______________________________________________________________
-- word biscuit --
-- everything and a few sonnets edition --
01-05-98 -- ray heinrich
______________________________________________________________
ain't it just like a new year?
-ray
==== first a leftover xmas poem:
< nativity scene >
and then there was the dog
the one they kept telling
to be quiet
lay down
stop barking at the star
the one
licking the kid's feet
- - -
==== then back to the usual:
< mainly white >
it's mainly white
the cold
comes in second
it's so white
it takes a few seconds
to notice the cold
coming out the door
the snow is so bright
it takes your breath
to remind you
how cold it is
there should be some music
the snow can move to
music
to make this a movie
that needs an actor
that lends
some importance to the footprints
outside the door
- - -
< what some boys dream of >
some boys dream of
girls who bring breadfruit
(so ripe the skin splits)
girls who bring toast
(with their own jam)
girls who bring oranges
and pomegranates
and
big
round
jelly
donuts
some boys
will dream about anything
as long
as there's a girl in it
- - -
< got lucky >
we are hungry and our waitress
who would rather serve us
rats
settles for something
a little closer to what we ordered
not
out of compassion
just
out of rats
- - -
< maybe of you >
a voice
a breath some late afternoon
a shadow
maybe of you
in early winter
in a long slant of light
- - -
< too many small things wrong >
too many slips of paper
too many words
too many notes about notes
about what needs to be done
that turn up
when some pile of history
tips over
a stray foot
on its way to the bathroom
catches
and suddenly
spreading across the floor
magazines
and papers
and you
in your tight round letters
- - -
< how many republicans does it take to have sex? >
who knows...
they're all still back there
fooling with that light bulb
- - -
< signs >
roger steals them so he's got plenty
refuses to pick a favorite
cathy does hers with two fingers
ray's is that low one
you bump your head on
paul liked mine for a while
but now he's back on highway 61
rachel makes hers up as she goes along
(though by night she's always the moon)
pat is one
doesn't need another
sandra just uses her smile
it's got her this far she says
toby's is that star
you know the one
alex swears he doesn't have one
(he keeps it in the freezer
under the tuna-noodle casserole)
jeremy's joined some club
that says there's only one
nancy wears hers
on her finger
philip has one so big
he has to keep it outside
kathy holds hers up above her head
usually while it's still beating
- - -
< intelligence >
if your brain
can truly lie
it's big enough
to qualify
- - -
< wrong again >
i think that i shall never see
a poem as stupid as a tree
oh wait
oh my
i guess i'm wrong
(at least it wasn't very long)
- - -
==== now we enter the dog section:
< those dogs! >
they should be required to register
as metaphorical agents
- - -
< dogs eat faeries >
- for Toby*
faeries are always teasing dogs
it's part of their tradition
and a dangerous one
cause dogs
eat faeries
to a dog
a faerie is a tasty snack
and though
only one dog in a thousand
ever catches one
there are hundreds more
who swear they have
and of course
the faeries
do nothing to dissuade this:
"aunt Aine
oh what a scamp!
she teased that doberman
in St. John's Wood
every day for years
and he never came close
who would have guessed
that Mrs. Arnold's
little poodle
could move so fast"
so most of the barking
you hear
the barking
that when you look
there's nothing there
it's faeries
- - -
*my poodle. the only dog i know who actually
catches squirrels. he's probably eaten a
faerie too, but hasn't told me cause he
knows i'd disapprove.
< the most holy church of the yearly penny-dog >
to become a devout member of
the most holy church of the yearly penny-dog
throw a penny out the window
(it doesn't have to be yours)
and bark like a dog
this will get you in good with the spirits
for a whole year
and while it's not the best religion around
the results are comparable
and it
sure is cheap
- - -
< the most holy church of the yearly penny-dog FAQ >
> Ray, does it matter when you throw the penny out the window?
> And is there any yearly "day of celebration"?
> Is a new penny the best, or are there certain "better years"?
> How long should you bark for?
> Is there a "preferred breed" to imitate?
> sincerely
> ms. B
< oh those humans >
it seems that through the years
(being that humans and all are involved)
the holy church of the yearly penny-dog
has split into various factions
the universalists say
any day is just fine
for throwing that penny
but the pluton's insist
it should be
on pluto's birthday
the republican's
require a quarter
stolen from the poor
and the poodlist's
that it must be the bark
of a dog that doesn't shed
and they all say
(except the universalists)
that if you don't do it their way
you'll end up
with poop on your foot
- - -
> Should you adopt a secret "doggie name"?
i have, but i don't think it's necessary, just fun.
and no, i can't tell you, it's secret.
> Can I tell my dogs about this?
they already know.
> or will they think it's some kind of 'cult'?
sure they think it's a cult, but they aren't
surprised as they know from long experience
we're pretty crazy. but being dogs, they
somehow find this an endearing quality.
> I've heard that cats are into some weird stuff..
my neighbor has cats, knows something about
this, but refuses to say more. some nights,
it's pretty noisy over there.
-ray
==== upon leaving the dog section we find:
< k-y jelly >
greasing
the gears of love
lubricating
the lips of desire
oiling
the pistons of passion
and it doesn't taste that bad either
but still
it should come in chocolate
so we could
- - -
< morning >
as simple
as opening
an eye
- - -
< visiting home >
I was visiting home on one of those visits
that doesn't work out just like you know it
won't but you go anyway because you've started
to believe in some of your fantasies like
finally getting something straight with your
folks or maybe with that first love of yours
who you hope is having as hard a time of
it as you are so you'll both discover what
you knew all along or (at least) get a good
fuck out of it but you end up talking to
people you aren't interested in and even more
people who aren't interested in you but at
least (besides the weather) you can catch up
on who's died like this time it was Richard
Kelley (Mr. Kelley to us) who a few months
before his death started coming back to the
high school, walking into his old classroom,
and teaching whoever was there about the
war-between-the-states or the building of the
trans-continental railroad and i bet he was
still pretty good he was the best teacher i
ever had.
- - -
==== and finally, a few (re-cycled) love sonnets:
A Few Years Later:
You were the first woman to notice me
(I thought this while looking at
my first man) -- when we were young
you were forever looking into mirrors.
"I am scared to look in mirrors now",
you said talking to a recorder while
looking out a window: "I love you";
but your words were slowly bleached.
By now some years had passed and I
came home in time to watch you leave;
to watch you walk along the gravel road
and ask the question you had always asked:
"This blood, how can there be so much?"
(by now it was a few years later).
. . .
Loneliness:
Loneliness --
I am in love with your beauty.
How many times have I come to you
with some fresh loss
and been comforted
by your clear sorrow,
been cradled
in your spare arms.
As the desert enfolds its wisdom
with the blessing of sand;
you hold your love for me
in a single point
that as it enters
is as warm as sun.
. . .
Summer Love in Spanish:
On the beach in mexico the heat of the sun is too
much, so I lie in the shade of an old soft drink
stand. It's not a popular beach, so close to the
power plant, but it's close to my dad's office.
I'm here visiting him, my terrible spanish getting
a little better, walking the streets, just looking,
reading the signs, ordering pan dulce; it's so cheap
and each bun of this sweet bread is beautiful.
So every morning I go and buy a bag
of it and eat it the rest of the day
carrying it through the streets,
looking at the signs, trying to read
them with my dictionary, writing letters
to my mom never mentioning you.
. . .
Anything Like Moonlight:
Sometimes love asks us not to be furious
but we are victims of emotion crying through
these little words because there is no help
for us in this life there is only this and
it seems too weak too far away to be of use
the boat becomes a raft becomes a vest
becomes a piece of wood becomes a wish made
drowning becomes a dream in death where we
are walking through the woods at night
asking to be guided in the dark to anything
like moonlight or a place to rest and when
you turned I saw your eyes that led me to this
place you are the moon in me you are the spot
of peace that must endure as I must drown.
. . .
==== oh, and this:
< unconditional love >
unconditional love
was all among us
until she saw
my toenail fungus
- - -
_______________________________________________________________
and...
all registered subscribers to 'word biscuit' have my
permission to publish any individual poem or poems
contained within it (or the whole dang thing if you
feel like it and of course you can make copies and send
them to your friends) so long as you obtain no commercial
or barter considerations in exchange for such copies,
it's not part of any pro-republican campaign literature,
and you do it within two years of its publication date.
anything else requires my permission which may be
obtained by writing to me at: ray@scribbledyne.com
if you're not a registered subscriber and would like to
receive 'word biscuit' irregularly (of course it's free),
just send an email saying something like yes to:
ray@scribbledyne.com
back issues can be found at: http://wordbiscuit.com/
all this is copyright 1998 by ray heinrich and the free
state of dogs. comments are VERY welcome, send to:
ray@scribbledyne.com and i'm not wearing any pants though
the shirt i have on has a quote on it from noam chomsky
and some chew marks left by a small, obstinate poodle.
_______________________________________________________________
end
well, almost...
stock bio:
ray heinrich is an ex-texas technofreak and hippie-socialist
wannabe who writes poems for thrills and attention. over the
years his work has appeared in many small, insignificant
publications. in real life he repairs computers, has always
been married, loves dogs, and owns a blue fish.
back