

For many people it was hard
To find a way to reconcile
Biblical accounts with science,
So science found itself on trial.

A young teacher, John T. Scopes,
Was willing to face prosecution
For breaking a Tennessee law for having
Given a lesson on evolution.

The "Monkey Trial" it was called.
The challenge meant swimming upstream
For the feisty lawyer Clarence Darrow,
Who helped to lead the defense team.

A prosecutor was William Jennings
Bryan, who with no apology
Loved to stir up outrage against
Evolutionary biology.

Defendant Scopes quickly found
It wouldn't take long for him to know
What it was like to have a part
In a multimedia reality show.

The courthouse received a make-over:
Platforms for newsreel cameras were built;
Extra spectator seats were added.
They were playing the trial to the hilt.

Concession stands sold food and drinks;
Toy monkeys were on display;
A chimp was dressed in a suit and fedora;
The clergy also joined the fray.

The media and the public loved it!
The country watched the trial progress.
What would win: science or scripture?
The answer was probably easy to guess.

After an eight-day trial, the jury
Deliberated. Nine minutes later
They had their verdict: guilty! How
Could someone question THEIR creator?

Scopes had actually never given
The lesson. That's what he later said.
Strangely, five days after the trial,
Williams Jennings Bryan dropped dead.

Laws later changed, but even during
Current times, some people feel
That stories from the Bible should be
In science textbooks. Now THAT'S surreal!

-by Bob B (11-6-18)

When you live in the suburbs like I do and like I always have,
the same house even, there is an intimacy that develops- real or imagined -with your neighbors. It's like those dreams we sometimes have about people and places that really do exist, but it just ain't quite what it's supposed to be , but we accept it anyway, because it's a dream and in that ethereal realm of dreams -that's what you do ...you accept the normally unacceptable.
       For instance, who could ever have imagined that the Rosses ,who live at 1423 ,would turn out to be secret swingers ? Mr. Ross is 62 years old, probably five foot nine with a horseshoe ring of white on white  cotton- fluff hair,  perched on his round pink scalp,  over his round pink face , accentuated by round -wire rim- glasses perched on his nose and a  little white mustache that hangs under his nose - like an afterthought.
    Mrs Ross is a  slightly rounded little woman that  always wears  flowery dresses, and  those god awful  tortoiseshell glasses secured to a  string around the neck  like secretaries and librarians often wear.   Her hair would also be white , if not for her habit of having it dyed blue , as is a habit of many suburban housewives of her age .
     So it would be impossible to ever imagine this pair of- short , jolly - suburbanites as secret swingers , but it's true. . I know!  Because I've seen them at it .  About 2 years ago- while Billy Joe Randall , Macy and me were( oh yeah my name is Rance Reed short for Clarence -but don't call me that ) anyway; where was I -oh yeah -we were down at the little pocket park on Grove Street- sitting behind a hydrangea bush-smoking a fatty- and telling each other lies that no one believes anyway, when we saw the Rosses walking toward the park, holding hands as they were often doing.
     Mr Ross looked into the park- suspiciously - as if he were afraid a  hit- man were  hiding somewhere .  There  for a moment I thought he could possibly smell our smoke.,but seemingly satisfied with his inspection, the two of them strolled -hand in hand - across the grass to the playground area where the spring horses , the merry-go-round and swings were.  Mrs Ross perched herself on the rubber - sling like - seat of a swing as Mr Ross pushed to get her started and then he climbed aboard the one to her left .  Using  that see-saw motion one uses to get himself going and then the two of them sat there -swinging and laughing together -for almost an hour.   Sometimes we could hear Mr. Ross go varoooom varoooom and Mrs. Ross would go wheeeeee. It  was the funniest thing that I've ever seen and the three of us sat there making jokes and laughing at them.   Three 23 year old wasted wastrels thinking that laughing at this spectacle was the right thing to do . Then a little while later , as a melancholy wave washed over us like a sea tide , we all stopped laughing.  All three of us -I believe - realized that jealousy is a hard pill to swallow while you're laughing . Looking back at that now I'm a  little  ashamed of myself.  So yeah, the Rosses were secret swingers , but you would never know it by looking at them--- (Oh!  You thought I meant the other kind of swingers. didn't you ? )   -anyway ; where was I ?- Oh  yeah .-     I believe they were sort of embarrassed about the whole thing so I've never said a word  to anyone  about what I saw -until now.  
     Then there is old man George (call me GL ) Angleton and his wife Sarah.   Theirs was the big grey, split -level rock and cedar  house that  dominates the very end of the cul-de-sac we live on called Grayson circle . An enormous porch dominates the front and that is the first thing anyone  - turning onto Grayson Circle- sees after making the turn.   The Angeltons house was always the most decorated house on the block , no matter the holiday,  especially at Christmas- when a raucous mix a snowmen, reindeer and especially Santa's, gathered under the thousands of twinkling lights each year.    There were so many Santas on the lawn, on the roof ,along the porch , one climbing the chimney   that- I always thought - it  looked  like the gathering together of Santa's for a Santa gang fight.
   Halloween was another special time with the Angeltons when they gave out more -kinds and just plain more -candy to all the kids than anyone else for blocks  around or even miles around. One year Mr. Angleton gave a comic books along with the candy to every kid  that  came to the door.
    So who could have ever imagined that just 6 months ago ,  2 days before Christmas , Mr Angleton , who was always of sweet disposition  and always quick to give you a warm smile or a compassionate pat on the shoulder would shoot and **** his wife Sarah and then turn the gun on himself ?  NOBODY!!!
   Certainly not me.
   No, you cannot just see the outside of a house, with the flocks of flowers , the nice neat lawn  and charming old rocking chairs on the porch and really know anything about the heights of happiness or  the depths of despair that live or die behind the front doors .
    When I was growing up , you sure couldn't have done any of that at my house. Looking back now I realize that G.L .didn't put out any decorations last Christmas .
        I should have noticed that.     Yeah , I really should have noticed that!

Calendar
This was the story that was told to me as I set in my cabin on the ocean just listening to the sea breeze take
Its pleasure making noise out of anything that was loose it was like a game the wind loved to play some
Time it could take the day or a whole night since fall was fast approaching I had made sure plenty of fire
Wood was available but I thought old wind why should you have all the fun why not give you a playful
Friend so some wood was selected with more green and had a potential to be aromatic so I sat there in
My grand chair by the bay window the wife tired had already gone to bed though it was quiet early the
Fire place was quiet lively the dance it played in the shadowed corners beyond my reading lamp and the
The popping snapping as the fire released the secrets it had gathered as it stood testy Gail force winds
And those pacific monsoon rains they had given the trees quiet volumes’ that it had recorded now it happily shared I couldn’t resist with it lying so close on the stand by the chair Granddads last visit had left his pipe and
Cherry tobacco behind the times we had watching the pipe smoke swirl up then it just does a slow hang in
The room and silently drifts as his sonorous voice would fill the air with stories to please any appetite I
Thought we should go to town and see him he was ninety five now a friend had launched a small
Campaign to get as many as possible to send him birthday cards she had done so for her mother and
Decided to extend it to another oldie but goody as she was fond of saying so I took up that old familiar
Tobacco pouch loaded the pipe well packed it like I watched him do so many times struck the match held
It over the tobacco did a couple of draws and she was well on the way fired and smoldering as that
Sweet cherry blend filled the room now here is where the tricky part comes in did the knock come to the
Door or did all of these gentle rhythms combined become too much and I slipped upon the sleep train
And continued even to grander locals well we don’t have time to resolve conundrums right now if real
Or dreamed a lady from down the beach was at the door she was new to the area after pleasantries she
got down to the reason for her visit while putting her house in order cleaning storing she came on this
Calendar it was very old she even hoped possibly an earlier owner had been a sailor and it possibly held
Some grand tales well it seems it had a few of its own the name was the first indication the title was
Memories always make me strong well she had been at a good while so a break was in order well what
Do you do with a calendar? She decided to look up those who had passed on to see and remember their
Special Day she decided to start with Terrance the husband she lost to cancer it might have taken the
Physical man but his spirit indomitable now he was just the true greatness that once was robed and held
Contained in physical restraints now unleashed at times she could know his presence but as she sat and
Placed the calendar in her lap and the date of his birth the most delightful vivid images let go a barrage
Of memories they truly came alive in the room was that him standing there who turned on the Cat he
Always reminded her of her dad Clarence and grandfather Jack his power his tenderness flooded her
Heart he pulled her from the chair this slow dancing wasn’t how they used to do it if they danced at all
But now to be held so close would she swoon no matter he would hold her as before everything in the
Room caught their reflection it was like ball room oh the romance poured in like flood laughter mixed
With tears the aloneness was thrown against the wall the years apart dissolved giddy was an under
Statement this continued for a timeless period and then he leaned forward and said love I must go but
Keep track on the calendar because on our anniversary I will be back we will dance and laugh the night
Away she returned to her chair and before sadness could replace the happiness she started to see
Names of friends and their loved ones special days as she passed her finger over the dates gold letters
Would form telling who’s birthday or anniversary she was filled with joy she knew they could experience
What she had to share she felt overwhelmed she knew I did a little writing from what her neighbor had
Told her possibly I could tell her how to proceed that is still being worked out but you could look at your
calendar for now there is more to this realm than you know be adventurous who knows who your dance
partner could be if your ever out on the west coast tell me your stories maybe I will put it in a book or excerpt it on facebook by for now God bless you richly.
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---------------------------------------------------------------­-----------------

   The killer
came crashing down
smashing,  thrashing through.

What is tender's  tender
       so  for itself,   to do?

        --As it runs
        right over the top of her..

       This taker.
       This killer.

In the black,  
now in between;
so lightless and thick..

        blotting out  all screams.
There is an annihilation  here.
A void.

A terror.
To stay, means certain death

      but to leave  
      also means certain death
      So the  d is m e m b e r men t   begins
      as she is ripped, completely into half

And those halves,  into half..

.. into half

--into half..
        into half.

     And still it tears.. rips..  shreds--
Until all,  in between
is nothing  but black.

A black it can now  pretend to fill
with all of its empty promises..

and all of its counterfeit, everything.

..And then--  just up and leaves
once it is fully satiated.
     And for a while..
     the black had something.


Clinging to the rocky crags
on either side of the unlit valley
are now  the pieces of her--
war-torn and shuddering.

Terrified

Of the black, black   empty.


Of what is now  fully
     and  completely   dark.

      ~       ~      ~       ~


Timmy  ain't real tall
but look at his stature,
as his majestic strings   dialogue
the introduction.

And Warren's gotten so fat
See him now, looking so dearly,  back
at his half-pint of Chunky Monkey--
picking it back up,  for the fourth time..
scraping... scraping.. scraping..

But watch his eyes  light up
as Timmy looks up--
  over the top
of those wild-man RayBans

And with a gentle nod,  it all begins..


-- as our Warren  now digs  deep
into his Gibson's beautifully-wanton  ways..

    identifying.


    clarifying.


­    Rectifying.


Clarence, the Magician..
Stephan--  Humble, Unparalleled
And Dave's  so chill
he's part Creole.. I just know it.

So great a cloud of witness:
surrounding you, my beautiful..

coaxing  you.

    Identifying it all for you.

Robert told Olive
And Olive told Dee
That Emma likes Peter
But Peter likes me.

And Stephen saw Jamie
Tell Anna and George
That Vicky kissed Edward
And Clarence kissed Maude.

But Peter told Edward
And Edward told me
That Vicky saw Stephen
Tell Clarence and Dee

That Robert kissed Emma
So Anna told George
That Olive likes Jamie
But Jamie likes Maude

Gently scraping the adhering paper from the firm plastic, colorful cube
That beared a delicate weight in my soft, precarious pink hands,
I grasped the sticker and pressed it on my protuberant little veins--
“Innocence!” Clarence cried my misleading appellation,
“Are you cheating? You’re taking off the stickers, mindlessly relocating them
To unravel (or reassemble, rather) the poor little tormented Rubik’s.”
*“Nay, you fool. I’m just rearranging them so that no one can solve the puzzle.
I’m a sadist, not a fraud.”

Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com  
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com


                    Whatever Happened to Clarence Eustace Scrubb?

          He liked books if they were books of information and had
          pictures of grain elevators or of fat foreign children doing
          exercises in model schools.

                             -C. S. Lewis, The Voyage of the Dawn Treader


He was so good at banning ideas that later
They made him a Texas school administrator


Keller ISD to remove challenged books | The Texas Tribune

Robert told Olive
And Olive told Dee
That Emma likes Peter
But Peter likes me.

And Stephen saw Jamie
Tell Anna and George
That Vicky kissed Edward
And Clarence kissed Maude.

But Peter told Edward
And Edward told me
That Vicky saw Stephen
Tell Clarence and Dee

That Robert kissed Emma
So Anna told George
That Olive likes Jamie
But Jamie likes Maude

Maybe it started going down Peasley Canyon Road. I can't recall.
****.
Maybe it started with not giving, or not wanting to.
No matter really, that act was over, the lines were out and the curtain drawn.
It's funny what the mind drags up
on it's own.
Mine drags up things like lost telescopes, looked thru
and cracked plastic leather , that hadn't
yet.
I knew how that man on TV felt who had only months to live, as I had only weeks.
Only two.
So...I gave you my blue apres-ski sweater, too big, a ring I still wear, too big to0 and my love, that I suppose wasn't.
On the plane away it was like a mixer gone crazy inside me...part staying, part going.
Of the part that went along I lost or had it removed with drill parades and dope lectures, fighting fires you can't loose and paper targets.
Very surgically.
Letters to you had phrases like 'smashed psyche' (which I still can't spell) and 'never let go'.
Bunk beds can be fun until they're made of steel and draped with woolen blankets and someone's legs from Alabama.
One of my friends at camp turned me on and I became the barracks Dylan, I'm not sure whether Thomas or Bob.
After a hundred years and eleven weeks it ended
and started.
A nice lady at the airport gave us all the only ****** shot we'd e had in eighteen hundred hours.
I'd called, prior to leaving and you were there at the end of that in-and-out mouth that blows the people out and ***** them back in after the fuel
I'd grown tired of walking up that ramp in my dreams but that time, I left no tracks at all.
A blue dress with ruffles round the neck and those patterned nylons then the rage. I read a few days ago that holding hands feels good even in this day and age.
Send that lady a rose.
Two weeks can last 20 minutes, I know.
Then started the back and forth of school a thousand miles away and painful phone call and Conni ,signed with a circle above the i.We split and mended a couple of times and I read the Harrad Experiment and I got a purple note from Conni and I called to say... I'm not sure what.
Hello...goodbye.
Time went by and so did school.
I remember walking across this field in San Francisco and being depressed by how long it took for fifteen minutes to pass when one considered four years.
I flew home to you that weekend and was duly dropped from school the next.
I asked for some dreamed of tug boat in Puget Sound but got instead a minesweeper in Japan. We'de done the front seat and hurried basement tango and I called Conni to say
well, I'm not sure what.
Hello
Goodbye
Stairs and glass and a clutching you and a sick me.

October 10th, Nineteen Sixty Eight
A hand, a car, a reading, a letter, a truck, a plane, a train and another reading.
I think there were only five or six lines to it but it was enough.
No yo-yos, no pick me up and put me down again...ok?
OK, I love you.
A friend named Green, a hundred talks sometimes with wine, sometimes not. Letters and business calls to you, cycles with no keys and McGaha, Clarence BM1, unit of issue one each, houses and no overnights, Lt. Cris Curtis and no-trouble dissension, the Maharishi and July and you and me and you and me
The Astronauts made it and we did too,  by the gate to the new lake
"A small step for man, a giant leap for mankind."
He was almost right.

June 21st Nineteen Seventy
The shrink never seen and you in Southern California at four in the morning and the Kona Hotel.
Burning ears and imagined heavies sent to intercept us at the infamous glass door.Not the first time but the best time.
Flying home together you gave me the window seat and your hand, all I needed.

November 15th  Nineteen Seventy
Sea-tac Motor Inn, coffee and toast and love.
I'm glad you didn't come down cause Ed was there and he was bad enough at saying goodbye.
Calls to you from Hawaii and Kwajaline and Guam and islands no one ever heard of but fish and me.

T minus 180-179-179-177
ad infinitum
Goodbye Subic Bay, goodbye
Tricks to keep away reality like tapes from home and **** in the old man's coffee cup. Jokes told and re-told till we all re-laughed.
Who ever heard of Sea Detail at 3:30 in the morning?
Me, thank God.
Friend Green was gone from Hawaii too, so I left on the first plane. SoCal again as the news media calls it, two days of debriefing then
out
I can't remember if I took a bus or a cab to the airport nor can I really recall which gate or even if you were there.
I guess I start at the tunnel yelling "OUT, I"M OUT!
I don't know if it started going up Peasley Canyon road or down.

The beach still looks the same
As I trek through the sand
I can hear Clarence playing
Along with the E Street Band

There's where Jay's used to be
And the stone pony too
The pony's still there
But it's doesn't look like it used to

I started running in 1973
I guess I was always born to run
I've been running ever since
But now it's not any fun

I survived living in this
Forsaken jungleland full of freaks
And still the music's playing
Down to the backstreets

On that night she was there
You know she's the one
And Clarence wails away
He can't be undone

And I hope we will all be
Meeting across the river
Roaring up thunder road
For I am still a believer

Down on thunder road !

ah... the sparrow is such a beautiful bird, a mandarin bird, only the pope's Samael, the robin, could box the sparrow ugly - i.e. the robin always visits the pope's windowsill to tell him of immanent death.

i never understood why rhetoric (that persuasive art)
should exist outside a courtroom
and in the chamber of the commons - in parliament,
but then you read the law supplement on a thursday
and entertain such facts that:
a. Abe Lincoln was a former lawyer
b. Richie Nixon, also a former lawyer
c. Davy Lollipop George was a solicitor
d. Maggie Stitch-Me-Up Fatty Chi a barrister...
(e. well Tonne Blair was a barrister too)...
it seems natural to them, these peeps export rhetoric
from the one effective "safe space" where rhetoric
matters, adversary and defence,
i don't know why they export rhetoric from
Nepal and throw it into the cauldron of
politics that's Iraq... that's when their conscience
suddenly disappears, magic... abracadabra
and there's Houdini choking when his stomach
was punched in... rhetoric, i believe is best used
to spare lives, like the case of the defence lawyer
Clarence Darrow, the jury found the
African translated into American *not guilty
after he fired a shot at a mob of the Ku Klux ****
inspired mob on his premises...
now that's a truthful utility of rhetoric -
but take a lawyer out of a courtroom and shove
him into the sausage parlour of other
missing ******* condoms, and you have rhetoric
of a different nature... not to spare lives,
but to sacrifice them, like the plea of Hortensia
in 42 BC... incitement to war... many shady investors
in the background... i'm not saying lawyers are bad
people... i'm saying they're no longer people
once they become politico-lawyers... they become
investment brokers for the economics of arms trade...
they suddenly become zombie-like self-mutilating
cannibals... they come in with a brown crop of hair,
they leave their office of power like gorilla silver-backs,
having attired themselves in false-grey wisdom...
Tony and Obama sitting in a tree,
one said Iraq, the other said Arabia in a shopping spree,
well, -ing, numb that ****** ending, i.e. spring.
Tony and Obama sitting in a tree, the latter got
a Nobel peace prize, the former got diplomatic immunity.
so yeah, free speech... not offending people...
i got there just in time, and got out just in time too...
safe-spaces... i can just see the protesting lining up
like blonde ****** wives of billionaires for silicon
implants to live it out in the valley... coyote ug-...
something or other, Satan's Clause: sit on my lee e e lease!
that's how rhetoric becomes a migrating bird, a stork,
summers in Poland and the myth of the European bison,
winters in former Hittite territory or Pharaoh land...
it's dangerous exporting rhetoric from its intended
confinement of the courtroom, and importing it into
a parliamentary chamber, whichever, house of lords
or house of commons... rhetoric exported into a political
realm becomes less a saviour and more a guillotine,
as in: in a courtroom the judge presides with cool calm
precision that people do not step out of line...
but in the political realm Mr. Speaker just jokes about
hushing the banter of insults exchanged by two parties...
the lost privy, and the dirt and smudge of faeces
where once such men would paint their faces with blue woad.

And not for Nancy, even though I know she had opened this letter. I never felt welcomed one bit into your family ever. I only write to you Clarence.

It’s only because you were the only one that would open up and listen for a change. You did talk your **** at times but at least with me, you would shut the hell up and listen, unlike the holly hell going on at your house. I think you know at least reason and respect at least and that’s why I liked talking to you.

I loved Charlie to death. I still do. My life really hadn’t been the best without him. We were young but wanted to go to places. Do you remember how that felt like being young and wanting to go out and explore?  I know you do and it’s probably one of the reasons you enjoy hunting and fishing if you still do.

I really just wished that mine and Charlie’s mom got along. Wasn’t going to happen. Nancy likes to be a strong woman and so does my mom. I remember one night when me and Charlie were still in high school that he asked me out for a dinner and a movie. During that date, Charlie yelled at his mother and was disrespectful. It kind of scared me. I actually broke it off with him.

My mother asked about Charlie and I told her I broke it off. She said well don’t you think his feelings were hurt?  I really did consider his feelings. I really did and I talked to him again at school. I told him how I felt and he listened and actually apologized. Well we got back together and you know the rest of the story.

Nancy was very overbearing and would never give me a chance at anything. I love to cook, but I am a vegetarian. Just because I choose to be a vegetarian doesn’t mean I don’t know how to do anything in the kitchen. Would you actually care to eat something delicious that was different?  

I remember being in your living room and Bill Clinton had made a speech that his life of infidelities was no ones business. You spoke up to that television and agreed. From what your children and relatives say, you do have wisdom in-spite of your 8th grade education.

I was told you did try to pass the GED a few times and gave up. At least you did try. Charlie told me once that I would never be able to graduate and not even by my 21 birthday. I guess when he passed away I made that my challenge and succeeded it and with honors and a scholarship. I did invite you all but I know you couldn’t come to my graduation.

It was important to me. I really just don’t understand why our families couldn’t get along. It’s all water under the bridge really but just so very sad how everything ended. I tried to reach out to Claire about 8 or 9 years ago. She just told me off. She said I’m the reason for everything and much more. That hurt a lot.

Joey is doing so good. He is finishing his last year at his school. Everyone is so proud of him and you would be too. He looks so much like Charlie. I just hope and pray everyday that everyone can find peace and happiness. I would think that’s what my Charlie angel would want. Love always and take care.

( Song )*

Europe in the dark age, was swept by an ignorant plague
While Ireland was known for poets, scholars, and saints

Invaders, would have Éire destroyed while only hurting themselves
For it was the Celts, who taught poetry to ancient Greece

    They tried to burn her culture down
    But the ashes of Ireland proved fertile ground
    Green is the pearl, seed of the vine; great garden
    Love Songs of Connacht

Beaten, almost forgotten she was
Her sons sent off to the colonies
And Ná Fíle; her poets, became beggars in the streets

    They tried to burn her culture down
    But the ashes of Ireland proved fertile ground

Thank you Lady Gregory!
Thank you A.E.!
Thank you Will. B. Yeats!
Thank you Ó Rathaile, Ó Carolan too!
Thank you Mr. Synge!
Thank you most of all Douglas Hyde

    Green is the pearl, seed of the vine; great garden
    Love Songs of Connacht

    They tried to burn her culture down
    But the ashes of Ireland proved fertile ground

Thank you Lady Gregory!
Thank you A.E.!
Thank you Will. B. Yeats!
Thank you Ó Rathaile, Ó Carolan too!
Thank you Mr. Synge!

Thank you Standish Ó Grady, and Pearse!
Thank you Connolly, James!
Thank you Merriman, Ferguson too!
Thank you Rua Ó Súlleabháin!
Thank you James Clarence Mangan!
Thank you Tommy Davis!
Thank you most of all Douglas Hyde!

    Of all the nations of the world
    Only Ireland's dream is a poet's dream
    Green is the pearl, seed of the vine; great garden
    Love Songs of Connacht
    Great garden
    Love Songs of Connacht

Let's dance to the song of dawn
Radiate through space,
Erase the hastily committed mistakes,
Above the dawn shine, carelessly flitting.
And Clarence climbed yet another rhyme
To pass a question when you are near.

Harlequin leapt to her feet with a mandolin laughing,
And sang, “He dances for you!,”
Curling bands of incandescent viscera,
Dappled bodies sway beneath the bass,
Awake to the sensual reality of six experiences.
High above the canopy, in the cave of lost reality.

I want a Clarence and Alabama kind of love.
I want a call girl with hardly enough experience
to fall for me,
not a *****,
there's a difference.
I want a girl who would drop everything and go
with me anywhere
with more ******* than Sigmund Freud could dream of
and believe in everything I did
no matter how purple my car is.
I want a girl who doesn't care
that only fools rush in
and knows there is nothing cooler than Elvis glasses
and triple kung fu features.
I want a girl who tastes like a peach
and knows how to utilize a phone booth
without dialing a number.
I want a girl who would ****
Tony freaking Soprano,
burn his face off like a vampire's in the sun,
just to see me again.
I want a girl to move with me to Mexico
and name our son after the king of rock n roll
who only cares about living fast, dying young,
and leaving a good looking corpse.
I want a girl
to tell me
You're so cool!

Because of Adam we are dust and  return from which we came
But at the cross Jesus conqueror the grave...
So that's not where we remain.
Fly like doves in heaven the eternally saved
Death often brings pain and thoughts of rage..
Like how he die so early..
Yet we know he's in peace .. in heaven there's no surgery
On earth lives are at stake..
The gift of birth God gives but the flesh is limited so the Spirit he takeneth away
So Donnell's life was a gift..
So remember when there's sorrow there is glory at the end
God knew what we needed couldn't have made another..
To Caprice, Erin, and his other siblings he was a brother..
When he was born Neicy became a mother
To Clarence a nephew to Ms. Cooper a grandchild...
To me a playmate young and running wild
My eyes water while kneeling on the Floor
Praying for the healing of hearts that are sore
But to be absent from the body is to be present with the Lord
U with God and the angels now I can feel u hover..
Up in the heavens above us
Face to Face now u can see how much Christ loves us
Walking on gold paved streets...
Like a dream something we cant even fathom in our sleep,
Started writing this with a tear..
It trickled into this here..
Words to my brother in heaven there's Nothing to fear
So God I will not question..
Cause when its time he reveals the answers to life lessons..
Oh the Thoughts of entering into heaven..
My brother at 27..
Walking around in heaven..
When its all said and done God is  forever omnipresent

As he studied my attention
I refused to blink.  He told me things about my-
self I tried to keep hidden under a coffee stained
American Eagle sweat shirt
that found me on the Clarence rack.


I told him to *******!  But he continued
to weave his words through my intelligence.
He was such an inspired *******; cruelty
bunched together in fifty-seven pages


of brilliance.


There was no winning against his intellectual
abuse.  So I let him have the last word.


I closed the book.

I think of my grandma,
almost ninety-five,
watching the news in her house alone.
It's silly
to hope that another man might sweep Viola off her feet
like Clarence did when she was just eighteen.
When he died, she stayed
praying her rosary so that it might rain down on her flowers
and her garden that she tended to her entire life,
just like her children, and their children, and their children.

I visit her,
hoping she might live for another twenty years,
praying that life will go on, and if that fails,
that it might be buried
with flowers;
That it might rain.

Oft in My Thought
by Charles d'Orleans (c. 1394-1465)
loose translation/interpretation/modernization by Michael R. Burch

So often in my busy mind I sought,
    Around the advent of the fledgling year,
For something pretty that I really ought
    To give my lady dear;
    But that sweet thought's been wrested from me, clear,
        Since death, alas, has sealed her under clay
    And robbed the world of all that's precious here—
        God keep her soul, I can no better say.

For me to keep my manner and my thought
    Acceptable, as suits my age's hour?
While proving that I never once forgot
    Her worth? It tests my power!
    I serve her now with masses and with prayer;
        For it would be a shame for me to stray
    Far from my faith, when my time's drawing near—
        God keep her soul, I can no better say.

Now earthly profits fail, since all is lost
and the cost of everything became so dear;
Therefore, O Lord, who rules the higher host,
    Take my good deeds, as many as there are,
    And crown her, Lord, above in your bright sphere,
        As heaven's truest maid! And may I say:
    Most good, most fair, most likely to bring cheer—
        God keep her soul, I can no better say.

When I praise her, or hear her praises raised,
I recall how recently she brought me pleasure;
    Then my heart floods like an overflowing bay
And makes me wish to dress for my own bier—
    God keep her soul, I can no better say.



Le Primtemps (“Spring” or “Springtime”)
by Charles d’Orleans (c. 1394-1465)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Young lovers,
greeting the spring
fling themselves downhill,
making cobblestones ring
with their wild leaps and arcs,
like ecstatic sparks
struck from coal.

What is their brazen goal?

They grab at whatever passes,
so we can only hazard guesses.
But they rear like prancing steeds
raked by brilliant spurs of need,
Young lovers.



Rondel: Your Smiling Mouth
by Charles d'Orleans (c. 1394-1465)
loose translation/interpretation/modernization by Michael R. Burch

Your smiling mouth and laughing eyes, bright gray,
Your ample ******* and slender arms’ twin chains,
Your hands so smooth, each finger straight and plain,
Your little feet—please, what more can I say?

It is my fetish when you’re far away
To muse on these and thus to soothe my pain—
Your smiling mouth and laughing eyes, bright gray,
Your ample ******* and slender arms’ twin chains.

So would I beg you, if I only may,
To see such sights as I before have seen,
Because my fetish pleases me. Obscene?
I’ll be obsessed until my dying day
By your sweet smiling mouth and eyes, bright gray,
Your ample ******* and slender arms’ twin chains!



In My Imagined Book
by Charles d’Orleans (c. 1394-1465)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

In my imagined Book
my heart endeavored to explain
its history of grief, and pain,
illuminated by the tears
that welled to blur those well-loved years
of former happiness's gains,
in my imagined Book.

Alas, where should the reader look
beyond these drops of sweat, their stains,
all the effort & pain it took
& which I recorded night and day
in my imagined Book?



The next three poems are interpretations of "Le temps a laissé son manteau" ("The season has cast off his mantle"). This famous rondeau was set to music by Debussy in his Trois chansons de France.

The season has cast its coat aside
by Charles d'Orleans (c. 1394-1465)
loose translation/interpretation/modernization by Michael R. Burch

The season has cast its coat aside
of wind and cold and rain,
to dress in embroidered light again:
bright sunlight, fit for a bride!

There isn't a bird or beast astride
that fails to sing this sweet refrain:
"The season has cast its coat aside!"

Now rivers, fountains, springs and tides
dressed in their summer best
with silver beads impressed
in a fine display now glide:
the season has cast its coat aside!

Winter has cast his cloak away
by Charles d'Orleans (c. 1394-1465)
loose translation/interpretation/modernization by Michael R. Burch

Winter has cast his cloak away
of wind and cold and chilling rain
to dress in embroidered light again:
the light of day—bright, festive, gay!

Each bird and beast, without delay,
in its own tongue, sings this refrain:
"Winter has cast his cloak away!"

Brooks, fountains, rivers, streams at play,
wear, with their summer livery,
bright beads of silver jewelry.
All the Earth has a new and fresh display:
Winter has cast his cloak away!

The year lays down his mantle cold
by Charles d’Orleans (1394-1465)
loose translation/interpretation/modernization by Michael R. Burch

The year lays down his mantle cold
of wind, chill rain and bitter air,
and now goes clad in clothes of gold
of smiling suns and seasons fair,

while birds and beasts of wood and fold
now with each cry and song declare:
"The year lays down his mantle cold!"

All brooks, springs, rivers, seaward rolled,
now pleasant summer livery wear
with silver beads embroidered where
the world puts off its raiment old.
The year lays down his mantle cold.



Confession of a Stolen Kiss
by Charles d’Orleans (c. 1394-1465)
loose translation/interpretation/modernization by Michael R. Burch

My ghostly father, I confess,
First to God and then to you,
That at a window (you know how)
I stole a kiss of great sweetness,
Which was done out of avidness—
But it is done, not undone, now.

My ghostly father, I confess,
First to God and then to you.

But I shall restore it, doubtless,
Again, if it may be that I know how;
And thus to God I make a vow,
And always I ask forgiveness.

My ghostly father, I confess,
First to God and then to you.



Fair Lady Without Peer
by Charles d’Orleans
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Fair Lady, without peer, my plea,
Is that your grace will pardon me,
Since I implore, on bended knee.
           No longer can I, privately,
Keep this from you: my deep distress,
When only you can comfort me,
For I consider you my only mistress.

This powerful love demands, I fear,
That I confess things openly,
Since to your service I came here
And my helpless eyes were forced to see
Such beauty gods and angels cheer,
Which brought me joy in such excess
That I became your servant, gladly,
For I consider you my only mistress.

Please grant me this great gift most dear:
to be your vassal, willingly.
May it please you that, now, year by year,
I shall serve you as my only Liege.
I bend the knee here—true, sincere—
Unfit to beg one royal kiss,
Although none other offers cheer,
For I consider you my only mistress.



Chanson: Let Him Refrain from Loving, Who Can
by Charles d’Orleans
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Let him refrain from loving, who can.
I can no longer hover.
I must become a lover.
What will become of me, I know not.

Although I’ve heard the distant thought
that those who love all suffer,
I must become a lover.
I can no longer refrain.

My heart must risk almost certain pain
and trust in Beauty, however distraught.
For if a man does not love, then what?
Let him refrain from loving, who can.



Chanson: The Summer's Heralds
by Charles d’Orleans
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

The Summer’s heralds bring a dear
Sweet season of soft-falling showers
And carpet fields once brown and sere
With lush green grasses and fresh flowers.

Now over gleaming lawns appear
The bright sun-dappled lengthening hours.

The Summer’s heralds bring a dear
Sweet season of soft-falling showers.

Faint hearts once chained by sullen fear
No longer shiver, tremble, cower.
North winds no longer storm and glower.
For winter has no business here.



Her Beauty
by Charles d’Orleans
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Her beauty, to the world so plain,
Still intimately held my heart in thrall
And so established her sole reign:
She was, of Good, the cascading fountain.
Thus of my Love, lost recently,
I say, while weeping bitterly:
“We cleave to this strange world in vain.”

In ages past when angels fell
The world grew darker with the stain
Of their dear blood, then became hell
While poets wept a tearful strain.
Yet, to his dark and drear domain
Death took his victims, piteously,
So that we bards write bitterly:
“We cleave to this strange world in vain.”

Death comes to claim our angels, all,
as well we know, and spares no pain.
          Over our pleasures, Death casts his pall,
Then without joy we “living” remain.
Death treats all Love with such disdain!
What use is this world? For it seems to me,
It has neither Love, nor Pity.
Thus, “We cleave to this strange world in vain.”



Traitorous Eye
by Charles d’Orleans
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Traitorous eye, what’s new?
What lewd pranks do you have in view?
Without civil warning, you spy,
And no one ever knows why!

Who understands anything you do?
You’re rash and crass in your boldness too,
And your lewdness is hard to subdue.
Change your crude ways, can’t you?

Traitorous eye, what’s new?
You should be beaten through and through
With a stripling birch strap or two.
Traitorous eye, what’s new?
What lewd pranks do have you in view?



The First Valentine Poem

Charles d’Orleans (1394-1465), a French royal, the grandchild of Charles V, and the Duke of Orleans, has been credited with writing the first Valentine card, in the form of a poem for his wife. Charles wrote the poem in 1415 at age 21, in the first year of his captivity while being held prisoner in the Tower of London after having been captured by the British at the Battle of Agincourt.

My Very Gentle Valentine
by Charles d’Orleans (c. 1394-1465)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

My very gentle Valentine,
Alas, for me you were born too soon,
As I was born too late for you!
May God forgive my jailer
Who has kept me from you this entire year.
I am sick without your love, my dear,
My very gentle Valentine.



BIO: Charles d’Orleans (1394-1465) was a French royal born into an aristocratic family: his grandfather was Charles V of France and his uncle was Charles VI. His father, Louis I, Duke of Orleans, was a patron of poets and artists. The poet Christine de Pizan dedicated poems to his mother, Valentina Visconti. He became the Duke of Orleans at age 13 after his father was murdered by John the Fearless, Duke of Burgundy. He was captured at age 21 in the battle of Agincourt and taken to England, where he remained a prisoner for the next quarter century. While imprisoned there he learned English and wrote poetry of a high order in his second language. A master of poetic forms, he wrote primarily ballades, chansons, complaints and rondeaux. He has been called the “father of French lyric poetry” and has also been credited with writing the first Valentine’s Day poem.



Charles d'Orleans Timeline/Chronology

1394 - Charles is born in Paris on Nov. 24, 1394, the first son to survive infancy of Louis of Orleans, the brother of Charles VI, and Valentina Visconti of Milan.
1406 - Charles, age 11, marries his cousin Isabelle, age 16, the daughter of Charles VI and Queen Isabeau of France, and the widow of Richard II of England.
1407 - The day before Charles's 13th birthday his father Louis d'Orleans is assassinated in Paris by Burgundians under John the Fearless, on Nov. 23, 1407.
1408 - Charles's mother dies at Blois at age 38 on December 4, 1408; Charles becomes Duke of Orleans at age 14.
1409 - Isabelle bears Charles a daughter, Jeanne, but dies within a few days on Sept. 13, 1409; Charles turns 15 the next month.
1410 - Charles marries Bonne, age 11, the daughter of Bernard, count of Armagnac, and niece of the duke of Berry, on August 15, 1410.
1412 - Charles sends his brother Jean, age 12, to England as a hostage in the custody of the duke of Clarence, on November 14, 1412.
1415 - Charles is captured at the battle of Agincourt on Oct. 25, 1415 and is taken prisoner to England, just in time for his 21st birthday.
1416 - Charles is initially held in the Tower of London.
1417 - In June Charles is sent to Pontefract (Yorks), in custody of Robert Waterton.
1427 - Joan of Arc, supported by Charles's brother Jean, the Count of Dunois, takes up the cause of freeing France from English control.
1429 - Henry VI of England is crowned at age eight.
1431 - Henry VI is crowned king of France in the cathedral of Notre Dame in Paris; Joan of Arc is burned at the stake.
1432 - Charles's daughter Jeanne dies at age 23; his wife Bonne dies sometime between 1430 and 1435.
1440 - Charles is formally released from captivity on October 28, 1440. Charles, now 46, marries Marie of Cleves, niece of Isabelle and duchess of Burgundy, age 14.
1445 - Charles's brother, Jean of Angouleme, is released from English captivity after 33 years.
1457 - After 17 years of marriage, Marie of Cleves bears Charles a daughter, Marie. Francois Villon, a guest at Blois, writes a poem to celebrate the birth.
1461 - Charles VII dies; Louis XI ascends the throne.
1462 - Marie bears Charles a son, the future Louis XII, known during his reign as the "Father of his People."
1464 - Marie bears Charles a daughter, Anne.
1465 - Charles of Orleans dies at age 70 on January 4, 1465. His poetry will still be read 500 years later.

Keywords/Tags: France, French, translation, Charles, Orleans, Duke, first Valentine, rondeau, chanson, rondel, roundel, ballade, ballad, lyric, Middle English, Medieval English, rondeaus, rondeaux, rondels, roundels, ballades, ballads, chansons, royal, noble, prisoner, hostage, ransom

Brief Fling
by Michael R. Burch

“Epigram”
means cram,
then scram!



The Whole of Wit
by Michael R. Burch

for and after Richard Thomas Moore

If brevity is the soul of wit
then brevity and levity
are the whole of it.

(Published by Shot Glass Journal, Brief Poems, AZquotes, IdleHearts, JarOfQuotes, QuoteFancy, QuoteMaster)



Feathered Fiends

Conformists of a feather
flock together.
—Michael R. Burch

(Winner of the National Poetry Month Couplet Competition)



Nun Fun Undone
by Michael R. Burch

Abbesses'
recesses
are not for excesses!

(Originally published by Brief Poems)



Epitaph for a Palestinian Child
by Michael R. Burch

I lived as best I could, and then I died.
Be careful where you step: the grave is wide.

(Published by Romantics Quarterly, Daily Kos, Setu, Genocide Awareness and Darfur Awareness Shabbat; also translated into Czech, Indonesian, Romanian and Turkish)



Childless
by Michael R. Burch

How can she bear her grief?
Mightier than Atlas, she shoulders the weight
of one fallen star.



Stormfront
by Michael R. Burch

Our distance is frightening:
a distance like the abyss between heaven and earth
interrupted by bizarre and terrible lightning.



Are mayflies missed by mountains? Do stars
applaud the glowworm’s stellar mimicry?
—Michael R. Burch



Sinking
by Michael R. Burch

for Virginia Woolf

Weigh me down with stones ...
     fill all the pockets of my gown ...
          I’m going down,
               mad as the world
                    that can’t recover,
                         to where even mermaids drown ...



Laughter's Cry
by Michael R. Burch

Because life is a mystery, we laugh
and do not know the half.

Because death is a mystery, we cry
when one is gone, our numbering thrown awry.

(Originally published by Angelwing)



Autumn Conundrum
by Michael R. Burch

It's not that every leaf must finally fall,
it's just that we can never catch them all.

(Originally published by The Neovictorian/Cochlea; also translated into Russian, Macedonian, Turkish and Romanian)



Piercing the Shell
by Michael R. Burch

If we strip away all the accouterments of war,
perhaps we'll discover what the heart is for.

(Originally published by The Neovictorian/Cochlea; also translated into Arabic, Turkish, Russian and Macedonian)



*** Hex
by Michael R. Burch

Love's full of cute paradoxes
(and highly acute poxes).

(Published by ***** of Parnassus and Lighten Up Online)



Styx
by Michael R. Burch

Black waters—
deep and dark and still.
All men have passed this way,
or will.

(Published by The Raintown Review and Blue Unicorn; also translated into Romanian and published by Petru Dimofte. This is one of my early poems, written as a teenager. I believe it was my first or second epigram.)



Shattered
by Vera Pavlova
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

I shattered your heart;
now I limp through the shards
barefoot.

(Originally published by The HyperTexts)



God saw
it was good.
Adam saw
it was impressive.
Eve saw
it was improvable.
—Vera Pavlova, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch



Untitled Epigrams and Prose Epigrams

A question that sometimes drives me hazy:
am I or are the others crazy?
—Albert Einstein, poetic interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Truths are more likely discovered by one man than by nations.
—Rene Descartes, translation by Michael R. Burch

Old age, believe me, is a blessing. While it’s true you get gently shouldered off the stage, you’re awarded such a comfortable front row seat as spectator. — Confucius, loose translation by Michael R. Burch

The Golden Rule is much easier to recite than observe. — Michael R. Burch

The Golden Rule is much easier to recite for others' benefit than to observe oneself. — Michael R. Burch

Consider a Golden Mean when the Golden Rule is employed. Some people are much harder on themselves than on others. — Michael R. Burch

The most dangerous words ever uttered by human lips are “thus saith the LORD.” — Michael R. Burch

We may not be able to find the true God through logic, but we can certainly find false gods through illogic. — Michael R. Burch

Justice may be blind, but does she have to be deaf too?—Michael R. Burch

There is nothing at all supreme, nor anything remotely just, about Clarence Thomas.—Michael R. Burch

Cassidy Hutchinson is not only credible, but her courage and poise under fire have been incredible. — Michael R. Burch

Cassidy Hutchinson is a modern Erin Brockovich except that in her case the well has been poisoned for the whole country. — Michael R. Burch

I will never grok picking a picky rule over a Poem! – Michael R. Burch

Improve yourself by others' writings, attaining freely what they purchased at great expense. — Socrates, translation by Michael R. Burch

Experience is the best teacher but a hard taskmaster.—Michael R. Burch

Heaven and hell seem unreasonable to me: the actions of men do not deserve such extremes.
—Jorge Luis Borges, translation by Michael R. Burch

Reality is neither probable nor likely.
—Jorge Luis Borges, translation by Michael R. Burch

Wayne Gretzky was pure skill poured into skates.—Michael R. Burch

Neither the leaf nor the tree laments karma.—Michael R. Burch

One man's coronation is another man's consternation.—Michael R. Burch

The editors of Poetry know no more about poetry than I do about basket-weaving, except that I know a good basket when I have it in my hands.—Michael R. Burch



Less Heroic Couplets: Word to the Unwise
by Michael R. Burch

I wanted to be good as gold,
but being good, as I’ve been told,
requires something, discipline,
I simply have no interest in!



Less Heroic Couplets: Gilded Silence
by Michael R. Burch

Golden silence reigned supreme
in my nightmare and her dream.



Christ!
by Michael R. Burch

If I knew men could be so dumb,
I would never have come!

Now you lie, cheat and steal in my name
and make it a thing of shame.

Did I heal the huge holes in your heart, in your head?
Isn’t it obvious: I’m dead
and unable to repeal what I never said?



A Further Farewell to Dentistry
by Michael R. Burch

(for and after Richard Moore, from whom I absconded the title)

Lately I've been eschewing
ice chewing
and my indentured dentist’s been boo-hoo-hooing.



Lance-Lot
by Michael R. Burch

Preposterous bird!
Inelegant! Absurd!

Until the great & mighty heron
brandishes his fearsome sword.

(Originally published by The HyperTexts)



Multiplication, Tabled
or Procreation Inflation
by Michael R. Burch

for the Religious Right

"Be fruitful and multiply"—
great advice, for a fruitfly!
But for women and men,
simple Simons, say, "WHEN! "

(Originally published by The HyperTexts)



Saving Graces, for the Religious Right
by Michael R. Burch

Life's saving graces are love, pleasure, laughter...
wisdom, it seems, is for the Hereafter.

(Published by Shot Glass Journal and Poem Today)



A Passing Observation about Thinking Outside the Box
by Michael R. Burch

William Blake had no public, and yet he’s still read.
His critics are dead.



A man may attempt to burnish pure gold, but who can think to improve on his mother?—Mahatma Gandhi, translation by Michael R. Burch



Less Heroic Couplets: ****** Most Fowl!
by Michael R. Burch

“****** most foul!”
cried the mouse to the owl.

“Friend, I’m no sinner;
you’re merely my dinner.

As you fall on my sword,
take it up with the LORD!”

the wise owl replied
as the tasty snack died.

(Published by Lighten Up Online and in Potcake Chapbook #7)



Less Heroic Couplets: Marketing 101
by Michael R. Burch

Building her brand, she disrobes,
naked, except for her earlobes.



Less Heroic Couplets: Mini-Ode to Stamina
by Michael R. Burch

When you’ve given so much
that I can’t bear your touch,
then from a safe distance
let me admire your persistence.



The Trouble with Elephants: a Word to the Wise
by Michael R. Burch

An elephant NEVER forgets,
which is why they don’t make the best pets:
Jumbo may well out-live you,
but he’ll NEVER forgive you
so you may as well save your regrets!



The Beat Goes On (and On and On and On ...)
by Michael R. Burch

Bored stiff by his board-stiff attempts
at “meter,” I crossly concluded
I’d use each iamb
in lieu of a lamb,
bedtimes when I’m under-quaaluded.



Less Heroic Couplets: Less than Impressed
by Michael R. Burch

for T. M., regarding certain dispensers of lukewarm air

Their volume's impressive, it's true...
but somehow it all seems 'much ado.'



Ars Brevis, Proofreading Longa
by Michael R. Burch

Poets may labor from sun to sun,
but their editor's work is never done.



The First Complete Musical Composition

Shine, while you live;
blaze beyond grief,
for life is brief
and Time, a thief.
—Michael R. Burch, after Seikilos of Euterpes

The so-called Seikilos Epitaph is the oldest known surviving complete musical composition which includes musical notation. It is believed to date to the first or second century AD. The epitaph appears to be signed “Seikilos of Euterpes” or dedicated “Seikilos to Euterpe.” Euterpe was the ancient Greek Muse of music.



Cover Girl
by Michael R. Burch

Cunning
at sunning
and dunning,
the stunning
young woman’s in the running
to be found exposed on the cover
of some patronizing lover.

In this case the cover is a bed cover, where the enterprising young mistress is about to be covered herself.



First Base Freeze
by Michael R. Burch

I find your love unappealing
(no, make that appalling)
because you prefer kissing
then stalling.



Paradoxical Ode to Antinatalism
by Michael R. Burch

A stay on love
would end death’s hateful sway,
someday.

A stay on love
would thus BE love,
I say.

Be true to love
and thus end death’s
fell sway!



Less Heroic Couplets: Crop Duster
by Michael R. Burch

We are dust and to dust we must return ...
but why, then, life’s pointless sojourn?



**** Brevis, Emendacio Longa
by Michael R. Burch

The Donald may tweet from sun to sun,
but his spellchecker’s work is never done.



a passing question for the Moral Majority
by Michael R. Burch

since GOD created u so gullible
how did u conclude HE’s so lovable?



Fierce ancient skalds summoned verse from their guts;
today's genteel poets prefer modern ruts.
—Michael R. Burch



Not Elves, Exactly
by Michael R. Burch

Something there is that likes a wall,
that likes it spiked and likes it tall,

that likes its pikes' sharp rows of teeth
and doesn't mind its victims' grief

(wherever they come from, far or wide)
as long as they fall on the other side.

(Originally published by The HyperTexts)



Fahr an’ Ice
by Michael R. Burch

From what I know of death, I’ll side with those
who’d like to have a say in how it goes:
just make mine cool, cool rocks (twice drowned in likker),
and real fahr off, instead of quicker.

(Originally published by Light Quarterly)



Dawn
by Michael R. Burch

for Beth and Laura

Bring your particular strength
to the strange nightmarish fray:
wrap up your cherished ones
in the golden light of day.



Self-ish
by Michael R. Burch

Let's not pretend we "understand" other elves
as long as we remain mysteries to ourselves.



Imperfect Perfection
by Michael R. Burch

You’re too perfect for words—
a problem for a poet.



Expert Advice
by Michael R. Burch

Your ******* are perfect for your lithe, slender body.
Please stop making false comparisons your hobby!



Grave Oversight I
by Michael R. Burch

The dead are always with us,
and yet they are naught!



Grave Oversight II
by Michael R. Burch

for Jim Dunlap, who winked and suggested “not”

The dead are either naught
or naughty, being so sought!



Midnight Stairclimber
by Michael R. Burch

Procreation
is at first great sweaty recreation,
then—long, long after the *** dies—
the source of endless exercise.



Accounting
by Michael R. Burch

And so I have loved you, and so I have lost,
accrued disappointment, ledgered its cost,
debited wisdom, credited pain . . .
My assets remaining are liquid again.



Why the Kid Gloves Came Off
by Michael R. Burch
for Lemuel Ibbotson

It's hard to be a man of taste
in such a waste:
hence the lambaste.



Housman was right ...
by Michael R. Burch

It’s true that life’s not much to lose,
so why not hang out on a cloud?
It’s just the bon voyage is hard
and the objections loud.



Biblical Knowledge or “Knowing Coming and Going”
by Michael R. Burch

The wisest man the world has ever seen
had fourscore concubines and threescore queens?
This gives us pause, and so we venture hence—
he “knew” them, wisely, in the wider sense.



Descent
by Michael R. Burch

I have listened to the rain all this morning
and it has a certain gravity,
as if it knows its destination,
perhaps even its particular destiny.
I do not believe mine is to be uplifted,
although I, too, may be flung precipitously
and from a great height.



Reading between the lines
by Michael R. Burch

Who could have read so much, as we?
Having the time, but not the inclination,
TV has become our philosophy,
sheer boredom, our recreation.



Early Warning System

A hairy thick troglodyte, Mary,
squinched dingles excessively airy.
To her family’s deep shame,
their condo became
the first cave to employ a canary!



Untitled
by Michael R. Burch

I sampled honeysuckle
and it made my taste buds buckle.



Snap Shots
by Michael R. Burch

Our daughters must be celibate,
die virgins. We triangulate
their early paths to heaven (for
the martyrs they’ll soon conjugate).

We like to hook a little tail.
We hope there’s decent *** in jail.
Don’t fool with us; our bombs are smart!
(We’ll send the plans, ASAP, e-mail.)

The soul is all that matters; why
hoard gold if it offends the eye?
A pension plan? Don’t make us laugh!
We have your plan for sainthood. (Die.)



Eerie Dearie
by Michael R. Burch

A trembling young auditor, white
as a sheet, like a ghost in the night,
saw his dreams, his career
in a ****!, disappear,
and then, strangely Enronic, his wife.



Gore-dom Boredom
by Michael R. Burch

There once was a candidate, Gore,
whose campaign had become quite a bore.
“He’s much too stiff,”
sighed his publicist,
“but not like his predecessor!”



Translations

Birdsong
by Rumi
loose translation by Michael R. Burch

Birdsong relieves
my deepest griefs:
now I'm just as ecstatic as they,
but with nothing to say!
Please universe,
rehearse
your poetry
through me!

Raise your words, not their volume.
Rain grows flowers, not thunder.
—Rumi, translation by Michael R. Burch

The imbecile constructs cages for everyone he knows,
while the sage
(who has to duck his head whenever the moon glows)
keeps dispensing keys all night long
to the beautiful, rowdy, prison gang.
—Hafiz loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

An unbending tree
breaks easily.
—Lao Tzu, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Little sparks may ignite great Infernos.—Dante, translation by Michael R. Burch

Love distills the eyes’ desires, love bewitches the heart with its grace.―Euripides, translation by Michael R. Burch

Once fanaticism has gangrened brains
the incurable malady invariably remains.
—Voltaire, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Booksellers laud authors for novel editions
as pimps praise their ****** for exotic positions.
—Thomas Campion, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

No wind is favorable to the man who lacks direction.
—Seneca the Younger, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

My objective is not to side with the majority, but to avoid the ranks of the insane.—Marcus Aurelius, translation by Michael R. Burch

To know what we do know, and to know what we don't, is true knowledge.—Confucius, sometimes incorrectly attributed to Nicolaus Copernicus, loose translation by Michael R. Burch

Where our senses fail,
reason must prevail.
—Galileo Galilei, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Hypocrisy may deceive the most perceptive adult, but the dullest child recognizes and is revolted by it, however ingeniously disguised.
—Leo Tolstoy translation by Michael R. Burch

Just as I select a ship when it's time to travel,
or a house when it's time to change residences,
even so I will choose when it's time to depart from life.
—Seneca, speaking about the right to euthanasia in the first century AD, translation by Michael R. Burch

Improve yourself through others' writings, attaining freely what they acquired at great expense.—Socrates, translation by Michael R. Burch

Experience is the best teacher but a hard taskmaster.—Michael R. Burch

Fools call wisdom foolishness.
―Euripides, translation by Michael R. Burch

One true friend is worth ten thousand kin.
―Euripides, translation by Michael R. Burch

Not to speak one’s mind is slavery.
―Euripides, translation by Michael R. Burch

I would rather die standing than kneel, a slave.
―Euripides, translation by Michael R. Burch

Fresh tears are wasted on old griefs.
―Euripides, translation by Michael R. Burch

To live without philosophizing is to close one's eyes and never attempt to open them.
—René Descartes, translation by Michael R. Burch

We who left behind the Aegean’s bellowings
Now sleep peacefully here on the mid-plains of Ecbatan:
Farewell, dear Athens, nigh to Euboea,
Farewell, dear sea!
—Michael R. Burch, after Plato



Native American Proverb
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Before you judge
a man for his sins
be sure to trudge
many moons in his moccasins.



Native American Proverb
by Crazy Horse, Oglala Lakota Sioux (circa 1840-1877)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

A man must pursue his Vision
as the eagle explores
the sky's deepest blues.



Native American Proverb
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Let us walk respectfully here
among earth's creatures, great and small,
remembering, our footsteps light,
that one wise God created all.



Farewell to Faith I
by Michael R. Burch

What we want is relief
from life’s grief and despair:
what we want’s not “belief”
but just not to be there.



Farewell to Faith II
by Michael R. Burch

Confronted by the awesome thought of death,
to never suffer, and be free of grief,
we wonder: "What’s the use of drawing breath?
Why seek relief
from the bible’s Thief,
who ripped off Eve then offered her a leaf?"



Less Heroic Couplets: Miss Bliss
by Michael R. Burch

Domestic “bliss”?
Best to swing and miss!



Less Heroic Couplets: Then and Now
by Michael R. Burch

BEFORE: Thanks to Brexit, our lives will be plush! ...
AFTER: Crap, we’re going broke! What the hell is the rush?



Less Heroic Couplets: Dear Pleader
by Michael R. Burch

Is our Dear Pleader, as he claims, heroic?
I prefer my presidents a bit more stoic.



Less Heroic Couplets: Less than Impressed
by Michael R. Burch

for T. M., regarding certain dispensers of lukewarm air

Their volume’s impressive, it’s true ...
but somehow it all seems “much ado.”



Less Heroic Couplets: Poetry I
by Michael R. Burch

Poetry is the heart’s caged rhythm,
the soul’s frantic tappings at the panes of mortality.



Less Heroic Couplets: Poetry II
by Michael R. Burch

Poetry is the trapped soul’s frantic tappings
at the panes of mortality.



Less Heroic Couplets: Seesaw
by Michael R. Burch

A poem is the mind teetering between fact and fiction,
momentarily elevated.



Less Heroic Couplets: Passions
by Michael R. Burch

Passions are the heart’s qualms,
the soul’s squalls, the brain’s storms.



I didn’t mean to love you,
but I did.
Best leave the rest unsaid,
hid-
den
and unbidden.
—Michael R. Burch

You imagine life is good,
but have you actually understood?
—Michael R. Burch

Living with a body ain’t much fun.
Harder, still, to live without one.
Whatever happened to our day in the sun?
—Michael R. Burch

How little remains of our joys and our pains.
How little remains of our losses and gains.
How little remains of whatever remains.
—Michael R. Burch

Sometimes I feel better, it’s true,
but mostly I’m still not over you.
—Michael R. Burch

Don’t let the past defeat you.
Learn from it, but don’t dwell.
Have no regrets at “farewell.”
—Michael R. Burch

Haughty moon,
when did I ever trouble you,
insomnia’s co-conspirator!
—Michael R. Burch

Every day’s a new chance to lose weight,
but most likely,
I’ll
... procrastinate ...
—Michael R. Burch



Big Ben *****
by Michael R. Burch

Early to bed, hurriedly to rise
makes a man stealthy,
and that’s why he’s wealthy:
what the hell is he doing behind your closed eyes?

Friend, how you’ll squirm
when you belatedly learn
that you’re the worm!



Pecking Disorder
by Michael R. Burch

Love has a pecking order,
or maybe a dis-order,
a hell we recognize
if we merely open our eyes:
the attractive win at birth,
while those of ample girth
are deemed of little worth
from Nottingham to Perth.

Nottingham is said to have the most beautiful women in the world.



Tease
by Michael R. Burch

It’s what you always say, okay?
It’s what you always say:
C’mon let’s play,
roll in the hay,
It’s what you always say. Ole!

But little do you do, it’s true.
But little do you do.
A little ******, run to piddle ...
we never really *****!
That’s you!



Observance (II)
by Michael R. Burch

fifty years later...

The trees are in their autumn beauty,
majestic to the eye.
Whoever felt as I,
                             whoever
felt them doomed to die
despite their flamboyant colors?

They seem like knights of dismal countenance ...
as if, windmills themselves,
they might tilt with the ****** sky.

And yet their favors gaily fly!

KEYWORDS/TAGS: epigram, epigrams, love, life, living, fun, sun, joy, pain, past, sad, sadness




Anyte Epigrams

Stranger, rest your weary legs beneath the elms;
hear how coolly the breeze murmurs through their branches;
then take a bracing draught from the mountain-fed fountain;
for this is welcome shade from the burning sun.
—Anyte, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Here I stand, Hermes, in the crossroads
by the windswept elms near the breezy beach,
providing rest to sunburned travelers,
and cold and brisk is my fountain’s abundance.
—Anyte, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Sit here, quietly shaded by the luxuriant foliage,
and drink cool water from the sprightly spring,
so that your weary breast, panting with summer’s labors,
may take rest from the blazing sun.
—Anyte, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

This is the grove of Cypris,
for it is fair for her to look out over the land to the bright deep,
that she may make the sailors’ voyages happy,
as the sea trembles, observing her brilliant image.
—Anyte, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch



Nossis Epigrams

There is nothing sweeter than love.
All other delights are secondary.
Thus, I spit out even honey.
This is what Gnossis says:
Whom Aphrodite does not love,
Is bereft of her roses.
—Nossis, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Most revered Hera, the oft-descending from heaven,
behold your Lacinian shrine fragrant with incense
and receive the linen robe your noble child Nossis,
daughter of Theophilis and Cleocha, has woven for you.
—Nossis, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Stranger, if you sail to Mitylene, my homeland of beautiful dances,
to indulge in the most exquisite graces of Sappho,
remember I also was loved by the Muses, who bore me and reared me there.
My name, never forget it!, is Nossis. Now go!
—Nossis, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Pass me with ringing laughter, then award me
a friendly word: I am Rinthon, scion of Syracuse,
a small nightingale of the Muses; from their tragedies
I was able to pluck an ivy, unique, for my own use.
—Nossis, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch



Excerpts from “Distaff”
by Erinna
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

… the moon rising …
      … leaves falling …
           … waves lapping a windswept shore …

… and our childish games, Baucis, do you remember? ...

... Leaping from white horses,
running on reckless feet through the great courtyard.  
“You’re it!’ I cried, ‘You’re the Tortoise now!”
But when your turn came to pursue your pursuers,
you darted beyond the courtyard,
dashed out deep into the waves,
splashing far beyond us …

… My poor Baucis, these tears I now weep are your warm memorial,
these traces of embers still smoldering in my heart
for our silly amusements, now that you lie ash …

… Do you remember how, as girls,
we played at weddings with our dolls,
pretending to be brides in our innocent beds? ...

... How sometimes I was your mother,
allotting wool to the weaver-women,
calling for you to unreel the thread? ...

… Do you remember our terror of the monster Mormo
with her huge ears, her forever-flapping tongue,
her four slithering feet, her shape-shifting face? ...

... Until you mother called for us to help with the salted meat ...

... But when you mounted your husband’s bed,
dearest Baucis, you forgot your mothers’ warnings!
Aphrodite made your heart forgetful ...

... Desire becomes oblivion ...

... Now I lament your loss, my dearest friend.
I can’t bear to think of that dark crypt.
I can’t bring myself to leave the house.
I refuse to profane your corpse with my tearless eyes.
I refuse to cut my hair, but how can I mourn with my hair unbound?
I blush with shame at the thought of you! …

... But in this dark house, O my dearest Baucis,
My deep grief is ripping me apart.
Wretched Erinna! Only nineteen,
I moan like an ancient crone, eying this strange distaff ...

O *****! . . . O Hymenaeus! . . .
Alas, my poor Baucis!



On a Betrothed Girl
by Erinna
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

I sing of Baucis the bride.
Observing her tear-stained crypt
say this to Death who dwells underground:
"Thou art envious, O Death!"

Her vivid monument tells passers-by
of the bitter misfortune of Baucis —
how her father-in-law burned the poor ******* a pyre
lit by bright torches meant to light her marriage train home.
While thou, O Hymenaeus, transformed her harmonious bridal song into a chorus of wailing dirges.

*****! O Hymenaeus!



Sophocles Epigrams

Not to have been born is best,
and blessed
beyond the ability of words to express.
—Sophocles (circa 497-406 BC), loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

It’s a hundred times better not be born;
but if we cannot avoid the light,
the path of least harm is swiftly to return
to death’s eternal night!
—Sophocles, Oedipus at Colonus, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Never to be born may be the biggest boon of all.
—Sophocles (circa 497-406 BC), loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Oblivion: What a blessing, to lie untouched by pain!
—Sophocles (circa 497-406 BC), loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

The happiest life is one empty of thought.
—Sophocles (circa 497-406 BC), loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Consider no man happy till he lies dead, free of pain at last.
—Sophocles (circa 497-406 BC), loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

What is worse than death? When death is desired but denied.
—Sophocles (circa 497-406 BC), loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

When a man endures nothing but endless miseries, what is the use of hanging on day after day,
edging closer and closer toward death? Anyone who warms his heart with the false glow of flickering hope is a wretch! The noble man should live with honor and die with honor. That's all that can be said.
—Sophocles (circa 497-406 BC), loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Children anchor their mothers to life.
—Sophocles (circa 497-406 BC), loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

How terrible, to see the truth when the truth brings only pain to the seer!
—Sophocles (circa 497-406 BC), loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Wisdom outweighs all the world's wealth.
—Sophocles (circa 497-406 BC), loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Fortune never favors the faint-hearted.
—Sophocles (circa 497-406 BC), loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Wait for evening to appreciate the day's splendor.
—Sophocles (circa 497-406 BC), loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch



Homer Epigrams

For the gods have decreed that unfortunate mortals must suffer, while they themselves are sorrowless.
—Homer, Iliad 24.525-526, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

“It is best not to be born or, having been born, to pass on as swiftly as possible.”
—attributed to Homer (circa 800 BC), loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch



Ancient Roman Epigrams

Wall, I'm astonished that you haven't collapsed,
since you're holding up verses so prolapsed!
—Ancient Roman graffiti, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R Burch

There is nothing so pointless, so perfidious as human life! ... The ultimate bliss is not to be born; otherwise we should speedily slip back into the original Nothingness.
—Seneca, On Consolation to Marcia, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch



Wayne Gretzky was pure skill poured into skates.—Michael R. Burch



"Lu Zhai" ("Deer Park")
by **** Wei (699-759)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Uninhabited hills ...
except that now and again the silence is broken
by something like the sound of distant voices
as the sun's sinking rays illuminate lichens ...

**** Wei (699-759) was a Chinese poet, musician, painter, and politician during the Tang dynasty. He had 29 poems included in the 18th-century anthology Three Hundred Tang Poems. "Lu Zhai" ("Deer Park") is one of his best-known poems.

Keywords/Tags: epigram, epigrams, **** Wei, Chinese, translation, nature, animal, deer, park, hills, silence, sound, voices, wind, voice, sun, rays, illuminate, peace, growth, wisdom


Keywords/Tags: elegy, eulogy, child, childhood, death, death of a friend, lament, lamentation, epitaph, grave, funeral, epigram, ***, procreation, accounting, fire, ice, housman, bible, heaven, mrbepi, mrbepig, mrbepigram

Published as the collection "Epigrams V"

By: Cedric <cCleter, Copyright © 2022.

We have been beseeched
To vote to impeach
Associate Supreme Court Justice
Clarence Thomas for his overreach
He has excused
Voting on things for which
He should have been rescued
And those laws he abused

He and his right-wing wife
Are partners for life
And their collaboration
Has been rife
Cutting their deals
With a knife
Causing the court undue
Stress and strife

See they’re cut from
The same cloth
Stuck together like
Wool fabric and a moth
Which they proudly wear
Adoth
And they’ve struck hard
Instead of soft

So I don’t see
Nothing wrong
With both of ‘em
Being gone
Since they’ve been there
Much too long
And that sentiment
Is strong











Cedric McClester, Copyright © 2022.  All rights reserved.