I lost the cadence
somewhere along the way
The pure word flow
dissipated into hazy memory
and left me standing
at the altar
like a jilted lover.
words scribbled on a brown napkin made from recycled paper. Probably written sometime in the late 90’s.
GREEN HAIRED LADY
The young lady
with the green hair
& tattoos on her face
& a skeletal nose ring
is laughing at my jokes.
She’s actually cute
but not as cute
as her dark haired friend
with the uncluttered face.
They’re both smiling
and laughing at my yarn.
I’m not sure
if they’re laughing at me
or with me
and I’m too afraid to ask.
I lean back
on the wooden chair
and sip my coffee
It’s a rather pleasant afternoon.
WOMEN IN ORANGE
Women in orange
outside playing basketball
in a prison yard
a nervous guard gripping gun
fingers tensely holding tight
NOSE BREATHER
Those late night Jersey Transit trains
It’s always a gas
well past midnight
up to no good
at a Dead and Company show
Queens in the rear view mirror
departing Manhattan
riding that train
stuffed with other Heads
trying to get home to Jersey
or PA as it were
feeling no pain listening
to conversations
the electricity
of reliving each song
one conversation involves
a new age-y guru type
proselytizing on the value
of breathing through the nose
Another couple, apparently
don’t appreciate advice
on nose or mouth breathing
even if it weren’t their conversation
They begin mocking the nose breathers
putting them down
and ragging on and on
another young lady takes offense
to their mockery
and an argument ensues
I’m just trying to reflect on the show
The mockery is ignorant
on multiple levels
It is healthier to breathe thru the nose
and there’s no reason for abuse
some folks are entirely too proud
of their own ignorance
but I suppose they are mouth breathers
Nose breathing is easier
when you keep your mouth shut;
a skill some of us never learn
KINDNESS OF STRANGERS
I’ll have truly earned
the scorn & derision
of the critics
whence I finally
release this dribble
but I won’t walk the plank
of Orizaba
& follow Crane to a death
of either asphyxiation
or shark meal
the pundits will get their say
and the reviews will be severe
but I fear not
the harshness of acidic pens
that tear my heart to shreds
and leave me for dead
the kindness of strangers
has bailed my ass before
& plucked me from the abysss,
fed me, rescued me
and sent me on my way
Surely, some kind soul
will prop me up again.
KINDNESS OF STRANGERS | PostPoems
AMERICAN ZEN KOANS: Schaefer, George: 9798809062107: Amazon.com: Books
BEASTLY BUT BEAUTIFUL (flash fiction(?))
The assignment was to place Huckleberry Finn in modern day New York and write a short story. I was a high school kid in the 80s and only spent a few field trips in New York. Of course, I watched many TV shows and I did have my imagination.
Mr. V didn’t cotton to me. I was a dirty, wrong side of the tracks kid and he was a GQ preppie. I figured I would just go balls to the wall on my yarn. I set the tale in Harlem and had Huck running into prostitutes and drag queens and trying two kinds of Mary Jane (One a plant and one a Ho for the naïve among us.)
I turned in a completely uncensored tale fully expecting to be failed and possibly sent to the principal’s office. I skipped school for fear of repercussion. Then I learned that Mr. V loved my story and read it out loud for the entire class. He had to censor spots due to complaints of two classmates.
I returned to class greeted with a smile from the first fan of my literary stylings. The class discussed my story. Mr. V managed to use the word beastly twice in a 45 minute period. I did take it as a badge of honor—as he was talking about my poetry and fiction. Ït’s beastly but beautiful.” They say don’t judge a book by its cover and I think 2 people learned a lesson that week.
HALF ASS KEROUAC SIPPING ABSINTHE
And postulating
on poetry
and wondering if
the inspiration
can be found in mown grass
and dry summer nights
as the beer
is no longer
enough
to fire my soul
a green fairie is beckoned
with a belief
in transcendence
or at least
a serious buzz
HALF ASS KEROUAC SIPPING ABSINTHE | PostPoems
I FOUND DUENDE
I found Duende
& then lost it
among the papers
& notebooks
scattered on desks
& shelves & under beds.
It made a cameo
on a poem
written on a napkin
in a brewpub in Vermont
only to smudge
into oblivion.
Over time,
it occurred & reoccurred
in haunted alleys,
bus station bathrooms;
even the rare sighting
at the local convenience store
but the loss
seems more reality
instances fading away;
no more proudly
pumping out gems
with incandescent flair
so the quest will continue
as search and recovery
remains the mission of the day
and plenty of beaches,
airports and coffee houses
await offering clues.
5-30-03
EVEN WHORES HAVE FEELINGS: Schaefer, George: 9798843259587: Amazon.com: Books
DUMBASS
Loved ones
stay with you after death;
They continue to live
on in your heart and soul.
They continue to haunt
your memories and dreams.
My father passed on
17 years ago
but still makes cameos
& guest spots in my dreams
from time to time
and amazingly,
after all these years,
he’s still calling me Dumbass
THRU PERIPHERAL VISION: Schaefer, George F: 9798790939471: Amazon.com: Books
EPHEMERAL TAVERNS
There are certain bars and taverns that exist only in my dreams. They might be located in Philly or Chicago or Brooklyn or even Saigon. But you can only go there in my dreams—if I’m nice enough to include you in my dream. They are on streets no one ever heard of and they often morph from one location to another without warning. Sometimes I can’t find them in one dream only to have them show up in a different dream. The décor and the staff of these taverns is ephemeral. It is often staff from real life bars who apparently moonlight at these surrealistic saloons I imagine in sleep. Everything can shapeshift and I’m often left waiting for beers or desperately trying to locate the bathroom in these pubs. Of course, seeking the bathroom is never a good sign. It usually means waking up is imminent and going to happen sooner rather than later.
But alas I dream
these wondrous mystical pubs
the exotic beers
cocktails of heavenly bliss
until they fade into black
https://www.postpoems.org/authors/georgeschaefer/prose/1099965
Cannibalized Haibun: Schaefer, George: 9798416456573: Amazon.com: Books
bathroomgraffiti 