A Time to be Wise: "The essential American soul is hard, isolate, stoic, and a killer. It has never yet melted." — D.H. Lawrence

State Street Christmas
by Pat Darnell

get up go on downtown
down to STATE STreet tonight
because i'm told in the cold,
you won't have to fight
to see what's there for you
... in store windows
windows dressed up
right
... for your delights 'n so 'n so

you see, at Marshal Field's
what your visits yield is
what your and my Christmases
... is

Look at people whisking by...
whipping wind that tears your eyes ...
... dry wind, how it makes you cry
tear of new wine, Your

tear that strolls your contour
and makes a path down your face
not to pine, but for others later to follow
all at their own pace tomorrow and morrow

and you might flinch
as wisdom sweeps o'er
you in wisdom's clench
your soul catches gusts to soar

your family farm year-end purchases
never buy French, just as it were
too much of a chance it is -- harsh,
but buy American -- never French,
American-made, farm-tool implements

...and if you can't sing
...and you don't dance
you'll soon be leaving
to join the frogs and occupy France...

and if it's all the same to you
I don't mind if you do
I don't have any Euro's
to come and liberate you.

fin
State Street Christmas
by pdarnell\today
rev12\16\2009
rev 12\17\2009

November

by Pat Darnell

I lost my wingtips in the snow
they came off in the deep sludge
next to concrete curbs i trudged
Seems it happened a very long, long time ago

not quite as long as an age
only as long as an epoch
just under a period possibly
about time of year when birds migrate

i didn't know much about snow
when i moved to live in Chicago
on a street once lined, you know,
with linden trees and honey bees

in November i hated most
icy rain that dribbled down my neck
because i never could remember
to wear my scarf nor my hat

strangely how most of the day
was lost in thawing cycles extreme
in and out of torrid hot and dry buildings
jammed up in filthy cubicles and things

In November, each Thanksgiving I'd think

... to ask the coming wraiths of winter

should I stay and die one more year
or should I leave this big stinker

that to the day, twenty years later
... and ten pairs of florsheims
ignoble frozen digits aching with bunions
time invested in salty slush and rinds
yes, i finally did leave behind,
... Chicago, the Big Onion ...

Impromtu Limericks from Life

Response to Pribek.net  Ethernet:
"Holy Mackerel! This story has everything.


"Beauty contestants…”Gladiators!”~…Nightclub brawl!


"Wait a minute…did you say nightclub brawl? That gets me thinking…
[Source] [Comments]

Did We Miss Something?
by Pat Darnell

There once was a nubian gal — England’s heptathlete
Rachel, a beauty operator when she doesn’t compete

she got bloody for England’s roans
when she sparred Sara Jones

It seems, Rachel Christie can’t abide when Miss Jones speaks.

Miss Jones, too, you see, is a snoggable feast,
from Manchester, her self, she’s a potable trist

but, she talked in a bar to a faraway crowd
with large lungs in her man chest, too loud

about Rach'el's boyfriend’s gladiator wrists

Rachel bound like steam from a radiator
With round-house on Sara J, Rachel KO’d her!

But, Miss England Rachel, had to withdraw
It's because beauty queens never should brawl

Yet twasn't a problem at all --
For home to boyfriend Rach' went, both so glad, he ate her.

Sunday 8:49 AM Poem Break

"Nay, I'll j'ist k'ip it this'a 'way"
by Pat Darnell

Many have asked me to join their human race?
"Nay, thanks, I'll j'ist k'ip it this'a 'way" ...
knowin' the winds; knowin' my place --
I already been knackered, already been played ...

Many asked what's that smile all over my face?
"What you talkin' 'bout, I ain't gay"
So they say: 'Then you're straight?'
-- I got no time for what ya'll say ..

Many askin' why I'm walkin' away ...
turnin' my back on their disgrace?
"I cain't answer that at'all, you has'n to wait"
... sure enough, answers will soon come your way

Many will ask what's it gonna take?
... gittin' on down the highway;
... makin' ya'll a clean break?
"Nay, I'll j'ist k'ip it this'a 'way"
"None o' that at'all ...
"I'll jist be kippin' it this a' way..."

PD

A Bit of the Muse

by Pat Darnell

What changed;
What skill bloomed;
Where did time go;
Before I knew?

Yet you say:
It is different now for you;
What iron sharpened
Iron in you that way?

What desert flower
Appeared from dry dust;
Who reckoned power
Where once was rust?

For when you say:
"... having found that for which
I did not even know
I was looking,..."

You found sense ...and
...jurisprudence and fate;
Whereby grace one day may complete
Dreams dreamt by Founders who awake
In a splendid place, where,
For a second time their hearts beat

Sunrise Creates a New Day

song for this morning:
... followed me all night long
flute pressed to my ear:
... clamorous frogs hid in my boot
flood gauge showed no rise:
... perked coffee 5:30 AM stood
pleasures when horizon cuts sky:
... locked in gallows humor, our root

Enjoy Bro’s’ and Beatrice's
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UUSuVtYoD7k

Bright Morning STAR

by Pat Darnell

P.R.-omises
Devil lived out his usefulness
Journalists congregated
watched transition
--Veil fell
hands shook
unidentifiable vessels
took to the sky and wrote:

"Wedding Day!
Open the guest Book!!"

PR agents witnessed
'n scribbled keywords
invented formula
in their notebooks, today's lines:
...in His tuxedo --
"Jesus; What a Stunner!"

"Fore" -- screamed T V Woods
as he and Father Son Holy Ghost
golfed as a foursome
as the sun rose
over eastern slopes

Jesus teed his Topflite Excalibur up
His caddy chose the Torah gopher one wood
He blasted that Devil old Beelzebub
into non-matter Zone for good!

Jesus Drove 'em
he racked 'em
to the dark side
He put them where light cant hide

"I want to die"
screamed one fool
as he was cooked alive
in stellar stew

and in every bar
on every corner
funny things occurred
every good Palikar
vanished into thin air
As the Groom putted out
twenty-one below par.

film melted in cameras
digital went hairy
Jesus smiled
"It is done;"
Heavy as iron
hitting bone
a joyous Allen Alda
took the arm of
Charlie Sheen
trying their best
to steal the scene

but we wouldn't let them

"See you in week,"
Said Jesus to them and a Greek--
while Marilyn received her wings
and Elvis his crown ...
this party went downtown!

Came the Son's decree:
"To know; and to be--"
passed-over generations
heard this day PR-omises
that every survivor is free
and every survivor drinks wine
made from Lamb's blood

and a portion of the Host
His body that was broke
--Jesus head-lined
front-pages that very morn
in every Home Town POST

"All Those without God are Toast"

Response to Song by Buzz Feiten -- Hey, Dinwiddie

by Pat Darnell

Livin' dinwiddie for a rumor
a rumor that someone,
someone I love, loves me

born again in here
thinking she’ll come back
soon, she'll come back
soon to be with me

can’t get that last word
she said out of my head
anymore than i can forget
that "Cannonball" beat
while lying alone here in bed

If 'n I can be discreet --
If 'n I can tune it out’ --
maybe she set in Arkansas
saying “oui, oui, oui ...”

‘dat’s the dinwiddie divine
po’ diddly, dinwiddie, moonshine heat
pour’n down on me?
dat's her dinwiddie sooner
sending spoons of sugar to me

Ain’t it sweet, sweet a'rumor
... love be sprinkling down on me,
she sure ta'be on that freeway
comin’ right back home to me?
comin' right back home ...

... to be with me.

[another unsolicited "dinwiddie verse " improv from yours truly; the tunes inspire]

This is a Test; Only a Test

by Pat Darnell

There is a test
that helps determine
one's propensity
to seek art

and do art
and seek hidden facets
and find great hiding places

this is the test:
first you notice
that you feel an emptiness
in your heart
while growing up, and,

you have pains in your wrists
you count things all the time
you find patterns in the strangest places
you understand comic books
you memorize all the wrong things for school
you ask questions no one else cares about

you know how to mix all the colors

using only primaries red, yellow and blue
you then graduate,

adding white and black to your palette

you think the greatest silent movie made is Eraserhead
you spend much of your youth crawling around on floors
you secretly explore vacant buildings

such as churches on Mondays
roam behind buildings, and up ramps,
stumble through junkyards,
and walk dry ditches before rain

you get nervous, irritable in bookstores

you hide under things,
you seek cover in bushes, under bridges
you think long after you had a conversation
what you said, what he said
what she said, you repeat yourself,

saying everything twice, saying everything twice
you blush when others notice you

you flush when made fun of

you like to go up in attics

you lay down on the sidewalk and watch ants
you use a Ball jar to catch bees
... and poke holes in the top
so the bees might breathe

you cut country bouquets for your mom

you cannot get enough of cedar tree's scents

you love how coconuts feel

you love wool and felt and Egyptian cotton

you have ability to feel oils of different weights

you find treasure leaps into your sensitive fingers

you have lovers before you have lovers

your eyes are always changing colors

you are scatter brained to some

you, to others their cornerstone

you love the odors of outdoor zoo's

... and barnyards

... and plastics

... and trains, and warm wood

... and rusty metal, and things fried

your taste buds must be firstly satisfied
you listen carefully to others' claims
you trust others for what they say
you love your feet bare on pavement after it rains
you stand close to the stream when it overflows

you watch and stalk animals, birds and crocs
you do not want to disturb them
... but they are too clever for that
you admire animals as they scamper

you love to hold a torch at night
Now if you say yes to twenty or so of thirty-six
questions that pertain to your artistic
evaluation -- though you may not know
how it really is you are this...

be accepting of your story
count your blessings so
in self evaluations
you do not waste time any more

Once you are sure
the hard part is past
it is hardest to deny
for your nature is pure
and your method is shaping
you passed the tests

up from deep well-spring sources
flowing as foundling art in you
and you may spend hours and days,
confidently, even months and centuries
with the new, unspoiled thought

leveling your groundwork
surveying the possibilities
developing your technique
simpering about odds and ends

so that eventually you conquer means

to find materials to embody
to find tillable pasture
and favorable schemes
for your artistic manufacture
so when it is done
when it is finished

when it reaches its best end
you will feel empty again
only this time both
in your heart and in your gut
as if you drank liquid mercury

and the pain will last a night
or a fortnight, until you find comfort
and gaze upon your artwork
on a different day in new light

Brad Pitt versus Billy Bob Thornton in a Bar Fight

I once had a bulldog named Prad
who loved most to break men’s spleens
... he jumped up on Billy Bobbing
... and gave his torso a hobbing
while gearing in a snoggin’ with Lippy Angeline …

God awful, t’weren’t it brittly un-sportin’
that after Mr and Mrs Smith cahortin'g
... was a cadaver named Bob Billy Thornton
... left rancid, cuckolded and stiff
as another cornuto that the dog Prad Bitt?

[another impromtu limerick for a hedonistic situation, by Pdaf]
revised just a bit.. picture from images [unk] 09.05.09 pd and again 09.12.09

Only thing left to do ...

by Pat Darnell

Only thing left
Is quit breathing
‘din I’ll be dead
Bless’ed dead

I believe in miracles
Yes I believe
I kin see d’ light houses
E’en tho I’m blind

I hear you breathe
I kin hear you breathe

Tho you don’ know it
N’ I dream

Only thing is
... about bein’ brave
If I quit d’ dreamin’
I’d forgit to breathe
Yes sir, I’d shore be afraid

I met a legless boot maker
He’s drunk allus time, sure was,
he’s drunk all week
sewed me t’ last pair of boots
... I’d ever need

Din I worked
Peeling bark off logs
Enuff to git a horse
It threw me off

I’d been sore lost
I bin lost in a bog
Till dis bogtrotter find me
‘Don’t die on me,’ he said

Guess I ain’t gonna die now
Cuz’ I din’t die then

He gave me this here
Harmonick’ee
We hitched our way
allus t' Missour’ee

Dat bogtrotter tol’ me
Dat’ he had no teeth
I tol’ him I can’t see

Winter in d’ Ozark,
... weren’t too nice
Spint winter
... in lots of ice
I lost the rest
... of my sight
Dat’ bogtrotter left
... one frozen night

But din my luck split
what I find me Missy Miss:
She took best care of us
I called her my Pony X-spress

We caught three trains
All the way to Milwaukee
Pony, she got real sick
In our boxcar trip
... couldn't walk it

One night
... couldn’t hear her breathe
After she’d gone to sleep
Now I got
... too many promises
That I can’t keep

I got no money
No town is mine
Only this mouth harp
And I is blind

I will tell you this:
Every town I gwane tho’
I has a witness, ya’ know
Someone always there

Allus’ helps me around
One was my Pi’ony X-press
Yep, one in every town ...
z'ares somm'ere a princess
I giv'in you a witness
... in every rapturous town

Laundromat

I call this one: Snowy Bleach
by Pat Darnell

I did not know
washing could be so slow

that’s why I throw
everything together

in the Cold \ Cold
washer cycle of love’

no little feat
I use this custom mug

via Zazzle,
bought at Cat-bek dot thug

to measure suds
enough soap flakes to reach

optimum whites
a mug of Snowy Bleach

watch suds cascade
as snow cold cavalcade

buzzing lights
rumbling drums
tumbling flux
gathering glum

a tune by Sade
Diamond Life; Love Deluxe

tufts of fluff on
floor linoleum

door opens up
sparkly eyes lighten mine

hibbidy hi
royal lovely emerged

hubbidy hubb
laundromat zoftig maid

this velvet night
beginning her wash day

bending to fold
surrounded by rolls

of crack quarters
that wealth of labor extols

service my eyes
to desire, but with-hold

certain reserves
till next wash day unfolds

[another impromptu, unsolicited blues song lyric to add to your funnel files] pdnf

MooPig

Pat Darnell and Friends :
I ate a pork rind
it give a thought …
… to my mind
I ate a pork rind
… it give a thought
… to my mind
D’er ain’t no way a’ tellin’
if that lady …
if that lady is mine ….
*[break\ slide]*
I eat a pork rind
it should’a been a sign
I said, I eat a pork rind
it shoulda … gi’ me a sign…
I look’t at another woman
… my old lady slap me blind….
yes she did, yes she did, yes she did
I sed …
Yes I ate a pork rind ….
my old lady slap me up side d’ head …
You see, I am a Muslim
and we don’ eat no rind, in bed,, badda bap ba dowwwww. whomp! Zaa Zaaaa.

Gentle Witness

by Pat Darnell

Please witness
some folks with-holdin'
say I'm a calvinist
most forebode'in

i pout 'n think i should miss
my lips full pleasure
for what kind soul should kiss
my lips upon end
to my full measure


who will find me
in bower where i hide
and summon me
though i sink sour inside

see just out yonder
there is a huge man
see him as my blunder
will too you cover him in sand
as if he were plunder

wake me tomorrow
if you must insist
and if it is Easter
press on, gently kiss

be my very own
gentle witness


Be my very own...
... gentle witness

Bella, Bella Fonti

by Pat Darnell

This song never gets started
even though I know how it goes

Th's song never gets started
'member? -- this is how it goes...

Ever since you departed
I waited for you, who I adored,
to come singing
singing through the door

You would sing,
from the kitchen...
...sogno una bella italiana
...can't hear you anymore

still I have my desire...
...but very little technique

I know how I started your fire...
...Just come back here quick

come back now...
..help me start this song
this song that never starts

Bella fonti: Bella ciao

Sans Love Poets just want to have Fun, too

Prose in the eye of the beholder:
Poems in the eyes of one's fingers... yes?

In ongoing challenge to write love poems without the word love in them -- here is one:
by Pat Darnell


my sweetest remembers

violins please

I think of you my dear

and I cannot breathe

as we walked in a park

near our house once

I go into
an arched tunnel
under memory lane

I know, it's not our lane

not our park

I know I have to stop waiting

our bond is ...well...

Never ends

We are always together

if we are all alone.

Phrases

by Pat Darnell

We men write poems
as if we are going
to be pinched
or scorned

You women write
like bored cats
pondering a mouse only
a foot away, easy prey

We men are felled, drained,
ears always trained
in urgent need to find
an end from the start

You women carry water
in pails on your heads
none splashing out
and no dust at your feet

We men say thunder
and bloody tempest
and "Gung Ho"

you women say dunner
and did you see
today's sunset "Oh!"

We men say heart
You say soul
And we say "Hell"
and "What is that about!"

We men hear a scream
and run to heed

You women bear a child
and turn to one another

We men are dodgy dads
and trust no others --
You, women,
...are mothers

Flood Gauge Fusion

As water rises'

we invent a new line dance

that sweeps the nation

its called the elevated couch...

Friction ridges

side to side

diagonally'

round and round

measure this dike

toe to heel

one step forward

two step' back!