The Story of the New Toy

A few weeks ago I ordered a new Macbook.

When it came I was very excited.

It was my first laptop computer.

I'd been wanting one for years.

I carefully opened the box,

Like the adult I am,

Not ripping the packaging away.

Like a child at Christmas or a birthday party.

But the feeling was much the same,

The anticipation,

The hope,

The need.

Oh! the things my computer and I could do!

Oh! how useful, clean sleek and compact!

Oh! the promise of power and control!

Oh! was there anything it and I couldn't do?

So, after carefully putting away the packaging,

I might need it later,

I'm not a child,

I plugged it in, opened it up and turned it on.

The excitement was palpable within my chest.

This was a new feeling.

I carefully went through every step,

I carefully loaded every program.

It was working!

So I carefully closed the top,

And I put it on my desk,

Where it still sits today.

Waiting for the time of need.

Waiting for the desperate moment.

Waiting for the vindication

Of all the expense incurred.

But sometimes, day or night,

My fingers itch and I take it in my hands,

Cool, sleek and aluminum,

I think of what may be.

I practice typing everyday.

I practice loading and unloading the software.

I open it gloriously in my hands.

I wipe and clean every surface gently.

But sometimes, day or night,

I feel the urge to use it,

For the purpose for which it was made.

I don't think I can wait much longer.

an animal inside

there is an animal inside me

and that animal is a rat

gnawing and biting

the heart and the soul

creeping in and crawling out

the spaces left

and i am less than before.

there is an animal inside me

and that animal is an ox

moaning and groaning

the lips and the tongue

stumbling up and bumbling down

the spaces left

and i am less than before.

there is an animal inside me

and that animal is a tiger

ripping and tearing

the meat and the bones

stalking to and lurking fro

the spaces left

and i am less than before.

there is an animal inside me

and that animal is a rabbit

trembling and shivering

the fingers and the toes

scurrying back and scampering forth

the spaces left

and i am less than before.

there is an animal inside me

and that animal is a dragon

burning and searing

the thought and the mind

twisting up and turning over

the spaces left

and i am less than before.

there is an animal inside me

and that animal is a snake

slithering and sliding

the sight and the sound

coiling around and curving under

the spaces left

and i am less than before.

there is an animal inside me

and that animal is a horse

stamping and demanding

the fists and the feet

jumping over and bursting through

the spaces left

and i am less than before.

there is an animal inside me

and that animal is a sheep

calming and cowering

the spirit and the spine

standing behind and ducking down

the spaces left

and i am less than before.

there is an animal inside me

and that animal is an ape

screeching and screaming

the mouth and the jaw

jumping up and jerking down

the spaces left

and i am less than before.

there is an animal inside me

and that animal is a rooster

prancing and preening

the cock and the balls

calling out and crowing in

the spaces left

and i am less than before.

there is an animal inside me

and that animal is a dog

sensing and sampling

the taste and the smell

worrying to and hurrying from

the spaces left

and i am less than before.

there is an animal inside me

and that animal is a bear

growling and groping

the arms and legs

crashing through and smashing up

the spaces left

and i am less than before.

12/31/08 jeg.

The Song of the Gun

    A people dedicated to

    the song of the gun

    the stuttering percussion

    preceding

    the siren's soprano aria

    descending

    into the low chorus of moans...

I love my gun

my gun shields me

from the wicked and the dark

my gun warms me

and I it

my pulse carried to its extremities,

breathing my breath.

I wake afraid in the night

clutching under my pillow

at the night stand

on the floor under my bed

until my fingers touch

the ice of my sleeping gun,

and I find peace.

How easy to still my wife's breathing

if she'd angered me

how easy to solve any dilemma

to cut through

like the man I am

my eye hard and cold

my heart pumping the secret blood.

    A people dedicated to

    the song of the gun

    a swelling bass,

    into crescendo

    the brass credenza,

    into a whimper...

My gun loves me

to handle it

to oil its crevasses

to adjust its mechanism delicately

to settle it in my hand,

filling the empty spaces

my warmth bleeding into its cold.

I wander the street at night

eyes left to right

over the shoulder

my heart small and afraid

until, by chance, my fingers touch

my gun,

my heart swells with courage.

My eyes watch those

who could be dead or dying

all in my power

I, the stronger, they the weaker

the individual and the faceless mob

the armed and the unarmed

my life with my gun.

    A people dedicated to

    the song of the gun

    the rise of the timpani

    the coming cry of the siren

    interwoven in the score

    meant to go unhitched

    to the muted whimpering chorus...

We lie like lovers,

my fingers gradually loosening

as if I'm going to sleep

with my love beside me

nestled in my palm

untouched and unmoved

by the violence all around us.

Oh my gun protects me

from the shadows and the shades

that lay across my soul

doubts that impede my motion

my fingers seek it

as my tongue tastes blood;

shield me from danger.

How easy to let go

to hate that once beloved

the betrayer

if I had the strength I would

hurl it away

the savage moment behind me

and only death ahead.

On His Deafness

I never knew my father when he could hear
he sat alone so often
silent in his silence
and that appeared as normal to me
but now I wonder
at his struggle
to live in the land of the whole
and I wonder
at the demons he fought.

He lived alone and unaided in the world of sound
his work his life, his companion
and with patience he listened
to every voice soft and loud
and spoke carefully, low and melodic,
in a well modulated, resonant voice
never slurring nor blending
nor blaring the words
in atonal unawareness.

As a child I begged him to read aloud
and the Kipling rolled off his tongue
I can still hear him now
the old salt reading Gunga Din and Mandalay
with feeling which transcended my understanding
but pierced my soul
I still have his old book of Kipling
water-stained, battered and brittle
from a hundred sea-bags.

Once he put his head into the space of my piano
listened and withdrew his head
and told me to put my head in there
and play a bit
a dissonant, echoing sound
a mix of unpleasant highs and rumbling lows
assaulted my ears
when I withdrew my head he told me
that’s what the world sounded like to him.

Now when demons beset me
I wonder at his strength
and sadly recognize
myself as one of those who weighed
heavily on his shoulders
knowing that I only took and did not give
that I left him alone and unsafe for all time
pretending he could never wear down
until I saw him dying.

He wrestled demons and put them down
until that old demon death appeared
his hand clasped mine in a rigid grip
but I again too late too little too weak
and with nothing to give
and he worn and wasted waited
until I had left to surrender
and when I returned all was gone
but for a silent husk.

The Return of the Animal

When the animal in me re-awoke
I was both amazed and dismayed
and when I felt the familiar stirrings
I glanced about myself in shame
would those around me notice 
the lust and the naked arousal
those things that make an animal.

When the animal in me re-awoke
I was both animated and distrustful
and when hunger rose to my senses
I sought out about me ravenously
would those around me notice
the gluttony and the keening appetite
those things that make an animal.

When the animal in me re-awoke
I was both appalled and disappointed
and when possessions appeared
I grasped about myself in haste
would those around me notice
the greed and the greater needs
those things that make an animal.

When the animal in me re-awoke
I was both annoyed and dispirited
and when inertia claimed my soul
I brought about my civil decline
would those around me notice
the sloth and the life dissipated
those things that make an animal.

When the animal in me re-awoke
I was both angered and disturbed
and when I lashed out at random
I slunk about sly in tactful terror
would those around me notice
the wrath and the cunning cowardice
those things that make an animal.

When the animal in me re-awoke
I was both awed and disgusted
and when the credit went to others
I learned about how to dissimulate
would those around me notice
the envy and the hurtful spite
those things that make an animal.

When the animal in me re-awoke
I was both anointed and displayed
and when all knelt before me
I cast about my target and my place
would those around me notice
the pride and the swaggering smile
those things that make an animal.

When the animal in me re-awoke
I learned I was not an animal, after all.

The Circle

When I tasted the forbidden fruit,
and found it clear and clean
and tasting of some unknown wine,
my head swam in the pleasure,
and the world swirled around me;
but when the circle was done
and the seed spat out,
to nurture in the fertile ground,
I hung limp and ashamed 
and bent to cover my nakedness.

When I tasted the forbidden fruit,
after asking myself why it was forbidden,
its fullness and ripeness filled me
as I drank in the pleasure,
while my heart pounded and throbbed unfamiliar;
but when the circle was gone
and the hot seed cooled and dried,
to sprout or rot in my soil,
I felt the pain of my pleasure
and crouched to hide my nakedness.

When I tasted the forbidden fruit,
I understood why it was forbidden,
yet in the swirl all responsibility melted,
my duties of worship set aside,
and I loved the lesser god;
that circled around the greater,
and swallowed her whole in forgetfulness
but after I was drained,
and reason sought return,
I then noticed my nakedness.

When I tasted the forbidden fruit,
I knew that I was no longer a child,
that something in it changed me,
and innocence was no longer an excuse
because I saw the change and took it,
instead of running out of the circle;
and despite the pleasure and the pain,
despite the right and the wrong,
I knew all that had occurred
and yet sought to cover my nakedness.

When I tasted the forbidden fruit,
and I knew the greater god had seen,
I hid and I took her with me,
and when the greater god questioned
I placed the blame on her;
because in her was the circle,
and I could only orbit,
and hope our paths would cross,
and allow me to taste the fruit
and then rush to cover my nakedness.

When I tasted the forbidden fruit,
what I had known of good and evil
was only what I had been told,
and then what was once said evil
was shown not to be
until he circled me in guilt;
and I could understand the jealousy,
and understand the pointed finger,
but I could not understand my shame
as I noticed my nakedness.

When I tasted the forbidden fruit,
and grasped and grappled with the serpent,
and turned my words from black to white,
my thoughts convinced me of the evil,
and I sought to separate myself
from her, from the circle and its consequence;
in me the world began its decay,
from me all evil has sprung,
even so I pushed the sin away on her,
and stooped to cover my nakedness.

reason

a violent boy
with a red-headed Irish temper
went to war
his gun repressed his anger
his rifle defined him
the grenade, lobbed far,
took bits of his rage with it
and exploded like fear

each step a step to madness
each bout of madness
stripped another layer of veneer
he laughed at death
and cursed the dead
both friend and foe
wondering at their smallness,
their insignificance

how could a man
be held in such a sad husk
he gloried in invincibility
that others might fall, but not him
death was all around him
and he killed always from a distance
crouching behind the splinter shield
of the twin fifties

he thought he knew death’s face
name, rank and number
though he had never brushed its hand,
then he met his enemy
stumbling over something soft
hearing the muffled groan
his rifle locked and loaded,
he met his enemy’s eyes

of course he pulled the trigger
it was what he was trained to do
but a moment of eternity passed there
and he learned fear
his red-headed temper swaggered still
yet he was a hollow man
living among other hollow men
each unaware of the others

he lived with this another 35 years
until his hand gave in 
to the call of the gun
he had bought for no certain reason
to clear his mind
and bring the circle to completion
through the stench and the haze
to where he met his enemy once more