poetry

oh tannenbaum or a christmas tale (updated)

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 i want to thank all of you who read this poem.  the poem isn’t about my christmas this year.  it concerns my christmas in vietnam during the war and the cutting down of a small pine tree at the beach.   i also wrote about it a few years ago using prose.  it’s back there in the vault somewhere.  i wanted to present the scenario in a different way this year.

at any rate,  this minor adventure is never far from my thoughts at this time.   it’s just one of those life things.  i hope you all take the time to remember those in the military and those of us who are less fortunate this christmas. 

i wish you all a wonderful and peaceful christmas and a very happy new year. thanks, again, to all of my readers.

jmh

 

mosquito dreams
slip through
the seams
christmas time
all isn’t sublime
hopes hang
then falter
nothing can alter
the dim hopes
the sad schemes
all slip and
slide in between
reality it seems
trumps those
our dreams
with more
sad silent
screams.

visions of a tree
frightful and small
scrawny and tawdry
ready to fall
vainly to bring
hope for us all
out on a limb
a viper does crawl
slippery silver
death kneel after all
three colts bark
staccato
viper shashimi
before it falls
while the tree
grows new life
it saddens
us all.

jmh

from december 2008 all rights reserved. tipping is optional.

fond memories(?)

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i’ve had these photos for a while now.  probably since this summer and one crazed hot day or evening in the time before the brown eyed girl and i became an item.  i was going to use them in a blog about nam but that particular one isn’t getting off the ground just yet.  there are a couple of other photos as well.  i liked them and wanted to stick them in a blog. 

this morning my friend, dfr, sent me a couple of photos as he is want to do.  he also included a poem this morning.  a poem by charles bukowski.  i decided to use the bukowski poem and add the photos as a sorta pictograph. 

believe it or not i think there’s a point to the blog. i hope you enjoy it.

 cosmic dancing shiva
shoes
 
when you’re young
a pair
of female
high-heeled shoes
just sitting
alone
in the closet
can fire
your bones;
when you’re old
it’s just
a pair of shoes
without
anybody
in them
and just
as well.
 
charles bukowski
jmh

belinda and her friends

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i’ve tried to write at least three other blogs today with no luck.  i’ve been distracted.  like i’ve taken care of friends other than myself.  no, i’m not looking for sympathy or whatever.  i’m just sayin’.  at any rate, my writing stuff has more or less taken a backseat to other stuff.  all that being said…

‘belinda and her friends’ a book of poetry by my friend, puma perl, is something you all should consider and buy.  in my humble opinion, she is the finest poet  here  or anywhere else at the time.  sure it’s high praise.  however, i speak the truth. 

heroin and alcohol memories.  a sorta charlie bukowski of the female gender stuff.  nyc.  junkie alkie nyc.  mean street nyc.  by a lady who was there and is still there.  but only writes from those hard edged vivid memories of her past junkie alkie sodden dreams of nyc street life. 

after she cleaned her act up she paid some more dues by trying to help the aids inflicted street life folks she left behind.  no, she doesn’t have aids.  she got lucky. 

you’ll get lucky if you buy her most recent book of poems, ‘belinda and her friends’.  trust me.  go to: http//www.erbacce-press.com and find her book.  you won’t be sorry.  you’ll be doing yourself a favor.

jmh

a nice poem

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i didn’t write the poem.  i have no idea who did.  i received it in an email mail from one of my friends.  he’s 11 years old just like me.  well, not really, but it’s the term the brown eyed girl came up with when dealing with my arrested development or something.  any the ways, you may have seen it before.  whatever.  i don’t care.

my real reason for getting you to read this blog is to hopefully get you to visit change.org and make a donation to help out some native americans who are having a very nasty early winter.  please do what you can.

http://www.change.org/ipi/projects/view/help_the_families_of_pine_ridge_reservation

 

A WOMAN’S POEM:
 
Before I lay me down to sleep, I pray for a man,
who’s not a creep,
One who’s handsome, smart, and strong.
One who loves to listen long,
One who thinks before he speaks,
One who’ll call, not wait for weeks.
I pray he’s gainfully employed,
When I spend his cash, won’t be annoyed.
Pulls out my chair and opens my door.
Massages my back and begs to do more.
Oh! Send me a man who’ll make love to my mind,
Knows what to answer to ‘how big is my behind?’
I pray that this man will love me to no end,
And always be my very best friend.
 
A MAN’S POEM:
 
I pray for a deaf-mute gymnast nymphomaniac with huge
boobs and a nice butt who owns a bar on a golf course,
and loves to send me fishing and drinking.
This doesn’t rhyme and I don’t give a shit.
 
jmh

say what(?)

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liquid space
keeping pace
triple images
dance in place.
if you blink
or stop to think
they all
counter clockwise
down the sink.
the sewer system
thrives on them.
nothing but wisdom
and alligator phlegm.
problems come
problems go
nothing much left
of this show.
its maybe that
or maybe this
usually just
hit and miss.

jmh

a poem eventually

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back in the saddle again.  yeah, that’s an old gene autry tune.  or at least he’s the one i remember back in the day actually singing the song.  any ways, kids, the brown eyed girl and i are back as an item.  joined once again at the hip.  it was just to damn painful not be together again.  it was my fault we split up and there’s some on her side of the course, as well, but mostly mine.  which is fine.  so like what else is new?  none the less, the reasons will remain ours as to what the dust up was about.  as it should be.

let’s just say we both spent a miserable week or so wandering around in a hazy daze looking for each other or more likely hoping we’d spot the other one in someplace or time.  yeah, getting old doesn’t stop one from being a goofy kid in love.  an interesting fact to remember and perhaps hold on to for future use.

last night we returned to the scene of our first real date of several months ago.  to, ‘viva madrid’, a spanish tapas place, in the claremont village for some great food, vino, and a toast to new beginnings.

geezer love

our fate has been sealed once again.
queen size bed acrobatics
of a 25 year old. 
lovers lost in the blue haze of
yet another dodger loss
seething from the bedroom tv.
the devil winds blowing
from the east. 
fire storms blowing
in the west.
just another socal
october night or
a fait accompli?
we both want
this to last
and be the last
for two old geezers
meant to be.

jmh

love and its mutual

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i have a new love. 
its mutual. 
when i go there
she’s happy to see me.
i’m happy to see her
as well.
i make her happy
she makes me happy.
like i said
its mutual.
my new love
comes to me
touching
and rubbing me
in all the usual
right places.
especially if she’s
missed me
and i haven’t
seen her
for a day
or two.
she’s got her
motor runnin’
lookin’ for adventure
or maybe just a
wadded up sheet
of paper
tossed or kicked
around by me.
yeah, my new love.
kayla, the k kat
kitty girl.

jmh

the lame game

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this is another odd one.  more semi coherent rhyming stuff with poli/sci overtones and a bit of the good book tossed in just for good measure.  i’ll try to avoid this stuff in the future.  notice i said, try.

i used to really love politics.
it was at one time my mien. 
i’ve been down this road before. 
maybe you remember maybe you don’t. 
for those that don’t
i don’t any more.

yeah, i’ve changed my format.
the writing is the same.
the thoughts are the same.
it’s just like the same.
capice?

the problem with politics
is the same as well.
rant.  rave.
scream into the
sad lonely night.
it remains the same
nothing ever changes.

there is no change.
there really can’t be.
real change is is impossible.

say what?
yeah, fraid so.
the more things plod.
the more i want to nod.

it’s just some other sod
left over
left leaning
left wanting.

there are things beyond us
there were things
written long ago
who’s time has come.

scoff
bluster
full of sound and fury
he’s a bigot
mental midget.

yeah, maybe so
but i don’t
think so.
even so the status quo
is pretty much retro.

rant
and
rave
fine
it’s
all
the
same
game
life
is
lame
we
are
all
to
blame.
the song remains
the same.
time just gets

s
h
o
r
t
e
r
.

jmh

another in a series(?)

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sit
drink
think
ink.

that seems
to be
the way
i think.

maybe some
music
in the link.

words odd
thoughts weird
maybe doesn’t stink.

time has come
we are gone
in a wink.

jmh

Don’t Mistake Changing Headlines for Changes

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a friend, david, posted this in his blog on monday.  i’ve gone back and read it a number of times.  he says feel free to pass it along.  so that’s what i’m doing.

jmh

 

From Tombstone as a Lonely Charm, Part 3
by d.a. levy

if you want a revolution
return to your childhood
and kick out the bottom

dont mistake changing
headlines for changes

if you want freedom
dont mistake circles
for revolutions

think in terms of living
and know
you are dying
& wonder why

if you want a revolution
learn to grow in spirals
always being able to return
to your childhood
and kick out the bottom

This is what ive been
trying to say—if you
attack the structure—
the system—the establishment
you attack yourself
KNOW THIS!
& attack if you must
challenge yourself externally

but if you want a revolution
return to your childhood
& kick out the bottom

be able to change
yr own internal chemistry

walk down the street
& flash lights in yr head
at children

this is not a game
your childhood
is the foundation
of the system

walk down the street
flash lights in yr head
at children but be wary
of anyone old enough to kill

learn how to disappear

before they can find you

(that is, if you want to
stay alive)

if you want a revolution
do it “together”
but dont get trapped in
words or systems

people are people
no matter what politics
color or words they use
& they all have children
buried in their head

if you want a revolution
grow a new mind
& do it quietly
if you can

return to your childhood
and kick out the bottom
then become a being
not dependent on words
for seeing

whenever you get bored
change headlines
colors politics words
change women

but if you really want
a revolution
learn how to change
your internal chemistry
then go beyond that

walk down the streets
& flash light at
yourself