For My Friend Rachel or For Anyone Who Has Ever Been Caught Off-guard by a Set of Stern Eyes in the Window

I don't have to whisper.
So few will remember that
it will keep you empowered for ages:

The next time you have your feet kicked up
sipping a tasty beverage, shirking stoicism,and having
one of those grand old times away from the human duty of feigning Sisyphean effort,

Don't you stop just because
that new king of the jungle, the boss, peers in at you.
Nay . . . ney, neigh, ne ne ne! Wave him in!

That wave, that mere motion,
it mesmerizes and will probably do the trick,
but if not, chase him down!

Bare those teeth like a Caucasian Shepherd.
Hold out your hand, and watch him hold out his paw.
It's a reflex. That's nature working for you.

Now, that plover might shift his weight, try to sumo it up.
Relax. It's only false-brooding.
Steady him with your other hand on his arm.

Look him in the eyes. Show him how sharp yours are.
Sharper even than your teeth, which should still be promising
annihilation as only BFFs can deliver.

He's gonna know you see his nest and that it's made of straw.
He's gonna know that you know that his puffed up mane is a scaredy cat's tail,
a distraction display.

He's gonna know that you're no plover.
You're an eagle-eyed conflation of owl, fieldfare, and big bad wolf,
and you're gonna bombard him with pellets of your own shit,

themselves made of the indigestible bits of his mousey kin
and that that shit, THAT shit is gonna grease up his wings
and he's gonna find himself flightless and debauched and easy prey

for the next guy sitting comfortably for once,
when he dares give himself away
by opening his eyes in that cave of bitter resentments.

dank skull horn pick

deca canter is the age of dank
and ferocious tributaries
now and forever
kinder, we trot in three repeatable beats

sludge was the prototype of skull
küche, the result of cooking
up a system of downers
life begat life
laying down begat laying down

here we have the horn
of plenty of time
renounce, repent, repudiate
now and forever your calling

post-war we pick
incendiary possibilities from the rubble
can-do, amen, the end
kirche, a toast to the new and everlasting covenant

Provide Your Own Punctuation

what do you suppose when you die
is first on your mind your work your dreams
which earned you a mate
and a regular life is a regular life
what you are after is
thinking is doing
right

the passive poet receives
forgiving nods consider
Plato's cave people
together with possibilities
uncertain should they regret

Dead Corpse #1

My friend Jess over at Oddindifference suggested a writing exercise called Dead Corpse. The idea is to continue someone's poem in a stream of consciousness style. This is probably nothing like what she meant, but I wrote this quickly in response to a recent poem of hers (linked to in the title). Not exactly stream of consciousness, but I did really wake up thinking this.

In an abyss of bootleg movies
I gave a casual opinion
about one massively popular:
"That movie bit."
My friend's response was umbrageous:
"You're so opinionated."

Last night I remarked on intellectual laziness
in listening exclusively to the radio
and though to a third party, my thoughts,
my quickly formed comments
became a brouhaha
for a brother behind bars.

This morning I woke
repeating a word
I had
never
heard before:
Vituperous

Classroom Acrostic, Unit 7: Main Idea

Some
heroines
are
red
kite
strings:

Always
living
in
violent
enmity
!

Classroom Acrostic, Unit 7: Distinguishing Fact and Opinion

Cerebral
oligarchies
mangle
prehistoric
rhetoric
enough to
hold
everyone
near
sensational
isolation.
onward
nihilism!

Classroom Acrostic, Unit 2: Sequencing

Fainting
lovelies
yield

White
irises
that
hold

Mosaics of
ennui

Classroom Acrostics

Whenever my students are doing a bit of in-class writing, I beat boredom by taking a word or words from their textbook and making an acrostic. It's a fun way to squeeze a bit of writing into the day and I think I'll post a few results.

Now stand and grasp your neighbor's hand.
You can't imagine it yet, but wait.
Hold loose and tight and think of sand.

Don't let go when I tell you this:
All of John's words were for his parents,
And not a one was for Jesus.

                                  Peace Be With You