On days like this
like I'm just waiting -
waiting for the end
The mirror shows the years
A mirror does not lie.
Face more wrinkles
growing grey, a curse
The chronological years' cold reality
of a shorter future
a lack of ambition
and youth's confidence
and courage all but gone
And love ...
What about love?
Love - no longer youth's curiosity
What Guy de Maupassant wrote was true
"Oh what torments
a man who has loved
It's a rocky road
It's a long row to hoe
It's a lonely walk alone
It's looking for home
And it's always being in the dark
Oh yeh, you would think
I would have learned by now
It's a mountain to climb
but it's a slippery slope
And you are always dangling -
dangling at the end of a rope.
Someday you are going to break -
break in your neck
break in two
It's a short trip
It's a short trip
so you had better
so you had better
make it good
It's irreparable damage
Oh, such beautiful calamity
No silver lining
just 256 shades of gray.
all I can say
like captive tiny sardines
45-degree nail platforms
discomfort isn't ever really shared
Instead my eyes glued
fixated on smooth silky nylons
sliding over bony ankles
and over delicate calves
to bent knees
below hemline thighs
to the point of imagination
how can anything else be
Against the darkness of night
Can you hear the song of crickets?
Can you see the dance of fireflies in flight?
Its reflection in a black pond
Am I suddenly awakened by the splash of Basho's frog?
Back then Basho couldn't help but hear
Back then there were no competing sounds to steal one's attention
No cars navigating in the dark
No street lights to destroy the night
Back then -
Nothing to disturb
What would have been
A perfect night.
I've been down
Down this road before
The same scenery on all sides
And all the same warning signs
She said she would always be there
She said she would never go away. . .
Yeh, I've been down I've been down this road before
And I've got to say, I've had my fill of yesterdays
Fuzzy memories to cloud my today
And excuses to trip up my brain
I've got nothing against history
Because it is useful to know
To know where you've been
So the same heartbreak
It's your choice in a fancy restaurant
that looks just great on the menu
but you realize after the first bite
the taste is entirely flat
It's spending a long time waiting in line
and finally when you get to the front
believing it's your turn
the window closes
right when you get there.
It's just a "missed appointment"--
by someone or
that hasn't been kept.
It's when you are expecting
a kiss --
a kiss on the lips
but you get a friendly handshake
I've got my hoodie on--
It's cold and dark, and it's pissin' rain
Don't blame me for the weather
Don't blame me because it's night
I've got my hoodie on --
I've got my sneakers and sweatpants on too
The gray hood pulled over my head to keep me warm,
to protect me from the cold.
Don't blame me for the clothes I wear.
I've got my hoodie on--
You can't tell if I'm black or white
Why do I look like some kind of thief?
Don't blame me because when I was born,
I couldn't choose the color of my skin.
I've got my hoodie on--
And I belong here, just as much as you
My Right to resist.
Your "Right" to carry a gun.
Everyone is afraid. Why?
The shooting of Trayvon Martin took place on February 26, 2012, in Sanford, Florida. Trayvon Martin was an unarmed, 17-year-old African American male who was shot and killed by George Zimmerman, a 28-year-old Hispanic community watch coordinator.
I love Candy
Because she is so sweet
she dissolves in my mouth
Sometimes I call her Sugar
Sometimes I call her Bit- O-Honey
When we are alone
hold her like an M&M
Who says she doesn't melt in my hand?
Giving her many Hersey kisses
sucking on her shapes
licking her like a lolly pop
tasting her flavors
I love candy
White, milk or dark chocolate
You see, I don't discriminate based on color
it's all about the ingredients inside
She's my Sugar Baby
my Baby Ruth
my Mounds bar
my Almond Joy
Sometimes she feels like a nut inside
I don't mind
Sometimes I just love to find the surprise --
the surprise of what she is really like inside
Bring a friend
we can play 3 Musketeers
I love candy
sometimes she's a Whitman's sampler
when she's looking all dolled up
All neat in that pretty box
tied up in a red bow
wrapped like a present
about to give herself to me
And I'm in awe
drooling like a kid
I love candy
What sweetness will she have for me today?
Knowing I'm saving the covered cherry
And it's been said that after you die,
you go to the place where you where before you were born.
But this is not a particular soothing thought to me.
As I can't remember that long ago - the time before I was born
I can hardly remember --
Heck, I can hardly remember what I did last week.
Because then again, there is the story of heaven and hell
Neither provides a logical answer to the mystery of death to me
I mean how hot--
how hot can hell be?
Heaven on the other hand...
On the surface, heaven does sound like a pretty dreamy place
looking down at you all.
But what happens if I want to look up an old friend?
What address would I give with everyone living on Paradise Street
What activities are there to do at night?
Suppose there is only one kind of beer on tap?
And are we all supposed to sit around and sing hymns about Him?
After a while, if we didn't question it
heaven would just be a nightmare...
but one for all eternity
Reincarnation is yet another theory
It sounds spiritual and all
that we all come back again.
My luck I'll back as a dodo bird, or something worse.
perhaps starting out as some tiny one cell organism
and having work my way up the food chain
living, suffering, dying
living, suffering, dying
living, suffering, dying
over and over again--
over and over again for a thousand years.
Finally becoming a boy again
only to get killed in one of those silly-ass wars of yours.
What will sex be like in the year 3000?
Will we continue to fuck and multiply or do it some other way
to keep our species going
or will we becoming extinct?
We don't know the future--
what science has in store for the living at the time.
Time will tell
because I can't.
Everything happened in one week.
nothing happened in one week.
Even more cried.
People ran their lives.
One week flew by so fast,
I hardly recall what I did,
but watch the tv in disbelief.
Life goes on
One year later,
Selfishly, my anxiety has all but vanished
But when the earth shakes, I recall Mar. 11
and for a second or two
reflect on my own mortality
One year later,
two minutes of silence is all they get.
Life goes on.
It's a cold, cold world
You don't think so?
I tell you, it's a cold world
especially -- especially when it snows.
I could write about how each flake falls silently into its rightful place.
O me, O Life, what a white peaceful blanket thou make
But does it keep me warm?
Each of us are in the middle of a storm
what philosophers and poets call "Life."
And this storm rages from morning to night
The human predicament that gives assholes like me something to write
Oh, the pain
This cold cruel world invades my brain
a razor's edge
Cliché sharp, and shit like that.
Why be optimistic?
After all, we're all gonna die someday.
blah, blah blah
It's far easier to write a pessimistic poem anyway.
So, I should change my tune
and write about this wondrous blue Earth of ours?
Birds and bees
but I always forget to add mankind in natural landscapes like these
(I wonder why.)
How about if I write a love poem?
I'll be cupid playing the harp
words tugging at the heartstrings
making the girls weak in the knees
How can I fuck thee?
Let me count the ways
Well here's a start: the original Kama Sutra illustrates 64
though I can watch porn on the internet and discover a whole lot more
So, I just want to say that words--
words don't mean shit
It's how you feel inside.
Either be the poem or
you are just sounding off
that noisy piehole of yours.
My old flame
how it used to burn bright
at least that's how
I remember it.
My old flame
doesn't burn as bright.
and that's what they call
Now in the morning mirror
I can hardly recognize
I don't want to count--
count the wrinkles
on my face
And I don't want to count
I took along the way
I recall when my old flame used to...
she used to...
well, you know.
I peer down
Smiling at the sight of your open jar
All wet and sticky inside
Waiting to be eaten
golden brown delight
You look to good to be true
My mouth waters
I smack my lips
I'm so hungry for you
Now that I have you in my palm
To eat you. I don't need a knife
or a spoon
no jams and jellies
but I just want to stick my tongue in there
and scoop out some of you.
I have to have you
I will grind you - slowly
You see, common everyday fakes like Jif just ain't my style
Whether you are creamy or chunky,
And indeed Skippy spreads easy
But I read the label carefully
full of fructose and sodium
And stuff I don't understand
I want the real deal
I want the 100 percent organic nuts
I say, if you got it, then spread it, baby
I want you-- I want you like
I want an open peanut butter sandwich
on whole wheat bread and a glass of cold milk
You taste like heaven.
The weather outside has become cold
and inside the television's glow
the forecast of the season's first winter storm
sleet and snow
My priority is heat
various means of body warmth:
electric or gas
heating fans and fireplaces
vents and baseboards
But no matter the season--
no matter the temperature outside
my baby, she blows hot and cold.
It's the unpredictability
I don't care for:
this woman thing
Where nonchalantly she says:
"It's my character, that's all."
I make it a point to press her buttons with my remote
dinner and wine
candles and compliments
dessert of course
But, I'm lucky if the light goes on.
I say, "What the heck?"
I swear something--
something must be broke.
when I've almost given up
thinking: well, I don't have the right stuff
she will unexpectedly be turned on
I'll tell ya this game--
this game with her:
Man, it is getting old
You see, I just--
I just never know
My baby, she blows hot and cold.
So I went see Mr. Satori again, if you remember him from my old blogs. He was there in his shop as usual - off in the far end of the room sitting on his dark purple zabuton in the lotus position on the same two-foot raised tatami platform. His eyes closed with a half-full saké cup in from of him.
He didn't sir as I opened the old-fashion sliding wood and fogged glass entrance door to his coffee shop - appropriately named Zen Coffee.
I stepped in. Paper shoji covered the two windows letting the outside light in but blocked out any view to the street Four tables and stools for unlikely customers fit in the small room. And where the tables were, the floor was concrete. This was not that unusual for a Japanese mom-and-pop shop serving ramen or drinking spot "a snack" for salarymen. But then again, Zen Coffee is not a usual shop either.
The room was nearly barren. You see Mr Satori's Zen Coffee shop had to be that way. His shop doesn't even serve green tea.
Over the years that I have infrequently visited this shop, Mr. Satori has looked pretty much the same - very little change with age. Perhaps he was always already old. His long white beard was a little longer, but not much. I wonder if he ever trims it. His long white hair pulled back - looking like an eccentric brother of Mr. Miagi in Karate Kid.
Mr. Satori served only one kind of coffee - black, served in a small cup with no handle. You might say Zen Coffee is 180 degrees from Starbucks which has at least 20 different flavors of coffee and 5 different sizes - plus all those scrumptious expensive snacks. But it is also often hard to get a seat at Starbucks.
Zen Coffee is unique. Coffee served with koans, not scones, if you get my drift.
Either something had been bothering me or I just wanted to see the old geezer for some odd reason again. Anyway it was I who came to him and not he coming to me. Or simply I was looking for something different from the usual Starbucks and the like coffee shops clones.
My eyes scanned the room looking to the best seat in the house, not that any particular one table would have made much a difference in this one small room. Anyway, I chose the table sort of nearest to where Mr. Satori was sitting and parked my ass down. Mr. Satori continued to sit in the lotus position. Eyes closed.
I was always pretty much amazed by those people you can sit in that zazen position - A. I'm not that flexible; B. the position is not natural; and C. I just can't do it - never could, never will.
After I picked my seat and settled in, Mr. Satori opened his eyes. and recognized who I was - or maybe not. I was just another customer - though perhaps he has very few customers these days. In those few times I have gone there, I've only ever seen one or two customers.
But before I could say a word or order my coffee. Mr. Satori asked, "If you were to find enlightenment then what would you do?"
It was unusual for him to start of with such a question - a zen koan if you will. In the past, before bringing the coffee, he would first come over and whack me on the head with his bamboo stick and call me "Stupid boy". So, I was a bit surprised by his new shop's strategy.
OK I'll play. I thought to myself. I mean, how can I be one with the universe and everything in it? I can't grasp the Milky Way which our own galaxy let alone trying to get a handle on infinity and beyond. Also I have no interest in becoming one with my cat's litter box.
"A coffee" was how I replied to his question about enlightenment.
I thought for minute before asking, "So Mr. Satori, so how do you become one with the universe?"
Mr. Satori came bearing my cup of coffee. He put it down at the table next to were I was sitting and in a flash pulled out his stick which he had tucked in is obi belt, and whacked me on the head.
"Stupid Boy," he said.
Frankly at that moment I was a bit pissed off. The customer is always right. And this is Japan.
Then I thought about Starbucks around the corner and down the street, and their coffee served in paper cups with plastic lids.
I reached over to the next table and picked up the black coffee in the simple cup he had purposefully prepared for me.
Golden brown leaves
on stiff autumn branches
rustling in the wind
I stop and take notice
to watch them fall
She came in the spring
stayed though the summer
but left in the fall.
Button my winter coat
and turn away
the wind in my face.
Don't take the Lord's name in vain
Some even command it that way
But God damn it,
If I open my eyes
I see sickness,
Even Siddhartha couldn’t escape his demise
I swear these worldly things don't –
don't impress me
Not one bloody bit
I figure, you've got tell the truth
even if it is to your
A good amount of suffering in the world
is caused by man
as if the already God-given misery needed our helping hand
war and strife
pleasure and pain
the enduring the smiles and cries of everyday life
Birth and death
The struggle between our first and last breath.
We do everything to cope
Accumulating material wealth
living on hope
praising the Pope
If there is indeed a Hell below
Well, it’s one place I don’t want to go
Oh, hell no!
Actually I wouldn’t mind the heat,
But I'm quite choosy about the company I keep.
And if there Heaven up there,
seeing that it is supposedly created by the same architect
who created this uneven Earthly mess,
then I would guess
that heaven wouldn’t be any different
than right here - right now
Otherwise, the whole thing just doesn't make sense.
I don't know about you, but I've got a big pile of bills to pay
Not like the bankers who took the money and ran away
Bailing them out was bonkers
But we didn't contest really
Now that's what I call grand larceny!
It's a crises -- a financial global meltdown
A global sell-off,
A global hell-hole
Sub-prime, derivatives and swaps
The real estate bubble
All our fault
What a bunch of SHYTE
Now it's those fucking Greeks
Italy will be next.
Wow! How can moussaka
And pasta carry so much weight?
Blame those dumb Europeans
Who just can't get the Euro right
Meanwhile, credit card debt is at max headroom
Surely the next shoe to drop
So why can't I get some sleep?
My brain bubble is gonna burst.
And what's worse
Nobody has a job
but everywhere is occupied
Gas prices are high, but I'm not.
And Warren Buffet may be up for the year, but I'm down.
And all these so called economists are a bunch of clowns.
The rich get richer and big corporations pay zero
You would think Geithner
Would be brighter
We cry foul, but we learn to live with it with a little lubricant.
So to pay for their mismanagement
the government will raise our taxes
Were are all bunch of dumb asses!
Let's all fall down
Poetry is innocent, not wise. It does not learn from experience, because each poetic experience is unique. - Karl Shapiro
I took a fairly interesting picture today
or maybe I took it yesterday--
or was it the day before that?
Hell, if I know since everything is a giant blur.
Finding myself alone to think
staring out from my blue window
I push the shutter
my eye blinks
to capture the scene
Picture taking -- making a visual record of my life
which too will someday pass away
an unsteady stream -- a short film
perhaps it's all just a lost and lonely dream
A pair of warped lenses
call them the maker's defect
out of focus, out of touch
I'm just an observer
in this world of make believe
And you might say, the whole thing is so funny --
so funny that it's killing me
Each click before the next
with a degree of innocence
each image unique
And no one to share it with me
We aren't in love
but we sure are in deep like.
And from that one kiss
I haven't been right since.
We both had too much to drink that night.
All the conversation thereafter
the flirting back and forth.
So here I am
chasing after you
like a dog
chasing a rabbit
to its hole
It's not fair
to put me on this way
I'd love to know
where this is going.
They say there are many fish in the sea
But on tonight's menu, you are the one for me.
You see, I ain't no slimy squid
no clown fish
no big dumb tuna
And I'll forgo the expensive sole
cuz some cross-eyed fish
just ain't my style, you see.
And for your information,
I ain't no shrimp neither
just check out my size.
Even the boiled red lobster bores me.
I'm a barracuda
circling above you
wanting to come crashing down
breaking you open.
You pretend to be hard and tough
such a cool cold mollusk
iced and waiting
but I know what is inside.
You are so sweet and juicy
my little cute oyster
as I go down on you
and place you slowly in my mouth.
I am your imaginary lover
like Charles Darwin might have been
how we all evolved from the sea.
Your milky juices bring out--
you bring out the beast in me.
Oysters are a God-given oral treat.
And they make you horny
as horny as a man can be.
Your taste explodes in my mouth.
I bite, chew and swallow
My tongue now stiff
and goes back to lick your shell
still searching for your pearl
But wait . . .
I haven't even ordered yet!
Anticipation can be as erotic as the act.
But by any chance
you are to not available tonight
I'll go find another.
Then, I'll have the red snapper.
I happened to stumble upon
the moon reflecting in the dark of night
as we were both up quite late on such a lonely night
I suppose you could say we happened to meet--
the full moon and me
A chance encounter
One round white spot
a concentration of light
A moment to look down and stare and ask
"So people actually walked up there?"
Then, my gaze naturally turns upwards
to get a better sight
at the moon's glow --
at the wonder of it all.
I also spy a few bright stars
those few visible to the eye
But it's moon's fullness that fills my mind
I'm talking to the moon
but hearing only
the voice inside.
Time for a short cosmic journey before sunrise
after which such thoughts
are overtaken by daylight
when time is measured by hands of the clock
when we are too busy--
to explore within.
These blues keep swirling--
swirling around in my head
These are the same blues
I had yesterday
and the days before that.
And everybody says
"Joe, you should wear a smile."
Well, I try
I try to paint on a smile on my face
that is, once in a while
and to hide any tears and the tears deep--
So I'm just sittin' here imagining
what would be like
if the hand of cards
had been dealt--
dealt with a different deck.
You see these blues
Yeh, these blues never leave
have never left me, not since the day
not since the day she went away.
It wasn't and it really wasn't fair
the way Love slipped--
the way it slipped through my hands that way
I didn't say so,
and neither did she.
When she left, the blues wasted no time
and came rushing in
filling my heart
And since then, the blues keep rolling--
like the waves
at the sea shore
And I should--
I should thank her for that.
It's been a scenic sight.
and how these blues became my friend.
how these blues
stayed and stayed
You see these blues
never left me
not since the day--
not since the day she went away.
I should have left you alone
Adore you only from a distance.
However, careful of your thorns
I picked you
hold you gently in my hand
and closely examine your pink petals
who made you?
Who made such beautiful being anyway?
I am drawn closer to your beauty
to discover what is inside
As the sweetest smell
touches my senses -
surely there must be a perfume named after you.
Up close I see nothing else
but a flowering rose
In my mind
I trip and fall deep inside
landing on a stigma,
sliding down your style
the tube-like path
to your center
Unlike many other flower species
the rose flower possesses several ovaries
located within your rose hips
to impregnate thee
It must be
the Italian blood in me.
(Zanghi - the family name my father gave me)
Because when I see you
I begin to salivate.
You are so hot!
You hot tomato
Baby, I dig your saucy ways -
and the way you seem to melt
waiting for my mouth.
And if I don't watch out
I'll burn my tongue.
Oh, how I want you--
and get myself a piece.
I pull you apart,
so I can take my the first bite.
you are tasty -
such oral pleasure.
nibbling at your toppings
I work my way up
to your soft crust.
And as Dean Martin used to sing it,
"When the moon hits your eye like
Well to conclude,
all I can say to all of you is:
"Get you own piece."
You know the girl
ain't right for you
when all you do
is be polite
She has me on a rope
leading me down the wrong path
Don't chase Alice
into the hole
It's not the only Wonderland
I know I should leave that girl alone
you see, this girl spells trouble for me
Trouble with a capital T
So I'm trying
trying to shake this girl loose
get her out of my mind
think about something else.
So which is your favorite doughnut?
Such a variety on the shelf
to chocolaty brown.
To be honest
I'm sort partial to old-fashioned
but I'll give others a try
And ya see
long, stiff crullers -
well, in this doughnut shop
those just ain't my style.
Ah, look at those sugar-glazed
truly soft and sweet
and right next to the sugar raised -
when you eat,
around your mouth
I'm very fond of a jelly doughnut
or cream filled
wiggling my tongue around inside.
But, I don't mean to get to philosophical or nothin'
about the meaning of doughnuts
but as my daddy used to say,
"Life is like a big doughnut shop:
a bunch of sugar-glazed
This is a little universe
because actually, how high
do we ever really get?
I'm eyeing the stars beyond
like our dreams deferred
Then I look down
at what appears...
on the ground
their business -
so that's our world.
And I can only wonder
do We love?
You think you are
larger than Elvis
especially when young -
green and hard
cocky and confident
boastful and adventurous
When I pull you out,
you invariably make
or even blush.
To have a sense of humor
is important -
girls like that.
You're such a jokester
such a Romeo.
You ripen with age
big and sweet
her oral treat
and to satisfy her deep
True, a diamond may be prettier
but a big
just may be
a ridiculous fruit
with no brains.