Issue 2:2 | Poetry | Ted Pope
3 Poems |
 |
A Caveman’s Day
if i can’t get my Big Old
Brain wrapped around it
then i’ll just have to smash
it with my club.
sometimes i do these things
out of pure logic.
sometimes i do these thing
out of pure love.
this last Father’s Day was
no exception.
i killed the Kid
and i took the Queen to my
bed.
Now i am the father’s father
of my own
damnation...
if you can get that idea
into your head.
and if i can’t get my Big
Old Brain wrapped around it
then i will just knock it
down with my club.
sometimes i do these things
out of pure logic.
sometimes i do them out of
purest love.
and you may consider me just
another, Walt Whitman.
and i may have written some
words about leaves and grass.
but if i can’t convince you
of the logic
behind my argument
then i may just have to kick
your ass.
cause if i can’t get my Big
Old Brain wrapped around it
then i just smash it with my
club.
sometimes i do these things
out of logic.
sometimes i do them out of
love.
Original Faces
by the time you have learned
the concept of innocence yours will be gone
lost
somewhere in the transit
the roads all narrow
all long
each searching for their own
way
my dream has turned
more like the ancient
to seek out the original
face
rise up walk in through the
mountains
tomorrow down to the sea
but the place to which i
truly am traveling
the hidden temple in me
know that where i get there
i will fall down and worship some thing that is not me at all
the illusions of this world
will crumble
the lies all topple and fall
so if it is truth from which
we are hiding,
join hands there is no need
to scream
we may all yet find
ourselves
well
w/in the spell
of the dream
no i do not mean sleeping
forever awake have you been
just a point beyond all that
confusion out there
where our original faces
meet
and i used to be a cruel
character
Act 3 Second Scene
but i have closed the book
on that paragraph
for the play is no longer of
me
it is the tapestry of the
universe and the threads weave a simple theme
and converge at a point
beyond all this confusion
where our Original Faces meet
Charlie’s Uncle
the year was 1911 and
charlie’s uncle was heading west on the train
and looking out and viewing
some of what was all of the west
enough of all the dime store
rumors
the west was his to see first
hand
the time had come and the
wheat fields busied themselves w/ waving in the wind
and charlie’s uncle busied
himself w/ waving back at each grain
thinking they were nodding
at him
and wanting no ingratitude
to be known on his part, waving he went
and waving he did as out
west he sped
this was the best time
charlie’s uncle had ever had
even it if was the worst
time
to beheading west
i mean he thought what if
all the saloon brawls are over
the horse troughs dry and
worse yet the saloons dry and not a shot
of red-eye or five card stud
to be had
on this whole side of the
mighty mississippi
but next morning
fresh from his first stop,
charlie’s uncle was found drowned
just inside the horse trough
just outside the local saloon
all shot up full of red-eye
liquor and w/ a wet and swollen new deck of cards
still clenched in his fist
so the local shaman was
called in from the nearby reservation
and charlie’s uncle was
hauled out and dried out for three days until
the resurrection
and you know, that man came out
fine
fit as a fiddle
fit an any city slicker who
ever died the dude-ranch weekend and survived
