David Jackson

PUTTING COLOR IN THE DRYNESS
——————————————————————————–

There is no blood! There is no cross!
The deep ache which our hearts assay
…depression!, lunatic, unreal
…never meets us anyway.
No petals bloom the flower we feel
should we inscribe a lonely song

because the shoddy echoes steal!
because the TV is turned on
whose money jerks our thoughts away,
whose noisy noisy comedy
is smoke and light
and turns the day into a night
and snuffs the honor of regret.

And briefly do we sense the loss
from time to time, like love’s ennui
…or just before we go to bed
in smoke lost from a cigarette
that so provokes a senseless tear
from eyes that itch
and smear…with red.

The Teaman Appears

On any Himalaya
Mr. Chetri claps twice
and a teaman appears

In his paws a rack of glasses
(wiped not washed)
and a Chinese Thermos
green with red flowers
For a rupee he pours cha

Darjeeling steams
with crude sugar
half milk
spiced with smoke
from the mystic wood
it’s steeped over

The test of tenure
is to scald fingers
and not
set the glass down

You learn to honor the taste
of cremated trees
In these mountains
all wood is rare wood

by J. Kevin Wolfe
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All poems from ‘The Year of Purple Lawn Furniture’ (c2001 by J. Kevin Wolfe), afree ebook of poems in various reader formats.
http://home.att.net/~jkevinwolfe/i dex.html

Bio: J. Kevin Wolfe’s poems have appeared in over 60 ezines and in a dozen print publications. ‘The Year of Purple Lawn Furniture’ is a collection of new poems.

***

bad hair day for hitler

a jew beat you hitler
in the war
you started

einstein
(you missed this one)
finished it

your mustache was precise
his hair misbehaved
but all the aryan brains
wouldn’t divulge
his secret to you

so adolph
who turned out
to be the putz?

***

J. Kevin Wolfe

Rental Car

Got the keys? I asked Chuck
I locked my door in France
Got the keys? I repeated
I pressed the knob in Andorra
Got the keys? I chanted
I checked the handle in Spain

It’s Sunday
The Pyrenees live 60 kilometers
from anyplace
I forget to ask

The keys sway in the ignition
from the noose of a chain
half a meter
behind tempered glass
My Swiss Army knife learns
how sturdy Peugeots are made

Two Frenchmen
leave their picnic, wine and women
They cram two screwdrivers
above the window

Pulling down
my fingers are in
Pulling down
my hand is in
Pulling down
my elbow is in
Pulling down
the window leaps the track
thunks into the door
‘Voila’ they smile

It’s summer
Snow flavors the wind
We have no window
‘I got the keys’
Chuck says

————————

***

The Cat Patrol
On silent cat paws
He strides through the kitchen.
Tough guy walk
He demands food.
The cupboard door slams
Announcing dinnertime.
“Share with the others,” I say.
The pitter patter of
Six more quads of feet
Sound on the linoleum.
Kitten clumsy they come
On a run of tumbling,
Squirming, fur clad bodies.
I am overrun by kittens.
***