ENOUGH CLICHÉ

Enough cliché for you

an old Aerosmith gem

blares on the loudspeaker

drunkard rocking on bar stool

leaning over to kiss girlfriend—

kisses the floor instead.

https://www.postpoems.org/authors/fuche_bu/poem/1081244

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

BUT AFTER ANTLER WROTE

After Antler wrote

an epic poem

about factory life

it was like a final word

an end to innocence

an end to ignorance

an end to all excuses

we had to confront the bleakness

far beyond any spiritual ennui

proffered by Dickens or Sinclair Lewis

and the false sincerity

of all the Anglo apologists

we drank rank java

from a roach coach

punching in on a time card

gotta make sure

we get clocked in and clocked out

so payroll can add the hours

all the while ignoring

the sweat and tears

the exhausted shell of a being

we run our lathes and presses

we form cardboard boxes

and fill them up with empty promises

and empty delusions

cheap merchandise no one wants or needs

but simply has to have

to fulfill the prophecy of the ad campaign

but after Antler wrote

his factory poems

we should have known better

we should have know that

the corporate overlords

were totally full of shit

but first Reagan and then Trump

deluded enough young folk

and old folk alike

to toss us right back

into George Santayana’s paradox

https://www.postpoems.org/authors/georgeschaefer/poem/1122541

UNDETERRED

I could whine

about Ginsberg

or Rupi Kaur

or the general state

of the universe

and it would be

hollow complaint

falling on deaf ears

waiting to dismiss me

waiting to tell me

I’m nothing compared

to Corso or Dunbar

or Dickenson

or any other poet

my run on sentences

paraded publicly

as profound verse

fooling next to no one

but I continue

undeterred

with minimal complaint

I live and let live

They do their thing

and I do mine

I’ll likely be content

when I meet my maker

imperfect, ever brutish

I followed my own muse

Undeterred by critics

I dug into the vortex

entirely at my own pace

https://www.postpoems.org/authors/georgeschaefer/poem/1121280

I COME FROM PHILADELPHIA

I didn’t come from church

I come from Philadelphia

I come for a show

I come to get high

to wreak havoc on the streets

a poet of delusion

a poet of confusion

a reading of Beats

never dying reading

NYC, NY, USA

dying of poetry; drunk

smoke herb hashish stoned

mind pure hope

thought run Whitman-esque

type of truth dream

Beat guys running rampant

going going on and on

I cam from Philly

Nazareth Hospital 1966

July 5 sometime in the morning

now I’m here

not from church

not in school failed

in life in work lover

all other endeavors

other than gaining sympathy

from old ladies

and copping acid at Dead shows

all else is no go

so I come from Philadelphia

streets Whitman walked

home where Poe lived

and drank the bile of death

under Franklin’s sacred vision

tombstone of ether visage

I come from Philadelphia’

once again never bragging

simply stating a fact

for the record

https://www.postpoems.org/authors/georgeschaefer/poem/1117272

INNER PEACE

In my dream

I hear a sweet melody

and I begin to discern

the lyrics to “Come As You Are.”

I’m compelled

to follow the sounds

and move closer

I Keep thinking

after 25 years

I’m gonna see Kurt again

and I draw closer

and I notice the voice

it doesn’t sound like Kurt

and I continue the pilgrimage

to the sweet song

and I begin to recognize

the visage of the singer

It’s not the face of Kurt Cobain

but Jesus of Nazareth.

He’s gently strumming the strings

of that acoustic guitar

and smiling sweetly

as he sings the song

and I awaken

with a blissful feeling

and the tune still stuck in my head

I feel certain 

it’s gonna be a good day.

https://www.postpoems.org/authors/fuche_bu/poem/1072810

PHOTO BOMBING SON OF A FEMALE DOG

So I just wanted a good picture with my dog.  I figured it would be great for the non-existent Christmas cards.  Of course, I have a dog that likes to photo bomb.  We never get the good picture because he always jumps in front of me with his glorious snout.

Always jumping gun

mucking up the picture frame

duo to solo

Finding it rather amusing, I decide to post a photo of the dog photo bombing me.  I use the caption:  “ Photo bombing son of a bitch.”  I get a warning from Instagram that I \should change the caption since it is similar to others that have been reported.  I’m thinking, “Really!”

No damn humor

even in the face of truth

pantyweight whiners

So I start thinking about it and decide to go with the caption:  “Photo bombing S.O.B.”.  No such luck.  I still get the message to reconsider my humor.  I elect to not post the photo at all.  It’s rather insane that you can’t even describe something for what it is.  I have a male dog.  A male dog is a son of a female dog.  Hence son of a bitch is the proper nomenclature.  I understand not wanting to post X-rated material or not wanting to post false information but now the Metaverse has a problem with the actual truth.  If you want to make the world a better place maybe worry more about people with no sense of humor whatsoever.  Laughter is probably essential if we want to ever achieve our potential greatness.

So no S.O.B.

Son of a female dog

no truth allowed

metaverse protected

from a harmless joke

https://www.postpoems.org/authors/georgeschaefer/prose/1107446

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

MS. PAC-MAN OR LAUNDRY

A Ms. Pac-man stands off

in a corner near the Men’s Room

there’s very little dust

no doubt a few mid timers

(not to be confused with old timers)

still enjoy the game

I could play a game or two

The machine still takes quarters

and I have a few quarters

sitting in my pocket

but I also need the quarters

to do my laundry

So do I avoid getting suckered in?

I suppose I could

It wouldn’t be the first time

if I showed up Monday morning

hungover, bleary eyed

shamefully clad in dirty clothes

It wouldn’t be the first time

and only a fool

would assume it would be the last

MS. PAC-MAN OR LAUNDRY | PostPoems

MEANDERTHAL MAN: Schaefer, George: 9798826122174: Amazon.com: Books