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Down in the Dirt Updates |
Down in the Dirt Updates Down In the Dirt has published some more of my poetry. Just published Writers from Scars Publications Association of the Living Dead Madmen with Guns Madness The Secret Fly Drone Previously published 3 5 7 love poem An Old Man Visits His Wife’s Grave April 30 In Search of America 1975 – Hitch hiking Tales Charles Bukowski Road Not Chosen Fallen Dreams Litter the Ground If you’ve been around Lone Foreigner Hiking the Seoul City Walls My Name Is Nobody Snarling Cup of Coffee Strangeness in the Air Unhinged Lunatic Howling at the Full Moon Madmen with Guns After every incident Of mass gun violence In the U.S. Pictures emerge Of the killers Almost always white men. Who stares out at you With soulless dead eyes Filled with hate, fear And shear madness. With the thousand-year stare Of the madman Who only hears The voices in his head Screaming kill them all Kill them all. And as always They usually legally bought The guns. This case was a bit different The gunman briefly had his guns Taken away from him And his 60 knives as well Judged temporarily too crazy To have a gun. But the red flag law Is not a permanent ban As it should be. And so he was able To re-arm himself With the best weapons In the world At a very affordable price. Thanks to the NRA. And so he was soon lost Down the rabbit hole Of insanity and probably drugs, The lone sniper A disgruntled young white man In his 20’s Sets up shop on top of a building. He has a high-powered weapon No doubt bought legally An AR-15 is the choice Of the serious gunmen everywhere. And begins shooting Into the July 4th parade Killing six people Injuring 30. Before putting the gun down And fleeing Before the cops can find him. The right-wing media Goes to works The pundit's pontificate 24/7 It is not about the gun It is about everything else That is wrong with our society. Guns don’t kill people They proclaim Guns are the price we pay For our freedom. Their demented answer are more guns More guns for everyone. And sadly, nothing will be done As the politicians offer Useless thoughts and prayers The gun ghosts don’t care They are dead after all. The madness will not stop Until we figure out How to stop The killers in our midst. There will be another shooting No doubt before the day is done Over 300 so far this year. And that is just the way It is in this day and age Of America. The land of the free Home of the brave And 400 million guns. The Secret Fly Drone The fly on the wallpaper In the CIA director’s office Was not a real fly He was an enemy spy drone Secretly controlled remotely Listening to all the secret conversations Until the director smashed him With a flyswatter Then realized that it was a spy fly He had dispatched to bug hell. Association of the Living Dead India In India, several years ago A man falsely claimed his brother Was dead so he could inherit the family assets, The dead brother had to fight To be declared legally not dead And contest the will. “The Association of the Living Dead” Became a movement Of thousands of people. For in India apparently, It was a thing to declare Your relative is dead. I never thought That the US would have To form their own “The Association of the Living Dead” Until this week. The cyber ninjas In their infamous non-forensic audit In the 2016 Arizona election Claimed that hundreds of dead people Had voted. They gave their list of the alleged dead voters To the attorney general Who contacts all 300 dead people Found that 299 of the 300 were in fact Not dead and none of them knew That unnamed political operative Were claiming that they were dead. The one dead voter was alive when he voted early. But died before election day Thus making his vote not valid But there was no fraud involved As he was alive when he voted. Perhaps they need to form The “association of the living dead” To fight for the right of the non-dead people To continue to vote and receive other government benefits? What a sad commentary On the farcical nature Of contemporary life In these disunited States of America. 3 5 7 love poem Missing you missing me Dreaming about you, do you dream the same I will love you until the end of time; will you remember me then? An Old Man Visits His Wife’s Grave An Old man Goes to the grave Of his beloved wife Carrying her favorite flowers And a guitar Playing her love songs As he remembers her life Blaming it all On the damn coronavirus Pandemic Killing thousands every day As politicians play games The dead remain dead he hears his wife’s voice from beyond the grave she is a corona ghost he wishes he were there with her as he plays his mournful love songs he lays down for a moment and becomes another Corona ghost just another death that lonely day April 30 In Search of America 1975 – Hitch hiking Tales When I was young and foolish Broke and stubborn I hitchhiked across the USA Started in Salt Lake City Where my greyhound bus pass Was stolen The station manager Could have helped me But refused to do so Threaten to call the cops When I grabbed my bags Without the stolen tags I said Go ahead But I am so out of here Wondered about Salt Lake City Went to a bar Found I had to buy my booze Next door And they would mix it for me Had to order food too After a bloody Mary And a burger I walked about town Saw the Mormon Temple Finally about 3 pm It was time to hit the road Did not look back Ended up in Cody Wyoming Got a room shower Steak beer Using my rapidly depleted cash Spent 25 dollars Money really went far Back in those days A band of professional Communist agitators Gave me a ride To Des Moines Lots of weed, booze And politics later Got off the road Slept outside Next day A beautiful woman Drove me to near Chicago In a red mustang Might have been The girl in the song Took it easy Digging her vibe She invited home But was not sure If her estranged husband Would welcome me So, I am being foolish And inexperienced with women Did not go to her place And always regretted That I had lost My chance that day Then on to Chicago Several rides later Visited friends Hit the road again A series of uneventful rides With truckers And others And a week later I ended in New York City Slept along the way In cars In truck stops In high way, rest stops Always moving Always going Nonstop talking And lots of free weed And beer And conversation One more memorable ride Occurred outside Albany On my return to Chicago A middle-age creepy looking man Picked me up In a brand-new Cadillac He was he said a dynamite deliverer For the Mafia Went to various places To blow up shit He hated a lot of people Particularly hippies from California And Jewish people Looking at me to confirm That I was both I told him that I lived in New York And had never been to California And although I might have looked Jewish As I what was called back in the day A “Jewfro” I was not Jewish Many years later I discovered That I am indeed part Jewish But then I did not know And I felt a bit of strategic information Might keep me alive Then I realized that he was just jiving with me And we relaxed And he pulled out some weed And beer And we mellowed out But I believe that he was with the mob Perhaps not a dynamite dealer A real made Italian made mafia member By Chicago I had enough I called my Dad Told him what had happened Wanted a ticket home And he sent me a ticket And 500 dollars And I went home I told him I would tell him My tales someday But never did I learned so much About my fellow Americans And the strange vibe That was 1975 And now it is too late But I wanted to finally Tell the world Charles Bukowski Road Not Chosen While reading Charles Bukowski's poetry On the metro ride home Listening to Buddha bar music On my oh-too-hip iPod I begin to see myself as I was Over 30 years ago when I was merely a bit player A minor character in a Charles Bukowski poem A wild young underemployed intellectual Hanging out in dismal bars and dives all over Asia and California Hanging with disreputable women and drunks and drinkers And characters out of his kinds of haunts A mad poet bard of the underground A drunken poet in a drunken bum show That nightly played in his head Then one day I met the woman of my dreams And went down a different path A long slow path to respectability And now 30 years later I am no longer a wild man I am still a poet at heart But I am now also a bureaucrat In a button-down suite Doing the people’s business Working for the Government I’ve become the Man Sometimes I wonder Would I have been better off Going down that other path Would I have ended up Somewhere else Doing something else Would I have been as happy Would I have been as successful? No answer satisfies The longing in my heart For that wild thing That still lurks beneath It’s a civilized cover And I know that I am still A mad poet at heart Railing against the injustice of the world As I work day by day in the belly of the great beast of State I recall the ancient Chinese saying, “Confucian during the day while Taoist rebel at night” Playing out in my head and nightly dreams In the true American Upper-class patrician tradition I close the book and look out the window Get off the train, and walk slowly home And realize I had no choice But to take the path that I’ve trodden on And so I put aside my misgivings And say goodbye to my “Bukowskian” desires For another night of domestic contentment Was it worth it all to take the conventional path And not take the bohemian road to hell and back I look at my wife and realize I had no choice, had no choice But to follow her to the ends of the earth And beyond by her side as we walked our path Of shared destiny Goodbye Charles Bukowski wherever you are May I meet you in a bar in the next life And figure out where we should have gone Until then the drinks are on me. Fallen Dreams Litter the Ground In the fall weather As I walk amid the falling leaves I see the signs everywhere Of the fall of America The once great and mighty Empire Everywhere signs of the fall appear The dark skies mirror The darkness that settled over our land Death, destruction, and random acts of chaos Are all around us Surrounding us with visions of doom Nothing can stop the bloodletting No one seems to be in charge As the leaves fall And the darkness descends The fall of America continues If you’ve been around If you’ve been around As much as I have Decades of memories Fill up your brain’s hard drive Remembering the dead Misremembering the living Seeing the past fly past Everywhere you go Thinking about things You did and did not do As your life begins to fade Sinking into lost worlds past Seeing the ghosts Of all you knew Whispering Soon you will Be joining us Lone Foreigner Hiking the Seoul City Walls Lone Foreigner Hiking the Seoul City Walls John (“Jake”) Cosmos Aller a Lone foreign male hiker in the hills above the city Hiking along the ancient Seoul City walls 500 years after the founding Of the city in 1492 balancing his walk amid the boulders the winter is coming soon he thinks and finishes his hike heading to a bar to sake his thirst some soju, and bulgogi will do the trick he thinks to himself just another day in the life of an unknown nameless foreigner in the city of Seoul part of the ten million naked stories in the big city My Name Is Nobody My Name Is Nobody John (“Jake”) Cosmos Aller My name is Nobody No one cares who I am I am just a nameless clone In the cold unfeeling bureaucracy Just one of the army Of civilians who flood into and out of the city Every day A non-entity, A ghost A govbot A cyber A spook A faceless automaton A bureaucrat Just a grey-suited cog in the machinery And no one cares No one knows who I am And I am a legend Everywhere and nowhere Just the way this modern world All shred of humanity Crushed beneath the cruel wheel of society In the cold harsh world There is no room anymore For true human feelings We are just robots, clones, machines And so I go to work Put on my mask And no one hears my inner screams And no one will ever care Snarling Cup of Coffee I like to start my day with a hot cup of coffee I pound down the coffee First thing I do every day as the dawning sun Lights up my lonesome room Yeah, but not just a simple cup of java Joe, but a Goddamn snarling sarcastic smarmy cup of coffee I mean, – we are talking about an alcoholic, all speed ahead, always hot, always fresh, always there when I need it, angry, attitude talk to the hand Ztude, bad, bad assed, beats breaking, beatnik, bluesy, bitter, bitchy, bombs away, capitalistic, caffeinated up the ass, cinematic, communistic, Colombian grown, Costa Rican inspired, Cowabunga to the max, crazy assed, devilishly angelic, divine, divinely inspired, dyslexic, epic, extreme vetting, evil eye, expensive, erotic vision inducing, Ethiopian coffee house brewed, euphoric, freaky, freazoid, foxy, Frenched kissed, French brewed, funkified, foxy lady, graphic, GOD in my coffee, with Allah, Ganesh, Jesus, Kali, Buddha, Christians, Durga, Hindus, Mohamed, Jesus and Mo and their friend, the cosmic bar maid, Sai Babai, Shiva, Taoists, Zoroastrians, drinking my god damned coffee in Hell; growling, gnarly, happy, hard as ice, Hawaian blessed, high as a kite, hippie, hip, hipster, hip hoppy, hot as hell yet strangely sweet as heaven, jazzy, jealous, Kerouac approved, kick ass, kick my god damn ass to Tuesday, kick down the doors and take no prisoners, grown in the Vietnam highlands by ex-Vietcong, Guatemalan grown, kiss ass, illegal in every state, imported from all over the god damn world, insane, lovely, loony, lonely, lonesome, malodorous mean old rotten, motherfucking, nasty, narcotic, never whatever, never meh, never cold, not approved by the CIA, not approved by DHS, not approved for human consumption by the FDA, not your daddy’s sissified corporate cup of coffee, NOT DECAFE coffee, not your Denny’s truck driver weak as brown water cup of fake coffee, not your establishment friendly cup of coffee, Not your FBI coffee, Not FAKE Herbal coffee substitute, but a real cup of coffee, not your farmer brothers dinner crap, not made in America for Americans, not safe for work, not your Starbucks average expensive overpriced crappy corporate chain cup of coffee, Not pretentious, Not White House approved, not State Department safe, nuclear, Not Patriotic, operatic, Peets’s coffee approved, paranoid, pornographic, psychotic, pontific, politically aware, rapping, rhyming, right here, right now in River city, rock and roll up the Yazoo, sad, sadistic, sarcastic, sassy, satanic, schizoid, shitting, silly, sexy, smarmy, smelly, smooth, snarky, snarling, stupid, stinking, sweet as honey, sweat inducing, symphonic, Trump can’t handle this coffee, vengeful, Wagnerian, wicked, with nutmeg and cinnamon swirls, with a hint of stevia, with a hint of vanilla, with a hint of rum, with a hint of whisky, with a hint of cherry, with a hint of fruit overtones, with a hint of drugs spicing up the coffee, spendific, speeding, splendid, superior accept no substitutes, survived the Vietnam war, the Iraq war, the Afghan war, the first and Second Korean war, World War 11, the war on poverty, the war on drugs, the war on black people, the sexual revolution, Soulful as a summer’s night in MOTOWN- James Brown approved, TOP approved, Berkeley approved, the coffee that Jimmy Hendrix drank before he died, the coffee that Elvis drank on his last breakfast, the coffee that Barry White crooned as he drank his cup of coffee – and the coffee that made the white boy play stand up and play that funky music, the coffee that made Jonny B Goode play his guitar, and made Jonny bet the devil his soul after he drank his morning cup of righteous coffee and the coffee that make the Rolling Stones Rock and Roll, the coffee your mother warned you against drinking, the coffee that Napoleon drank when he became the Emperor of all Europe, the Coffee that Beethoven drank when he wrote the Ninth symphony, the coffee that Mozart drank as he wrote his last symphony, the coffee that Lincoln drank before he was killed, the Hemingway drank before he killed himself, the coffee that started the 60’s, and ended the 20th century, the coffee that Lenin drank as he plotted revolution, the coffee that Hitler and Stalin drank with FDR as they divided up the world after World War 11, the cup that JFK drank before he was blown away, the coffee Jerry drinks while driving in cars with random celebrities and political figures, the coffee that Jon Stewart drinks before he goes on an epic take down of some foolish politico, the cup of Arabic coffee that Sadaam drank the day he was executed, the coffee that GW and Cheney drank when they bombed Baghdad, the Indian cup of coffee that Bid Laden drank before 9-11 and just before the seals blew his ass to hell, the cup of coffee that Tiger Woods drank with his mistresses while playing a 3, 000 dollar round of golf at Sandy Lane golf course in Barbados, the last legal drug that does what drugs should do, the cup of coffee that Obama drank when he became President, Vietnamese, Vienna brew, wacky, whimsical, Whisky Tango Foxtrot, wild, weird, wonderful, WOW, Yabba dabba doo! Yada Yada yada Zappa’s favorite cup of cosmic coffee, and Zorro’s last cup of coffee, Good to the last drop rolled into one simple cup of hot coffee As I pound down that first cup of coffee And fire up my synaptic nerve endings with endless supplies Of caffeine induced neuron enhancing chemicals I face the dawning day with trepidation and mind-numbing fear I turn on the TV and watch the smarmy newscasters in their perfect hair Lying through their teeth about the great success the government is having Following the great leader’s latest pronouncements I want to scream and shoot the TV and run outside Shouting “Stop the world. I want to get off this fucking crazy planet” The earth does not care a whit about my attitude It merely shrugs and moves around the Sun In its appointed daily run And I sit down The madness dissipated a bit And enjoy my second cup Of heaven and hell In my morning cup of Joe Strangeness in the Air Strangeness in the Air John (“Jake”) Cosmos Aller There is a strangeness in the air A sense of cosmic unease Hangs silently in the purple crystalline sky America woke up And decided it was time To quit following like lemmings Over the Clift As the pied piper chants Stay the course, stay the course We were like lemmings following him Dying to save his wounded pride Today there is that strange difference In the air As Americans woke up And threw off their chains of fear Unhinged Lunatic Howling at the Full Moon On the night of the blood-red super full moon I sat in an evil, depraved godforsaken bar Drinking drams of demented, fermented dream dew Washed down by endless rounds of whiskey rum, tequila, vodka, soju, and of course beer drinking with my buddies the Jack Daniels Gang Drinking my way to Hell and beyond Just as fast as I could twenty damn drinks too sober Just an unhinged lunatic Dreaming of howling at the full moon Watching the world walk by Looking at all the fine-looking babes Walking by the street Thinking wild, erotic thoughts Of endless wild libertine passions When into the bar That din of cosmic depravity Walked the most beautiful women In the Universe So wild, so free So wonderfully alive I did not know what to do As this vision of delight Sauntered through the bar In a skin-tight leather pant Looked so fine That my eyeballs hurt And finally, I had to say something So, I gathered up my manly courage And walked up to her And she looked at me And instantly bewitched my soul With a devilish grin I lost all reason And became a raving lunatic Unhinged lunatic Howling at the blood-red full moon Foaming at the mouth A wild, free werewolf Howling at the lunatic light Of the blood red blue full Moon Of my hitchhiking tales In search of America 1975 Ordering info Order this writing in the book Negative Space (the 2017 poetry, flash fiction & art collection anthology) get the 298-page poem, flash fiction & art collection anthology as a 6" x 9" ISBN# paperback book: This writing was accepted for publication in the 108 page perfect-bound ISSN# / ISBN# issue/book... “the Lighthouse” Down in the Dirt, v152 (the December 2017 Issue) You can also order this 6"x9" issue as a paperback book: This writing was accepted for publication in the 108 page perfect-bound ISSN# / ISBN# issue/book... “The Deep Woods” Down in the Dirt, v164 (the May/June 2019 Issue) You can also order this 6"x9" issue as a paperback book: Order this writing that appears in the one-of-a-kind anthology The Flickering Light the Down in the Dirt Jan.-June 2019 issues & chapbooks collection book (learn about this book and order from Amazon online) This writing was accepted for publication in the 108 page perfect-bound ISSN# / ISBN# issue/book... “Waterlogged” Down in the Dirt, v144 (the April 2017 Issue) You can also order this 6"x9" issue as a paperback book: This writing was accepted for publication in the 108-page perfect-bound ISSN# / ISBN# issue/book “Prayers and Bullets” Down in the Dirt, v181 (the March 2021 Issue) Order the paperback book: Order this writing that appears in the one-of-a-kind anthology Excerpts from the Plague Years the Down in the Dirt Jan.-April 2021 issues collection book get the 420 page Jan.-April 2021 Down in the Dirt 6" x 9" ISBN# perfect-bound paperback book: his writing was accepted for publication in the 108-page perfect-bound ISSN# / ISBN# issue/book “Sprung from Grief” Down in the Dirt, v184 (the June 2021 Issue) Order the paperback book: order this writing that appears in the one-of-a-kind anthology Lockdown’s Over the Down in the Dirt May-August 2021 issues collection book get the 420 page May-August 2021 Down in the Dirt 6" x 9" ISBN# perfect-bound paperback book: This writing was accepted for publication in the 108 page perfect-bound ISSN# / ISBN# issue/book... “My Name is nobody” Down in the Dirt, v156 (the April 2018 Issue) You can also order this 6"x9" issue as a paperback book: Order this writing in the issue book At Midnight the Down in the Dirt Jan.-Apr. 2018 collection book get the 418 page Jan.-Apr. 2018 Down in the Dirt issue anthology 6" x 9" ISBN# paperback book: This writing was accepted for publication in the 108 page perfect-bound ISSN# / ISBN# issue/book... “Parallel Universe” Down in the Dirt, v163 (the March/April 2019 Issue) You can also order this 6"x9" issue as a paperback book: Order this writing in the book Art House the 2019 poetry, flash fiction, prose and art collection anthology get the 214-page poetry, flash fiction, prose, & art collection anthology as a 6" x 9" ISBN# paperback book: for the rest of the posting visit https://wp.me/p7NAzO-2s6 |