Friday, September 01, 2006





Hidden River coming soon from Lady Aibell Press, an imprint of Chippewa Publishers


for more poem pictures -
http://www.200poems.wordpress.com

me, myself and I
http://www.peterjosephswanson.blogspot.com

- the next ten poems -
11

THE CLEVERNESS OF MOTHERS

Left hand, right hand
a modern idea that had less value in past times
Danger came equally from both sides
up and down is very different, don't trip and fall
the Neanderthal woman looked up into the tree for nuts
and a panther was there just itching to pounce
she would have frozen in fear and been a sorry lunch
but she had children in tow to think of, first
as the panther shot out at her, she grabbed
its front paws, sharp claws, and held fast
she ducked and spun and the animal wasn't able to
catch itself and it landed on its head and hurt its neck
the panther scampered away, smarting, as the
children marveled at the cleverness of mothers.

12

MORNING GLORIES OF WAR

Morning glories of war, great hope in blue blooming before the heat of the day - it feels so good to know you can go blast open the gates of a lurid storybook Hell so the bad guys can go trip off their feet deep into its warm watercolor glow.

Today you are killed on your way to work reaching for cream cheese and you won't go to your God, they say it isn't the real one, they do, they say you are dust. They bide their time as they move in then wait to take over as we did and others did before us. And they'll step over us like dust, or so they threaten with great feeling and television volume - and when you catch them you can eat them like boiled chicken - without faith in it, every hay bale bug to body knows how to build simple building block molecules into more complex ones, and the building blocks of life are all the same all over, hay bale bug to body we are not of inorganic dust but are all made up of interchangeable parts to daily cannibalize, any one organism can serve as food for any other type, directly or indirectly - in the gastronomical sense, all life on the entire planet is incontestably one since we're all the pieces of thousands of arms and legs of the very same smorgasbord within arm's reach always rearranging the very exact same molecules over great time. Over great time. Over great time. In the fleeting pockets of the air of cool blooming mornings we willfully forget this. We thrill in the glowing idealism of a new war to fix the great disappointment of the last one, and the last one needs fixed before we can move on about it - or at least so the color magazines and crabby radio can tell us how to think. Idiots and ideologies, our desire to go out and fix history to match our flag will never be through. Hope blooms eternal and the morning glory is the color of blood losing its atmosphere.

13

BOUQUET

leave me on a melancholy plate
even if it's paper and has a crease
from being folded in half for the pocket
leave me on a quiet plate
nowhere near a loud buffet
leave it all behind and go where
a sea of dirty pigeons walk
with heads down
I can drink beer under a tree
and keep cans in a neat pile
like an aluminum bouquet
my only possession
and your only possession is
your all-you-can-eat

empty cans last longer

my garden I uprooted with my stubborn pig snout
sowed, weeded, and plucked with great heaving
was an entirely fanciful garden, leaving my mouth full
of pink tinker fuss dust, after nobody wanted to
buy my phantom daydream wares at the super store
Most people today spend so much
of their money in the warehouse
sell it very well in bulk
it’s very fresh
but my little patch of
stale la la
was oddly overlooked
time and again
it won't ever be
on a superstore shelf
so you won't see it
I have very odd ideas why

14

CURE FOR THE PLAGUE

Dirt for sale. Dirt to heal. Dirt is always the much better deal.
Clean and fresh, slather your flesh, dirt from the floor of your Temple. Medicinal dirt, mystical dirt, dirt to heal all that is simple.

Dirt that is red to keep you not dead, consumers will see it and cherish. Dirt for your gold to keep you not old, dirt that is gaudy and garish.

Jump in it, roll in it, squeal like a pig. Pray in it, stay in it,
when cured, do a jig. Parade in it, wade in it, try to give birth.
Stomp sacred circles, eat, consume the Earth.

15

BAD PATCH

The yellow leaves are blowing over the dead body.
The dead body breathes. The dead body chews leaves.
The pulse is as dry as strings in the air.
The black cat steps on the arm of deceased.
The dead body breathes. The hand closes to squeeze.
Cat strings pull tight to chime harpsichord release.
The witch throws garlic on the mad screams.
Fangs fall out and succumb to disease.
The witch wakes up in a pine box.
In and out of rows with the profane.
In and out of the earth with the same name.
Mad screams, splinters and scratches.
The hot blood disease stops her cold clock.
Another one of her very bad patches.





2 group homes, all retarded.

I worked at two group homes for the mentally retarded. A brick ex-convent had 30 of them squeezed in, which was probably as many as the nuns it once sheltered, and it was built like a fortress, even with bars on its windows. In the chapel alcove where the Mary statue once stood was a big 70's wood cabinet TV with wood pillars.

Another group home had been a rich family's wooden mansion with a great front staircase, front hall and parlor, and a narrow servants' back staircase to the kitchen. The place squeezed in 34, but that included the converted two-story carriage house and its upstairs servant's quarters. Both homes were elaborately regulated government communes.

16

RETARDED SONNET IN 16 OVERBUDGETED LINES

some public service jobs pay quite a lot
some social service jobs pay like for a woman
I wish I knew all this way beforehand
I think my career choice was an undershot
not that I ever wanted a beach house or yacht
but to be part of the mix is not hard to understand
the retarded in their group homes are a privileged clan
not in their heads (where many lack diddly squat)
but a bed at night, bath, meds, snacks, and three meals a day
can be envious when you worry about bus fare, toothaches, and rent
as your boss reminds, "we're all only here to serve"
so when a labor union is created to help make them pay
the boss moans, "Oooh, all the budget has already been spent,
we increased your training, you're going to classes for stress."
The speaker that leads the hour class pockets two hundred dollars.
I must be so retarded to put up with such nerve.

17

GOVERNMENT MONEY

four to a room is better than two
two times the money from the state
and people who don't fit together
is a better scheme than half of that at all
if you get more money sent in then they ate

an exotic multiple diagnosis snafu, like
progressive mental illness with mild retardation
to make half the staff scurry to manage violence
and leave the doting Down syndrome angel unattended
again - four to a room makes twice the money as two

18

NAKED HALL RUN

The wide hall where 30 pass
just vacuumed by a roaring hunkered box
the new staff woman from Plymouth Church screaming
"Put your clothes on you naughty little heathens!"
She's not used to such a mass of shocking pink skin
still dripping wet from a safe luke-warm group shower
but then being shocked time and again becomes such work
and skin is only skin
and institutionalization
must have its compensations

(run naked part two)

though her clenched fist was
full of old chewed gum
and half licked candy
she deftly pulled the
fire alarm when she got mad
all the time
sometimes the fire truck
came and she loved that better
it's a good way to get mad
others might rock a
rocking chair to breaking
or slap their own face
to bleeding
violent noise is best

19

DEE

Dee Olson
saw ghosts in the chandelier
when I tripped it
and told her they were there

she already knew it

Dee Olson
loved stories about castles
and queens
in our pretend crystal ball
because I told her they were there

but she already knew it

and the night she died
I read her a stupid story
about a puppy being trained
she laughed
she related
she wasn’t very
potty trained

she knew it
and was finished
she didn't look like herself
in the coffin
she rested with orange makeup
and an airy bouffant, and
her painted lips were
finally wiped clean of all snacks

20

GROUP HOME

Retarded people aren't fun to make fun of.
They try too hard to navigate through
their egocentric loud day

Their families should always be made fun of.
Crippling guilty spoiling dumb
Janet never learned to walk stairs
(mom wouldn't let her fall)
Dot never learned to eat meals
(mom only had treats).
When Terra was admitted, she couldn't talk.
Mom used to do all that for her.
Terra just clapped her hands and baby babbled
but then, away from mom, her first blurt was,
(as I woke her up, from the couch, for her bus)
"Flerbyou! K-k-k-k-k-k-kunt!"

And that's a true story I gladly wrote up.
We have a fat log for daily comments like that.
Her mother was concerned by it
implying an abusive setup
a lack of coddling and the
bad influences of secularism.
I insisted, "Just
let your adult
daughter grow up!"