Tim Schaefer's Blog, page 3

MOTHER

King Midas was the ultimate metaphor
for the lot of us
everything is fine 
till we come along and turn it to shit

jolted out of complacency
your first instinct is to
stockpile that asswipe
funny
when you think of our priorities
just don't be squeezin' that Charmin, okay?

too many bodies
it's what I've been telling you
all along
too many friggin' heads
to even try to count
but nothing to be done about it now
'cept to kill a crapload of us off

is that what you've had
in the back of your mind
all along, Mother?
in the name of self-preservation?

Mars looks on
and doesn't blame you...

so quiet there now

THE STARS RUN THEIR COURSE

a beggar-king
at Burger King
asking for The Impossible

now I'm a SpongeBob diver
beneath the 12 mile reef

a broken lance
torn underpants
it undermines
all my carefully curated bravado

so many lifetimes

you think Bigfoot
is concerned about 
his carbon footprint?

and the case against
having anything
is that you've so much
to lose
(I'll send obligatory
condolences
or maybe congratulations)

but anytime you switch on
the radio
and Steely Dan
comes wafting
(like those Santa Ana winds)
you're ahead of the game

the bathroom down the hall
always has somebody in there
beneath the hand-scrawled sign
that says 
Please take a seat

you can
of course
always hang it out the window
unless it faces the street

let the stars run their course
it all makes sense 
in mysterious ways

one day your writings
will be all that's left of you

STILL WE WAIT

https://poetsandstorytellersunited.blogspot.com/s


one never knows

2 never knows
3 never knows

yesterday never knows
today never knows
Tomorrow Never Knows

still we wait
in rapt anticipation
for Arecibo to pick up a clue
something to bring us together
and show we are more than the
savage apes in a Kubrick odyssey

best thing for this roiling ball in space
would be to confront
a common enemy

War of the Worlds
now playing
right outside your kitchen window
your petty partisan bickering
wouldn't matter much then

Nancy and Mitch
Rush (to judgement)
Sister Susie
Phil and Don
and on and on

but they want no part of us
and our cancerous encroachment
upon all that is sacred

would you?

somewhere The Creator
emits a big booming laugh

he knows that he's just getting started 

stay tuned 

AND ALL WE SEE...

Good morning Mister I'm Gonna Blow Up The WorldAnd how are you todaypraying to your God Of Territorial Disputesgetting ready to go out with a bangprobably never considering thatonce you've enjoyed each of those 72 virgins happily waiting for youit may not seem like heaven any moreknowing the way your mind runsbut we never seem to think of the obvious
yes
it's important to fight for what you believe inbut I draw the line at my humanity
and no
God DOESN'T want you to do thatany more than he wants you to pop a fart and whistle Dixie at the libraryand I don't know why you look at Himand see petty and vengefuland finitewhen I see infinitelike the classroom teacher who knowsyou don't take sides in playground disputesthe main thing is for the little buggers to learn somethingso you can pass them on to a higher gradebut we ain't there yetso it's always us and themand all we see isan infidela nonbeliever a heathenan apostatean unholyunrighteouswickedblasphemerJesusgive me a breakwhat are the chances there's only one path to followand each of them shouting OVER HEREeven I can see that's a mathematical impossibilityif we are all God's childrenwouldn't it make more sense to think that every belief system may have at least a piece of the truthand if we'd just put our heads togetherand compare notesthe bigger picture might comeinto sharper focus
but no
you're going to kill in the name of your God Of The Partial Viewin a crowded market with a bomb strapped to your waistyou are no betteror worsethan the guy who sends the misguided missile screaming through the skythe aftermath is going to be just as messy
and oh
a bunch of women and children bit the big one that time unintentionally of course collateral damageback to the drawing board with a shrugwe're still the good guysand none of our strutting Suitshave any regrets I heard them say itmust be nice to sleep at night with NONEof that on your conscienceyou poor sadcrazynumbdeludedpower junkiestoo blind to sense that you're going to beon the wrong side of historyto a man it's all a game to youwhere the end always justifies the meanswell hellI know it's a gamebut still I'd like to playwith as much integrity as I can musterand be able to shake hands with my opponent afterwardsdon't know if you can do thatwhen he's carrying his dead child in his armsbut you never have to view that close upnever once considering that it's all taintedfrom beginning to endand that nothing good can come from thatwhich proceeds from a starting point of eviland that it will hound youthrough this lifetimeand how many moreI can't sayyour only salvationyour only hopeof escaping karma'smassive kick in the assis that maybe...just maybe...It's all a dream

DAYDREAM ON AISLE # 7

If you eat a doughnut
then eat it whole
if you leave a fragment
of a doughnut
then it's got no hole
it's no longer whole
it's got no soul

but I've been saved from 
The Hunger
and that's what true salvation 
means
the cravings for an
other
and then another
and another

there's enough sweetness in
the smile of a stranger
with her cart in the super mart
as you glide toward and then
past one another

you let your imagination
out to play for a minute
creating a scenario where
you remark that she has bought
the same kosher dills as you
and then it would begin
but
that could lead you
down the aisle

the wrong one

when you know that you can satisfy 
those cravings well enough now
without the necessity
of making Mistake Number Three

so you tuck that daydream away
and glide on over to 
the doughnut aisle
add to cart
proceed to checkout
and wave goodbye 
Boy George's haunting voice
echoing sweetly in your ears

A LITTLE HOLIDAY CHEER

Holidays are always quiet
for me
since I became a full-fledged
misanthrope.

It's not that I hate people
really
it's just that there's 
so damn many of 'em
everyplace you turn--
the source of all 
the world's evil.

I mean who else would it be...
the kindly elephant???

No worries though
as one by one
the fair-weather friends
drop by the wayside 
like they slipped
on a banana peel.

One day they're there
and the next 
POOF
they've removed themselves
from your life
with nary a word.

And done a favor
actually
cuz it has saved you
from having to take out the trash
yourself.

More time to watch Dog TV
and I don't even have a dog.
But it makes for a pleasant
and quiet yuletide
as you don't see many humans
on there.
Just a contented mutt
and his bone.

Come to think of it
that describes me to a T.

Happy holidays, y'all!

TIM'S NEW BOOK IS OUT!

JUST VAMPING

Bats rollbuzzards trollfreaks plagueyour tormented souland we are waiting.
We dance by daywe dance by nighthere to give yousuch a frightand we are waiting.
Brothers and sisterswe are waiting.mothers and fatherswe are waiting.sons and daughterswe are waiting.sons of bitcheswe are waiting.
Angels and whores trade placesin a moonlit masquerade.
Zombies dancewithout any pants.
And we are waiting... for THE NIGHT !

THE WINDS OF CHANGE BLEND WITH AUTUMN ZEPHYRS SIGHING (collaborative poem from Sanaa Rizvi and Timoteo)

HE IS CREAM...SHE IS CHEESE...
WHAT A SPECTACULAR COMBINATION!

Sanaa and I began talking a few weeks ago and seemed to really hit it off. We discovered that we share the love of autumn, and so the poem before you quickly began to unfold. We hope you enjoy it and look forward to hearing your thoughts in the comments.



When the gales of November come earlyI’m a total wreck wind knocked out of my sailsbut I’ve set a course for The Sea Of Tranquilityand I’ll be there when that big moon sweeps these storms from my heart.

Now these cloudscold, mean and gray sideways rainpoint toward the dark road my mind is travelling in,the bruising of November teaches one about existence, its brevity I wonder if the moon knows timeand course, as leaves curl in colors of Fall.

There is a melancholy vibe this time of year--I can feel it in the forced gaiety beginning to build as I swim through the crowd, rudderless,like a paper boat adrift on the breeze,and for small momentsI will succumb to the mass hypnosis
With wild berries clinging for support,I observe the breeze, an unseen one act nearly farcepainstakingly scrape to leave a patch of stillnessuncovered for a short while,my lips are stained with the thought of woeprevalenthauling one to a place where light cannot reach.

But I’ve had it with these subterranean homesick blues.I shall emerge from these depths--the mole in your midst burrowing to the sun.The world is fraught with overt boogeymen.They cannot frighten survivorswho’ve been to scarier places in their own minds than your sardonic smile could ever intimate. 

Let this be the end as air’s imbued with wet leaves and contemplationis a swirl of mist;a sliver of dark orange disseminating doldrums.My faith akin to myriad of stones that become the shade of highway that lies unruffled behind them-- I witness the break of day and run forth to embrace.  

Springs and autumns flash by in an instant.I make a wish and the universe rains its poetry down upon me.To embrace both the darkness andthe light within us is the way of understanding.November brings the winds of change.I stand in the awe-filled silencewaiting to feel its sharp graze against my cheek.

I could watch them a while, this feeling that blends with fall foliagefor when struck with the right note of sobriety even the most dismal of life’s turns are rendered facile. The hour smiles and extends its hand to me,as rain conjures a delicate pattern upon my skin and the winds of change blend with autumn zephyrs sighing. 

THE WINDS OF CHANGE BLEND WITH AUTUMN ZEPHYRS SIGHING Collaborative poem from Sanaa Rizvi and Timoteo

HE IS CREAM...SHE IS CHEESE...
WHAT A SPECTACULAR COMBINATION!

Sanaa and I began talking a few weeks ago and seemed to really hit it off. We discovered that we share the love of autumn, and so the poem before you quickly began to unfold. We hope you enjoy it and look forward to hearing your thoughts in the comments.



When the gales of November come earlyI’m a total wreck wind knocked out of my sailsbut I’ve set a course for The Sea Of Tranquilityand I’ll be there when that big moon sweeps these storms from my heart.

Now these cloudscold, mean and gray sideways rainpoint toward the dark road my mind is travelling in,the bruising of November teaches one about existence, its brevity I wonder if the moon knows timeand course, as leaves curl in colors of Fall.

There is a melancholy vibe this time of year--I can feel it in the forced gaiety beginning to build as I swim through the crowd, rudderless,like a paper boat adrift on the breeze,and for small momentsI will succumb to the mass hypnosis
With wild berries clinging for support,I observe the breeze, an unseen one act nearly farcepainstakingly scrape to leave a patch of stillnessuncovered for a short while,my lips are stained with the thought of woeprevalenthauling one to a place where light cannot reach.

But I’ve had it with these subterranean homesick blues.I shall emerge from these depths--the mole in your midst burrowing to the sun.The world is fraught with overt boogeymen.They cannot frighten survivorswho’ve been to scarier places in their own minds than your sardonic smile could ever intimate. 

Let this be the end as air’s imbued with wet leaves and contemplationis a swirl of mist;a sliver of dark orange disseminating doldrums.My faith akin to myriad of stones that become the shade of highway that lies unruffled behind them-- I witness the break of day and run forth to embrace.  

Springs and autumns flash by in an instant.I make a wish and the universe rains its poetry down upon me.To embrace both the darkness andthe light within us is the way of understanding.November brings the winds of change.I stand in the awe-filled silencewaiting to feel its sharp graze against my cheek.

I could watch them a while, this feeling that blends with fall foliagefor when struck with the right note of sobriety even the most dismal of life’s turns are rendered facile. The hour smiles and extends its hand to me,as rain conjures a delicate pattern upon my skin and the winds of change blend with autumn zephyrs sighing.