Archive for April, 2012


What motivates us to write?  And for us bloggers, what motivates us to post?  National Poetry Month is still not over, and I feel compelled to post more poetry before it ends–as if the world ends tomorrow.  What motivated me to write the following poems (also written over twenty years ago) was an A in Advanced Poetry Writing in college.  But why did I take the course–and why did I get a BA degree plus a year of post-graduate courses in English-Creative Writing?  Certainly not a lucrative field.  But I had no choice, really–I loved it.  I could have studied law, for example, but didn’t want to memorize all the historical cases that set precedents.  I didn’t love law, I loved writing.  And all the wealth in the world cannot make a person do something he or she does not love, without being miserable.

A Haunting

Scott ____

I’m breathing from my chest again

That damned faucet drips.

That dog barks, the crickets drone, the air conditioner blows.

My lights are the only ones in the complex.

It was just one of those things

When something clicks in one’s head

I saw the actress with long brown hair and an impish smile

In the 1937 British film.

That reminds me, I thought, of another actress who–

Then I saw you for the first time this year.

Now you won’t leave.

You, demurely in every corner.

You, with those bashful eyes, yet fertile hips.

Must call every listing tomorrow

Every name that could be yours.

If I reach you, I’ll feel like a fool

If I don’t try, I’ll be one.

Of course sleep is the exorcist of faces like yours

If I could only sleep.


In Quiet

Scott ____

Quiet speaks that something is missing.

Hours ago I felt your hips

Now I hear rain and crickets of quiet.

When you said, “I had a nice time”

I knew there would be quiet now.

Saturday, when future is heard

Will everything be quiet, or

Will I feel the sound

Of your face sliding across mine?



Scott ____

Pink girls wearing

Pink lipstick, pink rouge, pink eye shadow

Pink panties, pink stockings, pink skirts, pink blouses

Pink beads, pink bracelets

Pink shoes

Under pink neon signs.

Never been there.

Pink sunset makes pink world

I can call anything.



Scott ____

I pledged allegiance

O say can you see

I pledged allegiance

By the dawn’s early light

I pledged allegiance

What so proudly we hailed

I pledged allegiance–

We failed.


Progression of a Ghost

Scott ____

Within a neighborhood park

Beneath a constellation

About a glowing field

Around a towering pine

Over a tripping vine

Beyond a marble fountain

Above a scurrying ‘possum

Into a December wind

He flies.

Come travel with me

Says he.


This Day in History

Scott ____

Before this building

Beneath my shoes–

Squirrels gnawed berries

Bluejays fought

A bobcat ambushed a rabbit

A rattlesnake maneuvered grass

Breezes kissed

Pines grew, just a little more.


Primal Sense

Scott ____

I touch the sharp, soft blades of grass

I touch the big dog’s fur

I touch the holes of the wooden flute

I touch the wetted soil.

I taste the blood of the first-killed deer

I taste the bakery bread

I taste the sting of ocean-salt

I taste the heifer’s milk.

I smell the smoke of burning leaves

I smell the air of home

I smell the wound across my arm

I smell the gardenia bloom.

I hear the games among the children

I hear the woman’s whisper

I hear the grunts of a foraging bear

I hear the shouts of hawks.

I see the smile of the running boy

I see the forest frost

I see the glamour of the Sun

I see the age of bricks.

I feel the beauty of a cloud

I feel the lonely pain

I feel the hope to find the God

I feel the life of Earth.


Another question from Gregory Stock’s book is this:

When you first have sex with someone, is it more important to you that your partner is a “good” lover or that your partner thinks you are a “good” lover?

It is more important to me that she thinks I am a “good” lover.


Well, National Poetry Month ends at midnight, and I feel it deserves a little more attention.  And I haven’t posted anything humorous for a while.  So let me share three humorous poems (would be four, but I’ve already posted Staring Up Mrs. Brown’s Skirt)–all of which I wrote over twenty years ago (hence the juvenile humor):


Scott ____

Vanguard, October 10, 1989:

This fall, more than 260 students

Attended the mutual process of membership selection

Consisting of scheduled functions

In which active members of fraternities and

New prospects become acquainted.

This process is known as formal rush.

I was there, I’m a student

But still not Greek.

I just went

To pick up big-boobed babes

Drink free beer

Piss in the dark

And go home.

Greek formal rush is more fun

If you’re not.


A Dog Trying to Pick up a Cat

Scott ____

There you are, with your nose in the air

What’s it like to think you’re the fairest of the fair?

My breath stinks, but I smile alot

Don’t put me down for the pout I’ve got.

To woo the humans with my scratching claws

Or to the Milk Bone box for my giant jaws.

You pounce and flit and disappear

While my master’s voice rings through my ear.

You’re not fond of me

Well let it be.

The world is my slave

And kindness is a wave

Pushing you out the door

When you’ve missed, and hit the floor.

Don’t come to me like a bad fur-do

My nose can stick up too.


To a Cockroach

Scott ____

How dare you stare at me

In such a personal way

As if your queen, or whatever

Sent you. 

Older than the dinosaurs

You’re a shit-brown tank

Without guns, but worse

You can fly.

What purpose have you

But to feed the frogs

And terrorize my sister?

Oh yes, I will swat you.

First let me see your face.

Countenance of a mantis

What-little-me look of a cricket.

What gaul you have to resemble either

When all you kill is my last nerve

All you sing a mechanical silence

You have ten seconds to give me

A good reason for your existence . . .

Time’s up, as you crawl toward my cookie crumbs.



One of my therapists once told me, on my first visit, that I seemed to have a shock-jock personality like that of Howard Stern.  And though I’m not really a fan of Howard Stern, he was right.

After waking up thinking of Amy Grant today, I going was going to write a controversial post about contemporary Christian music (whoring out Christianity to the masses), contemporary country music (real country died out with George Jones), and my guilty pleasure watching Amy Grant shake it for Jesus, as a teenager.  But after gathering the following photos of the singer, I’m too exhausted to go there.  (You can learn more about Amy Grant at


This is a follow-up to this–about time I do another one of these, eh?  Tara moved back to Alabama (my home state) well over a year ago.  But I’m still a member of Singletons–and we had a good dinner this evening.  I got a huge Great Dane (a rescue dog) three days ago, and after dinner, Delbert stopped by and met my dog.  Everything went well, my dog (I won’t mention his name yet) didn’t mess up anything in the house while I was gone, and though I’m keeping him on a trial basis, I may end up keeping him for good.

It had been a month, at least, since I’d been out socially.  I don’t normally have social anxiety, but tend to develop it after being out of circulation for a while.  So I went to eat with the Singletons at the Shrimp Basket, and had some beer (Yuengling), and then a hell of alot of Irish coffee (Bailey’s Irish Cream & coffee) when I got home.  And as you can probably imagine, I feel pretty damned good!

This would be tragic if I were an alcoholic, of course, but since I’m a caffeine-aholic (coffee in particular), it’s not so bad.  I’m addicted to caffeine–and I drink at least eight cups of coffee a day.  And it raises my blood pressure, and I have to take more psych med just to lower it.  And I’m a reformed nicotine addict (haven’t had a cigarette since September 7, 2007), and crave cigarettes every day.  But cigarettes make me cough my lungs out, so I simply cannot smoke.  And since I have high blood pressure, alcohol is actually safer than caffeine because it lowers it–though I can’t take it with my psych meds.  Anyway, I’m tired of rambling.

I’m too drunk to answer any questions from Gregory Stock’s book, but not too drunk to post–and I feel like posting (Irish coffee will really get you going)!  My new old dog is resting on the floor beside me as I write this, and it’s one of those moments when life feels just right!

Pardon any misspellings–I may correct them later, but then that would take away from the fun of drunk-blogging, wouldn’t it!

I’ve been meaning to write a post about my favorite Led Zeppelin song, Kashmir, for a while, but haven’t felt like going into all the details.  But who cares–you can find everything you want to know about the song online.  And though the song was actually written in North Africa, this place is the subject of the song:

I certainly hope the Indians and Pakistanis reach a peaceful solution over this disputed territory–but is it any wonder both countries want all of it?

I took one of those online personality tests and found that my personality best fit Led Zeppelin’s song, Tangerine, though–you be the judge.

Well, this has been fun–though my head is spinning (of course), and I need to get offline soon.  Let me end this in a way you would expect–with photos of a foxy lady.  I’ve chosen Actress Virginia Madsen.  I first saw her in Electric Dreams, and most recently saw her in Lying in Wait.  Virginia doesn’t seem to age at all.  And she’s still busy–even has her own website:

And this is me in my present state, signing off!


I was just watching a 1985 video of Soprano Edita Gruberova on Classic Arts Showcase, and it occurred to me how much she resembled Vanessa, the real-life girl next door I’ve mentioned in previous posts–or was it the other way around?

As we all  tend to romanticize people from our past, I romanticize Vanessa.  She didn’t look this good–or did she?  What does it matter–the resemblance is close enough.



Another question from Gregory Stock’s book is this:

If during a two-week vacation you had met and fallen in love with someone who lived a thousand miles from you, what would you do when you returned home to give the relationship a chance?  If the two of you wanted to be together, how would you be willing to change your life to make it happen, and how much would you expect your lover to change?

I’d keep in touch, via phone, email, and even snail-mail.  And I’d just see how things progressed.  And if the two of us wanted to be together, I’d be willing to meet her half-way somehow–or even move to her location, if there were no way she could meet me half-way.  If anything is meant to be, it will be.


Paulette Goddard appeared in numerous films–yet I know her from the Charlie Chaplin film, Modern Times.  She was even married to Charlie Chaplin, at one time.  The power of Paulette is her girl-next-door beauty.


I came across this while searching for a picture to go with the preceeding post–and I find it too beautiful not to display.