FINDING RELIGION

The pursuit of knowledge and wisdom is basically human and neverending.  We can seek a leprechaun with his magical lucky charms or try to run the voodoo down by the bayou.  False icons can not replace science but science must beat with a human heart.  Existential struggles remain.  The learned astronomer doth proclaim the way if we’re willing to listen and follow.  But life itself drifts along like a fallen tree branch floating down the river.  We’re getting there slowly but surely.  We must keep the faith if we ever find it.

Finding religion

in wooden gods and shamans

no answers given

https://www.postpoems.org/authors/georgeschaefer/prose/1086559

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

THE OLD NORTH STAR BAR

The old North Star bar was a true legend.  It stood on 27th and Poplar.  It was far enough away from Center City to be off the beaten path.  They had the main bar on the first floor and a room upstairs to host poetry readings.  They had readings every Tuesday and it became a place to go for poets.  Gregory Corso and Richard Hell did readings there (although they got to perform on the main stage). 

A fun place to jam

pints of Guinness flow freely

poets offer hope

I used to do the readings and order a few beers.  I always needed to walk back to Suburban Station after the readings.  This usually entailed a quiet but drunken walk back.  I needed to cross the Parkway to get back to the train station.  I was often running for my life crossing the multi lane thoroughfare.  It was always scary.  Some people wonder how I’ve managed to keep myself alive through all the madness.  Somehow, I have.  And now with the North Star Bar gone, I can occasionally walk by and feel a lump in my throat—and in my soul—looking at the empty space. 

A piece of my youth

sadly vanquished by evils

gentrification

https://www.postpoems.org/authors/georgeschaefer/prose/1106307

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

BIG STINKY TANTRUMS

Ordering a Citywide at the El Bar and confronted with a painting of a baby duck in a diaper.  The caption reads, “Remember, little baby egos have big stinky tantrums.”  I guess small hands equal small dicks equals out of proportion egotism.  I’m sure I don’t need to know the name of the whiskey I’m drinking anymore than I need to ponder the inadequacies of these fragile egos.  But the world is falling apart and my indulgence gives me slight repose.  We won’t even ruminate on the painting having deeper political meaning. 

The painting’s the thing

a clever little caption

with words of wisdom

gives us pause to consider

hearing oversize egos

https://www.postpoems.org/authors/georgeschaefer/prose/1126719

WORSE THAN COCK BLOCK

The bell rings
so someone bought the bar a round.
You look up 
to politely acknowledge
the kind stranger.


You have another shot
You go with J.D.


The creative juices
are flowing 
and you feel inspired
Great—or at least adequate—poetry
might be committed today


but then you realize
there’s no ink left
in the pen you have
You don’t want to draw attention
by requesting a pen.


It’s even worse than cock block
when you feel a poem coming on
and lack the means 
to commit it to paper.


The locals in the bar
are chatting up a storm
and craziness is abundant.


Thru the chatter
I find out
that moose barbacoa
is actually a thing here


I want to be writing
as the despair 
of the locals 
is begging to be exploited


On the radio,
I hear Boy George singing,
“Do you really want to hurt me?”

Apparently,
the answer is yes.

https://www.postpoems.org/authors/georgeschaefer/poem/1110364

BINGEWATCHING BOJACK HORSEMAN: Schaefer, George: 9798362936846: Amazon.com: Books

MICRO BRAWLERS

So now I am the proud owner of an Abdullah the Butcher micro brawler.  I’m sure many will question why a grown man needs to own such a toy.  They tell me that it’s a child’s toy but it did seem like something that would make my life just a little bit less oppressive.  Can’t I be young at heart and maintain a child’s sense of wonder? 

It says 3 and up

so I am well over 3

I deserve to play

They will question why I would want to waste my money.  They really don’t understand and I don’t have the time to explain.  They will keep telling me that this wasn’t really something that I needed to have.  I need water,  I need shelter.  I need clean air to breathe.  It also seemed of the utmost importance that I make sure the world knows that this is an Abdullah the Butcher household.  The dog wants to chew the toy as soon as it comes out the package but that is another story.

You had to be there

to had to grow up wrestling

ballet of violence

unfolding every Saturday

inspired by a butcher

https://www.postpoems.org/authors/georgeschaefer/prose/1109408

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

DEMOCRACY! WHISKEY! SEXY!

America! Democracy! Whiskey! Sexy!
Oh my,

Democracy to elect inept candidates
with the Haliburton Seal of Approval.

Whiskey–We’ll toss down shots of diluted J.D.
to celebrate our newfound freedom.

Sexy–well the whiskey should make it appear that way.

Coda to D.W.S.

Fuck the Democracy!
The whiskey told me so
and I still don’t feel very sexy.

https://www.postpoems.org/authors/fuche_bu/poem/1060741

POET SLAP FIGHTS AND ASS KISSING

We are getting snippy and contentious anymore.  It doesn’t seem like anyone can have any fun anymore.  So we have poets declaring on their posts that ass kissing doesn’t belong in poetry.  Hmmm, I initially misread the post and thought he wrote ass kicking.  I was thinking to myself that I can see room for both.  Sometimes you do have kick ass and depending on the person, you may actually want to kiss their ass.  It isn’t all bad.

No ass kissing

No poet slap fights

No fun of any kind

Then I see a poetry group that frowns upon poet slap fights.  I mean, come on, are you suggesting we go for full on poet fist fights?  I just don’t see that working.  What was the immortal line from Groundskeeper Willie:  “You speak like a poet but you punch like one, too.” Better to let poets slap fight and allow the illusion that they weren’t trying to hurt one another rather than let them actually have a fist fight and reveal the pathetic truth.  Besides, I happen to like both ass kissing and poet slap fights.  What can I say.  I am a little kinky even if I did chicken out when my dominatrix suggested CBT.  Being kinky doesn’t mean I need my scrotum scraped with sandpaper.  I’ll take a hard pass on that one.

Let my poets slap

enjoy thy frenemy’s ass

all good in the end

https://www.postpoems.org/authors/georgeschaefer/prose/1100254

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

STREETWALKER

She was a street walker

by all accounts

She had a plastic rose

pitifully shedding petals

proudly adorned in her hair

But she did have moxie

and an awareness of diners

At her recommendation

I found an old school diner

serving greasy breakfast fair

As it was only fair

and I alone to boot

I invited her to break fast with me

Order what you like

It’s all on me

Chatting over coffee

and buttered rye toast

Her sometime sordid

sometime glorious past

poetically brought to life

She hungrily tore into eggs

yet somehow she was lovelier

than most dates I’ve had

She was certainly kinder

and possibly saner

I had a full docket

but I handed her a Jackson

on the promise of lunch

I really hoped she would

get a good lunch or dinner

She deserved better

than what life threw her way

but carried better grace than most

myself included

I’m not too proud to admit

https://www.postpoems.org/authors/georgeschaefer/poem/1109896

ASSHOLES AND BITCHES NEED NOT APPLY

As I waltz through my life

whiling away hours, weeks,

years & even decades

I never found a shortage

of certain undesirable sorts.

There seems to be 

an asshole lurking

under every rock

& a bitch to be found

around any old corner.

The cretins aren’t coming.

They’re already here

They appear out of the mist

when you least expect them

always willing to lend a hurting hand.

There’s no longer any surprise

in finding someone new

only to learn they are not dependable.

You’re only an afterthought

they never truly care for.

As I get older

I find I have fewer friends

and more casual acquaintances

and that’s very much by design

as I try to keep my life real.

I’d rather be surrounded

by those relatively special few

that I know I can count on

than have thousands of false friends

valued at a dime a dozen.

https://www.postpoems.org/authors/fuche_bu/poem/1068152

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