"hoffman" poems
I moved a few years ago
To the upper state of Vermont
Although the place is beautiful
At times it can be one great big yawn
That's when we put our heads together
Me and my best friend Shawn
And came up with the great idea
To start a Hippie Farm
Our noggins were a knocking
Not sure how this could be done
Do Hippies come from packs of seeds
Or like flowers, in a bunch
And can you start them off by grafting
Like they do on Apple Farms
Where you get rows and rows of Hippies
From just a single one
That's when Shawn remembered this mail order magazine
That we took out and took a look inside
It came with an assortment of Hippies
From Raw to Roasted to Highly Deep Fried
So we sat and weighed all of our options
And ordered a bushel of Hippies alive
Then we set out cultivating the fields
Till the day our Hippies arrived
The package arrived a few days later
In an old beat up VW Bus
With psychedelic smoke pouring from the windows
Pretty sure they all came buzzed
Of course Hippies don't come with instructions
Only bell bottom jeans and old Jefferson Airplane tapes
Can't tell you how many Hippies we went through
Before we learned from our mistakes
Like don't plant a Hippie face first in the dirt
They need a bit of air to breath
And they don't like to be over watered
Just dust them off when you feel the need
Now that the farm is up and running
We seem to have come into our own
We've even come up with a way of branding
Some of the Hippies that we've grown
We started selling them in flavors
Like Ben and Jerry's down the street
From our Abbie Hoffman Radical Cherry
To our Hendrix Hazy Purple Berry Treat
But it's our Groovy Rainbow Roundup Hippie
Whose sales have never let us down
In fact I'd put that Hippie up against
Anybody else's Hippie in town
I've never been much of one to brag
But we're known on the East coast, up and down
We've had people as far away as Florida
Come and buy our Hippies by the pound
So next time your up in Vermont
Stop in and take a tour and watch us grow
Don't forget to stop by our gift shop
And purchase your very own Hippie to take home
Feb 8, 2014
Feb 8, 2014 at 9:57 AM UTC
it's inherent ontology, it's not even necessary to process inherited ontology; inherited ontology can be riddled and lost to abstraction like the invention of crosswords as antidote to the drilling-in of the Bible... but inherent ontology? inherent is a tautological invitation to italicise the word ontology - tautology anti synonym - the doubly stressed, point origin secured, but from two adjacent / adjective angles - well, might as well be a compound, the adjacent-adjective, when language meets math and math meets.... d'uh... or simply arithmetic, because that's how it's easily translated, arithmetic is grey people and math the rich... language the poets and grammar the farts.
a shortened critique of pure reason -
a) based on phenomena
(things most likely talked about)
and
b) based of noumenna
(things least likely talked about)....
i.e. a) and the ego implant,
and b) the god implant -
likewise the zealots on either side,
bleep bleep beep r r e r s.... and muslims...
i forgot to mention that Kant forgot
to mention the trigonometric foundations
as justifying owning a villa or whatnot,
the same foundations of having
the implant ego secured and willed
are the same parameters of the
implant god secured and thought
the point being dynamic parallelism,
mid-way between cosine and sine
rigid fluctuation tangents occur,
the ridiculous abbreviations, the p.s., and ibis.;
you're basically born with ego
or you're born with god -
there's no woof woof Pavlov chime chime in between -
ring-a-ding-ding-surprise?
there's no side-winding to create cinema -
being born with ego is explained clearly, coerced
with monetary affairs;
being born with god is explained "clearly", coerced
with murderers, lastly -
no psychological theory will box-me-in
given the lost tribalism and the usage of
the trans-valuation of the synonym of thing -
with money came slang - and all thorough evils,
with slang, synonyms, antonyms, critique of vocab.,
Arizona in the ******* Amazon -
i'm basically saying what Kant said:
god isn't uncool or whatever atheism tends to forget,
it's an implant of functioning, we can't rid it
by argument, and we certainly can't accept it
by prayer - unless we're dumb enough to do either
for worth of understanding tornadoes;
because that's were Seymour Hoffman started for me,
filming Twister.
Jun 24, 2016
Jun 24, 2016 at 7:29 PM UTC
I offer a few quiet
words under my breath. (1)
“I wish you a tongue
scalded by tea.”(2)
“I was born
of the fist. The hot Irish
Temper.”(3) “I am a master of Escape. Show me a body,
I’ll show you an exit ramp.”(4)
(For,) I want everything
to call me night.(5)
This is the dream where I play
God. And the front door opens(6)
In lakes, floating
logs ignite, burn. All the
fury is finally here:(7)
Once wayfaring strangers(8) as tall as steal as the New York Times(9)
that once they sang from our dark street (10), the song goes: Heart.
Ribcage. Envelope.(11)
____________________
(1) Adam Falkner, Poem for the Lovers at Pickerel Lake, http://friggmagazine.com/issuethirtysix/poetry/falkner/pickerel.htm
(2) Jeanann Verlee, Guilt, Not Grief, http://www.wordriot.org/archives/4780
(3) Jeanann Verlee, The Brawler, http://www.radiuslit.org/2011/04/09/radius-roger-bonair-agard-jeanann-verlee-adam-falkner/
(4) Joanna Hoffman, On Learning to Open My Eyes, http://www.pankmagazine.com/three-poems-37/
(5) Kallie Falandays, If Morning Never Comes, http://www.pankmagazine.com/two-poems-75/
(6) Benjamin Sutton, Notes from the Daydreaming, http://anti-poetry.com/anti/suttonbe/
(7) Jenny Sadre-Orafai, Treasure In Timber, http://www.pankmagazine.com/two-poems-74/
(8) Lauren Yates, The World According to My Heart, http://usedfurniturereview.com/2013/03/20/the-world-according-to-my-heart-by-lauren-yates/
(9) Robert Gibbons, These Mean Streets, http://www.poembeat.com/fall2011/RobertGibbons.html
(10) Michael Lauchlan, Unseen Larks and Immeasurable Intervals, http://www.thrushpoetryjournal.com/march-2013-michael-lauchlan.html
(11) Leigh Philips, Dear New York City, Learn Gentle, http://www.thrushpoetryjournal.com/march-2013-leigh-phillips.html
(*) Jeanann Verlee, Good Girl, http://www.thrushpoetryjournal.com/january-2013-jeanann-verlee.html
Apr 15, 2013
Apr 15, 2013 at 11:45 AM UTC
Your liquid is
leaking
all over my table
yet
you stand tall
beckoning me
4:13 with no mercy
please save
me
drink me
drink me
light another
cigar
...ette
Miette? Miette?
Me yet?
How does this
make sense to
a Frenchman?
How come some
people get fat
but then stop
at a certain point?
Is it
possible to not
lie?
:Tell the truth
all the time
We're all liars
bigots
********
creators of filth
Will my hair
stop falling out?
Will my hands
stop shaking?
Will my feet
stop pounding?
Will my thoughts
quit pouring out?
Will this
beer
stop flowing down
my throat?
Will the Cure
stop making me cry?
Will Tool ever
break up?
What do people do
when I'm sleeping?
Who do I like more
Black Sabbath or
Led Zeppelin?
Dead Kennedys or
The Misfits?
Mozart or
Beethoven?
Philip Seymour Hoffman or
Daniel Day Lewis?
Natalie Portman or
Scarlett Johannson?
Goth chicks or
Nerdy chicks?
or both
or all of the above?
Do my eyes
perceive reality?
Do my fingers
feel gravity?
Does my tongue
taste sarcasm?
Do my ears
dare to fathom?
Can I trust my friends?
Should I trust my lover?
Mother
should I trust
the government?
Who do I hate more
Nicholas Cage or
Ben Affleck?
Nickelback or
Linkin Park?
George W. Bush or
Adolf ******
Money or
Women?
or both
or all of the above?
Jun 1, 2010
Jun 1, 2010 at 2:07 AM UTC
America, you never had a chance
America, you and I both know there's only one way this ends
America, you aren't going to like it
America, what did you do to deserve the millions of revolutionaries in your streets?
America, whose bones are in the ground beneath your feet?
America, what did your father say before he left?
America, what did your sons bring home from war?
America how holy was your birth that you can't move on?
America, who will be left behind when you do?
America, I'm too sentimental about you and I know it
America, I watched the workers hold the line for months and you locked the doors
America, I watched those people starve
America, I watched you build a cage and call it Chicago, call it Missouri, call it Baltimore, call it Dayton call it what you want and forget
America, I watched you forget
America, you forgot your angels
America, the saints want to destroy you and I don't feel sorry for you not anymore
America, I let go of you in pieces
America, I watch your flag burn to cinder and drift away
America, I watch you die every night
America, I loved you once and now I'm nothing
America, how did you repay Ginsberg's love?
America, where did you bury Eugene V Debs?
America, did you follow Abbie Hoffman to hell?
America, where are your heroes?
America, what did you do to the workers who never crossed the picket lines?
America, what did you give the black kids for Christmas?
America, what price do the immigrants pay for your freedom?
America, who do they pray to?
America, what do you pray for?
America, I pray too much for someone who doesn't believe in you
America, you never had a chance
America, I pray you get one, I owe you that much at least
Dec 30, 2016
Dec 30, 2016 at 3:17 AM UTC
i drank one
whole river of bourbon on
this very night
i smoked two
and a half butterflies
and now i can speak in colors
i took three hits off
this cloudy chick
and now i can sing like a sparrow
i snorted four
lines of sunshine
and now i can pull an all-nighter
i freebased five
pearls from the ocean
and now i can smile much brighter
i injected six
fireflies into my arm
this very night
i took seven
dandelions, and mixed them in a bowl
and now i can tell you all
the secrets of my soul
i swallowed eight
droplets of Hoffman's best blend
and now i can tell you
how this world will end
i ****** nine
of nature's best nymphs
on this very night
i infused ten
different sunsets
and now i can tell you the time
Dec 6, 2011
Dec 6, 2011 at 11:33 PM UTC
Venomous slithering silk gown
Adressed the chandeliers in the
Marrakesh's dusky evening, just
To outshine the simmering glass
There were gentelmen and ladies
Chit chating politely, uninterested
Awaiting on a dinner to be served.
He noticed the scarf, she thougt to
Herself. Unending in memory are
Hoffman's grand thrilly fairytales.
I wish he'd gather the bold pirates
Of his conquering intentions and..
Feb 15, 2016
Feb 15, 2016 at 5:48 PM UTC
The drone swept silent
between the maple tree
and the shed
zapped my dog Shep
with an electric bolt
that vaporized him instantly
while Mr. Stone next door laughed
I told you, Hoffman
to shut that **** dog up
just as my drone
launched a fire grenade
up the exhaust pipe
of his new Lexus
yet somewhere
in the akashic record
of my sweet country
a muleteer helps
pull his neighbor’s wagon
out of the mud
that follows
a torrential rain
Feb 23, 2013
Feb 23, 2013 at 6:06 AM UTC
How many heroes have chosen this path,
Of least or no resistance?
In the face of overwhelming odds,
Or staring at cubicular, corporate submission;
Elect instead the stance
Of simply
Doing
Nothing?
Victorian ladies thought it amusing;
20th Century Centurions and Puritans condemned it.
The spoon-fed rich live it and lose nothing.
Russian aristocrats sometimes recommend it…
When spurned in love & up against it.
Oblomov, for instance, whiled his time away,
In bed, or staring out at the wood,
Writing meaningless letters and ignoring the day,
Yet it still did him some good.
Marat in his bathtub, Proust in his bed,
Still accomplished SOMETHING
Or we’d have forgotten them instead.
Is there still no virtue in doing nothing?
Against the tide of corporate work,
Aquarians rebelled with dance.
Later on, Generation X
Came to work in a greedy trance.
Peter Gibbons was hypnotized,
To escape his lifeless job,
Destroyed the office as it was downsized,
But was promoted by “the Bobs”.
Some lesson there, for those who strive,
That work alone is not enough.
Attitude is more important to our lives,
That revolt by nothingness is not that tough.
Abbie Hoffman was thrown through windows,
While preaching peace instead of wrath.
Despite nobility of cause, does humanity still go,
The inexorable way of sloth?
Sharon Talbot
Sep 9, 2017
Sep 9, 2017 at 8:43 AM UTC
I wanted to be like
Abbie Hoffman before,
until I built a prison
of my own.
Now I am trapped within
the usual circle
that I have grown
tired of,
even before I start,
even before everything ends.
Feb 19, 2017
Feb 19, 2017 at 3:30 AM UTC
So shut off the lights and close your eyes
The demons come crawling in
Their creeping deep inside
These shallow thoughts now becoming so vivid during the eerie nights
It’s definitely not alright
Can’t seem to escape them or break the chains they display in your mind
Constantly battling the urge to feel the pain their causing you inside
It’s taking such a toll on one’s daily life
Missing the bright crystal blue skies in the days we often felt alive
Moods constantly changing like the seasons and in our heads their telling us “trust it’ll be fine”
Can’t seem to shake them in the darkest of times
Can’t seem to break them out of the chains that they live shackling inside
Getting tired and restless it’s becoming so hectic
Don’t sleep well most nights
Should we just slip and let them rip us alive?
-Brian Hoffman (9-13-20)
Sep 13, 2020
Sep 13, 2020 at 9:49 PM UTC
Fade in: Ext. Theater - Day
Cue clouds: gray shrouds
blanket the sky
and the sun's last remaining rays
Cut to: Ext. Theater - Noon
Cue crowd: no sound,
no song comprise
the mise en scene
of this somber scene
Fade in: Int. Theater - Night
Cue sound: few gasps,
some oohs and ahhs,
some cries comprise
the mise en scene
of this joyous scene
Cut to: extreme close up
Their eyes reflect the faces on the screen:
Newman, Hoffman, Brando, Ledger
Pacino, De Niro
Penn, Caine, Dean
Fade out
Sep 17, 2013
Sep 17, 2013 at 8:02 PM UTC
Like an expectant batter at the plate,
sitting on the Pitcher’s change of pace,
Philip took the speedball for a strike.
Imagine the surprise upon his face.
Found by a friend upon his bathroom floor,
The last used needle still stuck in his arm,
Philip heard the Speedball called strike three.
Inevitably, the addict came to harm.
Some will weep to see such talent wasted,
while Realtors will inquire on his space.
Philip Seymour Hoffman burned too brightly;
some other star will come to take his place.
Mar 1, 2014
Mar 1, 2014 at 9:43 AM UTC
Seymour Phillip Hoffman: The World Is Crying For You
If he’d known
The world would mourn his passing,
Would he have overdosed on ******
How much self-love does it take
To break the habit?
Would you grab it, if you could?
I think I would.
Even kids and wife
Can’t make that change in life:
The skid, the slide,
The gliding down and down
And even more…
Until you’re on the floor,
A needle in your arm,
Unconscious of your heart’s alarm
Whispering “Stop
– or else your time is up!”
SPH, you never knew
They’d mourn your passing
As they’re doing.
That it would cry: the bylines, headlines
Sounding, bounding, ‘round the world in living print.
If you’d been more intuitive, more self in-touch, less self-indulgent,
Drugs might have been out-of
Thought and need, thought and greed, but…
Habit feeds on thought
And you were caught.
And so,
We throw
No stones at windows,
Even if and though
We know the world will not cry at our passing.
We’ll mourn
And learn.
Seymour Phillip Hoffman: The World Is Crying For You 2.3.2014
Special People, Special Occasions; Small Stories Book; Birth, Death & In Between II;
Arlene Corwin
https://arlenecorwinpoetry.com/2017/02/03/seymour-phillip-hoffman-the-world-is-crying-for-you/
Feb 3, 2017
Feb 3, 2017 at 1:46 PM UTC
The friend I know
is not the friend I knew
His once open smile -
focused, pleasant -
has become a fast fade,
changing instantly
into a serious unforgiving expression,
a Dustin Hoffman smile,
fleeting, formidable,
a solemn face that closes gates,
builds walls,
seals fate,
the expression of an
enigmatic character
in a strange novel
speaking endlessly
with great authority
and then
just like that
vanishing
with a turn of the page...
never ever appearing again
Oct 29, 2015
Oct 29, 2015 at 4:54 PM UTC
He smokes. Lips pull thin white clouds of relief into his lungs but when he is done he will head back in to the dark den of machine men. There used to be better days. Now strange alchemy has turned his soft body hard, smooth skin wrinkled, white teeth cracked and yellow, and soul into a mutilated mess. The fence vibrates with his passing frustration as one foot cracks the corner. Would have been a ****** mess if not for the tight steel toed shoes, that add about half a pound a piece. His fatigue weighs so much more. A heaviness stops him at the door. It is like he is walking in a world of gravity set at twice the normal rate. Safety goggles, lunch lady hair net, and ear plugs have become his nighttime uniforms.
“Five hours and twenty-three minutes to go.” He recites like Dustin Hoffman’s rain man.
The mechanical madness beckons him in with a thud da dud, thud da dud, thud da dud.
“At least it is a midnight shift and not a hot summer day shift.” He thinks as he shrugs off the last remnants of his reservations.
Aug 15, 2016
Aug 15, 2016 at 4:31 PM UTC
It has happened again
While I'm not looking...
Snow drops and crocuses
tumbling into tulips and azaleas
The slow muted understory of color on the snow
Traipsing toward the waking sun
that herald robin
V of the geese
ever-pointing the direction
out of darkness
into life
...to reach the crescendo, yet again
Leave behind the bud ~
exquisite ~ Hope
of mere possibility
of dew jewels scattered in the green
And never grow tired of this procession
to love life
to love life
Love ~
Inexpressible
Love inaccessibly fragile
fool of a child
we always long to be
Love ripped apart at the V
Apr 16, 2021
Apr 16, 2021 at 4:58 PM UTC
gender
neutral pronoun
application,
and...
and an awareness
for the "concept"
of... space...
like...
being
inquisitive
of
a spatial
standard...
of...
he:
ought to do
and
she: ought to take...
men do better cooking
than women...
i am to blame,
as what point?
now?
**** you, cubicle
Humphreys!
i die by the solid tactic
of
subscribing to
paying tax...
you *******
increment
of i.q. worth!
i'm your friend,
am i?
friendly as a *******
mosquito...
i don't want
to be part of this,
"war",
no more than
i want to be involved in, "it"...
savvy?
i forgot to chant...
is that a "bad" thing?
i keep forgetting
to ensure...
that...
piling on skulls
in a pyramid fashion
was a...
good "thing"!
**** "wasn't, wasn't?!"
afghan rebels,
all readied
to misgender
the crop
of...
waiting for the vagina-cock
****** & ****
dynamic in the obstruct
format for teenagers...
but hell...
let's rebel contra
grammar...
you are,
dear, mother,
your father's wishbone...
and what am i?
wish...
a...
hotel
abdandoned to
encompass filming
the shining...
you are,
most, most, welcome,
in claiming to focus
on a diatribe;
yes?
i call it a leisure...
to fake anti-gravity
levitation
tactics...
activity...
a streisand-hoffman
effect...
born a jew:
never die a redford...
or a tony curtis...
or a newman...
blue eyes...
blue tongue...
ate more testicles'
worth of a circumcision
in the parade of humor....
gimmick than...
the allowance
of extracting ********
for...
the skin leaving scoop
of allowed tattoos!
plenty of
alt-fiction
sci-fi
b-movie templates...
and
that house is in order...
do we have to fake
playing bargain economics
for the remains of
Damascus?
no? good...
i don't want to visit
tel aviv either.
Feb 17, 2019
Feb 17, 2019 at 9:48 PM UTC
I hate you!
I screamed at Dustin Hoffman
As he sat with Elaine
On the back of the bus
At the end of The Graduate
I was angry because he found
Something real
Something fulfilling
And someone
Who cared about him
All I have is an IPad
And another day alone!
Jan 18, 2016
Jan 18, 2016 at 5:18 PM UTC
"this is hoffman, what's going on, where can i find her?"
"there's a nursery rhyme delivering your baby in 114."
"wait, what are you saying, ma'am?"
"nurse heimlich is delivering your baby in room 114!"
"oh sorry, i've been under the weather (chasing the dragon)."
the fog finds you,
it'll take your place in time,
there is no rhyme or reason,
or even frame of mind.
the fog blinds you,
it can't segregate,
it'll capture all your secrets,
it doesn't hesitate.
memory recalls you,
don't procrastinate,
synapsis fire like machine guns,
in the middle of the day.
sensory remembers truth,
better claim your fate,
this ain't the time to run,
new life won't cleanse your slate.
"jane! i'm here. how is our girl? where's doctor klein?"
"she's..."
"shush! mr. hoffman, i'm nurse heimlich. please take a seat.
there were complications with jane's umbilical chord."
****
"your baby's lung collapsed, causing her to suffocate. now, we did the best that we could, but the air and blood just wouldn't flow back to her heart."
"i was told there was a nursery rhyme delivering my baby in 114. this isn't a nursery rhyme!"
"then learn something from it, mr. hoffman. I sure am."
Nov 5, 2017
Nov 5, 2017 at 8:27 PM UTC
"I'm sorry," I remembered saying.
"I'm having a hard time with words right now."
My brother nods his head,
unsurprised and worried.
"I'm going to go get another drink," he says,
and I understand that much,
before words lose all meaning
again.
Jan 28, 2020
Jan 28, 2020 at 2:21 PM UTC
Knowing today is the best day of your life
—a terrible thing to know
(To Philip Seymour Hoffman: April, 2021)
Apr 20, 2021
Apr 20, 2021 at 12:12 PM UTC