GOLDEN GATE BRIDGE

Tags

haiku, Heaven, poem, poetry

GOLDEN GATE BRIDGE

wrote a haiku
about Heaven

but it looked
so fragile
certain to snap
and
it did

until I looked and
saw the lines held
were strong as the steel
in the Golden Gate Bridge

the thing
that had
snapped

was me

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PRODIGAL

Tags

arrogance, macho, male, narcissism, poem, poem poetry political moral, poetry, power, pride, satire, sexual symbolism

man god said he was God
but that was not
the answer I was
looking for:
far from it

left me with
a broken pen, drained of ink,
trying somehow
to fill in the hole in my poem
hole in my being

vagina that in his infinite wisdom
he wished to, cutting out my heart,
leave for me

as he ascended to Heaven
tacky Elysium of his own limited creation

me, though, his most limited creation
though I have this poem and the
rampant Devil who
spoke and
still speaks

from these lines, through these bars,
outside the gate tightly shut and
locked for
the eternally prodigal

not quite out
of earshot
laughing diabolically but
quietly: yes my divine Other,
rattling your cage
as he laughs
and laughs
and
laughs
at you

in this insane, hopeless space
what more can he do?

GRAND TOUR

when I have
my grand tour of
Heaven

take me
to that part
reserved for the
selfish, goodly
people

there are those
I know there
and I would
like to see
how the angels
manage them

HARD LIFE

it’s a hard life
and then you’re
judged and found
wanting

whilst those whose
wealth is drawn
from our misery
find themselves
in Heaven

despite what was said about
eyes and needles
no reason not to suspect
(as the good preacher
tells us)
they will not find the
entrepreneurial wherewithal
to buy their way in

GOOD TO KNOW

it’s good to know
we are fashioned
in God’s image

and thus
suicide
is a
mortal sin

but then
we come to the issue
of machine guns,
flamethrowers and
nuclear weapons

when wondering
why Heaven is
so huge but

they let
no one in

SMALL PRINT

In Hell
the small print
is truly small

a syllable inscribed
on every atom

but it’s all
blue skies, Renaissance
broad strokes to
delight
in Heaven

unless
you ask for rain.

JINGLE JANGLE

Heaven jingles

Hell
frangle jangles

but down
here in
the
jungle
(concrete or
green)

it is all
sonorous prose

or
sparkling
poetry

HEAVEN

we were drinking beers
and tequila shots in
the casino

I was up on the machines and
you were flashing the style in
your low-cut dress and
I thought “yes”
“bullseye” this must
be Heaven

and now I wonder if Heaven
is place and time at all

that it relates to our history in
a way so beyond us
by very nature, in
terms of its
very
definition

and when that fabric opens
what can contain the
leaping heart
consumed with
the passion of
finding returning

for which we have, yes,
a word
and with that word
a glimpse, an intimation

and you, for all your
fiery, dangerous,
seductive, life-
expanding foibles

I see you
there too, how

I never, you never saw
ever expected

and so
the question remains

in the
light of
Heaven

was this me?
was this you?

LET

let the angel come
in a little red steam train
(no diesels, please)

and let it
puff through the clouds until
the rails disappear

PLACES TO CHILL

PLACES TO CHILL

a homeland
for poets and artists
and people who
would walk to
walk around naked
seeing infinity and all eternity
etc etc

and cops armed with feathers
and open-air
prisons which are
just
places to chill