Tim Schaefer's Blog, page 14

ARE YOU READY FOR LOVE???

Imaginary Garden With Real Toads

Would I appear more attractive to you...

If I were bravely shot out of a cannon
and landed in a mangled  heap
just short of the straw pile?

Would I appear more attractive
if  I wore flannel shirts a size too big
(with shoulder pads beneath)
and had a beard
(oop, I have a beard)
and went out each morning
with a big ol' axe
to single-handedly chop down the rain forest?

Or, say, if I held my wine glass
with my pinky extended
and gushed about "finish"
and "bouquet?"

Would I appear more attractive if
I posted pictures of my Corvette
(better get one first)
from every angle with the caption underneath:
VROOM VROOM?

Or if I popped overand fixed your computer with one
perfectly placed karate chop...
VOILA!

Would I appear more attractive
if I were twenty years younger?
Thirty?
A baby spitting up on your new sundress?

Or...

If you saw me falling out of bed
( banging my head)
first thing in the morning--
mumbling...scratching...farting...
traces of last night's garlic popcorn on my breath, 
chasing you around the room imploring:
KISS ME--I'M YOURS!

Reality raises its ugly head.

Let's all go back to bed. 

THE FOURTEENTH OF NOWHERE

d'VersePoetsPub-- Imaginary Garden With Real Toads

The pussy is the portal
into another world
(that was Kubrick's observation)
so come with me
my squiggly little brother
the journey is arduous
and fraught with peril
but would you rather languish here
and be just another jerkoff?

On the couch
feet propped up
head tilted back
The Outlaw Bible of Poetry
resting on my lap
Jazz zonked out
beside me
fan whirring away
in the corner
keeping us both "cool"

He likes to rest his head
on my yellow pad
sayin' screw your fleeting ideas
I got some serious sleepin' to do
so I begin jotting these words
on the back of an old envelope
that's the immediacy of poetry
and the sun hasn't even risen

Like the first time I went on Twitter
and it said "What are you doing"
and I thought the only purpose was
to literally say what you were doing
like "making breakfast" or
"farting into the wind"
but that got old fast

It doesn't pay to take things too much to heart
especially on a calender day set aside 
for eating chocolates and getting laid
because it's all done by rote
and next week you may have no idea
where the hell she is
other than 
as far as you know
some other world

TURN BACK TOMORROW by Tim Schaefer...Kindle edition is FREE today through February 12th--from Amazon .com

Hey kids, just wanted to let you know that you can download the Kindle edition of my new novel, Turn Back Tomorrow, for FREE today through February 12th only! This is the e-book version of my totally ADULT time travel thriller that sells for eleven bucks on Amazon. All I ask in return is that when you've completed the book, please consider giving it an honest review on my Amazon book page. Reviews are what make or break a book. Thanks! Love ya!
(Sorry, links aren't working, for some reason. Just go to amazon.com and type the title of the book into the search box at the top of the page, and my book info will come up.)


Excerpt from Turn Back Tomorrow:

There was so much to learn about her--so many questions. In a way, he still felt like this was a fantasy--that the lot of them could very well be mentally unstable and this whole flying saucer business no more than a delusion they shared. But to be a total skeptic, here and now, with all that had passed before his eyes--a beloved president and a civil rights leader gunned down, Watergate, Vietnam, hanky-panky in the oval office--one would have to be delusional to blindly accept the official version of things. Half truths. Manipulation of public opinion through the media. Outright lies. A bit of the conspiracy theorist must exist in all who have traveled this road, and thus a mind that is open to thinking the unthinkable.

TURN BACK TOMORROW by Tim Schaefer--available from Amazon.com

Excerpt from Turn Back Tomorrow:

There was so much to learn about her--so many questions. In a way, he still felt like this was a fantasy--that the lot of them could very well be mentally unstable and this whole flying saucer business no more than a delusion they shared. But to be a total skeptic, here and now, with all that had passed before his eyes--a beloved president and a civil rights leader gunned down, Watergate, Vietnam, hanky-panky in the oval office--one would have to be delusional to blindly accept the official version of things. Half truths. Manipulation of public opinion through the media. Outright lies. A bit of the conspiracy theorist must exist in all who have traveled this road, and thus a mind that is open to thinking the unthinkable.

https://www.facebook.com/duckbutt77/?...

COMING BACK FOR MORE

1.

Her exterior has been religiously anointedher interior is exquisitely appointed

but I've come to the conclusion
upon eons of self-delusion

that the solitary life works best
for the constitution

as all about there's prostitution
in one guise or another

so be my sistah
and I'll be your bruther

for us there will no other
till my hour is up

and you're off to your next call
counting your haul as you slink out the door


2.

Decades whiz by
in the flash of an eye
and when I say I took her support stockings off
and wore them over my head
and then went out and robbed the liquor store
I think U know what I mean--
it's the universal language of love
ooby dooby dooby doo
 just me and you

Now I just want to slip
into another world
as this one grows chillier
by the moment
any world that I'm welcome to
(I grope for the key beneath the mat
at the foot of the door)

And she said: what is it 
you love about life?  
And I replied : the way it kicks our asses
and still we keep coming back for more

3.

Now I sit like the Fool On The Hill
on his lofty perch
a  man on a stationary bike
could attain a similar altitude
in far less time and trouble
but I preferred the scenic route

And I can see clearly now
all the dead-end roads
I've traveled down
they stretch in all directions
snaking to the horizon...
leading not to Rome
but to Samarra

PATIO PARTY

I.

I meet her at the party.
She is working for an agency
called Asians For Special Occasions,
renting herself out to PC folks who want
their social gatherings to appear culturally diverse.
I ask if she has done many similar events,
and she replies, "Oh, yes. in fact when you
see a Japanese, or Chinese, or Korean, or
Vietnamese, or Thai-looking person at a
party these days, they are likely from the agency."

(She isn't supposed
to drink the wine,
but I say here,
you can suck on mine.)

II.

There is a young middle-tier porn actress
there, recruited by the hosts
to add an air of decadent sophistication
to the assemblage. She looks like the
 girl next door--freckle splashed cheeks
 and nose--not like the skanky-looking
 babes from the early days of the business.

Someone asks if she ever gets
involved with the men she works with and
she says, "Guys are so PRESUMPTUOUS!
Just because I DO you--what in the world
would lead you to assume 
I would ever want to date you?"

(She's also not supposed to touch the vino,
but she's eyeing my glass,
so surreptitiously, I slip it to her.)

She grabs a handful of almonds from
the hors d'oeuvre table and says:
"Imagine if I were allergic to nuts."

III.

There is a Jewish woman wearing a head scarf.
She is posing as a Muslim. She's there for the
same reason as the other hired help. They couldn't
get the real thing on short notice, she confides, but
she has similar coloring, and everyone assumes.
Because of the head scarf, they assume.
"Perception is reality," she explains.
(I offer her a sip, but she says, "Better not...it would blow my cover.")

The hosts have thought of everything.
Except to have stocked enough wine.
When it runs out, I prepare to make my exit,
thanking the two of them--a white couple in their fifties--for their hospitality. The couple doesn't
know me, but each assumes the other one does.

Which is all well and good I say to myself
as I move, a little wobbly, toward the gate.

I wasn't invited.

THE REVOLUTION WILL BE TELEVISED

Wish I could decide
on some kind of compromise
between lying around on my dead butt
and leading the revolution

Should be a happy medium
that won't get me shot
and turn me into a martyr
yet still provide a modicum
of intrigue and excitement
(like leading a bus tour of celebrity homes in L.A.)

Though a martyr wouldn't be
such a bad thing to be
with my picture on a T-shirt
(just have to grow my beard out bushy)

And I gotta admit the romantic vision
of taking to the hills with our rifles
and our long-haired women--
little papooses strapped to their backs--
has been a long held fantasy

Back in the day I had more stomach for it--
raising a fist in solidarity
with the Panthers up on that podium.
Even had a secret crush on Patty
(or was it Tania?)

Yeah, could use a little excitement
but what's an old hippie
who's gone soft
and out of practice to do?
Must be someonemore qualified than me
and don't wanna hang you upso maybe I'll just take a rain check on the revolution
(We had such wide-eyed conviction 
that a new day was comin')

This time it will certainly be televised
and I'll be right there
beer in hand
rooting y'all on
between the commercial breaks
(we really BELIEVED...ya know)
so shoot me
an email
if there's anything else I can do.

HEARTBREAK IN FADED JEANS

dVerse Poets Pub

I like it when a poem mentions a real place

like Omaha or Charleston as that immediately

tells me there won't be any faeries or elves in it

and so it's safe to continue and I like it when

a poem mentions a real thing like maybe a bus

stop where a woman is waiting for a bus that

doesn't come and I like it when a poem mentions

real people like old lovers or new lovers and some

way that all these things come together like at a bus

stop in Omaha where a woman stands waiting for

what could be an old lover on a bus that never

shows and not how it makes the woman feel

because we don't exactly know but how it makes

the poet feel as he observes her from the gas

station across the way and there's a chill in the

evening air and after a while he walks on over

to inquire as to whether he can be of some assistance

she is a dark haired woman who reminds him of

an old lover and she says where you headed mister

and he says Charleston and she smiles and says

oh that would be pretty far out of my way as I live

about five miles down the road and he wants to say

something but there's this little voice telling him

she's heartbreak in faded jeans and he says well

have a good evening then ma'm and when he pulls

out of the station never to pass this way again he

glances in his mirror and sees that she has stepped

off the curb and is thumbing for a ride and in a

New York moment (a pregnant one at that) he says

fuckit and turns the car around and you will write your

own ending same as we all do in real life and that there's

the kind of poem I like now mister yes I surely do.

RUN

My first baseball game
second grade I believerecess out on the playgroundthey didn't use a baseballit was a soccer sized ballyou whacked at it with the batand then you ranthat's what I saw the other kids doyou ran
I didn't know one thing about baseball I didn't know you were supposed to stop at the base when the ball was being thrown there and someone called out SAFE!or OUT!mom's Second Big Mistake having shown me nothing 'bout anything'cept how to be passive aggressiveso I just kept runningrunning homebecause I didn't know you knowand the kids thought I was dumb or somethingor maybe had a screw loose'cause next time up I did it againand they were yelling STOPbut I kept on running running homeand I didn't look back
And when it came time to bust out ofthat little town years down the lineI ranand kept on runningrunning away from home 
And I didn't look back 

Last Tango In Timbuktu

BRING A GRIN TO THE FACE OF THAT LOVER OF LITERATURE WITH A QUIRKY SENSE OF HUMOR ON YOUR XMAS SHOPPING LIST...