"herman" poems
“Moby **** Herman Melville
<•>
~for the lost at sea~
after a year of saltwater absence and abstinence,
return to the island caught between two land forks
surrounded by river-heading flows
bound for the ocean great joining
the Atlantic welcomes the fresh water fools,
bringing with them hopefully, but hopeless gifts of obeisances,
peace-offerings endeavoring to keep their infinite souls
sea accepts them then drowns the
warm newcomers in the unaccustomed
deep cold salinity, which
sometimes erodes
sometimes preserving
their former freshwater cold originality
I’m called to depart my beach shoreline unarmed,
no kayak, sunfish or glass bottomed boat needed,
walk on water and my toes, ten eyes to see the bottom,
no depth perception limitation,
reading the floor’s topography,
millions of minion’s stories infinite,
many Munch screaming
god’s foot, heavy upon my shoulders,
a daytime travel guide, hired for me,
not a friendly travel companion, nope,
God a pusher showing off a drug called deep water salvation,
designated for the masses, can handle large parties
my in-camera brain eyes,
record everything for playback -
the lost and unburied, bone crossword puzzles
walk shore to ship, on soles to souls,
is this my new-summer nature welcome back greeting?
puzzled at the awesomeness of vastness,
conclude this clarification for me of the occluded-deep,
is a stern reminder of my insignificant existence,
my requirement to walk humbly, spare my sin of vanity, and
forgive my trespasses upon the lives of others
perhaps then the infinite of my soul perchance restored,
older visions clarified and future poems
will write themselves
and sea to it my predecessors
be better remembered
Memorial Day 2018
May 28, 2018
May 28, 2018 at 11:53 AM UTC
Memes! Angels, aberrations of opposition super standing
overseeing you,
The screamin' heebie jeebies.
Yo, where you wanta go, you axin me we just go
with it, the flow 'know?
What I mean is, are we memes or mes or messes of yeses
gone all johnny rcome late-rotten scarred scared, some thing not so far
from sacred when you put your mind to the whole idea of life being
at all. Thinking this is not easy. We are Able. Our belly's living waters cry out,
you are your brother's keeper, yes, you are.
Be leavin' that be, I am is, and you is,
too. When you apprehend the meme named
war.
That meme has led the me-me mob for as far as men
remember, but
now, machines remember for us, all the facts, just
the facts, ma'am.
Why'd the d go into a comma, Pop?
Welt (Duetch, bitte) Enshaung, glaube ich, vie leicht, aber
are we ever going to filter out these German bleed-overs?
stay tuned, next week the meme beacon is pulled down,
who shall pre or post or ex maybe vail, travail, like
trip
wow, I hate being a 20 year old vet back in the U.S. of A.
FTA All the way, Airborne
******** Herman Hesse ********
Jorney to and fro the east to west, and soon, et
cetera. Siam is a mere myth now, eh?
As the Narnia thing not called a heathen lie was allowed
allowable in mere Christianity.
I've only seen the English POV's on PBS, they may be filtered through
feedback, meme belching bursting bubbles from new wine 'nold vessels about to plode into eternity, singing along.
Thank you, very much. May I introduce, duce, intro duce, y'gittin this?
Duce means 2 if you see e squeen between, you see that?
Fun. No reason for fun? Who here, now, believes that or, no,
bees leavin' those lies be told?
Hunh? Y'know? Watch man, waht of the night?
See, what I mean? All this from me hearin' some guy say,
"Come and see, like that was okeh. For any body, n'me, too.
Thinking, as a past-time, is pointless. You know, if you act like it.
Aug 20, 2018
Aug 20, 2018 at 1:21 AM UTC
Done with thinking because that's for god to do
I am just this appendage of a greater consciousness
Ahab is blameless
in his small existence
Don't quote me
quote Herman and Freddy Nietzsche
They and their hermits
coming down from the mountains
to declare they ought to have
loved their fate all along
Amor fati
Why couldn't we have been stuck in the herd all along
guys who get love and happiness effortless
no need to spend their life in anguish
searching through tomes
found in tombs for eons and eons
enhancing their social aloofness
and their unremembered trauma
'till those sad souls give those pansies confidence
to leave an exegesis of their own
Too smart kid
that decried Christ and
the shadows of a god all around
only to find the search for truth was hopeless
Find a way to dumbly enjoy life again
and you only say again cause
that's all we can control
our memories
and we too often forget
our thought habits
the pre-neolithic mind tricks
on ourselves
Too many MLMs profiting off false mindfulness
missing the point beyond exercise
and short stress relief
Change your thought patterns to love your destiny
That's the best we have
to pretend to have control in this ̶h̶e̶l̶l̶ hole
Jul 10, 2020
Jul 10, 2020 at 8:49 AM UTC
____THEY___would EACH day take the ROLL CALL ! !...iT WENT LIKE THIS= *GERRY GIRAFFE="here sir", *SHARON SNAIL= "here sir", *SIDNEY SNAKE= "here sir", *DIANNE DEER= "here sir", *HERMAN HIPPO= "here sir", *FRANCES FOX= "here sir", ....AND it seemed like the list went on "FOREVER"! ! There were not Hundreds,, thousands or Millions ,,, BUT *HUNDREDS of Millions who were on the ROLL CALL List ! Many often Wondered , How Long would it take to complete the *ROLL ?? Many often Wondered ,, Would They be on the List ?? EACH=TIME a ROLLCALL* was answered ,, Another would wait in Heated Anticipation ! ! NO ONE HERE,,,Knows for sure, When the Exact Moment of the * ROLL CALL* Started,, but= it is SURELY known for fact,, EVERYONE WANTS TO BE ON "THE" LIST ! ! Some may deny the need for the List, Some May doubt the Existence of the LIST, Some may say "WHY EVEN HAVE alist ?" Some say "EVOLUTION" has brought us here ! ! Some not Understanding ,have SHED MANY A TEAR>> *LEONARD LION="here sir", *ADRIAN ANTELOPE= "here sir", *RONALD ROACH= "here sir", *MAUDE MOOSE= "here sir", ... THEY STAND IN AMAZEMENT as they see what looks like Surrender,, Have Feared for their VERY EXISTENCE,,, Looking around in AWE,, EACH SIGHING for the Sorrow in Others Hearts , ....BUT STILL THEY ASK ?? 'W H Y THE ROLL=CALL? > *BERRY BEETLE="here sir", *CAROL CROAKER = "here sir", >> THE ROLL CALL does continue this very moment! ! AND......is promised "TO GO ON" til the " GREAT-GATHERING"...>*FLOYD FLOUNDER= "here sir", ZELDA ZEBRA="here sir",....... the list IS STILL BEING CALLED AS "W E S P E A K "...simply waiting FOR the Gathering,, AND______the "calling " OF their NAME on the * ROLL-CALL*"
Dec 17, 2010
Dec 17, 2010 at 4:05 AM UTC
"Call me Ishmael..."
Holy sea, holy sea!
Reading Herman Melville's
"Moby **** at Caribbean Sea
I'm reliving his ocean reveries—
Those mystical vibrations
This magnetic virtue of the ship
Last night's circumambulation
Today's balmy afternoon
A meditation or dream
Leading us to nowhere
But the phantom life of the sea
We become free to drown
In our own mesmerizing images
Like Narcissus did
Or like that fellow Ishmael
Abandon all the respectable
Toils, trials, and tribulations
Jump on a sail
To catch white whales
Jan 27, 2016
Jan 27, 2016 at 6:17 PM UTC
Paul Masson.
Hot sauce.
Colgate - old and stale
as puke.
Grease.
Newports.
Former head.
Recovery.
Country dirt.
Pecans.
Cotton.
A black fist held high.
Hope that one day
he'll be able to fit his ex-wives
into a nice,
cordial sentence.
Love.
Real love.
Man love.
Type love that kicks *** when it has to.
Sears cologne,
OG ****
Some Christianity,
but not a lot,
not nauseating
and obnoxious,
more like
quiet
and
almost not there.
More Masson.
More Newports.
Gold fillings;
the Midas Touch
on his tongue;
the ability
to blind you
in the glow of his breath.
Rotten *****
Real rotten.
Rotted to viral nostalgia
because it tastes
like ****
and makes him lick the roof
of his mouth
to get that smell
out,
just to make
room
for it
again.
Chitlins.
Obama's saliva.
Collard greens
with all the vinegar
and red pepper
in Satan's *******
Herman Cain's armpits.
Fear
for
me.
Love
for
me.
Power.
Former riverboat
porter.
The smell of rich white men
that talked about
*******
while he stood
stoically.
Strength
like
you've never
smelled before.
Human.
Dec 23, 2011
Dec 23, 2011 at 10:16 PM UTC
When people exclaim, "Well, holy Moses!"
I find it funny. The guy drinks doses
Heroic of wine and loves his boys
Like Pee-wee Herman loves his toys!
O.O
Oct 14, 2015
Oct 14, 2015 at 6:07 PM UTC
herman harding showed me his truck today
in the muggy high school parking lot
in the sweltering sun
that could easily set my still temperament ablaze.
"she calls it the **** wagon."
he told me.
"she calls mine the firestarter."
i told him; he gave me a look.
"surprised?" i asked.
"so what do you think?"
"it's a battered wife."
"what the hell does that mean?"
"all bruised and broken down,
probably only runs because
you give it gas."
"it's a hand-me-down, okay?
so am i giving you a ride home,
or what?"
i crawled in the **** wagon.
"i should be getting my license soon."
"that's nice."
herman seemed uneasy.
"yep, i'll be driving by next school year."
"that's nice."
the truck had green seats
and a yellow dashboard.
obviously replaced.
approaching the highway,
i opened the glove compartment-
insurance information.
"you're telling me you bought insurance
for this piece of ****
"why should you care?"
"i'm just wondering,
seems like a waste of money."
almost home,
i flip down the sun visor-
down flutter a couple of pictures of her
that shouldn't have been taken.
i flip the sun visor back up,
take a look at the photos,
and deposit them in the glovebox.
"tell me, herman:
do you like getting hand-me-downs?"
"get out of the truck."
Apr 8, 2011
Apr 8, 2011 at 1:17 PM UTC
Oft had I thought ‘twas meant just for a male
And mindlessly I’d chosen not to read
Until one day I was summoned to heed
Melville’s epic tale of The Great White Whale
The wandering sailor - “Call me Ishmael”
Captain Ahab - vengeance his greedy need
Reckless, careless; anything to succeed
Yet, his destiny, rightly, was to fail
Hodge-podge of cultures from all walks of life
Scruples, beliefs, tenets, lessons and more
Adventure and religion - all were rife
Herman challenged and gave voice to it all
The world then - the world now - deeply in strife
When will we learn and stop fighting the war?
Sep 11, 2011
Sep 11, 2011 at 8:28 PM UTC
for Herman and Mary
Old friends. New days. Years like miles fall away.
A visit, a visit. Time collapses. Walks and talks.
Memories in an instant. Tattoos on the brain remain.
This world, inconsequential and uncaring, but home.
Pain and failure as knowledge. A maturity of knowing.
The zig-zag manifestation of life. Pearls of moments.
We live a succession of dangling modifiers. Syntax.
Dreaming the most legitimate activity. Breathe.
Here but not forever. There is no full stop.
Only a pause in the Bardo for tea
And then a flowing outward to see.
May 12, 2016
May 12, 2016 at 8:12 AM UTC
Norman Rockwell and Jim Unger
Artists from my past
I've met one but not the other
A memory that will last
Who the hell is Bertrand Russell?
I asked over a drink
A man who changed the world forever
Changed the way we think
I remember the Norman Rockwell painting
It's burned deep inside my mind
But, I have got a copy
It's the best one that you'll find
An artist unknown to others
But, a special one to me
My father drew old Russell
It's quite a piece to see
It's never been inside a book
And never will it be
But, Bertrand Russells' wrinkles
Mean a lot to me
Jim Unger and his Herman
Were a favorite of my brother
The artist and his humour
Were unlike any other
We met him at a signing
My brother brought his art
He showed it to Jim Unger
He broke my brother's heart
My brother was an artist
Just like my Dad as well
Their art, not for the public
Their art, was not to sell
Their art should be remembered
Their art should be displayed
Like a vintage guitar sitting
It's better if it's played
So, now two artists pictures
Hidden for an age
Will be shown, for everybody
On a printed page
I give you first, my brother
Ian Turner was his name
No longer is he with us
But, this will show he came
The second one, my father
John Turner, is his name
His drawing days behind him
But, man did he have game
So, here for your enjoyment
Rockwell via Turner number one
Followed by Ungers' Herman
That was done by Turner's son
Jul 12, 2020
Jul 12, 2020 at 9:57 AM UTC
Time stood stagnant as the darkness crept in and distorted surroundings faded
He thought about his first friend, how they’d met
On a beach collecting eponymous Herman ***** by the bucket-full
Her face and name were gone, but she was born August twelfth
His first ice cream cone, the way the green mint melty soup
Ran down his hand; he hated sticky fingers
The comfort in his veins made him cloudy, the track on his inner arm throbbed
He thought about the bully who’d beaten him senseless
For spilling lunch milk on his shoes
And that girl whose clumsiness he’d claimed as his own
Who’d watched without a word and like all left him loner
He remembered his excitement at the first patch of beard
And how he’d stopped going to church when his brother
Finally left that chair and learned to fly
His eyes now drooped to poppy slits, but the flashes were ever blasting
He thought about sleep, his sweet retreat always
And what it was like to have had a family
He remembered a lecture from a physics professor
About chess and universe particles
The eternal contained in the tangible
Infinity carved from wood
The sideways eight ways in which one can be a mortal
And how everything ends the same
The branches become the seed
Can it all be so simple, he wondered
As the apartment floor grew distant
He thought of all the times he’d ****** up
And how in his rearview mirror, he wanted to
Embrace those moments, love them and
Ask them to be godparents to his unborn life
As he kissed the light goodnight, his only regret was
Having so many
He thought of everything
Then
He thought nothing
Mar 14, 2012
Mar 14, 2012 at 6:16 PM UTC
I sit here trying to decide what Writer influenced me,
I had my Existentialist Period very young Jean Paul Sartre, seemed dark and Complex, but... Albert Camus Captured it for me, the Emergence of Allen Ginsberg, bridge the Atlantic...the Pop of music influenced it all, from the Doors to Dylan
But Deep Down in the Dark of My soul is Jack Kerouac"who I am sure must have been influenced by JD Salinger" From Keorouac, to Ken Keasy and Hunter Thompson seem to be a good place to end
Others such as e.e. cummings, James Baldwin, Carl Sandburg, Herman Hesse, J,R.R. Tolkien, Lewis Carol, Issac Asimov. Robert Heinlein, and Stan Lee all had their places to... I feel Honored to be influenced By Such Amazing Talent.....
May 21, 2015
May 21, 2015 at 2:33 AM UTC
the deep water I believed to be treading through
was mud all along:
bed side table herman hesse
looks up to see one of van goghs, wants to undress
doesn't have a ****** this *** is a mess
she's not surprised
'cause she's a pessimist.
to her loves affairs:
she's keepin' shut
no more love left in her gut
the feelings escaped her through the cuts
one for every lover
she didn't give a ****
don't worry about her wrists
instead she likes to use her fists,
bad throws, punching chains
lets the men drive, fast lanes.
bruises are the names of the faces she misplaced
in her bones where she resides,
it's a pillow that she lies beside.
she's not a trick
she's not a *****
most feared is to be a bore
so she smiles and speaks,
too much? doesn't grieve.
as long as what she's saying is something to believe.
as long as you're in the mood
to laugh
there's no need
to wear a mask
just leave alone
the aching things
that bring you
beneath
the weight of gravity.
heavy heavy heavy
leave me to my beats
I'll walk the streets
heavy
Jul 10, 2013
Jul 10, 2013 at 5:15 PM UTC
Munster was his name,
after Herman Munster
of TV fame cause,
he was so big.
But not scary, feral big,
just double dose of cat big.
He was predominately
sleek, shiny black,
with a white bib
and crooked muzzle,
like he had his moustache
painted on in a hurry.
Oh, and he had one white paw.
Poppajack used to say,
he had been caught by God
stealing cream.
Munster was sleek, sinuous
muscle,
he rippled when he walked.
In stalk mode he was, panther incarnate.
Albeit, dressed in a tuxedo.
In cat term's he was vain,
always preening, or finding
a vantage point to show
himself off to the best photographic angle.
But just occasionly,
if we were lucky
and the butterflys
were on the wing,
he would, kitten prance
like a pixie, at the birth of spring.
He was a hunter,
not of bugs and lizards.
A ratter of renown,
he could take a bird
from it's early flight
without a care.
I once saw him, come home
and drop a rabbit,
at Poppajacks feet, before
finding the evening sun
for a well earned nap.
Munster loved Poppajack,
with dedicated flair
would follow him about
the garden, bulter-like,
dignified tail, straight and tall.
They would parade
in regal state,
to check on the vegetable serfdom.
He was not a cat of lap,
but,would sprawl over Poppa's feet like,
black satin slippers
with a purring engine beat.
Majestic Moggy Munster, was felinetity in it's prime.
Apr 26, 2014
Apr 26, 2014 at 5:26 PM UTC
*My work yesterday
I pursued with fire..
dead letters burned
letters with news
for countless intended
recipients Unknown..
news shadowed or light
these notifications of
paths NOT taken
met their end by
my flaming torch..
My role as destroyer
carried my reverie
ignited a wish
a blessing and curse
to finally know NOT..
My work today
new letters appear..
copying not burning
yet sorrows abide in
slow repetitive death..
I must rise
stand tall
Find face and soul
in that wall..
I must proclaim
I prefer NOT..
PREFER
this delicious word..
freedom's choice
tasted with short
bursts of joy..
Facing my wall
searching for NOT
into emptiness flowed
a bright wholeness
of letters and light..
but a price to be paid
for other's disdain
they are forgiven for
not knowing NOT..
NOT holds those
letters I've known..
Ah humanity...*
Based on Herman Melville's
short story, "Bartleby
the Scrivener"
Feb 4, 2013
Feb 4, 2013 at 5:40 PM UTC
Discrepency.
What seperates us.
As simple as a cloud watched, when I see the whisked whiskered cat,
and you see collected evaporation.
An operation as impossible as love,
is unthinkable now
What we don't speak of begins to amount in great size,
and between us grows space. I find our bed is wider.
We manage to keep sleeping on either edge, cold feet shimmering on the matress,
and cold sheets shouting on the floor.
Apart.
It is as if we run either side of the bar where lies Herman's whale,
obstructing you from I.
However, we've not the cable to pull her away. I see her lie alien on that shore
and it sickens me.
As if a rift does not belong in us, but gapes there.
A shadow in the warehouse is not supposed to breathe,
when we are shattering, whirling flash-lights. But they inhale.
As if a wall is not built, 'tween my toast and your tea
at the morning table.
Courage for fixing is not suppposed to play dead.
And that's when I realize
its not playing.
Jul 20, 2011
Jul 20, 2011 at 1:05 AM UTC
Alexandria in a Seabag
The barracks is a university
So too the march, the camp, the line for chow
McKuen shares our ham and lima beans
John Steinbeck helps with cleaning guns and gear
(You’re not supposed to call your rifle a gun)
The Muses Nine are usually given a miss
But not Max Brand or Herman Wouk
Cowboys and hobbits and hippie poets
And a suspicious Russian or two
Tattered paperbacks jammed in our pockets:
All the world is our university
Nov 5, 2016
Nov 5, 2016 at 7:24 PM UTC
To be a poet ?
have the stunt enough and a grit .
to sail in asylum in flora .
to wander through the wilderness of fauna.
run about the hot desert emptiness .
with only one arm: scrap and stylus , but be penniless .
why not be superstitious enough and see ghost .
in every old castle about London and fill Poe 's spirit .
why not be atheist enough as Herman and believe .
that a man is an angel haunted eternally at any live .
by a dreadful monsters but pity out of our control .
oh yes , you should be a poet ; and near the bell and toll.
and the toads' chorus in puddle will sound to you .
as Orpheus ballad with harp and lute .
but you can really live and create life anew .
be a poet ;when the breeze comes you will understand .
its sad moaning or its cheerful chorus as you stand .
the ocean waves will sweep over your soul .
and tell you their sweetest glory or their foul .
be a poet ;you will see that life is but a beauty .
you will sing the pleasant melody of the wind through,
the branches and leaves and feel everything holy .
a glimpse at a Colosseum will reveal you their past folly.
Pompeii 's larva , Trojan's war , gladiator Achilles' heel...
all will defile in lure and you will be a sage inquisitor .
Apr 12, 2015
Apr 12, 2015 at 5:00 PM UTC
*Trees are sanctuaries. Whoever knows how to speak to them, whoever knows how to listen to them, can learn the truth. They do not preach learning and precepts, they preach, undeterred by particulars, the ancient law of life. *-Herman Hesse
This willow weeps for no one
It hears the mountain's tears
riding on the backs of slow waves
This willow knows
that the sun's silence
is understood by every atom
It knows
that soon the rocks will rise up and
take arms
They will wage a war against concrete
and flesh
Soon the earth will heave a sigh of relief
and will resume feeding the willows that have
long ago stopped crying
Feb 13, 2018
Feb 13, 2018 at 3:36 AM UTC
Two spirits live, oh, within my breast
So Goethe said, in my chest
A spark of God raging, and Mephistopheles
In the caverns of my consciousness
Jealous of a wholesome rest
And to stop the precedent
The handshake of the worm and the bird
They strive to shake my confidence
They lure me in with decadence
To rob me of my sense
One part of me will blush
The other, cry out ‘yes’
And another laughs at death
And another shakes their head
It was not Goethe who was right
But the Steppenwolf of Herman Hesse
A thousand flowers of the soul
Meek and wild, young in heart and old
And to recognise only two of them
The greatest tragedy of all
Feb 25, 2016
Feb 25, 2016 at 9:01 PM UTC
there was Herman Sweeney
at the front gates?!
*** you just got to
get me a mannequiin pinguin
you **** cos i'm retro,
half-wished spetial,
ya n'ah, bit fudge bit thick -
goes **** among geese - quo quo quack -
or said grey, apparently sic - quo
thus said we have autumn's quota!
well hooray hooray and the Spanish
Inquisitors to minds a fabric of the new gold known
as golf, or whatever, ****** - hey, i could
be your ******** serial killer school friend...
so **** yo mama!
knife up her **** ha ha! see her phone up
a K.F.C. you ****
gansta that **** i bet you won't... boo'ya! ooh ooh
***** got took hold of a hood! n'ah n'ah d'at N.W.A.,
not even Jay S or Dr. Drip can help.
Jun 20, 2016
Jun 20, 2016 at 12:03 AM UTC