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Archive for August, 2020


Sunday, August 30th, 2020


Stumbled across one of my found poems… this is an error message that appeared on my computer 16 years ago, back when I was a programmer analyst for hire – have no idea what it means


Version 31N20512 03:06559

sstb2:HELP GOD


God’s dice


monthly Medusa in a daily way

Wednesday, August 26th, 2020

Hearty thanks to Smith (Steven B. Smith) this morning for rocking us forward into another day of craziness! “The sun comes up, the knives come out… [but] we go on.” writes Kathy Kieth, publisher/editor of Medusa’s Kitchen.

1965 – On The State Of The State
1989 – On Your Knees Please
2014 – Meditation
2014 – Never Nuff
2016 – My Lady Love
2018 – Once More Round The Bend
2018 – On The Block
2020 – Grim And Bear It
2020 – The water rush of wind

I asked Kathy Kieth if I could advise others to send poetry – “Sure! I think of Medusa as sort of an open mic, rather than a poetry journal, and we need a continual rotation of new voices, especially in these times of trouble…”

so there you go – send stuff to… blame me if you wanna.



lady pages torn from the past

Friday, August 21st, 2020

Lady writes good stuff, but seldom publishes, or crows, or shows folk.

Some of these poems are from her 2004 double-sided book from editor Bree and her Green Panda Press (turn it over and it’s 10 poems by Charles Potts), while others are 2005-6 poems she taped in for readings.

She has another book on Dianne Borsenik’s Nightballet Press – Firecracker Mandalas


no spineless I

Wednesday, August 19th, 2020

The spine is supposed to be straight.

(is that a screw lower left,
or are you just happy to see me?)

A Crooked Man

There was a crooked man
not politician or banker
nor CEO or priest or moral shanker
(though all fine crooks in each their way)
but a simple guy with crooked sight
who thought fair meant fair
and right meant right
no matter how rich or big or tall
the same truths applied to all
if A were rule for man with penny
A must abide for man with many
if B is wrong for one with naught
it’s just as wrong for one with lots
as poor pay tax and serve and fight
so should rich add their might
and give to keep this going going
this very world they seem to be whoring
using lawyers politicians guns and money
not to mention TV and honey
to dull our minds to take our score
demanding we must pay far more
so wealth in growth can glow galore
they say less more than we deserve
think we’d be happy we’re not tempted
by all they buy with money exempted
and they’re probably right
in Zen light
for stuff is trouble
stuff takes space
stuff grows like fungus in dark dank place
stuff needs storage stuff needs safe
stuff sucks storer stuff takes place
stuff becomes bad bit breath
stuff stiffs stuff
stuff self-smit
so bet on tortoise
forget the hare
stuff is rigor mortis
stufflessness free air
winning is failing
failing success
oh the meek shall inherit
one hell of a mess

– Smith, 2011


Alfie betta, the large orange snail, and Sucker

Tuesday, August 18th, 2020

Fish Story

Went down to the pet store for waterplants, a snail companion, and replacement neon tetras for our tank.

On the way to checkout, we passed a wall of small, clear containers, each containing one betta – which pretty much filled the entire area, leaving them no room to swim. Several floated belly up. I don’t think they were fed, so they stayed, trapped, unmoving, staring out at their human captors until they died from hunger.

It broke my heart, reminded me of my prison days, so I asked Lady to pick one (would have tried to save more, but they’re fighting fish and don’t play well with others).

She chose a gorgeous, primitive, red creature, all silky and strange.

Back home, we released it in our tank, and it stayed still, in one spot, traumatized, for the rest of the day.

Next day it swam into the plants and hid.

After awhile, it peeked out, a wee more each day, until finally each time it saw me walk by, it dashed to the glass and did a little waggle dance of maybe happiness, maybe expectation, maybe both.

I knew it danced mostly for food because usually it rose to the top to feed after greeting me, but sometimes it stayed below, level with my face, and wiggled its front fins as it flowed back and forth in seeming joy, very much like a happy puppy.

Lady suggested we name it Alpha (for Alpha Betta), and I counteroffered Alfie, after the Michael Caine film, which is ironic because Caine’s Alfie was total lack of love and joy, while our’s oozed both.

The snail we got the same day as Alfie slimed a different path. We’d chosen a medium-sized black snail to make sure it was too big for our snail-crunching loach named Sucker to eat. It was supposed to keep our large orange snail company, which we’d named Speedy because he literally zoomed around the tank.

Lady mentioned they might mate, and we’d have all these baby snails for Sucker to eat. As I turned off the aquarium light that night, I noticed the snails were kissing, and thought “How sweet, babies on the way.”

Next morning the black shell was empty, and Speedy so gorged with snail flesh he couldn’t quite fit in his shell. So much for sweetness.

Which leaves us with Sucker, a leopard loach we’d initially bought to control our small snail infestation.

I was sitting zoned in my chair, stoned, lost in a book, when I heard a thud. I looked over and saw a large green feather from a cat toy flopping on the floor, going thump-thump-leap, thump-thump-leap, and my brain froze, simply could not process what I was seeing because we don’t have any battery operated cat toys, and for sure no flopping green feathers.

Lady finally broke through my confusion by saying, “It’s Sucker.”

Somehow Sucker had gotten out of the water, climbed 3 inches to the plastic top, squeezed through an opening, wriggled to the front, and fell four feet to the floor, landing atop a green feather as long as he was, which stuck perfectly to his wet body, so I saw a 6″ green flopping feather which impossibly looked alive.

I got up, scooped him from the floor, pulled the feather off, and as I turned to put him back in the tank, he twisted around and sank his fangs deep into my palm. Amazing amount of pain, immediate blood flow. I pulled his snail-crunching teeth out of me and dropped him in the water, wondering how the heck he’d gotten out since there was no wet trail on top of the tank – perhaps he’d teleported through the glass like those rogue electrons in quantum tunneling.

Since then, Sucker and I watch each other, he having a taste for my blood and wanting more, and me – a Pisces – wondering if I’ve been infected with mutant fish slime since I started taking 90 minute baths daily.

Speedy died six months later.

Sucker, always dreaming more me, followed.

But Alfie’s still here, waiting, watching, puppy dancing whenever I walk by.

So lovely to be liked… by a fish.


me as veteran fighting our own government

Wednesday, August 12th, 2020

Just spent hours online and on the fone trying to get registered as veteran for home loan guarantee… around and around we went, finally reduced to submitting a question and hoping for an answer. I was discharged in 1968, and they seem to think no one exists before 1985.

Most likely will go down to the Federal Bldg Monday and set off their metal detectors with my hip / shoulders / neck metal.

3rd foto 1963, 2nd 1965, 1st 1966, 4th foto 1974


In the Temple of the Echo

Wednesday, August 5th, 2020

In The Temple of the Echo — my 58th feature past 56 months on Medusa’s Kitchen, thanks to the generosity of publisher/editor Kathy Kieth, who has been posting a new poetry feature by a plethora of poets national and international daily for the past 15 years.

as usual, 10 fotos, 9 poems:

1973 – Junky Luv
2005 – In the Temple of the Echo
2014 – Inner Animal
2015 – I’m for Falling
2015 – Kundalini Wheelie
2017 – Is Happens
2019 – Island of Lost Souls
2020 – Tempus Fuckit
2020 – Social Isolation


yesterday’s poems

Wednesday, August 5th, 2020

I’m stealing my soul
back from the Devil
one selfie at a time

~ ~ ~

Rebuilding my soul
In spite of Satan
haiku by haiku

~ ~ ~


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