Warhol made a Christmas tree
one Easter long ago
and hung from it old soup cans
because he had no snow
he didn’t have a fairy
with which to top the show
so in lieu, he made himself
a Marilyn Monroe
Month: December 2017
a short nonsense rhyme while watching Jack Jones in 1972
in a velvet suit to match his voice
the singer sang his tune
his bowtie was a butterfly
which made the ladies swoon.
5-7-5 (take two-hundred-and-fifty-six : a notebook)
the notebook awaits
each virgin page white and crisp
for dreams to rest in
Pretty Kitty Ditty
Upon my lap she promptly sat
to purr just like a kitten
even though she was a cat
like a babe she acted smitten
with my thigh… as if some cream
poured in a potter’s dish
had been presented to the queen
upon a whim filled wish
rhymed notes for something more
In remembrances, what comfort be
when wrapped inside a memory
be monsters which consume in thought
a recollection blindly wrought
from times of which one has no say
nor power to affect, nor sway
5-7-5 (take two-hundred-and-fifty-five : sundown)
the sun died today
and was buried after dark
in an unmarked grave
Wet Dreams, a nonsense poem
some marines
in submarines
went sailing out to be
respectable
in spectacles
to see what they could see
reversing
in submersibles
they beached upon the shore
and in wet socks
dashed on the rocks
their dreams for ever more
5-7-5 (take two-hundred-and-fifty-four : the wet fingertip)
between the covers
you allow my fingers range
until your last page
untitled and unfinished notes after reading Poe all day.
let midnight silence scream to me
in its myriad cacophony
of sense-numbing disharmonies
which sing to me of death
for it’s in that dark eternity
that I think on my mortality
and night’s phantasms distract me
from thoughts of life’s last breath.
A Mersey Memory, a short fiction as prose
one morning in October
woken by a westerly wind
singing on the early tide
he lamented the fact
that there were places
in this world
through which
no rivers flowed
the blighters rock 