Tim Schaefer's Blog, page 7

A FITTING END

I wasn't born into sin.
I created that for myself
and had a damn good time at it,
thank you.

Oh, you'll be happy to learn
that here--the Las Vegas
of the solar system
(if not the galaxy)-- 
what happens on earth
stays on earth.

So 'ave at it boys and girls--
everything's permitted.
How do I know?
Because it exists!

HA!

And to think at one time
I wanted to be a squid farmer.
So maybe I missed my calling
but in my present role of
guru/ philosopher and certified
bra fitter, I can serve the world
on dual levels.

A fragment in time
becomes a fragment
in your poem.
String enough fragments together
and voila!
The question being should there be
a unifying thread?

Is there a unifying thread
that runs through your shirt?
(That's some nice threads, man!)


Einstein looked and looked
for a unified theory of the universe.
He never found it.

So my advice to you is to
go out there and be the best
squid farmer you can be.
And leave these larger questions 
of life to us professionals.

And I hope you'll come
 in for a fitting soon.

NO THOUGHT WENT INTO THE MAKING OF THIS POEM

Imaginary Garden With Real Toads

I have been able to successfully
live in the moment for up to

30 seconds at a time
you just push every thought

out of your mind
it becomes blank like

the page I'm writing this on
before I fill it up

you become keenly aware of
sounds at that point

the sounds you normally block out
with your monkey mind

going a mile a second
push it past the half-minute 

mark and congrats...
you are a zen master!

thoughts are insidious
even when you don't think

you are thinking
you are thinking about

not thinking 
and all manner of things 

like a poem you are thinking of writing
about not thinking

and I tried so not to think while writing this 
and I do think it shows

HUMONGOUS BURNT SIENNA TURD

How sadly festive is the geriatric pensione!
Does the pensione make you shiver?
Does it?

I saw the seaside sentinels
Of my generation fall.
How I mourned the old hotel.
How I mourned our breezy apartment
Overlooking the shoreline slum.
It makes me shiver now.

The pensione smells 
On account of old farts
Blasting off farts.

The cafe is a pig trough.
Down down down 
Into the bowels they waddle
The chubby, the oily, the endomorphic.

I saw the flavor of my island destroyed.
Are you upset by how 
greasy the food is now
and how it all tastes like McShitburger?
Does it tear you apart to see
the once proud resort
pulled under by a tsunami of salami?

A humongous
Burnt sienna turd?

The winds blew through
But they didn't erase the memories.
So blow out the candles
Another year has passed.
The die is cast.

The pensione awaits.

ON THE LINE BETWEEN AUTUMN AND WINTER

I.

Between what could have been
and what was
lies The Land Of Regret
where the hotel service is lousy
the beds are never made
(the sheets get so tangled)
and it's always raining
You can go there 
for a visit
but don't stay too long
and never buy 
a one-way ticket
or you will never come back 

II.

I've had more embarrassing moments
than you
due to a proclivity
for winging it 
in situations that required
a boy scout's preparedness
counting on some magic
unrealism to carry the day
and when it didn't
(which was 99 percent)
I developed a taste for the raw egg
that was dripping down my face
and so I wince
when reviewing the past 
but that die is cast
life is still a blast

III. 

I journeyed back 
to my little town
population two hundred six
in its heyday
to find it in ruins
the little cafe where all the kids
fed the jukebox and pinball machine
workin' on those night moves
at least in their heads
now just a storehouse
for some rickety furniture
the pool hall 
gone
the people I knew 
gone
it was like a war memorial
in the quiet aftermath 
of a bloody conflict 
where I literally fought
to survive as an 
outcast and a loner
and yet have always felt
better off for being battle tested

IV.

I stand behind my life 
the way the man who follows
the elephant down the street
with a shovel and a wheelbarrow
stands behind his work


V.

No one is unlovable
if you don't believe it
check out the couples
down at your local Walmart


VI.
I can write about old loversfamily and friendswith no trepidationand I dothey don't read my workthatintimate strangerI leave to you
VII. 

I've searched for meaningin this carnival world 
that surrounds me
only to learn
there's nothing to do
but join in the dance

VIII.

It shifted to winter seamlessly
there was nothing you could point to
that said you've crossed over
but somewhere along the line
you did of course
autumn days still mild
nights portending of what's to come
the scent of wood smoke in the air
then one morning you awaken
and the world around you 
has grown cold
and you brace 
for December's finality

TUNNEL VISION

Imaginary Garden With Real Toads

You can always find someone
to feel sorry for in The Naked City
someone who feels exposed
even when fully clothed because
those with the gift of vision
can see right through them
and I, Clark Kent, know about this
better than most

I roam these streets by day
(no fly-by-night superhero am I)
the people see me
as they have seen my alter-ego
so many times on the TV
if not in person
rescuing some ducks
or some sluts
from the gutter
and they never once put two 
and two together 
that I am he
and he is me
by the mere fact that I am wearing
these dorky glasses
I mean come on
really
it just shows you how easily
people are fooled
as no one even once ever said
you know you look a little like him
take your glasses off for a moment
it's why nobody sees
that the emperor has no clothes
as they grope blindly
along the tunnel 
in a dream 
within
a dream
within
a dream
here in The Naked City

YOURS DROOLY

There was a time when I 
thought that I was gonna crap 
out before the age of thirty
in some romantic James Dean
bullshit kind of thing 
but now being to hell and gone
past that (and past the point 
of caring 'bout most things
I cared about then)
I gotta kinda wonder if
live fast die young 
might not have been
the better option
cuz the last thing 
I ever wanted to be 
was some decrepit old fool
who can't get up off the stool

but that's probably coming

then again I think about
how I would have missed
this lovely shit show 
we've got here today
(I know I don't have to go into it)
and I'm kinda glad that I can be here to commiserate with you 
and help you through it 
in my own little way
so come here and put
your head on my shoulder
cuz it's a lot easier than me
trying to put my shoulder 
on your head

Yours Truly,
Still Not Dead

COMING

Imaginary Garden With Real Toads

the odor of death
hangs heavy over the planet
the corpses of angels
strewn at our feet

and it's coming


the people were told
by the high priests 
of climate change
but they paid no heed
till it started to rain
(say what you will about Noah--
 he had strong animal magnetism)

what to do now:


rob the liquor store
do a lap or two
around the lap dancer
circumnavigate the moon
swing on a comet's tail
eat in the kitchen
crap in the loo
the creatures marched in
two by two
look out Flahr-Da
there's more soup for you

take a Greyhound to Memphis
do a thing with The King
drink your whiskey straight
masturbate
(as you can see
it doesn't matter to me)

'cause it's coming

the odor of death
hangs over the planet
you can see it in the skies
and in the children's eyes

but what we will carry:
the scent of earth
and twigs
and pine

we'll always remember you
Mother 
just as you are
as we gaze wistfully upon you
from some other star

and we are coming

ANTI-SOCIAL MEDIA

Imaginary Garden With Real Toads
I got myself a tribe
their wordless tongues
don't have to wangle
only nimble fingers
flying over a keyboard

My foolscap is a monitor
for monitoring fools
determined to give the Big Lie
just one more try
as tribal warfare
spills across the screen

A manhole cover 
on my head 
to brace
for the incoming
a hail of toads
wet-stained and sweating rain
as life is cheap as dirt
in cyber land
but the truth
now that'll cost ya

NO FORGETTING

dVerse Poets Pub




Down at the bus station
drunks and drifters 
prepare to sail away 
to somewhere
anywhere 
away from here
as if you could 
somehow get away 
from you

You're not of that ilk
but with a little letting go
you could be

The woman 
in the adjacent seat
is talking to someone
that isn't you 
and you surmise
it must be God

Out your window
snowflakes plummet
onto an empty plain
and there is your God

Darkness descends
with only the open road 
and the cold stars
beaming out yesterday

This is where you belong
and there is no forgetting

RED WATER, BRONZE WORDS

Imaginary Garden With Real ToadsThe road is just more geology
we kick up pale dust that hangs
peels back to the left
northbound lane
a hawk circles low

America 
I sometimes wish
you would remember me
under the glitter
on frozen moss and snow
the wet seasons
red water
bronze words
new shoots of spring wheat

I have enough despair for two people

A voice calls me to the river

When you see my reflection
in the dewdrops 
on the heather
you'll know that I have returned