pain at sunrise can cost a slight loss of mind. angry and melancholy like the crazy Hamlet. i think of actions and confusion of morality. i’m a villain to myself. i am fearful that God has gone by me super-fast, like when it’s too late to move your car when the parking ticket lady is writing the ticket. solitude and desperation of heart and soul can make one see things in a past that one never had and the reality of the future 5, 10, 30 minutes is too frightening. time grows stale at dawn. Griffith Observatory is oh so far away but down the street from where i live. the young folks are out being hip and smart in the world. i wonder if when they are as old as i am will they inherit my thoughts as they breathe my CO2 as they are doing now. i fear for us i fear for me for i am much more of a coward than they. they are still blissful in their youth and i am subjected by my wisdom of what is to come at dusk. time grows short and it comes in spurts, like my bloody noses and stories and such. maybe God will come my way again like the bus on the stop that forks in the road at sunset.
Promote Yourself Monday April 29, 2019
Welcome to Promote Yourself Monday. All Go Dog Go Cafe readers, guest writers, and baristas are invited to post one link to one specific post (600 words or less please!) from your blog into the comments section below.
If you post a link, be sure to read some of the other great writing people have linked to.
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I Never Saw Another Butterfly, a poem written by the child, Pavel Freidman (short bio included), before he was murdered at Theresienstadt Concentration Camp
Regular Sunday Announcements are in process and will post later today, but yesterday was International Holocaust Rememberence Day. I share the poem of a child imprisoned and murdered at Theresienstadt Concentration Camp. We remember it with the hope that there will never be another genocide and that children of every race, country and creed will be allowed to fulfill their promise, to grow up, to grow old and to die in God’s time. Even as we do, there are genocides currently happening around the world, ten of which are full-blown. Ironically, “prominent scholars of the international law crime of genocide and human rights authorities take the position that Israel’s policies toward the Palestinian people could constitute a form of genocide.” Details HERE. May all sentient beings find peace.
I Never Saw Another Butterfly
by Pavel Freidman
The last, the very last,
So richly, brightly, dazzlingly yellow.
View original post 471 more words
the price of peanut butter
of course i remember the old Safeway, Hank. in closing my eyes i can see the Mahatma Rice Genie on the little rice bags and Jiffy cost less than a dollar. i was not taller than a yard stick, yet i knew my lime green pastel knit dresses were an infamy. Hank, i recall the prime parties on Berendo street, the last of the beehive hairdo elegant women in turquoise bell-bottoms, i a barefooted brat. and on alternate Saturdays the biker parties in the Silver Lake Hills. the Harleys looked like stallions. in the middle of the week, i can’t remember where i’d sleep, but AC/DC dueled with Tom Jones in my dreams. now, Hank, we have non-GMO juice stands and designer coffee drinks. i’m about a yard stick and a quarter tall now and i dress in black. i still enjoy Tom and Brian, but Nirvana and Cornell own my heart. i finally read the Torah too. but the fears, doubts, agonies and uncertainties are still within my universe. Safeway is now Vons. House of Pies is still there too, i feed on their Western Spaghetti. i’m going at it in a round-about way. Volkswagons’ and Mustangs aren’t what they used to be, but they’ve cut down on bad emissions. Hank, you wouldn’t believe, there’s almond, cashew, sunflower, pistachio and Brazil Nut butter. i don’t talk much, i type on the phone, even on dates, sitting right across the table from them all. i suppose i’ll never see a good bra burning anymore, i giggled at it as a child. but, they have apps for that now. i never really fit in any particular time in LA. from 8 tracks to Alexa and frozen peas to organic produce delivery. i don’t know, Hank. peanut butter today is quite expensive.
pedagogy of me
some would argue
that i am the last
kind that God created
out of Adam’s
dick bone.
for i understand
most other males
of other species
still have their
carnivore baculum.
i thought i was his rib,
but that
is just sugar
coating the situation
in ignorant eyes i’m just a cunt.
i think about these
things by Los Angeles
Street and 4th because
i don’t know what else
can help all of “this”.
every wino and every whore
had to have had love at some
point maybe from the nurse
or taxi driver at their
birth.
do others think of my
thoughts i try to hold
still in my brain i
don’t mean to let them
slither through my ear holes.
i blurt them out
they are at times bitter
and at other times full of
gasps and groans
searching for a heart
to land in.
i drank the smoke and
regurgitated the fire
in the middle of the night
as the alleys turn into banks
of sulfur piss fog.
while the vomit runs
like manna, i protest
at the top of my lungs
the safety patrol giggle
while they ticket me two times.
we rob Mary Magdalene to pay
Delilah and keep her
quietly sedated with plastic jewels
my life blood drained
on an untender
pavement.
and as the morning comes
i cower against the
insurmountable dubious
truths of the moment
in time cruelly here now.
the sarcoptes on my legs
linger in the first class
of my thighs waiting
for my lunch with the
army of the disposables.
plastic bags filled
with bitter scraps
of trash posing as
life precious moments
fading like my mind.
those in the name
of holy begrudge
what they do but
do it out of
indentured servitude.
i float again
towards the banks
of grotesqueness
defeated whispers
some broken bones.
but Our Lady tolls at 3 p.m.
the lions returned
to the lofty lair
my right fist level to my eyes
my left catapulted at injustice.
from Gabriel
electricity
from the great heavens lights up
forming a new world
F43.23
the meager fist weakly swings at the face of unknown beast its always pathos in the middle of the ring high noon comes and no one yawns in excitement alas the night she enters the stage in my mind and the coliseum fills with eager patrons waiting for my show when the torments in my head become high end commodity at dawn washing the bruises off with rye found in the gutters i slip into my expat suit and hit the road with my naked feet because the convergence of the quantums weighs heavy on my soul
for Anthony Bourdain and me
boonie rat haiku
an opened can of
corn and ash filled cups behind
your bible bookcase
i didn’t notice
dusk approaching silently
baby blue surfboard
against your bedroom
doors my hand reaches to them
Darwin winks at me
encircling my legs
your absence claws both our hearts
he feeds on salmon
the path of cigar
ashes etched like hieroglyphs
leads to your studio
Old Glory salutes
me she hangs on solemnly
a noble widow
kneeling in front of
the jar holding your medals
Darwin smiles at me
Pay It Forward Thursday – April 25, 2019
The baristas at Go Dog Go Cafe are big fans of Pay It Forward Thursdays. We think it is a great opportunity to give a shout-out to another writer who has wowed us or creatively inspired us. It a great way to share the love and pass it on to the readers. It also becomes a great pool for excellent reading stuff by your fellow readers of the WordPress community.
You are invited to post one link to one specific post of poetry, short story, or flash fiction, 300 words or less please, from someone else’s blog in the comments below.
Happy reading!
contact high
your fingers in my mouth
last night
your grey eyes pierce
the defense
green eyes beg for mercy
fingers palms around my breasts
your lips have sealed
my arguments
the weight of your command
over me while my legs lock you in
nothing about us
is so simple
while our breathes spar under the stars
the waves have chosen sides
an angry surge and im on top
but your hands clutch my hips
ive fallen under your rhythm
studying the pleasure on my face
rolling like the ocean
you gain command of the tautness
of my body
denying me nirvana by the shore
the traces of urgency on your wrinkled brow
are buried in my tangled hair
fingers locked in final battle
we come to a mutual agreement
words less spoken 