Wafting

Resting quietly in bed at sunrise

Letting growing rods of sun

Burn away the morning fog from my mind

Is wafting

Under Spring trees at eighty degrees

Traveling the full distance

From now to eternity

Unfettered by reality and rigid logic

Is wafting

Listening to the world breathe

Twilight sighs of relief

As time absconds with precious gems

Of living

Is wafting

Wrapped in darkness counting stars

Then going there

Unconcerned about returning

Gazing finally on a world

That will never ever sting you

Is wafting

                ***

Car

In a long sluggish parade

          trapped

On the George Washington Bridge

Steel humans in a breadline

Waiting food from the Salvation Army

Every personality drowned in a river

          of reflection.

As apple-taffy Austin

With a nervous sweaty wheeze

          purchased for speed

But doomed

To frustration & fickle whores

          constantly rapping your gearbox.

One white station wagon

Filled with everyone else’s children

& shopping bags overflowing

          green celery stalks, corn flakes

               chocolate sandwich cookies

                    hair rollers and —

The proverbial dented fender.

The long black limousine

Sleek & mysterious with curtains

          drawn to the world and hiding

A soul

That ‘made it’ but lost its owner

To the Dreyfus Lion which devoured

          His heart

A smart red convertible

          going anywhere for fun

Skiing in Vermont, bikinis in Miami

         clubbing in Vegas

Destined to be second

          to a company sedan, then sold

When the baby arrives.

A humble olive-green American

With standard shift & gray seats

That never made it with the girls.

The precision crafted old Chevy

         molded by the artist’s hands

At the gas station after dark:

          C-stock, unbeaten trophies

Cam & chromed jewelry from Tiffany’s

          speed shop

Fumes arouse the reverie

          as the march begins anew,

                  coughing & faltering

All with their lights on, following

          the hearse.

                    ***

Food For Thought

1. John Sutor

Was devoured by a computer

At the young and tender age of 23.

Seems he loved the constant hum

That made the monster run

So he poked his head inside to have a see.

Well to T. John’s vast surprise

That bastard came alive

And hungry for the taste of human flesh.

By bedazzling Johnny’s eye

Old M-12 grabbed his tie

And in seconds had his flowered shirt and vest.

Before the dude could speak

Hummer yanked him off his feet

And swallowed Johnny whole without a chirp.

Dropping not a single crumb

M-12 whined his hoppy hum

Spitting buckles, buttons, zippers, with a burp.

So a note to all you freaks

Who think Old Hummer merely beeps

He’s got the sharpest, fastest, reflex in the West.

If you have to be a dude

You’d better handle M-12 nude

‘cause when it comes to snatching bodies, he’s the best.’

E.J. Hudak – ca. 1969

 

Writing the words

I welcome the day

Writing the words

with new things to say

Writing the words

my heart like a sponge

Writing the words

all silence expunged

 

Every new sound

alive in the air

Every new phrase

unspoken to share

Every last vowel

irreverent of time

Every last breath

gives voice to the mime

 

Pen in my hand

the journey begins

Pen in my hand

through virtue and sin

Pen in my hand

the Muses surround

Pen in my hand

their voices expound

 

Dreams of my father

dreams of my son

Dreams hold me captive

dreams rebegun

Dreams in the mirror

dreams that relay

Dreams bringing freedom

dreams — dare I pray

 

***

 

Narrative Musings

 

Poetry

can’t scare me

But then

there’s the prose

 

Freewheeling

unstructured

I’m lost

in its throes

 

The words

in my capture

As verse

I sustain

 

But narrative

musings

I fight

— to proclaim

 

***

 

 In The Instant

 

Always the next

poem

always the next

verse

 

That already

written

retreats

to disperse

 

What comes

as a presence

stays fresh

to surmise

 

And freed

in this instant

each word

— more alive

 

(The New Room: May, 2026)

 

How do we protect children

from a world — so inflictive

How do we prepare children

for that world — once protected

How do we keep them out of the vice

of this paradox

How do we … How do we …

— how do we

 

***

 

Skinning The Cat

 

Losers are drawn

to authority

Like moths being lured

to the flame

 

Curiosity killing

more than a cat

Willy Loman

— forever in pain

 

(Dreamsleep: May, 2026)

***

The Muse

 

If I show her

the least attention

She blackens out

the prose

 

Her hold on me

so total

Forever

in the throes

 

Of what her

gift requires

And loyalty

demands

 

Where every night

she visits

My dreams

— at her command

 

***

 

 

Moments I Treasure

 

Embracing simplicity

 days get short

Words cut deeper

vague meanings defined

 

Minutes leaving

moments to treasure

Twilight in focus

— forever unwinds

 

***

 

Uncertainty Cries

 

Time

the great impostor

Hides

in every doubt and scheme

Whispering lies

when uncertainty cries

Poisoning hope

— invading our dreams

 

***

 

Less Is More

 

Would you trade

your steak for salad

returning as before

Before the fame

betrayed you

before the moneyed tour

 

How spartan could you pivot

free

of fortune’s weight

That riches cast upon you

and left you

in this state

 

How much praise and false attention

would you happily

give up

To shed the gilded moments

and fill

each empty cup

 

But maybe all the better

to clasp your hands

in prayer

Beseeching what is missing

from The One

— who’s always there

 

***

 

Excuses Befriend

 

A thousand ways

to lose

only one way

to win

The track

lined with losers

 excuses

befriend

What could have

then happened

 what should

have come true

Lost forever

to history

defeat

— in review

 

(Montreal Grand Prix: May, 2026)