A time to be born, a time to die
A time to plant, a time to reap
A time to kill, a time to heal
A time called 9:47 AM, a time called 9:47 PM
Monthly Archives: October 2013
Chuck McCann
Saying hi to the loveable and brilliant Chuck McCann with my old pal
Andrew Lederer at the Chiller Theatre Expo in New Jersey.
Inverse
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The Ongoing Adventures of This and That
I know where this is going. You, however, do not know where that’s been.
…TO BE CONTINUED
Inside My Head
Someone is throwing
Cats against sheet metal
Down in the basement
Inside my head
Somebody’s shuffling
Way off to Buffalo
Shoes made of Styrofoam
Inside my head
Inside my head
Springs are uncoiling
In co-llaboration
Inside my bed
Fat man is straining
To tie his bootlaces
Asthmatic bull terrier
Inside my head
If I could just summon a samba
From some South American puerto
The surf on the shore
Oh yes, por favor
Turn up the Astrud Gilberto
Instead in my head
Argentina is burning
Unhappy customers
Inside my head
The wind in the willows
Is uprooting lumber
It’s raining splinters
Inside my head
Guitar boy from Wantagh
Loves Eddie Van Halen
Practicing “Jump”
Inside my head
Carnival squeezebox
Calliope sideshow
Two-headed chimp argues
Inside my head
I guess I could be like my sister
Who hears country music and hymns
I’d sleep through the night
But at dawn’s early light
I’d chew off all four of my limbs
One day I’ll go digi
Plug in a cable
A port in my head
To inside my head
I’ll output the circus
Put it on iTunes
Come one, come all, witness
What’s inside my head!
They’ll pay their good money
For downloads and streaming
Blogs will blog “Genius…
Inside his head!”
And with my new money,
Connections and power
I’ll buy a new head
For inside my head
A nice quiet head
For inside my head
Just me and Astrud
Inside my head
Everything… ahhhhhh
Inside
My
Head
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Preversity
The poem you are reading
You are reading in advance
I will write it one day
When I get the chance
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Optimism
I tried tonight to write of bitter-
ness, regret and sorrow.
Alas, I’m merely taciturn;
Have heart! There is tomorrow.
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For the Bygone
I open sodden eyes to mourn
The Day of Fri, when weekend’s born
The joy of Satur, bliss of Sun
Ended by this heartless Mon
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Satiation
Revenge is plated chilly,
Invective slung like hash.
It, whatever “it” is,
Is dished out sans panache.
Were I to choose a metaphor
To serve you my distaste,
I’d roast you with a searing wit
And finish with lamb baste.
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In Case You’re Asking
Because there is comfort in acknowledgment and appreciation, and knowing that your experience of loneliness can mitigate mine – and vice-versa.
That’s why.
With attention to detail and nuance, a great deal of empathy, a desire for shared joy, not to mention laughter and music.
That’s how.
Just about anything, really.
That’s what.
Wherever.
Whenever.
Definitely you and me, and, I hope, just about everyone else.
That’s who.
So? You good with that?
dsc
Wandering Mined 