Pounding disparately came the rain,
drive the most gentle mind insane,
of teh day I said good bye, now I
sit and wonder why, why I was down
that darken path, be still my own conquered wrath,
still I see your eyes of brown, as I feel the
the heavy sound of what once was washed
so pure in love, now gone away to whispered
shores too far away, I am my Mother, my Mother
is me, nevermore satisfied, braving the soul's reprive,
nay to retain the past, nor to give myself to last,
no patience of the mortal child, throughout eternity running life
so free, so wild, never to lose, no more to gain,
down comes the thunderous rain, lost I am this
night, when I of necessity created this drowning pain~

Viesta 99~

I was standing at the gates of Hell
A vegetarian shook the iron from inside
and with a horrid face, "Cannibals,
we're all Cannibals" he sighed

In his zeal he'd killed a hunter
Satan, like remorse itself, had said
"I give you Hell", spat upon his hand
and pressed it hard to his head

Had relieved him of his ignorance
A third-eye-sight of all that lives
Carrots have such simple souls
over which dominion man God gives

Now the orange is cute and cuddly
since Satan chanted unto him
"Bird, beast, rutabeg, rice: eating: is death: is sacrifice"
He now: forever starving (yet appetite dim)

But he can't sever a cabbage's head
for now to him it seems animal
And his stomach grumbles in a dirge:
"Cannibals, we're all cannibals."

copyright 1998  J. Kevin Wolfe
 

The Curious People

Life is a brilliant red in Beijing.
It is communism
It is blood
It is everywhere and too thick to notice

My mundane was unique
so they stole half written postcards
to see the strange letters
and they leaped into
photos to see what boring scenes
I found interesting.

60 miles sprawled with tenements
30 million existences of sameness
and me
who made the comrades curious

I stopped
and l looked
at a nonexistent spot on the sidewalk
A throng solidified instantly

Switching glances between me
and the spotless I stared at
screamed whispers moved
in tiny waves of absurd
and serious

The disbelievers
gathered
like an anti-Fatima
as I bent to pick up
a closely examined nothing

Without letting on a smile
or looking in a single face
I walked away through a parting
sea of people
carefully holding air
between my fingers
as if it were an emperor's ring

I became "the man who glances"
They waved to me
they followed me
I was an expected circus
that had come to entertain
the billion.

copyright 1998 J. Kevin Wolfe

He spent his life as a parasite on Harold Pinter's works.
This evening his wife would celebrate her husband,
his newly published article, and other things she does care about.
The cut-glass contains are being filled with a variety of liquors.
The children are excited by the varieties of colors.

She would wear at the party her totally black outfit,
The one with a black ribbon tied in a bow knot around her neck.
Her husband was a parasite on the works of another,
But she was a creative artists whose junk sculpture won
Second prize at a local exhibition.

She watched through the plate glass doors her husband grading papers.
What she admired most about him was his simple-mindedness,
For he was content with his life and the ways of the world.

She remembered the trip to Germany to see her sick mother,
But she ended up in Austria with a lover  called "Waldo."

The children had been looking through their father's desk drawer,
Found a picture of a naked Hedy Lamarr swimming in a river.

I saw a woman walking through the mist
She looked all haggard and worn
Walking through life not knowing she missed
The pleasures to which she was born.
Somewhere in her formative years
Those around her robbed her of her soul
Loading onto her shoulders the crosses she bears
Not thinking twice about the life they had stole.
There was a time in her wonderful youth
When she knew what was in her heart
But somewhere along the way she lost the truth
And to find it she didn’t know where to start.
I saw a woman walking through the mist
Her head was full of all she had been taught
Thinking they had given her all the clues
But stumped for the answers which she sought
Needing to find the candle and a match to light the fuse.
I saw a woman walking through the mist
Clearly she was searching for the end
Finding all roads she tried tough as a fist
She seemed to never find the way to the bend.
I saw a woman walking through the mist
Who saw a shiny shimmering light
Aiming for the light, hoping she was found and not missed
Wanting to find a way, any way, out of her plight.
I saw a lady walking toward the light
Traveling as fast as she could possibly go
Needing to soar through time to end her flight
Desperately needing to allow herself to grow.
I saw a lady who reached the light
She broke out in a tremendous boom
Finally she had been delivered
As if rebirthed from her mothers womb.

Poetry is a state of mind
Not what we read or write
Poetry is in our lives every day
At our depths and at our heights.
Birds flying so fluidly in the sky
Flowers blooming before our eyes
Athletes performing at their best
Many things can provoke our sighs.
A person can write down anything
Sometimes it may rhyme ad others not
But, does it inspire your feelings
And make you feel cold or hot.
Does it paint a picture in your mind
Can you envision what they mean
Does it touch the depths of your soul
Can it fill you up when times are lean.
I believe not all people have the poet in them
Some acknowledge it while others don't know
And some believe they are and write rhymes
But their rhymes have got no soul.

 Coffee Dreamer

               My coffee speaks each morning
               it shouts and stammers
               repeating lazy euphemisms
               until I'm sly and re-awake.
               I envelope its precious spirit
               as it analyses the night dreams
               of every clay soldier
               en route to kiln-like palaces.

               And my coffee stands
               it sits and reclines
               in the company of thoughts;
               whispering to the ceramic ears
               the meaning of this morning's séance
               and I barely listen,
                         (watching
                          only the steam
                           as it rises
                            from the
                             pompous
                            coffee
                              maker).

               And my coffee speculates
               it contemplates across
               a light-year of space
               going out to distant galaxies
               from this, our simple system,
               to view the facts recalled
               and come to grand conclusions:

                   these aspirations
                   lie deliriously
                   in my smitten cup
                   disappearing somewhat
                   furiously.

Late Night Neon

neon light glare
reflecting off the windshield
sitting in this line-up
waiting my turn to fill up
watching the moths and bugs
circle frantically
a cloud of insects
attracted by the artificial glare
of the neon lights.

here I am
wondering about the stupidity
of insect instinct
then I ask myself
what instinct brought me
to this late night gas stopo
shaking my hera
I put my car in "Drive"
and pull up to the first
available pump.
 

Customer Service

I'd like to have some service here
because I want to change my life.
I'm tire of who I am
so where do I go to
make the exchange
I think I've kept the receipt
if not, will my VISA do?

I know what I want
It's in the latest catalogue
I circle it on the page
I think this life looks good.
I just hope you've got it in stock
'cause I hate to wait for
back-order.