POETRY PAGE                             

                        LOVERS

                               Lovers

Reflections of

                      Each

                                 Others egos

Mirror

                                Images

I see my

                 SELF

                               In you

Come to me

                      My narcissistic baby

Spiritual

                    Accomplice

Mutually consenting

                                   Vision maker

My mirage

                       Show me lovely

Show me ugly

                        Just don’t take

That

          Looking glass

                                        Away

                            DREAMING LEFT HANDED

I remember now

Half immersed

In dream trance

I sat up

Thoughts splashing from my mind

Like water out of cupped hands

Why can’t an answering machine

Take messages while I sleep?

Here it is then

The communiqué

Discovered later by bedside

Near pen and paper

In barely legible scrawl

The oracle

I crash landed a dream for

The riddle that says:

The truth is out

We’re not fair enough yet

But we’re right

We’re left handed people

I suppose it was

In the interests of research

And of being receptive

To further transmissions

That I went back to sleep

After that.

                                             AWAY FROM THE SUN

He grew like a bending tree

And when his head

Touched the ground

His feet snapped free

And he became the Upside Down Man

                      OR

Shall we wax botanical

And say he was simply

Anti-photokenetic

Inclined to move, to grow

Away from the sun

                      OR

Would it be more accurate

To say he was

Phtokenetic

Sun-light still the motivator

For movement

Only repelling it?

Which? Either?

Does it matter how its called?

I’m not a biologist

He was left after all

Rooted by the scalp

Head stuck in the earth

No dignity to his panicked legs

Dangling like broken drawbridges

And his ass pointed at the sky

He couldn’t care about description

His soul was getting no more sustenance

Than the water a cactus can take in

From the summer desert

And that body in the air, writhing

Was the hope of every passing vulture

Waiting for movement to stop

A JOYCEAN SIGHTING, AFTER READING “A PORTRAIT OF THE ARTIST AS A YOUNG MAN”

In my sleep

I saw James Joyce last night

On television

In an old news clip from 1961

A tall man

With long black hair

To his shoulders

Arriving by ship in America

Speaking congenially to the press

In a Connaught accent

He wore a long dark winter coat

And could have been a rock star

Like a Beatle

But with longer hair

Rock star? What would those words mean to him?

Stars are made of rock

A news item of his day

With a celebrity’s presence

Glib and confident

Such is the stuff dreams are made of

People in the bar watched

And I said

-That’s James Joyce

But I, like they, only knew

Because an announcer had said so

He didn’t look anything like his pictures

Though I repeated it knowingly

For anyone who didn’t know

And I thought they probably knew little about him

And had not read any of his books

But he was rich and famous

So they watched

And I watched too

Intrigued

Hoping to see an apparition

Of the artist’s soul

Through the smiling portrait

An orange flickering maybe

As in the eye of a jack-o-lantern

Or a rose glow

Sent into the world by a say-a-prayer

Make a wish red candle

At the altar rail

Shimmering on the cracked

Dark secret wall of a church

By the confessional booth

My head as I knelt in the pew

The shadow on the wall,

A center surrounded by a halo of sacred candlelight

But someone in a bar booth

Who regarded his own agenda

More compelling than anything on TV

Held up a newspaper

Which blocked my view

Of the screen

Such is fate

Reality always intrudes on illusions

He was gone

The voice of the announcer, male

Droned on about something else

Goodbye Jimmy Joyce

I dreamt more after that

Though what I have forgotten

-He could not strive against another

Why not?

-I do not fear to be alone

or to be spurned for another

That’s why

But why that?

Not faith?

In destiny? Calling?

God? Something? What?

-A wild angel touched with the wonder

of mortal youth and beauty

Yes

Slan lat, Seamus                                 (Irish for “So long, James)

Until the next Going

For the million and first

Encounter and forging

The reality of experience

Still waits beyond black holes

In how many universes?

The conscience of the race

Continues to be uncreated

Though we’re not sure

For how much longer here

We have TV sets now

Ordinary objects

That  become cultural symbols

Excellent conductors for the subconscious

Providing an early morning medium

For visits with the deceased

Extraceptive devices                                                 

Stimulated by invisible presences

Spirits in our air called waves

Can someone tell Yeats?

What else can’t we see?

I am sure you would have much

To say about TV

Philosophically

You and McClune and Clanly

There can’t be television where you are

Unless you were wrong about hell

You would say perhaps

In so many words

Once knowing the faeries pranked us

With capricious diversions

That it is those

Who are inside it

Who are entertained

By those who are outside it

Who look at it

Who put those who are in it

Into limousines and fine houses

And send them on trips

And pay to educate their children

And give them so much money

Perhaps you would say

Of those who watch it

And those who are in it

-Let the dead

Amuse the dead

Joyce is alive

He only passed away

Television is a mirage machine

Often a mausoleum

Interring visions of the dead

The literal dead

Worm eaten dead

Incinerated dead

No metaphor

Images of the unliving

Gone from us

A wake

A Requiem

Small wonder then

That in the dead themselves, grave cold

Unressurected hours before dawn

When we still living decease a while

A television

A memorial service of our civilization

A thing of our time

Which conveys to us constantly

Our ghosts and phantoms

Can serve a sleeper’s mind

As an instrument of séance

Joyce is alive; he only passed away

Stay out of Burger King, mister Joyce

Elvis goes there

They’ll confuse you with him

They will; you look alike

The National Enquirer

Will say you ordered a whopper

While Elvis drank tea

And spoke in Latin.

                                   PILGRIMS

We ate Thanksgiving dinner

That year

In the revolving restaurant

At the top

A slow spin

Above trembling palm trees

Abandoned in the breeze

The long line

Of their slender stalks

A giddy drop

To the street below

Where car tops were children’s toys

And people cartoon figures

In costume

It was dizzy desperation

To look below

At that ion charged L.A. day

Bright as sunlit reflections on snow

We were at the edge

Beside the pane

That sloped out and away

And groaned in the wind

To break for freedom

We could have jumped right then

Smashed the glass with a chair

And leapt

Taking with us

Plates of turkey, potatoes,

Cranberry sauce and chatter

Twenty two stories up

We could see details of brown trails

In the olive chaparral

Hills blown clear

In air brushed skies

We were suspended

Poised above everything

The circular dining room

Extending beyond the borders of the roof

Forming a right angle

With the front of the building

Looking straight down

That vertiginous shaft

To the sidewalk below

Made you clutch the arms of the chair

And gasp

It caused a lightness of head

That view

An insecurity about the status quo

Got a surge of adrenalin flowing

From the stomach

Downward

At the prospect

Attractive and forbidding

We could have broken the barrier

Shattered that transparent shield

And jumped through the shards

To experience the fall

Worried later about paying the bill

And what we might do to the sidewalk

When we landed in the new world

There’s no docking

For pilgrims at plymouth rocks

And thrills never come cheap

We should have jumped right then

                                                     IN  THE EAR OF THE BEHOLDER,  AT THE SHRINE OF THE UNKNOWN POET

                                                                      (fomerly known as the basement laundry room)

Notice

This is an unattended laundry room

Wash temp/Wash speed

Hot wash/Normal speed

Use of the laundry equipment

Is at your own risk

Warm wash/Normal speed

Medium wash/slow speed

The company cannot be responsible

Luke wash/medium speed

Cold wash/slow speed

For any loss or damage

For colorfast cottons

For regular perm press

To the articles

For poly knits

And colorfast cottons

Put into the machine

For delicate perm press

And poly knit fabrics

To operate washer

Regular fabrics/Energy saving selector

Follow instructions on lid

For delicate fabrics/Energy saving selector

To use fabric softener

Add to water

When rinse light comes on

ON Normal speed/ ON Slow speed

Lid must be closed

For washer to operate

WASH    SPIN     RINSE     FINAL SPIN

Cycle is not complete

Until ON light goes out

$1.00 Wash 

                                                  To start machine

Push coin slot

                                                      ALL THE WAY

                                                                                                             IN

                                                                                      AND

                                                             PULL

                           ALL THE WAY

OUT

 Please turn the light off

                                                              When leaving

                                                                                          THANK YOU                                                                     

                                    (not a word of that is mine)

                                                DENTED CAN

Beef Ravioli

In tomato and meat sauce

Good food for the whole family

With Chef Boyardee

You can now enjoy a meal

That’s nutritious

AND

Good for you.

That’s BECAUSE

Chef Boyardee pasta dishes

Contain protein, vitamins (essential PARTS

of a healthy diet)

AND carbohydrates ( a good source of energy),

But have only 5%

Or less fat

(At least 95% fat free)

So now

You can feel good

Every time

You serve

Chef Boyardee.

Please recycle.

A limited warranty to consumers

Good Housekeeping promises

Replacement or refund if defective.

(Didn’t make any of that up either, even the upper case words or parenthesis. Another poem by an Unknown Poet, as told to me. You’ll find them everywhere. Read your menu, look at parking signs---arrows count.

DECLARATION OF CONTRACT, STATE OF CALIFORNIA, CITY OF LOS ANGELES, SECTOR OF HOLLYWOOD

If and only if    if

And/or     or

If   maybe   presumably

Probably   possibly   contingent upon

The likelihood of

The eventuality

For   of    and   to

The occurrence of

Snowflakes    cornflakes    soapflakes

Heretofore referred to as anyflakes

Sticking

Before   after    or  during

Any commitment or contract

Shall be deemed to be

Heretofore and previously

Under all conditions

At the discretion of the contractor

At any time

An agreement

That has become

Null and void.

Appendix:

The last clause ends with the punctuation mark called a period, identified as, associated with, and interpreted to be, a conclusion or ending, and which  appears visually as .  and is precise in form to the dot in a website but is not intended as such,  demonstrated here now as . (period)

Let it hereby be noted that the  . (period)  may be interppreted to mean    , (comma)   “ (quotation mark)    ? (question mark)   ; (semi-colon) and any other punctuation mark, or indeed anything else at all  that the initiating contractor may deem appropriate to be most beneficial specifically but not limited to him/her/itself.

Again, the . (period) in the second paragraph of the appendix (paragraph above) may be interpreted as explained in the second paragraph to mean anything  in the intiating conractor's favor, as may all clauses, paragraphs and puncturation points wherever they appear in this contract, such as here now.

To summarize, the initiating contractor reserves the right to interpret this document in any way whatsoever as to denial of liability, accountablilty or responsibility*

* note there is no period or punctuation mark here, thus no finality that could constitiute, or be contstrued as, an obligation or committment, and in any case, were such a punctuation mark present, it could mean anything else anyway 

Copyright on all of the poetry above. and all of the fiction pieces on this website,  with all rights reserved, by Patrick Breheny. Copyright protected under US Copyright Office law, Library of Congress, Washington, DC     (Not many fences buying poems, just following legal advive, but not from the barrister cited in the last poem above---though maybe I WOULD want him representing me)