| POEMS |
| POEMS AND VERSES (A small selection) Copyright 2011 by David L. O'Neal POETRY BOOKS AVAILABLE: An Alphabeastiary, containing 52 poems about animals, birds, reptiles, fish; illustrated. Light and Dark: Poems and Supplement, together 2 vols. Babbling Birds, An Anthology of Poems About Parrots, From Antiquity to the Present, numerous color illustrations, 160 pages, soft cover. The Science of Immortality and Other Poems, 54 pages, soft cover. Please see Contact Me page. . I Tried to Write a Villanelle I tried to write a villanelle to show I could make formal verse and found it was a form from Hell. I hoped to write one that would sell but struggling only made it worse, trying to write a villanelle. Dylan penned one extremely well, but other poets strain and curse and find it is a form from Hell. The words simply refuse to jell, and syntax often I reverse trying to rhyme a villanelle. At this rate I can really tell the form’s so hard and so perverse that surly it’s a form from Hell. So now I’m villanelle averse: the form for me is much too terse. I tried to write a villanelle, and found it was a form from Hell. Your Beauty Is Not Jade Your beauty is not jade, dear: beauty fades, But slowly, as stars go dim at daylight. Your loveliness has deep and different shades, Your beauty is my pleasure and delight. Love is not blind, but nature’s pace is kind: As slowly was formed the planet Venus, Or as sea slowly smooths the stones we find So that no sudden change comes between us. And when I see your beauty day by day, It seems to me that time’s left you behind To dazzle me and keep me in your sway. Your loveliness has been so well designed. And unlike jade, or other gems we find, Your beauty ripens slowly in my mind. Gun I shot a rabbit In a hedgerow when I was twelve with a single-shot 22 rifle my father gave me. I loved that gun: the menacing perfection of the long, blue-black barrel, the smoothness of the dark walnut stock that fit so beautifully into my shoulder, the round hard knob at the end of the bolt arm, the click of a chambered cartridge, the oily smell of the breach, the acidic pungent powder smell. The bullet hit the rabbit in the eye. The eye, still attached by shattered tissue and bloody muscle, lay two inches from the rabbit's body. I never shot another animal. But I shot a man. Tripartite Brain Our human brain is tripartite: Part reptile, mammal, and primate And often doesn't get things right. The oldest part of it's the snake's: The reptile brain that's all instinct That fights or flees or fakes and makes mistakes. The mammal part's like a dogs' or cats': It's called the limbic system And emotes and fosters feelings -- even in rats. The third part's the neo-cortex, The newest and, some say, the best: It thinks and plans and is the most complex. The neo-cortex knows just what to do: It apologize, endlessly, For the shameless goings on Of the other two. Making Love We made love and became as tight as a zipper. We made love again and knew nothing could ever keep us apart. Then we talked about money. At the San Francisco VA “…federal property….weapons and drugs prohibited…video surveillance…” At 7:30 am, and all day, at the VA, they straggle from the # 45 bus and wobble like walking wounded some with walkers or canes. Wheelchairs can be had. Others come in red, white, and blue service vans stenciled “All gave some, some gave all.” Don’t make eye contact with the crazy lady Babbling nonsense to herself; she doesn’t need you for talking. Keep away from the snarly man with a hair-trigger temper and gunmetal eyes who’s let out daily from lock up. But the short round with spiky beard and tattoos on his bald head is no one to dread. When a vet with a catheter shuffles by, urine sloshing in his leg bag, pretend not to hear it. An old Sergeant in pajamas, with throat cancer, smokes a cigarette, or two or three, and stops from time to time to breathe from his oxygen bottle, then wheezes and coughs. The big dude with dreadlocks, brown gapped teeth and five gold-plated chains, fishes a cigarillo from his pocket. His t-shirt says “Vietnam Vet.” Or “Screw you.” The smoking cessation group lets out and the brothers (some in camouflage uniforms and combat boots) say the program is “no sweat” then light up and bum cigarettes from each other, or pass them from mouth to mouth. A honky spits a goober on the concrete: splat. The substance abusers have a bummy smell: tobacco, alcohol, armpits, musty clothes “Wazzup up bro? You jus chillin?’ Greetings, not questions. The homeless, backpacks holding all they own, change clothes or clean up in the restrooms, and idle or sleep, without appointments, in the waiting rooms of the clinics, or congregate outside talking of shelters and jail. Some come every day: (the weary, the wary, the hurt, those who live in pain and dirt). The VA is their digs their refuge, their off-street community. Half a man goes through the sliding doors holding his shinny metal arms and hands high in a V (for violence?) and limps on his prosthetic leg. Code blue, harsh as air raid siren, sounds a flat-liner, revealing the omnipresence of death . These people have fought for their country, or would have. God bless America. God bless America. The Inn at Ocean Beach The grand hotel at Ocean Beach is closed: Its shutters latched against the windswept cold, Its porch-chairs in scattered disarray, Motes of dust, ghosts of dancers, flit across the ballroom floor. The sun-burnt summer people long gone away. Some drank too much, couples fought, a divorce or two; Some petty thievery, a misplaced string of pearls; A lost bathing suit or purse or shoe. A blown main fuse one night, some backed up toilets, And, once or twice, a sighting of hungry mice or bedroom lice. A Danish woman so perfectly refined She had no bosom and no behind; Baron von Hindow who fell from a window; An old man who lost his wheelchair and his mind; An infected ear (one of the family from Kashmir). And a small drowning when a little boat went down. “Goodbye, goodbye, it’s been great fun,” The guests had said to each other – As the inn-keeper’s wife ran off with the plumber. “Goodbye, goodbye all. See you next summer.” Gollywobbler, Futtock, Fother and Fandangle Gollywobbler, Futtock, Fother and Fandangle Were taken aboard, all in a tangle. The Gollywobbler was the first to awake And did a falling down double-two-take. The Futtock lay on the deck, quite still, Feeling sore all over and dreadfully ill. The Fother simply did not give a hoot, Although he’d been kicked by a seaman’s boot. Last of all was the funny Fandangle Trying to walk in a hopeless tangle. Round and green was the fat Gollywobbler, With a head as red as a cherry cobbler. The Futtock was square as a building block, But his mind was as sharp as that of John Locke. The Fother was considerably bent: He’d been born in a hydrothermal vent. The Fandangle, shaped like a right triangle, Had the curly hair of a cockerspangle. In the forecastle were the captain and crew, All of whom wore just one left shoe. The captain was a big ugly hunk, Who could hardly get in and out of his bunk. His rough and tough mate was a bitter pill - That’s why they called him Barnacle Bill. The cook was a dwarf from the Philippines, Who couldn’t even boil a tin of beans. The seamen were a laid back scruffy bunch, And now that I think of it, I’ve got a hunch: They were sick of the cook’s awful three meals, Of burnt glockenspiel and underdone eels. The sailors were bored with being at sea, And were glad to have such odd company. So they said to the peculiar foursome, “Let’s get it on with ten bottles of rum.” The captain opined, “It’s a mighty long trip - Don’t any of you try to give us the slip.” The mate relaxed and said with a smile, “We’ll all get along if you’ll stay awhile.” The Filipino said “I know I can’t cook; I promise I’ll go by the recipe book.” Then they all held hands with their nearest neighbor, And vowed to do no physical labor. The Gollywobbler asked the mate to dance, Round they went in an two-ape-like prance. The Futtock gave the cook a fugitive look Saying “Let’s go to bed, in a cozy nook.” The Fother had many feelings of dread And sat in a corner holding his head. The Fandangle played on the boson’s pipe Then searched the ship for a wisp of snipe tripe. They sailed for days on a wobbly sea Making a very strange company. They got along well, all of them together, In different winds and fair and foul weather. In current and tide they did the waves ride, Spreading their messages far and wide: “All persons, things, and even a Fother Can become good friends if only they’ll bother.” San Francisco The wary tourist meets San Francisco's streets. Streets which are perpendicular are traveled by funicular. Streets with lesser angle are still a perfect wrangle. And streets appearing level maintain a little bevel. So before you dare to drive a car, First spend some time in a bar. Then at least you will be high When you drive up to the sky. Boston In Boston, the Cabots and Lodges do not speak to the Smiths or the Hodges. The Brahmans simply come and go dreaming of Henry Longfellow. Winters are cold, summers hot, narrow streets make traffic a knot. Yet tourists still give Boston the nod because Boston’s the home of the Red Sox, the Bean, and the Cod. Lexington In Lexington the colonists raised their fists with flag unfurled. They fought the British monarchists by firing shots heard “round the world”. The redcoats broke, went back to Boston hounded all along by marksmen. That was the start, here’s how it ended: Liberty gained, and defended. If We Scent A Woman We must not shoot birds on the wing, Nor trap a forest fox, Nor fish out a fish. And if we scent a strolling woman With face and fragrance of an angel, We must let her beauty pass; To hinder her would be betrayal Of her freedom. The bird, the fox, the fish, the woman… We must let them all pass by. Light and Dark My home is near an urban park within which are both light and dark. In light skylarking children play And sunbathers on the warm grass lay. Dogs loll and loiter, then they run in circles having canine fun. Birds flutter in an out of trees that sway and rustle in the breeze. While lovers hold each other tight, the old take comfort in bright light. And to the fenced-in tennis court come happy friends to laugh and sport. But when the sun completes its arc a pall of night comes to the park. The homeless lie in two and threes passed out beneath uncaring trees. Vicious vandals hidden by dark break into cars that gird the park. Then, too, sometimes there’s a desperate shout when brutish muggers are about. And once, one dreadful noxious night, a man was killed in a fearful fight. In truth, when adding light and dark, The whole world lives within my park. Old Friend Oh, my old friend with the red raw nose, whisky breath, irregular clothes, clouded eye, replaced knee, scarred cheek from a fall. And that’s not all … You wear the marks of a life of cares and errors and occasional night terrors. Once you were fresh and cool studying philosophy. As a rule you understood Hobbes, Heidegger, Hume, but not Wittgenstein. It was no shame: obscurity was Wittgenstein’s game. We played soccer together And were buddies, brand new. And, ah, the things we did! We dove from an airplane and landed in high corn instead of on the target lawn; besotted from booze, we groped the leathery balls of a circus elephant; and swam naked in the Seagram building reflecting pool on Park Avenue. We were funny and foolish and now and then got laid. These memories never fade. You had the energy of a waterfall, strength of tree trunk, solidness of a stonewall. There were, too, other friends who came to bitter ends: one fired a shotgun into his mouth; another died in a car crash; another, the best death, Slept his last breath. We are survivors, you and I, and tough: we don’t cry. So just remember when… The Five Senses Come walk with me, come talk with me, I don’t require much, But I will surly want to feel the warmness of your touch. Come play with me, come stay with me, I’ll keep you just awhile, But I will surly want to see the sweetness of your smile. If you will waif into my home with perfume on your breast, Then I will sense the lead from you and hug you to my chest. If you will rest awhile with me, I’ll want to taste a kiss, A kiss that might remind us both of past and future bliss. Then if you’ll simply speak to me and tell me everything I’ll surly hear the words that sound your innermost heartstring. Brief Biographies Max Planck* Obtained his rank By a quantum leap In his sleep. *first to frame the theory of quantum physics; won Nobel Prize in 1918 Guglielmo Marconi Was no phony, Invented the wireless By working tireless. Francis Crick Found the trick How DNA Does life convey. Edwin Hubble* Made rubble Of the Late Steady State *Astronomer who discovered the universe was expanding rather than shrinking or remaining the same size (e.g. the “steady state” theory). Ernst Mach Using a clock Found, indeed, A ratio of speed. Robert E. Lee Casus belli Confederate Commander None grander. Animals Parrot I have a bird that speaks like me, Yet mixes words atrociously; Sometimes it will in English speak: Moving it’s tongue within its beak; But my bird talks with strange syntax And often the wrong word unpacks. That’s why (it should be clear to see) I’ve named my parrot, Parody. Ferret The slim ferret, moving fast, Thinks any hole is a blast. It slips through most everything Just like greased lightening. I’ve seen ferrets on a leash: Playthings of the nouveau-riche. Elephant See the mighty elephant, Watch her trunk become unbent. She is classed a pachyderm (For “thick-skinned” a fancy term). A young male holds to her tail, As they tread the jungle trail. Crocodile & Alligator A crocodile floats awhile, Then lunges with his deadly smile. The alligator just hangs out, Then grasps the prey in his snout. Alligator and crock Live on the very same block, For they are closely related: Both have short feet And when they eat Neither is ever sated. Lion The lion is a powerful beast It has few enemies. But at least The mighty elephant, If it liked meat, Could upon the lion feast. Copyright 2011 by David L. O'Neal |
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