On the need for rat poison (1987-89)

I wrote this in the Eighties after reading Browning and Newsweek in one sitting.

I read it in the news today 

that Ollie North will get away 

without a catch – indeed, with pay –

for all the crimes he swore he’d done. 

How can it be his case is won? 

“Because,” says Mr. Sullivan, 

his lawyer extra-ordinaire, 

“It’s simply that we couldn’t dare 

expose such secrets to the air 

as might allow our nation harm

and so, we must avoid alarm 

by curtailing the law’s long arm.” 

And here he abandons the gentle 

smile he wears, so warm, so dental 

for an aspect more parental:

“On this point I’ll brook no denial: 

the case must never come to trial.”

And so the government will file

one last report on this affair 

in offices secluded, where 

yet one more opportunist snake 

may be seen securing his stake –

no matter ethics, what’s the take? 

Another man shamelessly on the make. 

Envoi.

How long will stodgy bureaucrats 

(resplendent in their ermine cloaks 

afforded by us common folks) 

refuse to rid us of the rats? 

We need a Piper, or some cats- 

Grace (2019)

Along the horizon the sea is smooth like glass. 
I scuff salt from my shoes and shuffle forward. 
My legs haven't caught the sea's rhythm yet. 
For years I left the boat in drydock, 
only occasionally checking her hull 
until today when I flooded the slip. 
The sail unfolded like a magazine 
when I freed the shrouds and raised the mast. 
I ran and ran through endless water 
until the breeze died and I sat a while 
but impatience impels me forward. 
I don't like standing still. 

At the pulpit fish swim beneath my feet. 
I stand like a figurehead, feet apart, 
seeking balance against the waves. 
Distant bells proclaim the depths. 
I brought no guide or radio, 
trusting my experience, 
but perhaps I shouldn't return to sea 
with so little preparation.
I could read my old charts, but they seem
as out-of-date as I am.  

I turn my cheek to a breezy kiss 
and watch my pennant flutter. 
I regard my place at the wheel: 
the chair is cracked, the vinyl faded. 
It's a comfortable seat nonetheless.
From here to any point of the compass, 
I can turn me hard alee to meet the wind, 
or turn my back against it as it blows.  

It's funny, the way I remember it.
Once the water was foamy and wild, 
now it's peaceful. I could learn to like it. 
I turn to port and watch the mainsail billow, 
a swollen cheek, the blood-red boom its lips. 

Limerick

With arrogant blindness, as brutes see, 
Trump chose Anthony Scaramucci
To speak to the press, 
But he won't talk unless 
We all call the Donald Il Duce. 

Listen

Talk to me you said, but I am talking

In my heart's limited vocabulary 

Not merely words but whole sentences 

Dense and awkward reams of poetry 

Fall to dust when you catch my eye 

I tell you with my catching breath 

During our brief concurrences 

That warm so much more than skin 

I speak to you often as I can, never aloud 

For I fear my words might deafen you 

You might stop your ears 

Graduation

It happens to every nation. 

The promise of youth fades 

And you must grow up and support yourself 

Because you can't depend forever 

On everyone saying how special you are. 

Your parents gave you expensive gifts 

And sent you off to school yourself

And carry on their good name; 

You squandered your inheritance

On shiny baubles and rich meals, 

Never respecting your debts. 

You hired yourself a cheerleader 

To speak on your behalf; 

Tall with an impressive jaw. 

He glitters when he walks 

And when he sits upon his throne and tweets, 

But it takes a while for you to realize 

He's a few semesters past his prime, 

He was home-schooled in debate, 

He gets checks from exotic zip codes, 

And his quiet friends write all the lines 

In the homework he does and charges you for 

(Your hard-earned money, siphoned out 

To pay the bill that is always larger than you thought). 

He may console you, and tell you how 

You were always the big man on the continent, 

Strutter of the world's stage, 

But the tales he tells are increasingly silly 

And the harder he blows, the less people listen. 

The more you see this huckster for who he is, 

The more you wish friends would help.

But your friendships are all shallow,

You only helped them face bullies when it was expedient, 

And your influence dried up 

After one too many venal wars. 

No one wants to visit you now 

Except to take advantage. 

It happens to every nation; 

You're no different. 

To throw this shyster out on his ear 

Takes disciplined democracy 

And very great resistance. 

Inauguration

I mourn the lack of a Paul Revere 

but I have no confidence people would listen 

if he didn't tweet (much less, shout) 

about the dangers stalking black churches, 

mosques in Texas, Standing Rock, 

assault in an office in Greenwich, 

and ruling out words at Liberty's feet. 

We left our welfare to talking heads - 

some sparkling as they eye the camera, 

others primly quoting scripture

(all well-paid, regardless), 

most avoiding the eyes of victors 

who warmly congratulate one another 

saying, welcome now, the end of respect 

and a beginning to the rule of fear. 

Fear is in the mind. If risk 

is not worth the reward, 

why, the Experiment is truly over. 

Let us live out our nation's creed. 

Let this week be your Inauguration. 

Midwest Campaign Color

I liked Ike and I liked Mike 

but they are of two different kinds 

and I never confused one for the other  

I never thought the picture painted the person 

I never pledged my all for pretty lies 

or how aggressively one could dunk  

they say that love is blind but 

I can distinguish between a game 

and pursuit of the general welfare 

some loves are still sacred 

and not able to be summarized 

in a symbol or a sound bite 

and liberty means nothing at all 

if it isn't shared with rivals

so clutch your desperate foam fingers  

and rally for your team 

I'll be here with a first aid kit 

when your icons slip and fall 

because this "game" as you call it 

is more important than your fandom

Bubbles (2009)

He speaks, and my ears bleed.

I imagine his words
as bubbles rising in a pond
while I lie flat on the bottom
and watch them float away.
Fish visit and communicate
with gentle nibbles on my neck,
then they swim away. I can tell
they were only looking for food
or they would stay with me and help me
try to make sense of this
confusing torrent of bubbles.

I wish I could quit listening.
I could give him words, I'd like to,
but that would only be trading
hate for hate, and I won't do that.
We should trade better words, but then
he'd have to have some compassion
(or indeed, any heart at all)
but his mouth keeps droning on and on
repeating the same old harsh words
like screaming an incantation.
It sounds like a madman gargling.

Still on my back in the pond,
I watch the bubbles carefully
to discern what they mean
and how I should respond.
Are they signs of danger?
Are they simply harmless air?
I hold myself still in the water, angry,
fearing I risk self-destruction
if I fail to pay attention
even for a single moment.

His words snag flesh like hooks.
I wish I could yank on his words
as if they were a fishing line
and see him tumble into the pond
where he must lie with bated breath
and watch the last of my long regret
drift away with the bubbles.

Garden Party (2009)

I attended your garden party
uncertain of your invitation
I saw the garish blooms you grew
and listened while you told about
the problems of your latest projects
wordlessly I listened

I saw tanks of helium

and clowns, inflating red balloons
one small boy who lost his cried
I sympathized with him and wished
that I could fly away from here
following his balloon

a company at your command
performed your little one-act play
I overheard the words "revealed
on stage in acts demonstrative
one encounters characters
more intimate than life"

I thought, how apropos the words
how poignantly ironic
given our previous dramas 

you moved on to other roles
and left me with few words
I'd rewrite if I could

how comforting a garden party
in one's own well-planned garden
how difficult to know one's lines
when one's script is withheld
and how it all makes one wary
of future invitations

Fair Desert (2009)

Gazing on the moonlit desert
Again I long to drag my limbs
Across the gentle curvature
Of beloved dunes
To set up camp by the sagebrush
And hear the gentle whispering
Of wind through yellow flowers
Dreamlike, drunk on this fair image
(Or perhaps the altitude)
I affirm the truth as written
By a learned aviator
The beauty of this desert lies
Not only in its appearance
But also in the precious moisture
Hidden among the succulents

Thanks to Antoine de St. Exupery for the inspiration.

Old Bachelor

Dinner came early: lunch was cold, 

Breakfast a fading memory, 

So I linger over dessert. 
I face a long and bitter evening 

Before I climb the stairs to rest.

I savor each sweet bite. 

Haiku

The heart that is old 

Yearns for bright company 

Of hearts that are young 

  

Words on learning the death of an old friend (2015)

We hardly talked since school together

Though we caught up in an offhand way

Mediated by social media 

And I suppose we were never great friends 

But I was affected to hear you'd passed 

And I thought about us in our chemistry class, 

Secretly retrofitting Erlenmeyer flasks 

For pursuit of a less appropriate chemistry 

And I remembered our talks by the window 

When you shared advice in a brotherly way, 

Half-smiling and glinting when you spoke 

As if you were daring a contradiction, 

Rough and pointed and comfortingly sure 

Like one of your beat-up boots. 

And I looked up to you, how couldn't I, 

Tall as you are, or were. 

They'll have to go custom-made to fit 

You inside one of those cushioned boxes, 

And I know you've left your family 

But they'll pray for you, and so will I, 

I'll pray that your journey from death to life 

Goes quickly, because I can't imagine 

You stuck in the dark for long. When 

We meet again to catch up, bye and bye, 

I hope you'll save me a seat by a window. 

Football in a Loop (2015)

I mean to, I mean to

As if all my old broken vows weren't 

Already flagstones on my road to hell 

I'm maintaining, I tell myself 

This is just a rebuilding year 

But I missed the draft and I'm knocked on my ass 

Just contemplating the new season 

Life is just a game we play 

It's just a game and I don't have to play 

Not if I don't want to 

And the line looks mean and the field looks muddy 

But it's silly, all these measurements 

To tell me where the ball is at 

I know how to carry a ball 

I can see the goalposts from here 

They're tall and far away but I can see them 

And I know I need plenty of hydration 

But if I'm not running to catch a pass

Or slugging it out on the defensive line 

I can get by with less

The bench is cool and comfortable 

And I can see well enough where I am 

The players with their face guards 

Like masks in a chorus, my teammates,

And they're singing, play, play 

Because they know me and they want me in the game 

But I ran a play or two before 

And I got knocked around pretty bad 

They tell me to shake it off, and I say, no

I say no, the way I am, it got me here 

To where I am today. 

Where I am today 

Is a two-room apartment with mold on the walls 

And a car that works just well enough 

To get me to my dead-end job 

To earn money to pay for auto repair. 

What will I pass on to members of my team, 

My brothers, fresh-faced rookies, and coaches 

Who stuck with me always when I was down 

What will I tell them about my dreams 

Look where dreams get you, I'll say.  

But I'm already saying it. My failure to play 

Means I'm already telling my team to give up. 

Hell is on the horizon and I 

Can see the smoke rising, blotting out 

My view of the end zone. I need to rise up 

Above the smoke and the mud and the noise 

I need to get away from the commentators 

Second-guessing my every strategy 

I need to get this game straight in my head 

Because if I don't, I might as well 

Sit back down and nurse my injuries 

Maybe the water boy will listen 

As I tell him how it used to be 

Before the smoke swallowed up the game 

And how hurting my leg ended my career. 

I don't want to be an old athlete. 

I'd rather be young, but I'm too old now 

But I can still be an athlete. Better than rotting 

My life out on the bench. 

I need to reach the goal. 

And I mean to, I mean to. 

Daughter of my Heart (2015)

I didn't hold you as a baby 

I never tucked you into bed 

I wasn't there on your first day of school 

To kiss you on your head 

I didn't scold you when you misbehaved 

I didn't make you clean your plate 

When you lay in your mother's arms 

I lived in another state 

No I never knew your mother 

Till after I met you 

Because I'm not your father -- 

But if I was your father 

I'd choose to be your father  

For the joy of knowing you 

Chorus. 

I don't deserve to call you daughter 

And I guess I never will 

But if you need a father 

God grant I fit the bill 

Now you're shaking cause you're hurting 

Somebody failed to treat you right 

Before, I wasn't here for you 

You bet I'm here for you tonight 

I'll sit with you in darkness 

When you just can't go to bed 

I'll wake you from the nightmares 

Spinning in your head 

I'll be there to steady you 

When you feel you cannot stand 

If you're feeling stuck down in a hole

I'll be a helping hand 

When you call me, I will be here 

Any hour of any day 

And when you don't need me 

Depend on me to pray 

Chorus 

I don't deserve to call you daughter 

I can't imagine how I could 

But the more I've come to know you 

I've started thinkin' that I should 

I hope I haven't disrespected 

The ones who gave you life 

How could I replace your dad 

Or make your mom my wife 

(That'd be bigamy.) 

I know it's just a fantasy 

That I could ever have a part 

In making one so beautiful -- 

Who else could make my life so full 

But one so wonderful as you -- 

You're the daughter of my heart 

Chorus

Yes I call you daughter 

Because you dared to call me dad 

And though I never had a daughter 

You're the best I never had 

Thank God for 

Bringing me to you

When you needed me. 

 

LYLAD

The end of all things, with poetry

Something a little different - prose. 

Where am I?

You are at the end of all things, Howard. Allow us to show you a brief history of the universe.

. . .

It's been such a long time. Now it's the end?

Yes. The heat death is inescapable. We wish to talk with one who remembers the universe in its infancy, before we go.

I am that one?

Yes.

Am I the only one?

No. We remember all that existed.

Why me?

You existed originally before the Singularity. We wish to compare our quantalia... our perceptions, and emotions, to yours, a baseline human.

You want to know what I think and feel about the end of all things?

Yes.

Why?

It is necessary.

Why?

The sum of our being maps to a panto-extinsic function whose origin is heterochronic to your own.

What?

We... judge our deeds according to those who came before us.

You want me to judge you?

Yes.

I don't understand. Why?

You were the last to fully experience that which is called "numinous" before humanity began to transcend biology and attain deity.

Deity? You're a god?

Yes, we are God.

You sound like HAL from 2001.

That is a cogent if sarcastic observation. When humanity transcended biology, so-called artificial intelligence was integral to that summation.

So you're a God-computer? Deus Ex Machina.

Literally, yes.

You said I am to judge you. How?

By expressing your thoughts and emotions regarding our actions in instantiating and maintaining this universe.

By... instantiating? Did you just say you started the universe? 

Yes. 

You're crazy.

We are not that crazy.

Not that crazy? What do you mean? We... we are standing here at the end of all things. Are you as old as the universe? How is it possible that you started the universe?

You expressed it in your work, originally.

In my work? You mean as a poet?

Yes.

...oh. Möbius strip!

Yes. This world's just crazy enough to have been made / By a Being whom we into being prayed.

"Not that crazy." I see.

Yes. Now, Howard Nemerov, we need you to... summarize, cognitively, emotionally, all of our work.

. . .

Do you want it in verse?

That would be nice. 

Ferry (2015)

Crossing every river 

I carry someone new 

Friends say "drop that weight" 

One who had been hurt 

One whom I thought wanted me 

One was just lonely 

The best advice I ever got 

Was from an old man wandering: 

"Find your own balance" 

"Step on rocks lightly 

Hold your head above the water 

Focus on the shore"

Slipping and swearing 

I follow his advice but 

Still I get wet 

Carrying one person after another 

Hoping to find one to carry me 

Dis-integration (2014)

We reach for each other's hearts 

seeking validation 

Clumsily we penetrate  

romantic vivisection 

We abhor our injured parts 

that crave communication 

Silent, we accelerate 

the last evisceration

Descendance (2014)

Ancient bones in their stone crypts 

never know sunlight or sin 

they lie abed with dreams of skin 

rattling and sprattling skulls 

They do not pulse with the rhythm at noon 

they cannot dance away fears 

drums beat loudest in fleshy ears 

they do not writhe for the tune 

Bones faced their day of love and war  

now they're done – today is our day 

nothing they say can smooth away 

the wrinkles that we ignore. 

Never leaving me (2013)

This wasn't how it was supposed to go
I was gonna steal your heart – how, I don't know
Still it's a happy ending, for you see
We're not together, so you're not leaving me 
Never leaving me 

I hear it's better to have loved and lost
I say it's better to never pay the cost 
I'll be all right with just a fantasy 
No muss, no fuss – no us – and no leaving me 
Never leaving me 

Can't think of anything there's left to say 
I'm on my own, alone, and I'll do okay 
But if you care to share a drink with me 
I'll be leaving first because you're not leaving me 
Never leaving me