Blast from the Past

So I found these poems a couple days ago. Kind of forgot that they existed and I was pleasantly surprised at the quality. I think. I wrote them all at a much rougher time in my life and in the end I am glad they are going out there. I think poets tend to think their later worker is always better as it is more refined. In this case I feel like I have lost some of the visceral quality that makes me appealing. Also one piece contains a fun contradiction about whether I would ever be published or not. Haha, good times.
Poetry Bomb.

Bravado

Bravado

Perhaps in excess

For drink

The outdoors

Sporting

And in a misguided sense

Women as well

Determination to find

And write with

The perfect sentence

The strong efficient line

Clean

Neat

Passionate

Fierce.

You are sorely missed.

I am not

I am not

Nor will I ever be

A published poet

I never drank like you did

As much

As fast

As reckless

Nor did I

Smoke

As much as you

I never indulged

In the company

Of as many

Much younger women

As you did

Nor were mine crazy.

But I do enjoy

From time to time.

A hard boiled egg

Or two.

I am,

A big fucking bastard sized slice

of big fucking bastard.

I am a formidable opponent

Whose chest hairs and opposable thumbs

Create a supreme advantage.

I can open a can,

To feed your asses and

At the same time

Knap a flint blade,

Affix it

To a stick

And instantly upset

The entire food chain.

If I so desire

I can put a worm

On bent metal

And deceive a fish

Into giving me its life

So that I can eat

If I should find myself in need of food,

And lacking any of the cellophane wrapped

Convenience nuggets

So readily available

Everywhere.

            I was not alive yet, 

but first they came for the communists, and union men. Many did nothing. During WWII they came for the Jews in Europe, and the Japanese in America and still many did nothing. Then McCarthy came for the “Communists” again but more loosely defined, if defined at all. McCarthy and his drunken bullshit crusade were also much too seldom questioned and by too few.  Then the “hippies” became the threat, with their pot smoking and other highly organized subversive behavior. When I was in high school I watched the towers come down, then they came for the “Muslims” and anyone who looked, spoke, or smelled like one. At first I did nothing, then I learned how all this works and still I did too little. Soon they may come for me, just for disagreeing. When I am taken who will be there for 

In life I have few things

Objects

Possessions

Treasures

I have two arms

Two legs

Two hands and feet

The boots on said feet

Two balls

And my swinging dick

And I am the richest man I know.

Untitled

People

Generally annoy me

Churches

Generally infuriate me

The world

Generally confuses me

Everything

Tends to leave me feeling

That perhaps something is missing.

Whiskey

Leaves no doubt

As to the goodness of being alive

The same

Can be said of cigarettes

And most emphatically so

The same can be said

Of her.

Philosophers might tell you

That life is a dream.

Fuck that.

This is, unfortunately

As real as it gets.

Untitled

This life

This world

These institutions

The currency of our wretched society

Devalued as it might be

Are as far as I

Or any living soul could tell you

(sorry I have yet to hear from anyone beyond)

The only thing

We will ever know

Some years from now

If I find myself
floating in some great bullshit beyond

I will come back and let you know

Keep a fifth and

A pack of smokes close at hand.

Tobacco

“You don’t always die from tobacco”

Says the singing propaganda cowboy.

Well no shit Einstein,

but you knew damn well

that you could, when you started.

Don’t, good sir use your

Laryngectomy for propaganda.

You knew what could happen, hell

you probably still light up

when no one is around.

To be privy to your addiction,

of its size and scope.

You probably are or were

much like me,

a person who simply loves

to smoke cigarettes.

Even now

Whilst attempting to quit

I am glad it is largely due

To not being able to afford it.

Not because

You make ads attempting to scare me.

Today I Laughed

I continue to find throughout my life, that very few things actually remain enjoyable. My collection of video games is quite large. When I was younger I could play them forever and never grow bored. Now, they only do the job sporadically at best. Movies no longer hold that certain sway. I find the news intolerable now. Fishing, formerly a favorite now just pisses me off because I can not afford tackle. I spend the majority of every day lying around reading and watching the cats take their shits. I cannot, for the life of me get a fucking job. The black sheep of a black sheep family, not deemed as worthy of a minimum wage job in a shit town. Do not go to fucking college, unless you plan on going all the way. (I.e. a PhD) I have tried for days to shake this feeling, to find THE JOY, which I used to feel, that doing shit used to bring me. Yesterday I was reading, and a line concerning Small versus mainstream poetry mags caught my attention. “The horses’ mouth has met the horses’ ass and is eating its own shit.” I read, and then re-read it. Something happened inside me and I began to laugh; deep, natural, genuine laughter, the kind that feels better than taking a magnificent shit. Better than the best shit you ever pinched off times a thousand. Having this happen reassured me that everything will be ok. My life will still bring me joy and still does, even now bring me joy. Even just the little things, like magnificent shits and humorous lines of literature still bring me joy. 

Yellow Ribbons

I see it everywhere,

That yellow ribbon

Car bumpers,

On homes,

Or signs in front of said homes.

Even on people’s clothes.

Maybe with a flag pin as well.

Why risk being seen as unpatriotic?

Which makes me wonder.

How similar was it with swastikas?