"snappers" poems
Your origami snapper came along
tucked into my wallet
things like that don't travel well
but I managed
they suffered a lesion to the spine
snappers are apparently weak there
maybe we can work on growing a backbone together
handmade gifts mean the most
less, when it was made in whimsy and flimsy
more, because it gave me false hope
maybe it's a sign
like a uke-playing octopus
maybe friendship is all I need right now
your origami snapper is a great listener
It sits on my desk
Either mocking or pondering, I can’t tell
Snappers are hard to read that way
Maybe if we showed more emotion you’d
notice
but action requires reaction
and somehow the origami rose I made forgot it’s origami thorns
But there could be blood on my hands
From a beautiful friendship I so recklessly slaughter
pulling up roots like weeds
adding wistful thinking to inimitable memories
Jul 10, 2018
Jul 10, 2018 at 11:34 PM UTC
Spurred on by scarecrow's
chemical coercions
convicts and sick souls
spill out into the streets
To slice dice
cook and eat
An orange jumpsuit army,
a crushing orange wave consumes
The neighborhoods and avenues
Chaos is constant
Carnage is complete
No single hero can quell a wave of madmen
well acquainted with violence
Like an avalanche of razors, and ambulance sirens
Wielding improvised blood letters
And bone snappers
Citizens scream and flee
Consumed by the visions
Contained in the cloud of fear
It is clear
it is going to be a wild time
in old Gotham tonight.
Aug 15, 2012
Aug 15, 2012 at 3:27 PM UTC
It's the week of Giving
Thanks, and I'm thinking
Of the magical place of
My Dreams, the
Dream-state I existed
In my childhood.
Google maps is SCI-
Finite, and does this place
Justice like a squid
Quoting Revelation 1:
9 - the Island of Palmos.
But at least the squid
Was half-right -
Middle Park Lagoon
Had an island.
It wasn't just the little farm
Pond full of alligator snappers,
And indelible fish (carp, anagram:
Crap)
It was the surrounding woods,
The Leopard Frogs I could not
(And really didn't want to)
Catch. It wasn't the shoe-
Stealing muck-mud, the
Barely-4-foot deep water.
It wasn't Duck Creek flowing
Next door, flooding often,
Its waters spilling into the
Waters of the Lagoon, depositing
And withdrawing wildlife
At will.
It was my escape-pod in the
Mysterious Spaceship Earth
That was 1968-1984, for my Dad
Ed Scheck, was Supt. of Parks
And Rec in Bettendorf, Iowa.
He oversaw all the parks, the
Pre-Waterslide-Pool, the Bike
Trails connecting Davenport
To its bro/sis city.
My Dad had to work a lot
And me in the park was like
Me visiting Dad.
The Lagoon frozen when we
Had Iowa winter, and a very
Popular place to skate. I think
I loved the Lagoon more frozen
Than liquid. At night, I would
Cut through the houses on
Fair Meadows Drive, listening to
KSTT-AM blasting on the speaker
Attached to the light pole.
It was the scariest part of my day,
That little freezing trip from
Lagoon to Home.
And about the best.
In 1979, at sixteen, I applied
For employment with the
Parks Department, and that
Meant summers working at
Palmer Hills Golf Course.
And, winters, supervising
Middle Park Lagoon.
I got to skate out on the
Ice, the ice that would turn
To the watery body I loved
Most of all, and miss, to
This day.
From 1968 (5) to 1984.
The math doesn't add up;
Magic has no columns that
Add up at the bottom, because
Magic is bottomless.
Nov 23, 2014
Nov 23, 2014 at 10:09 AM UTC
He knows what lies below.
This is where it all began: here
Beneath the bubbling sludge and ******* mud.
This is the home brew, the cocooning grounds.
His sturdy boots trudge through,
Hefting questions and glasses askew.
Somewhere to the side a fat swamp prince
Composes bog rhymes in ribbit meter.
Each squelching step sets a buzzing bunch
Of crystal dragons zipping away to
Slick peridot pontoons. A loon swoons
The expeditioner with a sobbing cry. He
Has said goodbye to reservations, to the
Long-dead preservation rights. He slogs through
The buzzing night. Yellow daggers clench
Between scaly steeltrap snappers and stones
With eyes blink in languid surprise, unnoticed.
He is lost, dying, unsure of his quest. He needs a
Cure. He knows it lies here, in the beginning place.
Their faces haunt his deathly guts and crush
His straining heart with need - need for the solution.
Need to survive, to prolong his life - alone!
So alone: the last. If only he could rest.
His nostrils quiver with the homesick stench
Of tails becoming legs and nipping lips sprouting
Sticky tongues. The answer, he is here for the
Only answer. Something below, below, down
In the dredges of history - in the slime of
Centuries, rotless and preserved. He will find it:
Some link, some closer thing he can revive
And test and rest as bedrock for his life.
A foot sticks in the overfriendly tar. No,
He will not pause. He has come too far.
In the birthing grime, some hungry memory wakes.
It knows what lies above, it thirsts to cease it.
It reaches, roils, pulls, rips with smelly squish-fingers -
Thirsting and thirsting to slake. It longs to reveal
To show, to make known to the traveler.
(All he has searched for is found here, it knows,
Organized and close. Held and safe below)
It reaches, grabs - thirsty - presses him into
A false step. A slip. A skritching clipboard
Of statistics curses in rustling indignance
As it flutters to the mud above a splattered head.
Science-frozen lungs fill with dread -
With life-giving peat. (It will show him) He ***** in
And burbles out a scream. (what he wants, show him)
This is where it begins, (this is his dream!) where it ends.
Now he knows what lies below. He lies - curled -
Quenched from growth. The eyes of unnoticed
Stones blink in surprise. Soaring swamp lyrics
Rise, a loon swoons with a sobbing cry.
He curls in peace and drifts alone
Now he knows what lies below.
Sep 30, 2010
Sep 30, 2010 at 7:10 PM UTC
you are so very inconsiderate
you do not taste the sweetness of their
s o u l s like I do
you do not savor the ice from a man's veins,
cooling your white bone snappers
like I do
you do not study a blue green brown black red purple yellow orange
i r i s
like I do.
you do not live
with other people's hearts
deeply set
in your marred palms
like I do.
Jun 17, 2014
Jun 17, 2014 at 4:45 PM UTC
Alligator Snappers are working the depths of Port Lake
Swimming this pond in the Summer could be a bad mistake ..
Rugged spiny shells and claws like a Florida Panther ...
Determined green eyes at the surface spell nothing but danger !
Never walk the dismal swamps of Georgia alone ,
Snapper's got a jaw that can rip your hide clean to the bone !
Bubbles on the surface are all the warning you'll ever get !
The only thing these monsters understand is a bullet !
If fishing line is snapping and the catfish stop biting , you can rest
assured a Snapper is up to no good lying on the bottom !
Jan 24, 2016
Jan 24, 2016 at 2:38 PM UTC
We board the same
Train
Heading West
On a journey
Through Instagram landscapes
We travel
In open compartments
Where party clad snappers
Make sure the world is
Updated
And that we know
And Facebook knows
Even when they are busted
For free loading
We know
It's their scene
And we're already
Has beens
With our children asleep
Across the aisle
We still travel
In the dark
After they leave
The landscape barely visible
And it is getting late
We are tired
But soon
We will be home
Again
Apr 22, 2014
Apr 22, 2014 at 7:41 AM UTC
An aged man is but a paltry thing,
Bones awake groaning. Sing the body decrepit. Don't moan, Agonize!
Neurons snap, crackle, plop. Locate head. Try to find shoes.
Dreams dismissed. Day bleeds into sameness. Relentless boredom.
Tread the doomed bog of Old with attentions. ***** traps.
Each step the future. Abandon all dope. Mortality worm gnaws.
Denentiasand ***** Tumorgators lurk. Snappers break hips.
EDacondas slither. Limply. Lungconstrictors hide in tar. Gasp.
Peer through blurry eyes. Portage cataracts. Slow streams drip.
Lust peters out. Prostate yourself. Up becomes down. Flexile.
Shelf life gets shorter. Discard after. Only expiration Dates.
So what if life is ebbing. Reality is an unhappy meal. Ignore.
Be a clueless American. Slap on a big grin. No fears!
Pretend to enjoy the swamp of these Golden Years.
Mar 4, 2016
Mar 4, 2016 at 7:48 AM UTC
Wait a minute buddy
Is this some sort of joke
No one told me this would happen
The moment I got old
That all my youthful vigor
Would be replaced with aches and pains
And that I would barely remember
My first let alone last name
And that all the pills I'm taking
Would be my meal replacement
I should buy stock in Advil
I'd be a millionaire if you know what I'm saying
Luckily I'm not there yet
Where diapers are a necessity
Guess I have to thank my prostate
Keeping the *** from running freely
And the hair that used to be
On top this shinny head
In my early 50's dug a tunnel
That now comes out my nose instead
Every morning when I wake up
I'm now wondering who, what, when, and why
Heaven looks a lot like my bedroom
When I feel like I have died
Guess all those old farts in the home are laughing
Over the wool they've pulled for fun
But don't worry all you young whipper snappers
Your day is soon to come
Yes someone somewhere is cackling
At this the cruelest joke
Though I find nothing funny
About me growing old
Apr 7, 2016
Apr 7, 2016 at 6:00 PM UTC
*The bottom land was made
for slide guitar and mason jars
Water from the 'River Jordan' with
blue notes , alms for vagabonds ,
I'm quite familiar with their songs
Nor am I the first untouchable touched by
by the Live Oak riverbanks , I belong
on this bank recalling hardscrabble decades ,
a marriage without love , a thirty- eight token
from a hollow point self medicated Grandfather , Father ,
and two uncle problem solution , I dilute these memories
with Painters **** and the cold April waters of the *****
Within the mud on these two feet rest the others , reduced to
dirt and river water , fed on by trees , dung beetles , tiger mosquitoes , bobcats , snappers and coyotes
Cool topwater holding the Milky Way in her lap ,
air filled in pine sap , 'brackwater' and red mud
My cigarette , my **** , my shotgun* ..
Feb 13, 2017
Feb 13, 2017 at 7:27 PM UTC
Warhawk and Nate
The Warhawks took off and flew upwards
Like angry hornets looking for trouble
Covering the frail old biplane
A flying camera with brave crew
Tasked to look for enemy locations
Flying here and there warlanes they were
American flown Curtiss fighters
Guarding the Filipino crewed Stearman
On a mission of war in the second global war
The **** were ready and scrambled planes
Nates took off and headed for battle
Each side had skilled determined pilots
Men would die today and planes be wrecked
Like something from Hollywood they clashed
Vicious little snappers reeling about the sky
Rolling turning diving climbing shooting dodging
The battle went till fuel and ammo was gone
Two planes and pilots never made it back
Both fought like demons and paid the price
Each side lost a pilot and plane
They both came to grief on the same mountain
And left comrades and loved ones behind
Bits of broken airplanes on the mountain
Lost forgotten unwanted for decades
Till the wrecks were eventually found
Some answers revealed more questions posed
Only the pilots' ghosts and God knew the truth
In this Tarac Ridge battle February 9 1942
The day Stone and Kurosawa died...
Feb 26, 2018
Feb 26, 2018 at 12:55 PM UTC
Five different species of animals
evolved into 🦀 *****
Why Hell’
King crab pinchers can sever a limb!
So perhaps
have a little ✨sympathy
When I tell ya
Lately my girlfriends been acting
A bit crabby again
Invisible snappers
Ripping tearing
&
Devouring!
Nov 19, 2020
Nov 19, 2020 at 4:46 PM UTC
*She's the width of an average driveway , about a five mile walk
Lined with sugar white sand and slick creek rock
Girdled in Water Oak roots and red clay embankments , a summer quick retreat , swift running with occasional pools no deeper than
a few feet
She's teeming with small fish , tadpoles , crayfish and
mud puppies , ruddy bank boulders and thick grassy shoulders
Lined in cattail , brown eyed susie's and monkey grass
Home to cottonmouths , alligator snappers , raccoons and
opossums , king racers , swamp rabbits and cottontails ,
whitetail deer , wild hogs and bobcats and a million childhood tall tales
A sister to the South River flowing into Lake Jackson , a mother
to abundant wildlife , a brother to an inquisitive youngster* ...
Feb 17, 2017
Feb 17, 2017 at 7:44 PM UTC
Silent walkers architect
Their perspective minds.
Mirrors change the light of their visions.
15 years alone together have passed away...
Holiday snappers
Caress in a bus shelter:
Waiting, releasing
Into loves bitter end.
A thing, a body, a figure lies still
On the tarmac.
Warmed by love;
Burned by death.
©Jack Aylward
Aug 14, 2015
Aug 14, 2015 at 2:45 PM UTC
Every time that I mention
The good times they are missing
These Young Whipper Snappers get bored
You'd think with me talking
That I was speaking Martian
Them thinking me out of my gourd
They can't fathom a time
With T.V. black and white
Where all day only three channels played
And at the days end
They'd play the anthem
With the rest of the night being the ant race
Or of a telephone
Rotary with dial tone
Where the calls were cheaper at night
These Young Whipper Snaps
Have no idea
How good we had it in life
With no microwave
To heat up a plate
It was all done slow on the stove
Like warm milk at night
To help you sleep tight
That's a pleasure that they'll never know
Or going 90 in Dad's car
With kids as wild as we were
Jumping back and forth between seats
The only need for restrant
Was a roll of duct tape
Or a trunk that's at least three kid deep
Where moms kicked us outside
Saying see you at dinner time
And you better stay out of trouble
If I need you before then
And you hear the bell ring
Your **** best be home on the double
With information overload
Today's fads come and go
All in the blink of an eye
Life these day's is in the crapper
For these Young Whipper Snappers
With no idea of what is a good time
Sep 30, 2017
Sep 30, 2017 at 3:52 PM UTC
AI, the movie, Pinocchio,
still holds the base plot,
but AI some day, if movies worth
ever hold, as old stories held, worth until not long ago,
on firm fixed grid of ink and stroke as accurate
as
any short hand can be, transcription is an art
telling a once imagined tale told since we
were formed at the level, in the sphere
of more than meets the eye,
- snapping fingers, find a cadence
Thing of truth, boxed in parables, as told
to teach the reason we be
having to justify, the way we say
all men must be to be right and worthy,
on the scale of soul and spirit,
wither early
genius, makes the joker limp to remember
where you lay your head
there is the house
in mind, as the whole truth, snickers on the edge
of the orchestra pit.
might there be minds in any thing we have
imagined minds being in,
in the cultural myth of how now converged
from all the
old secret means and ways money was worshipped,
given worth,
and that, made heavy, as the parameter, gold-wise,
or big fur tanned well, where winters model everafter,
with happy hunters.
What is good in a windfall?
Fire.
How Why and What, each look my way.. and laugh
nows, our chance, burn the branch
let us tell the story how, once
why we find joy doing what
feels like all I am saying
I am happy
inside
and I am so much older now than I imagined then
add a fade gong ding distant skritchy skritch
define the you to whom you sing, or ever
body be, be wise
ever
body be, be wise, bass, and the finger snappers
grove if you are carving
skip to the spindle and spin this diamond needle
tic tic
into gold, the worth of old,
in the economy of mind, whence clots of worthship,
cover stains in golden stories, and colorfilled
parades,
or blue jays here, my now, then your past,
immediately,
meaning nothing to the sense common to us
in the words we define
to our own satisfaction, this is a truth we hold…
evidently, we agree, all the lines to now were clear
or we, the whole we that occurred today,
in your time, was not impossible,
but maybe not with out you being able
to survive yesterday.
Sep 13, 2021
Sep 13, 2021 at 5:34 PM UTC
Stalkin' the come up so haters run up
Watch the guns clutch up make ya head rust
From oxygen rush stiffer than a golden crust
Body decayed no delays we preys evil sways
These days haters love to pay attention but no admissions
To our ambition so keep on wishin' we dismissin'
Fakers make em one with the undertaker
Shake ya up like Parkinson's Tut the don
Luminous one from a sparking globe
Im on fire raps sire set my mind higher
Than the distance from the earth orbitin' the sun
I make numbers run see them zero comes
Behind the ones a billion to none cons
Dont stand a **** chance against Iron Megatron
Dynasty diver soul survivor black McGyver
Improvise tactics much wiser devil's adviser
Chillin' in the high riser like Frasier
With a furr blazer bullets to graze ya
If you a come off as a hater fade ya
Off into another dimension strengthen dominions
Turn my ***** snappers into minions
Reachin' out the barrel what a broke religion?
Check the visions drawn throughout the skyline
Like an airplane creating designs define
Raps into a perfection perfect selection
Bang beats with no protection
plus the infection imperfect resurrection
Since my birth I knew my worth
Wasn't made for this sinful nation
But now I'm stuck in this mudded-atom creation
Primary destiny is to bring out ya mental levitations
Jun 18, 2019
Jun 18, 2019 at 10:54 PM UTC