The Busies (repost)
Interests too diverse to
itemize, pursue, or
even
Enjoy, chronically late but
defying the
24-hour yoke, time to
work on the house but not
Home no
time to savor just
swallow SudaFed restlessness
Passing
as energy among
aging thrill-
seekers, 'got
work to
do, ' etched in monument to
multi-task mediocrity
myrmidic depart-
mental, sowing but never
nurturing
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poem by Cretan Maineiac
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Thirty Years Behind the Wheel
That fall morning after an
Ali fight on
Free TV, all was
crisp, raw, October
gold & burnt
red. Got a permission
slip to leave school early, returning only to
offer my shocked
friends a ride home. No one
there to instruct me into taking my
lefts too sharp, step
on it, or keep both hands on the
wheel. 'Looks like you finally learned how to
drive, ' sd.
the uniform, pen in hand, Secretary of
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poem by Cretan Maineiac
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Know Holds Bard
To fix a headlock on a
metaphor, or
clamp a full nelson on a
simile, body slam a weak
double-entendre &
choke the life out of a
forced rhyme. To get a toe hold on a
trochee, apply an
armlock that brings a
cliche to its knees, dropp an elbow on
trite alliteration, or
execute a powerbomb as easily as
coining a phrase. To lay the smackdown on
doggerel, and fling a
timeworn platitude from the ring, bridge
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poem by Cretan Maineiac
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The Mendacity Of Hype
Blowing in from under Daley's shadow, Cook
county, liberally
sponsored by green gas-
bags & misery's boldest broker, he
can, thru
comely pauses &
flowery syllables, swooning
rhythms, comfortable
cadence & that mellifluous gargle- 'just
because you have an individual right doesn't mean the
state or federal
Government cannot constrain that right'- yes
he can- having secured a mortgage from
Rezco as unsung Chicagoland seniors sweltered &
rotted from neglect in
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poem by Cretan Maineiac
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Feelings of a Yankee on the Fall of Chirak
Inspired by Shelley
I was indifferent to
you, spineless Vichy
statist, appeaser of thugs, their
pinch-faced outrage-ala-mode raining Molotovs on cops clad black as scorched earth, Peugeots, Citroens, Opals, burning in high-
toned pan of Ingres’s Odalisque, from the shadows to
the lighted courtyard, Pei’s pyramid & the Renaissance sacrificed from
history for foreign
endowments financing foot-washers for the
trees along the Champs-Elysees in sight of
Fitzgerald and Papa Hemingway,
ghosts brooding in ex-pats’ haunts, Teddy’s “mollycoddle”
charge echoing thru the
yellow night, &
@ home and the non-trad college, not a word…
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poem by Cretan Maineiac
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Barometric Pressure
Twin brass helm wheels, (like Gilligan’s) , gilded, not for
steering, Airguide
imprint in elegant cursive, the thermometer part long inactive.
“It doesn’t work, ” big brother said, “it’s indoors.”
Relative Humidity and Barometric Pressure tracked while
seeping thru the Screen to the
Sill, the daily variation between black and lazy red finger suggesting- @
least as presciently as Bob O’Wrill or Willard Scott- “Nor’easters” &
“thunder boomers” &
those suffocating summer days when
fans and flies hum, dipping in
warning (along w/
double-knee pain- one the instant replay of a
softball tumble; the other an inflamed echo of mis-
spent love) rising in
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poem by Cretan Maineiac
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Our Ladies of the Chamber
“I’m a survivor, ” sez the
Blond from
AWAP, each time she tells her Ex-Wife’s
Tale besmirching miscegenation worse than
generations of
KKK propaganda, drowning unwanted children in self-serving tears, &
advocating:
- a definition of family based on lobby dollars, &
-opening private books to the public while
-closing public books to all.
“I’m looking out for The
Little Guy, ” claims
non-trad Margaret, securing a
Raise for lawmakers as
your street cracks &
crumbles, smoldering, refitting suits in the
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32 Souls Plus One (repost)
April showers fell unseasonably cold @ VaTech,
that morning, the
dripping blood of a forfeited soul with selfish motives.
Chronically late Buddinsky laureate had stepped
in, elbowed-up to center-stage- words louder than
action- self-anointed arbiter branding him
'unfit' for class- passive lynching- his
Alienation
unfashionable, not
-Sylvia shrilly blaming *pater-nothus*, nor
-Jezebel snapping hormonal on Angry Johnny, nor
-'the thunder rolled' or 'earl hadda' die' or wispy Nova
Scotia Sarah kissing
the breath
out of all of us, *Ismail
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poem by Cretan Maineiac
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1821 Hellenic Blues
In Crete and in Mani
No cannon ever finds me…
-popular Greek song
Some call the blues uniquely
American, from the
Muggy Mississippi delta to the
Daunting nighttime streets of
Chicago, repetitive,
Progressive, peaking
& releasing & rife w/
heartfelt woe, at
Once springing from and revealing the Soul.
But the craggy peaks of Hellas cried a
similar strain, when
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