Tim Schaefer's Blog, page 4

GOD BLESS

3 a.m. on a Sunday
and I'm tradin' sleep for a poem

thinking 'bout all the folks
who will don their Sunday finery
to hang out in a pew
with you and you and you
and you
still don't get it
that your soul is immortal
and not in need of savin'

but sure
I get it
it's a sense of comm
unity
we gather together to ask 
the Lord's blessing

and even though I'm fallin' apart
in my decrepitude
I'm good to go with all of that
don't feel the need
cuz a coupla peeps singing loudly off key
on either side of me
isn't exactly what I call "inspirational"

having said all that
I'll admit I've prayed before
but it's always been 
a white-knuckled
get me out of this freakin' jam
kinda thing 
and by god 
somehow...
somehow...

so let me say that if you don't feel 
a connection
with something larger than
your own ego
whatever you wanna call it
then I have to wonder about ya
as in how did you miss it?
(ah--your head was buried in your phone!)

goddamn

my pen is running out of ink
so I guess I'll close for now
but it's been nice chatting with you
and if you don't mind 
I'd rather not ruin my rep
as heathen in good standing
so let's just keep all this stuff
between you and me

God bless

GROUNDED

For Wild Friday at Poets United. Inspired by James Wright (1927-1980) and his poetry collection: Shall We Gather At The River.

A sense of place is a good thing.
A grounding thing.
A sense of time and place means
You remember things that
Have touched you deeply.

Deeply enough to lay 
The groundwork for a poem.

He was rooted in time and place
Like no one I ever read.
Out of the way places.
Lonely places. 

Daybreak beginning to fall on Idaho.

A discontinued railroad station
In Fargo, North Dakota.

The oldest whorehouse 
In Wheeling, West Virginia.

(No mention if they were the oldest whores.)

He understood the poet's mission 
was to take what has stirred 
(or maybe shaken) you,
And pay it forward.
Poignant and plain spoken, he came
from a time and a place
where some things still made sense.

Some still remember. 

LITTLE BOX

For Sanaa's prompt on Imaginary Garden With Real Toads --inspired by Pink's "Hurts 2B Human"

It's getting harder
to be human
when to leave my comment
on your poem
I must prove
I'm not a robot

No easy feat
these days
when it's come down to
a set of rules 
a set of laws
not divine laws
(and not your in-laws)
but decrees laid down
by mortals
often with dubious aims
and dark agendas
but by god now they're set in stone
and we will follow them
to the letter
as we chant

Send them back!
Send them back!

Just like what you want me
to prove that I'm not 
and though it walks
and talks
and seems almost like a person
the human element
(unfortunately)
could not be programmed in
so before you check 
that little box 
look deep inside your heart
take a moment 
and ask yourself...

Where is the proof  
that I'm not a robot?

JUICY AS A RIPE MANGO

Tim Schaefer's new memoir has just been released. Puerto Rico: The Golden Years Before It All Hit The Fan (Memoirs Of A Raconteur Radio Host) is a tell-all accounting of the author's wild and woolly days as a popular personality on WBMJ, Puerto Rico's first English language pop/rock radio station. Set against the backdrop of the free-spirited late sixties and early seventies, Schaefer's prose flows like music wafting on the wind as he shares intimate moments with some of the stars (and those with stars in their eyes) who passed through the portals of Penthouse One in the San Juan Darlington hotel. 

Consider buying this book. It's like seeing "For a good time, call Sadie" on the side of the the public restroom stall. Do you dare call the number?  How adventurous are you? 

Puerto Rico: The Golden Years Before It All Hit The Fan is now available from Amazon.com in both e-book and paperback editions.

--Review by "Cat Man"

MIDNIGHT AT THE OASIS

Used to sometimes drop into
The Maverick Bar
just for the hell of it--
back in the day
it was the premier country-western 
spot in town for two steppers
and two timers lookin' to hook up.

One night as I was leavin' there
sitting in my car
these two drunk chicks
came stumbling out.
They were lookin' for a ride
and I would have obliged them
in one way or another.

One of them poked her head 
with all that teased blonde hair 
inside my open passenger side window
and got a bead on me,
sizing me up as best she could
for the state she was in (Arizona).

And then she said to her friend:
Why hell, Betty Sue...
he ain't even a COWBOY!

And as they drifted off in search
of a big Stetson hat
and whatever else might come 
along with that package 
I said to myself:

No, pardner...
you sure ain't no cowboy.

At least you got that goin' for ya.

THREE'S A CROWD

Imaginary Garden With Real Toads

Went to the supermarket 
and you can't even turn around 
without bumping into some body...

Fuken people! they're everywhereand the source of all our grief.
Cuz if it were just you and methere'd be no worry about the economywe'd barter straight upone to oneno need for tariffs as we'd know each other better than anyone else in the world andtrust that we weren't tryingto screw each other over.
If it were just you and methe skies would be clear 
and the oceans would be cleanand all the methane gas that goes into the atmosphere from all the cows and everyoneelse farting up a storm wouldn't existwe'd eat from nature's bountybrimming on the trees and the vines.
And the murder rate would be way downno assault weaponscuz nobody to assaultI could bonk you over the headwith my club if you got really out of linebut you'd be okay.
No white supremacists cuzhaving originated from somewhere over there in Africayou and I would bedark as blackberries (and just as juicy I might add).
Don't dismiss these words out of hand cuzall the world's major problemscan be traced back to too many  fuken people but there's nothing to be done about it now'cept try to be civiland don't turn around abruptly in the marketand bump into some old ladywho'll give you the nastiest looklike she thinks you shouldn't even exist.

O. M. G.

Imaginary Garden With Real Toads
I went strolling 
through this city
of painted boxes
throwing rocks 
at everything that moved

While the hip-hop dancers
fingered their crotches
I gave the sun away
it was just another day

I fed the monkeys
and the peacocks
I danced all night
with three queens
in hot pants and clogs

in the morning
enveloped in fog
I took a marriage proposal
from a guy with a gun
and a dog

We read the Kama Sutra
all night in bed
there is something fragile 
inside your head
that makes you want to be dead

and sometimes you know
exactly what's going to kill you
but you just keep keepin' on with it

I am your God
and you shall seek no other
I carry a horn to blow
in all these streets
to notify you of my second coming
never doubting
that the preachers
will nail me to the cross

Oh never mind
it's the flag
the flag
the important thing is
that it not touch the ground

For we'll still be waving it
long after your silly God
is dead and gone

US

Imaginary Garden With Real Toads
Play it as it lays
no need to cheat cuz 
in the end you'll want to say
 that you won it
or lost it 
fair and square.

There is a little word called
integrity 
that has gotten lost
under tons of smelly manure
spewing out the wrong end 
of the equine these days
(mouth instead of rectum)
and that makes a horse's
ass out of many of us.

What is winning 
going to gain you
you self-serving twit
when you lose your
soul in the process
and reincarnate as a
dung beetle
eating shit for the rest
of your days instead
of serving it up?


Like the rhino who can
only see 15 feet 
in front of his face
we're all a little 
short-sighted that way.

We'll deal with the consequences
of whatever that is up ahead later
right now just put your 
head down and charge!

If karma exists
then I'll see you 'round
the old dung pile
in just a little while. 

THANKS FOR YOUR SUPPORT

Imaginary Garden With Real Toads

Your all day eyes
Sunday surprise
I've been livin' under the guise
of something loosely deemed 
human
for oh so long

It's time to break out
show you what I'm all about
the monster lurks within
poised to destroy Tokyo
one more time
and eat your head
just a snack before bed

Scoop me up a slice of dat will ya?
that's it...warm apple a la
American Pie
I'm the second coming
of Little Jack

In my day we questioned 
authority
but we never questioned 
who we were 
somehow we just knew
(we were grounded)
these fundamental questions 
are up in the air now
like the balls you'd always see
the jugglers tossing on Ed Sullivan
now you see them
now you don't

snip snip

If I told you I was Godzilla
would you give me
all your loving support...
no questions asked?

A COBBLESTONE STREET IN CANNES

I know you thought
that last one was weird
and I could see you
sitting there saying:
Geez, I hope he doesn't 
make this a habit
cuz he was obviously
high when he wrote it!

(I just had to laugh)

When all your angels
have retired and given
up the ghost and you're
out there on your own
existential limb
teetering in the wind
you'll simply tell it as it is
with increasing alacrity

all good people deplore
problems at a distance

appalled by what the
unenlightened inflict
upon each other
(but at a distance)

the power disparity
inherent in all relationships
whether they be between
individuals or groups of
individuals sows the
seeds of abuse

and here's the thing
about Armageddon......

there won't be any time to
look back and ask
what went wrong
when your ass is
high-tailing it for the hills

(jump cut)

If I had my druthers
I'd be walking down
a cobblestone street in Cannes
a few paces behind Brigitte Bardot
whose butt is wiggling like
a sack of Yukon Gold potatoes
in her bright white short shorts
and yes I will take that year
whatever it is to inhabit
like a hermit crab
for all time

The person caught in any
moment in time is
frozen in that moment
because that is his moment
then a much older person
who is caught in his moment
and will forever be comes
along and has the audacity
to claim that he is the same
person as that whippersnapper
from long ago...

identity theft on a global scale

and God said to the monk of 57 years:
You know you could have done
whatever the hell you wanted--
I'm not a prude!

but whatever it is
make it good 
'cause time steals away
like a whore 
from your bedside
at 5 a.m.
and the world 
is made of yesterdays