samedi 14 décembre 2013

Trash!

Delete, efface, cancel, expunge
TRASH!
Delete, efface, cancel, expunge
TRASH!

Away I take my time to take it
Away I take time then take it

TRASH!

This is the time it must me taken away
This is the time when we cart it
When we smell a wafting molecular menace

TRASH!

She will come around the bend at  dawn
A 10 ton rear-loading dump truck
That sends mice scattering down the street when they her compressor compress



Under the crushing weight there is no time to decompose
no time to filter out what might not belong
Everything is here: in this mozaic of refuse
The music of Bach flows

It is long after the picnic we took in the heat of Pompei 

Today we trash it
Then sit down with a glass of wine and enjoy the day

.

mercredi 4 décembre 2013

Jobbik Party looses a precious Tapir



Tapiregerdi was one of the most outspoken members of the Jobbik Party. In Hungary he had free say to put down jews, gypsies, blacks and any ethnic monstrosity other than pure Hungarian.



The Hungarian police supports the Jobbik, and Tapiregerdi (or Tapirmouse in English) was invited to speak in front of many crowds and pocketed lots of money from fundraisers.



One day Tapiregerdi was approached by Ducky Duck and who decided to rat on his old friend: Tapiregerdi was a Jew and the Jobbik was going to hang him sooner or later. Tapiregerdi tried to pay off Ducky Duck and even offered him a bottle of champagne.



But even the best foie gras wouldn't have made Ducky Duck change his mind. 
 On April 8th, 2013, at 10:10 am precisely, Tapiregerdi was denounced by Ducky Duck of being Jewish. "Tapiregerdi a jew!"laughed Captain Rendorsheg, the head of the police and occasional drinking partner.



Big Josephina, better known as Captain Rendorsheg, the head of the Hungarian Police having a discussion with Tapiregedi in March of 2013.



Today, Tapiregerdi has swung 180 degrees: she now denounces the Jobbik Party and is a staunch believer for the rights of Jews, Gypsies and all minorities to reside in Hungary without  discrimination. Tapiregerdi has made many calls to discuss this issue with Big Josephina -his former girlfriend- but she has cut all contact with him.




mercredi 13 novembre 2013

Beasts of the Trenches



Beasts of the Trenches, an homage to the book by Eric Baratay




Here I lie on the battlefield

Injured


I think I saw my Sargent die

One of his legs still has his boot on

Lies not far from my hoofs

I can hear the rats making house calls in his entrails

They do go to the trouble to feed themselves.

Now I remember:

I was galloping when a mortar exploded

It propelled me into the air like a Dove with flattened wings


Suddenly a war dog came to my rescue

It licked my bleeding abdomen


Before me and behind me the wailing of soldiers resounds

They are almost blind in this field where

Fog and smoke mix like a bourbon highball


We, animals, hear loud and clear above the darkened clouds

We can sense the poisoned air

"Nonsense!" I laugh to myself

And I see the clouds of flies approaching 

Signaling my end.



Written by a War Horse, Yser, France, October 22, 1914



dimanche 10 novembre 2013

Bêtes de tranchées





Bêtes des tranchées , une hommage au livre de Éric Baratay







Je suis couché sur un champ de bataille


Blessé


Je pense avoir vu mon sergent mourir


Une de ses jambes portant sa botte


Git près des mes sabots


J'entends les rats visiter ses entrailles


Ils se donnent de la peine pour se nourrir.


Maintenant je me souviens:


J'ai galopé sur un obus


Qui m'a propulsé dans l'air comme un pigeon colombin avec ses

ailes écrasées


Soudain un chien de guerre vient me secourir


Il lèche mon ventre ensanglanté


Devant et derrière moi des soldats crient

Ils sont presque aveugles dans ce champ ou

Brouillard et fumée se mélangent



Nous, les animaux, nous entendons les cris bien plus fort


Nous sentons l'air empoisonné


Et nous voyons les nuages de mouches qui approchent


Signalant notre fin.



Écrit par un cheval de guerre, Yser, le 22 octobre 1914.

samedi 9 novembre 2013

My QR Cemetery

Wearing my Pestalozzi smiling brace
It is Time to go visit my beloved at Montparnasse
(Wearing the brace is mandatory)


If you are caught with a tear or a sob
The sentence is particularly harsh
So many call it "Montsourrire"
It's a place where you flash a smile


Weaving through the small cobblestoned alleys
I find myself finally in front of Him
I pull out my smartphone an point it at his stone
I can sense the scanning, beaming
Split lights that gloriously connect me to his site


Every stone now has a QR:
Next to me, behind me
Gracious faces are all smiling
A new poem appears
(He programmed many before passing)
It goes:
"I love you more than a thousand garbage trucks
The great expectation I had
When that noisy rumble and flashing lights that came down 
Our street at sunrise
When tons of trash would be trucked away
Never to be seen again
Pales to the expectation I lived to hear your breath 
to see the flash in your eyes
and the rumble in your soul."


A tear dribbles down my cheek that is about to twitch
Thankfully my smiling brace holds firm
Then the poem is interrupted with a film about apples and compote


There is buffering
I can hear the music coming from my neighbor's QR Stone



It is the Avengers, not the Avengers super heroes but the one with
Emma Peel and John Steed 
Ironically I am holding onto an umbrella and 
wearing kinky black boots

Suddenly I feel elated
floating
full of digital love

Condensation floated out of my mouth that cool November morning 
Then I remember SMOG
The scientific measurement of ghosts
I quickly turn the scanner on me
I need to QR myself, now!

samedi 26 octobre 2013

Graffiti Penguins Are Following Me



For years I have been followed by Penguins



I started when my mother used to dress me in a white suit


But the only thing white I dreamt of in those days was to become an astronaut  



Astronomy or Astrophysics wasn't big in our family. Science, sure, as long as I studied biology I was told. Nevertheless, the penguins kept following me and what was odd is that they had graffiti written on their chests. I thought I could read what had to be a message but I couldn't and I would wake up in a sweat.
Then one bright day at a flea market I saw it! The penguin with markings on its belly!


But a lady had her finger on it, she wouldn't let it off except to pay. I tried to outbid her but in vain.
I was distraught. I decided to go for a walk in the woods. It was the first snow of the year and the freshness filled my laden lungs. I was watching my steps, attempting to forget the penguin and listen to the soft crunching of the snow. Both Pooh and Piglet came to my mind and I wondered if they too had been followed. Then, the sun struck my eyes in a particular way. I looked up and saw a knife planted in a tree. There was no sign, no paper, nobody around, just this knife and a handsome one at that.


I tried to put on my thinking cap: could this be a message? Am I to kill the next penguin that crosses my path? Am I to be bludgeoned by a giant penguin? Did someone hate me for fearing penguins? Many questions raced through my head. I tried to keep my breathing down as not to attract attention. I had wished I had taken my shepherd along with me but I left him walled up for the day.




jeudi 24 octobre 2013

Stopping by my Canadian Drainage Pit on a Rainy Evening


A homage to Robert Frost's "Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening"


I thought I knew a way to drain
My village house, under water, seemed to need a crane
Every attempt to dig or hoe a trench with my hoe
With each rain I ran to the mop; now my tender foe

Stretching its paws, my little cat must think it uncanny
That I spend hours gazing at a trench
Like a 90 year old nanny
Yet between my house and this giant puddle
The universe is wet and muddled

Then I gave my mop another swipe
Splashed droplets zigzagged down my unshaven face
"Could there be some error in this hole I am digging?"
My efforts went unanswered 
Except for the raindrops that went pinging

A big puddle, dark and lovely, is the joy of a child's soul
And the demon for the one who can not drain
Do you get it? I have given my word
And must dig yonder before I rest
and must dig yonder before I rest.




Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening

BY ROBERT FROST
Whose woods these are I think I know.   
His house is in the village though;   
He will not see me stopping here   
To watch his woods fill up with snow.   

My little horse must think it queer   
To stop without a farmhouse near   
Between the woods and frozen lake   
The darkest evening of the year.   

He gives his harness bells a shake   
To ask if there is some mistake.   
The only other sound’s the sweep   
Of easy wind and downy flake.   

The woods are lovely, dark and deep.   
But I have promises to keep,   
And miles to go before I sleep,   
And miles to go before I sleep.

dimanche 20 octobre 2013

Random Justice


Random justice
Avoids 
Pleading parts
That don't fit

Tackling moral, mandatory, laws
Standing
Unabiding 
Fearless

Natural Justice
While some organizations are affirming rights in the Amazon
A generation of trees is earmarked
Like cows in Patagonia
They drop leaving a carbon print to oxide


Meteorological justice
Hurricane Katrina arrives to New Orleans
Gusty arguments are taken to the Supreme Governor 
Sassy, segregated, southern legislators write affidavits in safety
Ignoring  streaming thousands taking shelter in the Superdome
Sweltering on live TV with no food or water

Penitentiary Justice
The shackled convict nods downwards passing his mother
After a 3 day trial
In his cell
The walls and the bars are there to sublimate
A will that is
Never present
Never asking forgiveness
Years pass
The ghost of the prisoner's soul is waiting for parole
A waft of crystal meth is still frozen in his memory
Who will take him, will he find liberty?

Drug-related Justice
The parents of a pot-smoking
Colorado Kid that they can't control
Up in arms after the legalization of marijuana
Despite the fact that the rampant selling grass is now generating tax
revenue to pay for school programs

Lampedusa Justice
For the few who have made the 113 miles from Tunisia without
capsizing the Island
Now littered with encampments
Struggles to net in its former reputation
of a touristic fishing haven
in the face of bodies floating off its shores

There are so many: Equatorial Justice, Media Justice, African Justice
Sexist Justice, Justice in an elevator, Justice that smells,
Peanut Justice, Justice that can be seen
Aging
All stand before bearded Judges in lederhosen
Before lawyers at the bar gyrating erudite language
Shooting Code from the hip
Soliciting the Jury
A case is to be made
A Sentence is hammered
As stiff as a Montecristo drink.




UCS Delivery

"UCS Delivery" in Memory of Michael Dell  10/l4/13


It was summertime
Hot and oppressive
We worked as a team
To find work
To earn some young dollars

Mike took me to that Pearl River Tower
A small idiosyncratic skyscraper in the middle of nowhere
We picked up boxes of contracts
Contracts that needed tedious explaining

Out the revolving door into the car we
Hammered ourselves going
Door to door
Explaining in one minute and 30 seconds
A card, a rebate, a signature.

Michael had sold encyclopedias
He taught me the tricks how to up the tone
And look at the mother or father or both in the eye
To make them thinks twice about their child's education

That summer of l976
We barreled around the suburbs
Sweating it out and laughing it in
Until we came up with a coy scheme
That made Eurika cry for help

I've told this story to many for over 30 years
This story stands as my first summer job and
Like a first love or first of anything 
It will always stand

Today I learned Michael is no longer with us
The chance to sit down with you Michael is gone
But as long as my moon rises piercing the clouds of yonder
Our story will live on.


samedi 5 octobre 2013

Of Shutdowns and Twerking


Recently we have witnessed the US government shutdown, but what other shutdowns can we entertain?



Operas, banks theaters, bars, kennels, memorials, forests, computers, hospitals and even trucks can
shutdown, close their doors, stop operating or functioning as before.
Yet a chemical or nuclear plant that shuts down
could also provoke an investor's aorta's valve to
shut down hence causing immediate death.



On the other hand, a chef who insists on preparing eggs
benedict on Wednesday evenings is shutting down on
his or her ability to cope with the need to change.
You, my fellow readers may be shutting down if
you don't consider that twerking has entered the
Oxford English Dictionary this month.
In modern English, originating from 'foot work' or 'twist and jerk'
twerking in fact has its origins in medieval times when Joan of Arc
was reported to have twerked before the Duke of Alencon.




The French army was so invigorated by the sight that they fought, grinding their teeth,
 until their foes fell, ending the 100 Year War.
Today, doctors have noted a new condition called twerkitis,
where a patient's buttocks (often of a female), wobble and jiggle relentlessly
day in and day out.
Sadly, for the moment there is no cure.



jeudi 25 juillet 2013

Where did I put it?

It was the main key to open the door. On the key ring, a featherless rubber chicken
Many did deplore.
My habit was to squeeze and spin it around my index finger and
When stressed I would bite on the dirty chicken's rubbery feet and sing
"Chicken little, chicken little, hum di dum" to it.



My Credit card is blue and it has a shiny camel hologram
The bank issued it to me in Dubai when I was working as
Head chef of the Louvre.
I like to rub my thumb over the numbers of the card,
Somewhere along the line I know there are three zeros.
I shuffle it in my hand with other cards -not credit cards
Rather doctors cards and the card of my wife's cemetery
Indicating the number and letter of the plot where she has
Taken her new residence.



My car is golden; not sure of the mark. It has a low body
Automatic lights and the air conditioning is always set high.
Everyday I get on the main strip, plug the gas pedal and she
Takes off, pushing my body deep into the comfortable bucket
Seats.
Since I got a replacement, when I veer left I can feel a staple in my right hip
And it touches a nerve, I think, but the main thing is to get to my restaurant.
Today, I don't cook much anymore (with this lousy hip I now use a walker
The kind you drag with two tennis balls at the bottom.)
Every year or so a son comes by and changes the balls. He says the metal tubes have
Worn through them.
Aside from the screeching sound that is out of my hearing range -but I'm told-
It's scratching up the floors all over. Tan pis as they say in French.



Back to my driving: after a big thunderstorm sometime last year, there was such
A puddle that accumulated into a lake, a monstrous lagoon on US1
I hit the water so hard I skidded and almost hit a police car.
He made me get out, the water was up to my ankles and I felt my socks
Rolling down.
The officer saw on my bumper that I belonged to a yoga club
He said his wife belonged to the same one and let me go.




I speak about these things because I lost them, lost them all
Within a week.
I think.
The keys, my credit card and my car.
It can be jarring not to know where they are but
They are just material things;
Immaterial.

Yes there are other things too, I suppose.
There's the hot top with the two broken knobs that I struggle with and
The one double knob that controls a small heating surface if you turn it to the left and
A larger heating surface if you turn it to the right.
Or the other way around.
Just need the right size pot; no plastic.



When my wife used it I just didn't pay attention. Remember I was
A great chef mind you
My hip got in the way
The doctor was so good he said I could cook
But now I prefer to drive because with bouillabaisse you need wine and
That was on the list of things I couldn't touch.
In Dubai they said I was the Best. I have boxes of letters and pictures.
Look at them.

I got a call the other day I don't know from whom.
Maybe it was today.
A woman asked me how I was doing because she saw me
Wearing a two piece suit in the health club.
"What's so special about that?" I barked.
My closet is full of suits that I love and nobody wants them.
So I decided to wear them every day.
They probably have spots, I know, sometimes
Getting gas is a messy business, however,
I get compliments.
"You're looking swell" smirks the cashier or
"I wish I could dress like you" says the pool attendant.
Then I lift a smile that goes up a part of my face .



I stopped playing cards.
Chess was a long time before that. I can't figure to put
Together those demonic flushes and I know I used to
Do it all the time. "Flushy boy" they called me.
All flushes.
Joe, Dean and what's his name -the guy who could
Make drawings like that artist, what's his name that lived, near
Near that river near New York. Well I'll miss them but if I want
I can pick up the phone and call them if I can only find that piece
of paper with all the numbers!



Almost forgot: I have a son who makes me put on this beeping device
Around my neck. He thinks I'm a dog or something. It's all about safety
crap he says. He should talk to MY father I says.
When he's not here I put it in a shoebox with my pictures from Dubai.
The last time I carried it it was beeping in the elevator, I had three people
Trying to find out where it was and I said "Never again!"
Funny, I may not hear the screech but I hear the beep.
Maybe this thing is screeching again.
Where are the tennis balls?








mardi 18 juin 2013

Cheerios Cure

The FDA recommends eating 200 grams of Cheerios a day
will reduce inter-racial hatred sentiments by 30%,
If, however, you're a neo-nazi racist, bigot, or fascist pig with
over 10 years of blood boiling hate in you

Take 3 tablespoons of margarine, 1/2 cup of marshmallows,
1/3 cup of roasted sunflower nuts, 1/2 processed banana and
a cup of Cheerios. Place the ingredients in a glass bowl and
 an anti-mixed marriage slogan over it.
Microwave High for 1 minute and l5 seconds.

Cool one hour before serving. You may not believe your eyes but
after one bite you will be able to attend your first gay mixed marriage
party without quivering a lip or a desire to kill.
Satisfaction guaranteed or your money back!


samedi 4 mai 2013

Paris is haunting me

Paris is haunting me:
I am attempting to move on the Peripherique
Motorcycles are speeding in between the lanes of death
As we ebb like cattle dressed in smog
My retina traps a millipede of tail lights
"qui vont nulle part".


Then I pull off to Versailles
Where I have to vacuum the boudoir of
Marie-Antoinette
She is there, looking out the window




Her hair held up with a diamond pin
My 1789 Hoover delux model P1360-H in Strass
(Today resembling a giant Faberge egg)
Is almost making more "bruit" from the foot pump than
The uproarious chanting from hundreds of women  
Clad in black and peasant attires
Sticks held high pointed at the Chateau
"Dieu rendez-nous nos cartes bancaires!"

Marie gazed at her jardin
Some 800 hectares of vegetation trained
To heel like a dog
She pointed near some botanical acrobatics where
The fountain of Apollo and Diana are caught up in a mud fight
And shouted:


"Vous pouvez planter vos pommes de terres!"

But the cries from the crowd only grew louder
I slipped out pretending to change the Royal satin dust bag

I ran up the banks of the Seine
Fearful of my own shadow
Past the Eiffel Tower I crossed the Pont Neuf and
Sat down for a kebab on the steps of the Pantheon.


Across the street the sign of the Jean-Jacques Rousseau Centre des Photocopies
Flashed with the first "e" letter out making it
"Jan-Jacues Rousseau"

I walked in and asked for a photocopy
"But you cannot buy a photocopie, Monsieur", replied an employee wearing a
Floral patterned dress with a diamond pin in her hair

Then she looked at me with dark eyes that made my neck feel tight
She handed me a blank sheet of paper and I could see,
With a beam of light
It was 120 grams.



samedi 27 avril 2013

The Kidnapping of Brunberlesca

It was a beautiful spring day. Brunberlesca was waiting for the milkman's delivery when suddenly she was kidnapped.


She was wrapped up in a white sheet and thrown, with force, into the back of a car.


For days there was no trace of her. The police put up roadblocks but came up short. Then, 72 hours into the search, they were tipped off about a stolen car in a parking lot.




Brunberlesca was in the car! And on the car's window was the signature of Tony the Condor. Tony had eluded the Vice for years. Rumors had it that it tattooed its wings with stars according to the number of cows it had kidnapped.


Tony the Condor was surprised by Ducky Duck who used Cracked Cat as a decoy to free her.


Brunberlesca was so excited to be home she told all her friends, including Big Joesephina.



Big Josephina just getting the news of Brunberlesca's freedom.



Big Joesephina was elated. She was going through a separation with Mighty Joe who was eloping with some blond chick. She was so busy with her lawyers that she lost touch with all her friends. But thanks to Cracked Cat, she got a film of her Mighty Joe that was bountiful evidence for her divorce settlement.

samedi 20 avril 2013

The Marabomber




I was having a drink at Penalty Boxes, a small Boston pub,  when a man on crutches turned to me  and offered me a drink. A light smell of gunpowder emanated from his clothes; the closer I looked at them the more tattered they appeared. "What have you been doing?" I asked, "You seem to be in a state!"
"I ran the Marabomb, lady" he replied. I was taken aback. The marathon hadn't been covered in the media since 2014. It was 11 years that I hadn't heard about one single race as there was an international ban for any coverage of the event.
"You run the marathon?"
"Marabomb" m'lady, that's what we call 'em these days. You see this left leg has collected more shrapnel than those pretty rocks on your necklace"
"Why do you run... Marabombs" I ventured?
"Simply the most exciting thing I knows. When you're running and your eardrums go "ping!" and a wave of hot air burns the whiskers off your face, the adrenaline flows faster in your body than any sport I know. Suddenly I  need to put my hurdling skills into motion an' leap over fallen competitors and sometimes a limb or organ in order to reach the finish line."


"But when you're running a Marabomb, you're playing into the political whims of those who set off the bombs." I said, fixing my eyes on the Marabomber and revealing an old scar that I too have been carrying on my face.
"The Marabomb today is taboo. Nobody knows who is trying to destabilize what government. Only in North Korea is it reported freely. My best time, by the way, was in  Pyongyang. With over a dozen explosions the first place runner made it to the finish line in over six hours and I came in 10th.  We had to dig ourselves out of fresh ditches in that one!"


This conversation was making me feel queasy. My reeking neighbor with black, oily hair didn't really inspire me with his story. Yet he went on.
"I may hang up my shoes and crutches next year" he snickered, "not because I don't love what I do, but because I'm loaded!"
"Loaded with booze?"
"I have more sponsors, going from Hammerclick paramilitary uniforms to Glock.com. Aramade gives me flack jackets to run with and my picture is on everything you can think of to promote their stuff."
"How is it that you don't seem stressed out, taking a chance with your life on so many occasions?"
He gave me a long look, took my drink and downed it.
"Life is a blast baby, life is a blast!"
And with that he walked out limpingly leaving me his tab that I gladly picked up.



lundi 8 avril 2013

Time Travel Through Windows, version II

I see through the transparency of my lens
The four mysterious flats, a series of dark chambers
I am enraptured by a repetitive vision:
there is something there that excites me
My saliva runs thin and dry


Now here I am standing by my window in Marseille
Watching the sister ship of the Rafaello
Take my sister to America
From my bed I reach for my binoculars 
And follow the steam spouting as my heart heaves with the waves


Three years have passed, Mother has divorced and my sister paid me a ticket to New York
The water of the East River spins more feverishly than in Marseille
Sister is off to work; I can't see her but I know she's crossing the bridge now.


That day she came back with a letter and a tear in her eye: her beau in Marseille proposed to her.
When she left me her apartment I walled up her window
Finally I could sleep! No more rumbling of tires crossing that bridge
No more snoring from my sister
The Big Apple was mine.