The Digital Dispatch

From NOEBIE.net

Original Poems

Journal, Pen and Mug

The poems and lyrics included here have been written in the 21st Century. They are presented without context or unifying theme, other than my own halting pen, eclectic interests and prodigal nature.

Many, though by no means all, of them were written using Burroughs' cut-up technique, which is one of my favorite tools for getting my ego out of the way of the creative energy.

In The Rainsong

· ·

When the dawn breaks
And the day begins
With your first breath
You will know me

I am rain song
I am turning twig
I am blood and stone
I am journey’s rest

In the rainsong
In the stillness
In the stillness
In the stillness

In the stillness
You will know me
With each new breath
In the stillness

I am star dust
I am circles
I am humming
All around you

I am hiding
In a moonbeam
In the stillness
I will find you

I am lambs’ tears
I am barleycorn
I am mother’s milk
I am broken

I am hopes and fears
I am things to come
I am in the cards
They do not see me

Will you see me?
In the stone and fire
In the tears and mud
In the daybreak

In the rain song
In the lamb’s tear
In your last breath
In the morning

In the stillness
In the stillness
In the stillness…

Surface Area

· ·

The surface
of a
queen bed
is about 33 square feet

A human body
takes up about
nine

Less than that on her side

How can it be
that it still feels too
close in here?

In the Morning Sun

Her blonde hair
and drooling grin

Make me want
to run

With Each New Lunacy

· ·

to call that man
a lunatic
is an
undeserved insult

to lunatics

we are caught
in an entertainment endeavor
that is fueled by outrage

i used to be outraged

now i am mostly sad
disoriented
a little confused

and more than a little frightened
because there is no normal

to get back to

that’s showbiz

On Seeing a Tripod Dog

· ·

We pause at a stop sign on the way to school
Here comes a little black puffball
Skipping and hopping on the end of his lead
Dancing like popcorn in a hot skillet
As he and his tender approach
We see that he is missing a left front leg

Nonetheless whole
Joyful, he is

The Kid smiles broadly catching the man’s eye
And he smiles back

Joyful were we

Sat Nam

· ·

Gentlest breeze and sweet smell
of incense
I am
the silent sentinel
at breath’s gate

Before the seat of the soul
mandalas flow and resolve
the orbit of a far off prayer
wheel their motive

the True Name
the Holy Name
is revealed once more

Henlo Fren

· ·

My Fren is at the door.
Knock knock I can’t wait.
I run to door. I run to window. See!
I bark! I jump! Oh, Fren Fren Fren!

I jump on Fren’s leg.
They make me down.
I follow Fren to chair.

Fren says okay and I put paws on knee.
Fren touch my head and has soft voice.
I am good boy.
Fren says okay. I snug on lap.
Fren smells good like my favorite smell. Fren, oh Fren, oh Fren!

One day, Fren walks with stick.
They make me down.
Fren says down.
I go to Fren’s chair. Fren says down and pushes with stick.
I am bad boy.
Oh, Fren, I want sniffy sniff.

One day, Fren walks slow with stick.
Where is my good Fren favorite smell?
I down. They wag finger and say “Louie” at me. Mad at bad me.

I want one sniffy sniff.
Fren makes me down.

Why Fren punches my head?

Have Nots After Ten

· ·

it was one school drop-off that set me back
the entire week stopped at the grocery store
the car pulled up, and blocked my delicate balance
i remembered

several things happened
remember

distributing might be easily upset
my mother always bit, despite working

people who do, and who are
tire others among us

just at the end of just down the road a ways
he made eye contact
being silently filled with rage at symbolized justice
I watched him walk on people who possess it

He Smoked Luckies

· ·

He smoked Luckies
And he was a Dodgers fan

I remember watching him shave
With an electric of some sort
And he was a Protestant
And a Kentuckian
And a Democrat

Beyond that I have no idea

Did he shoot Winchester or Remington?
What was his aftershave?

His reels, I’m sure, were Shakespeares
After he died, Mom sold most of his tackle

My sister watched me salt a beer once
And said
“Daddy used to do that.”

It was then that I realized
I’d spent fifty years
Chasing a ghost

The Saint of Entrance Avenue

· ·

He paces
With hands waving and flapping
Electric Slide
Humpty Dance
Prayer

His orange hair
pops to and fro
like a bobber

Since prison, he doesn’t like to be kept inside.

He is on this corner early every morning
and again at 3 o’clock
the hour that his Lord
gave up the ghost

He used to be a hustler

Now all he does is pray

Those who sometimes go out of the way
to pass by his corner
shout from the car

Bless you my brother
Pray for us

You know I will!

Flash of smile
Back to his duty
Electric Slide
Humpty Dance
Prayer