Devil’s lettuce—

so that’s what we’re 

calling it these days

not your mother’s romaine

or your father’s kale

https://www.postpoems.org/authors/fuche_bu/poem/1074185

AMERICAN ZEN KOANS: Schaefer, George: 9798809062107: Amazon.com: Books

There are still times that I get carded in bars or venues.  It’s usually an indication that the establishment sits in an uptight municipality or they recently got tagged for selling booze to (too) young’uns.  I won’t give them too much trouble since they’re really just doing their jobs.  And also, a lot of venues have guys at the door with necks thicker than a redwood tree.  I just show them the card and move on with my life.  People say that I should take it as a compliment.  Hardly, they aren’t looking at me and thinking that I might be under 21.  They’re doing it because some asshole council member wants to make a statement.  It would be great if it was a compliment but I’m not that naïve.  I’m not standing there thinking “Gee that new moisturizing cream is really reaping dividends.”  I’m usually just anxious to get in the door and get settled. 

Largely not nessa

a delay in the next beer

thirst waits to be quenched

https://www.postpoems.org/authors/georgeschaefer/prose/1086114

Cannibalized Haibun: Schaefer, George: 9798416456573: Amazon.com: Books

He all too often promoted himself as a lone wolf.  I never understood the notion.  Wolves tend to find their greatest success in packs.  This lonely notion fostered by dreams of James Dean and a rebel without a cause.  It never led to any happiness or success.  He was a lone wolf and he wore the mask with great pride.  I kept waiting for him to ride up on his motorcycle wearing his leather jacket.  In the end he mainly just became a parody of himself and a few Hollywood images I was foolish enough to buy.  It must be harsh to buy into a myth only to become a caricature of yourself. 

A mask worn tightly

hidden subtle human truths

always denial

perpetually buy in

the false notions we are sold

https://www.postpoems.org/authors/georgeschaefer/prose/1109731

SQUANDERED SERENDIPITY: A Second Helping of Cannibalized Haibun: Schaefer, George: 9798354488872: Amazon.com: Books

Ferlinghetti called poetry eternal graffiti and I guess he may have a point.  Poetry at its finest will make an indelible impression on the human heart and soul.  It is recklessly but pristinely spray painted across one’s consciousness.  The bright colors and the elaborate structure of the lettering looms large in one’s vision.  The words dance across a subconscious Sahara seeking an oasis.  Those with wisdom are able to find ways to take that tag and feel inspired and restored.  The words and images are seared into the retina and take on a life of their own.  Those renegade poets and pranksters have made their mark.  They may or may not go down in history but somewhere along the line they have touched and inspired someone.  That, in the end, is the function of poetry.

Verse etched on a wall

the decay of ancestors

the buildings collapse

spirit rises up in words

eternally etched on soul

https://www.postpoems.org/authors/georgeschaefer/prose/1099840

Cannibalized Haibun: Schaefer, George: 9798416456573: Amazon.com: Books

I skipped out

on the poetry reading

at the free library

where I was scheduled to read

a new brewpub opened

just down the street

and my whistle

required a little wetting

so I walked down the street

oblivious to any consequences

or hurt feelings attached

my name was on the list

for the open reading

They’ll call my name

and be greeted with silence

and they’ll call my name again

going once going twice. . .

Perhaps, I consider,

my best reading ever

as I belly up to the bar

and order my first beer

but I’m also feeling

a little frisky

so I order a shot of Jameson

to chase the beer

I really don’t know why

I felt so nervous an hour earlier

https://www.postpoems.org/authors/georgeschaefer/poem/1101450

AMERICAN ZEN KOANS: Schaefer, George: 9798809062107: Amazon.com: Books

And so for some reason, George and Lucille Bluth are my parents and we are living in a rather elaborate treehouse.  I’m not sure what happened to the old model home.  I must have turned into GOB since I was dating Marta or at least a chica Latina muy caliente.  I field many criticisms from a sister who feels I am unworthy of such love.  Apparently, we have opened up a restaurant and are trying to make our fortunes.  We keep losing money even though the restaurant is always busy.  An obsession with the truth emerges as we try to come to grips with what is going on.  I find myself trying to get down from the treehouse to investigate

So truth from a Bluth

Are we expecting too much?

Lonely view from top

A bookstore employee comes forward to reveal the truth.  The news channel is running a special segment on our family’s deceptions.  It would appear that the end is near  We huddle in the treehouse determined to find a way to overcome this latest adversity.  Someone suggests that we tell the truth and get everything out into the open.  The news anchor on the TV screen is still ripping into the integrity of the family.  Maeby is off in the corner playing coy with George Michael.  The news channel is now on a continuous loop of a news anchor tearing down our family

We concede the truth

but a Bluth don’t know the truth

lie we live too deep

https://www.postpoems.org/authors/georgeschaefer/prose/1101675

Cannibalized Haibun: Schaefer, George: 9798416456573: Amazon.com: Books

It amazes me

I think in blue rhyme

of language splattered

across sullen minds

of timid boys

pistol whipped by sergeants 

and bullied into 

this transgression

by subconscious dreams.

Hidden desires

left unfermented

fossilized in back reaches

we cross that land

avoiding Mongol warriors

& wicked con artists.

And of fire

these eyes burn intensely

with that overflow;

the raging impassioned cry

of search and defeat.

This game is not over yet

No, this is not the end of it.

https://www.postpoems.org/authors/fuche_bu/poem/1070369

Choke the Chicken (or Auto Erotic Asphyxiation Gone Horribly Wrong): Schaefer, George F: 9798434885959: Amazon.com: Books

People need a sense of identity.  This can apply even when the identity is not such a good one.  I worked at numerous shit jobs over the years,  The pay was low and the benefits were poor.  Of course, they were just pass throughs for me,  It was a means to survive for a few months or a year or so.  But the employees often took on a sense of identity even if it was a poor one.  When things went wrong, they would exclaim, “Normal people wouldn’t put up with this shit but we’re North City Bus Armature employees.”  There was a sense of identity even in working a shit job.  People need that sense of belonging and sometimes it comes even when it’s a shit job.  Hey, I can’t be a rock star or an NBA star but I’m a North City Bus Armature employee and that is my sense of identity.

Sense of belonging

we identify poorly

deluding ourselves

into a sense of import

even under great abuse

https://www.postpoems.org/authors/georgeschaefer/prose/1121291

Someone

took the time

to offer sage advice

while all

I really wanted

was a quite space

to relieve myself

so I sit

& contemplate the words

Life is serious

It’s really yourself

you shouldn’t take
so damn seriously

I want to live a long life,

create art,

add beauty to the world,

help others

and make the world a better place

so I’m poeticizing

bathroom stall graffiti

cuz I really do think

my shit is all that

and doesn’t stink.

https://www.postpoems.org/authors/fuche_bu/poem/1080162

JUST WHEN YOU THOUGHT IT WAS SAFE TO DO POETRY AGAIN: Schaefer, George: 9798449725561: Amazon.com: Books