Haiku

These last days of spring
we are aging together,
this old cat and I. - Jeff Barnes

Haiku

Don't delude yourself.
It would carry you away.
Cat watches a hawk. - Jeff Barnes

Instructions for My Funeral

I want my funeral to be a celebration of my life.
I absolutely forbid anybody to mourn.
Don't show up with sorrowful faces.
It should be a happier day than the day I was born.

Don't play lugubrious, funereal music

and don't fill the room with the sounds of your sobs.

I want plastic skeletons to dangle from the ceiling,

merrily dancing to Saint-Saenz's "Danse Macabre."

I couldn't stand to be in a suit and tie

with everybody standing around my coffin staring.

Dress me in jeans and a Grim Reaper t-shirt.

That's what I would like to be wearing.

Laugh and tell each other grim jokes.

Don't stand around all teary-eyed.

I want you to dance to Terry Teene's "Curse of the Hearse"

as they come to load me in for my last ride. - Jeff Barnes

Mr. Green

I knew a man named Mr. Green
who was crusty, irksome, and downright mean.
He was always venting his spleen
about how he hated the color green.

He paved his yard with concrete

to avoid having grass.

He thought Kermit the frog

was nauseating and crass.

Every year on March 17th

he hid himself away.

He couldn't stand the sight of people

dressing for St. Patrick's Day.

The very sight of broccoli

gave him a sense of dread.

He always shunned green apples

and only ate the red.

Even when he was a child

he would pout and sulk

if anyone gave him a comic book

featuring the Incredible Hulk

He said he'd rather starve than eat asparagus,

broccoli, or avocado toast.

He thought of changing his name until he realized

it was himself that he hated most. - Jeff Barnes

Haiku

Driving down the road
remembering gone places --
April afternoon. - Jeff Barnes

Word Salad Villanelle

This poem is nothing but word salad.
Don't expect it to make any sense.
This is by no means a coherent ballad.

I question whether any logic is valid.

Mmm! Take a whiff of that frankincense!

This poem is nothing but word salad.

That bust of Pallas looks rather pallid.

It has a fly on its head, like Mike Pence.

This is by no means a coherent ballad.

My years have taught me to be utterly callid.

I find my neighbors to be extremely dense.

This poem is nothing but word salad.

This is my pet myogalid.

I decided to name her Hortense.

This is not a coherent ballad.

The moth flying overhead is a pyralid.

I'm just a fool sitting on a fence.

This poem is nothing but word salad.

This is by no means a coherent ballad. - Jeff Barnes

Pope George Ringo I

We need to have a pope named George Ringo.
We've already had two named John Paul.
So say the old ladies playing church bingo.

We want someone colorful, like a pink flamingo

and well-rounded, like a rubber ball.

We need to have a pope named George Ringo.

He can be Asian, African, Mexican or Gringo.

Nationality does not matter at all.

So say the old ladies playing church bingo.

He could be an Australian living among dingoes,

all alone in the outback sprawl.

We need to have a pope named George Ringo.

He could be the bishop of Santo Domingo.

Perhaps he would answer the call.

So say the old ladies playing church bingo.

This is what we need, by gosh, by gum, by jingo!

It doesn't matter if he's thin, fat, short, or tall.

We need to have a pope named George Ringo.

So say the old ladies playing church bingo. - Jeff Barnes

A Star is Not Born

I thought we could be a duo,
her screech accompanying my guitar.
That was my naive teenage dream
of becoming an avant-garde rock star.

I learned every chord I could,

majors, minors, sharps, and flats.

She shrieked along while I played.

She was like the Yoko Ono of cats.

Eventually the harsh truth hit me.

It became all too clear

that she was not singing along.

My playing was painful to her ears.

I gave up the guitar and she was happy.

She spent her days purring on my bed

While I sat quietly at my desk

writing poetry instead. - Jeff Barnes

Contrast

It's less impressive
than how the cannons
in the 1812 Overture
added a cadence of destruction

The songs of the birds

flow through the backyard

punctuated by sounds

of the neighbors' construction. - Jeff Barnes

Dad

I never lived my life
the way you wanted me to.
I was determined to be myself
and not at all like you.

I was never the son

you wanted me to be.

now you are a box of ashes

forever unclaimed by me. - Jeff Barnes

Caleb Cabotage

Caleb Cabotage's head is made of cabbage
and he has a big strawberry for a nose.
He has a taco shell for a mouth
and he wears flour tortillas as clothes.

He has pierogis for ears

and spaghetti for his hair.

He rubs tomato sauce in it

when he wants to look debonair.

His hands are fingered citron

and he loves to play the cello.

His eyes are two big lemon slices.

He sees the world in shades of yellow.

He's got licorice sticks for his arms and legs,

so he is quite agile and wiry.

Onions and peppers are his favorite foods,

hence his breath tends to be rather fiery.

He has slices of pizza for his feet

and a giant pumpkin for a torso.

He's not quite sure of his weight

but estimates it at 200 pounds or so.

He has a top hat and walking stick.

On strolls he is quite jaunty looking.

But when he stays in the sun too long

it smells like the whole neighborhood is cooking. - Jeff Barnes

1969

I stood on the bridge to watch
white boats on a river of wine.
It was 1969.
A warm breeze was blowing.
I wanted to go where they were going.

Nobody knew where I was

and I didn't want them to know.

I just wanted to go.

I didn't want anyone to wake me

before the white boats could take me.

I was ten years old

looking up at the earthshine.

It was 1969.

I wondered about planets orbiting the stars

and said, "I want to be where they are."

I stood in the backyard at night

and watched the lights of an airplane in flight,

wishing it were a spaceship

that could take me to where it was going,

someplace beyond my knowing.

I looked at the hills in the distance

as dusk was falling.

I imagined voices calling.

Every day I waited in vain for a sign.

It was 1969. - Jeff Barnes

The Other Conqueror Worm (with apologies to Edgar Allan Poe)

We sat in the crowded theatre
waiting for the curtain to rise.
We came to see a play about a man
who wrongly believed himself wise.

And as the show got started

we heard his daughter's tale

of how he used a chainsaw

to cut off the head of a beached whale,

and his own retelling of how

he thought it would be a lark

to put the body of a dead bear cub

on a bicycle in Central Park.

This play is a prime example

of theatre of the bizarre,

whose main character disdains science

and yet is head of the HHR.

He sits proudly among his colleagues

all of them scoundrels and  knaves.

If his father could see him now

he would be spinning in his grave.

Beware the damage this man might do

before the end of his term,

for the play is the tragedy "RFK, Jr."

and its hero the Conqueror Brainworm. - Jeff Barnes

Upside Down Bowie

I was fourteen,
in the passenger seat
of my older sister's
blue Volkswagen Beetle
on a curvy, hilly,
and wet Route 19
just outside of
Mount Morris, Pennsylvania.

David Bowie was on

the eight-track tape deck

when my sister

took a curve too fast.

I saw the countryside

go bottom up

and realized that

the car was rolling over.

It stopped just short

of going over

an embankment.

The Beetle was totaled

with shattered glass

and a caved-in roof.

My sister was unharmed

and I escaped with

a small cut and a bump

on my head.

I still flash back, sometimes,

to the moment when I saw,

through a cracking windshield,

the world turn upside down

accompanied by the cadence

of David Bowie

singing "Rebel, Rebel." - Jeff Barnes

Sebastian and Shiloh: A Silly Love Story

 When Sebastian first saw Shiloh she was riding a scooter
and wore her pet peacock on her head.
At that moment he wished to be her suitor
and hoped that someday they would wed.

He bowed to her and removed his purple bowler hat

which had an orange tulip growing out the top.

She told him she owned a high-tech laundromat

and he told her he owned a secondhand bookshop.

She introduced him to Smithers.

That was her peacock's name.

He told her he was in love with her

and hoped that she felt the same.

She said she liked men who were quirky and weird

and more than a little bit nutty.

Just then a sugar glider emerged from his beard.

Sebastian said, "This is Cosmo, my buddy."

That won Shiloh over right away

and she agreed that they should marry.

She said, "Let's do it on National Gorilla Suit Day,

which is the thirty-first of January."

They got married wearing gorilla suits

and served bananas at the wedding reception.

Their wedding night is the date they attribute

as the date of their child's conception.

Nine months later as a nightingale crooned

on a cloudless Halloween,

their daughter was born under the full moon

and so they named her Selene. - Jeff Barnes

April

 April Fool's Day
is the perfect herald
for this flighty month
when you might sweat
in your garden
or cocoon yourself
on an Easter
that feels more like
Christmas.
It's like a fickle child
or an unreliable friend,
a trickster spirit
or a volatile lover. - Jeff Barnes

What Land is This?

What land is this where the sun is green
and trees float in the sky,
where pink horses and purple rabbits
jump off mesas and fly,

where fish dance on the river's surface

just like tiny ballerinas,

and a frog poet sits on a rock

writing sonnets and sestinas,

where the moon sings ethereal songs

as the stars dance all around her,

and a giant blue cat watches for spaceships

hoping for a close encounter?

What land is this? Where is it?

I guess we'll never know.

Humans are not allowed there.

It's a place where we can't go. -Jeff Barnes

Haiku

Agitated cat
watches birds at the window.
Tail swings like a whip. - Jeff Barnes

Maggie

She's not a Holstein cow, she's a cat.
Her fur is a pattern of white and black.
She is quite nimble though she is fat.

She looks like she wears a Mickey Mouse hat.

Don't ever dare to give her any flack.

She's not a Holstein cow, she's a cat.

She's never caught a mouse or a rat.

She prefers cat treats as a snack.

She is quite nimble though she is fat.

She never leaves dead critters on the doormat.

She's never been one to mount an attack.

She's not a Holstein cow, she's a cat.

She can play up her cuteness. She has that down pat,

especially when she rolls on her back.

She is quite nimble though she is fat.

She jumps off the bed and comes down with a splat,

then runs down the hall as though it's a racetrack.

She's not a Holstein cow, she's a cat.

She is quite nimble though she is fat. - Jeff Barnes

The Misfit Merfolk

This is the realm of the misfit merfolk.
We have human legs and the heads of fish.
We don't do the butterfly or backstroke.

We don't freestyle or do the breaststroke.

Around our bodies the currents swish.

This is the realm of the misfit merfolk.

Neptune and Poseidon are the gods we invoke.

Under our feet we feel the sand squish.

We don't do the butterfly or backstroke.

Normal merfolk consider us a joke,

but to be great swimmers is not our wish.

This is the realm of the misfit merfolk.

We walk on two legs just like earth folk

while above our heads the normal merfolk whish.

We don't do the butterfly or backstroke.

We're not invited when the normal merfolk convoke.

They've always been elitist and standoffish. 

This is the realm of the misfit merfolk.

We don't do the butterfly or backstroke. - Jeff Barnes

Ed Wood vs. Ezra Pound

I'd rather watch a movie by Ed Wood
than read any of Ezra Pound's verse.
Film critics may say Ed's films are no good,
but I think Pound's poems are infinitely worse.

Tor Johnson was a better sidekick than Papiols,

though he wasn't what you'd call a jongleur.

He was not meant to play the degrading role

of minstrel to a bloodthirsty warmonger. 

Your "Cantos" aren't nearly as entertaining

as Bela Lugosi fighting an octopus in a swamp;

in fact, I find them quite tedious and draining,

overflowing with pretentiousness and pomp.

Find someone else to listen to your views on race.

I'll be watching "Plan 9 from Outer Space"! - Jeff Barnes

Projections

Maybe I'm projecting

but when I look 

at the woods out back

I feel the frustration

of the trees,

at being wet and still

leafless in the cold,

impatient for spring

to feel like spring,

not the tail end of winter.

Or possibly I've got it wrong

and they are in no hurry.

Perhaps they, like me,

are just reluctant to wake up

and anticipate their blooming

with the same disinclination

I have to rise when
the alarm clock rings. - Jeff Barnes 

Just Before Easter

The sky is clear and cheerful

garnished with a calm breeze.

Plastic eggs in various colors

hang on the bare branches of trees.

The air is a little bit snappy,

though the day is bright and sunny.

All around the lawns are adorned

with inflatable smiling bunnies.

Seasonal flags hang on houses

all up the street and down

as trim lawns cover the mean-spirited

underside of this town. - Jeff Barnes

October Ghazal

I was born on a rainy day in October,
specifically Halloween, the climax of October.

Every year I suffer the hot summer,

impatiently awaiting the dawn of October.

When I wake up on the first of November
I've left my spirit to dwell in October.

I surround myself with Halloween decor.

All year long I live in my own October.

Every autumn equinox I feel an awakening

and know I will be fully alive in October. - Jeff Barnes

Why I Can't Be a Song

To be a song
|would require me to be open
and accessible to anyone
who happened to be around,

to shed all inhibitions

like a streaker running down

a busy street,

to leave my place

of comfort and flow

out into the open,

emerging from who knows

how may speakers in who knows

how many homes, cars,

PA systems, music venues,
you name it.

I could never

impose on people

in such a way.

I prefer to be like a poem

or story in a forgotten book

on a dusty shelf,

waiting for someone

to seek me out

or, finding me by chance,

consider it a happy accident. - Jeff Barnes

Orange

I still smile
when I think of a whimsical
picture done in crayon
I saw years ago,
depicting you as the sun
rising or setting, who know which,
over city buildings,
dyeing the sky
various shades of your color,

and as I hold you

in my hand I can't help

but imagine you that way,

cliched though it may be,

as a little sun.

Under your skin you are

soft and yielding,

your taste a little burst

of madness flowing over

my tongue, and as I think of

that silly old picture

some of your juice

comes out my nose

as I gurgle with laughter. - Jeff Barnes

Haiku

Like a fast food joint --
gobble up and go away!
My wife's bird feeder. - Jeff Barnes

Laughing Buddhas

The big black one
brings memories
of my fat black cat,
the gentlest pet
I ever had.

Four on a pop art poster

smile at me from the wall

as I sit on the couch and read.

One astride an elephant

reminds me not to be

fixed in place,

while the one on the dashboard

bobs his head to the music

as I drive down the highway.

Two sit on shelves

with their walking sticks

and bags of who knows what,

as they guard all my books

and various curios,

while the faux jade one

sits on the dresser

and glows in the dark,

happy to be a lodestar 

who sees us through

the night. - Jeff Barnes

Verse Things Waiting

I couldn't be a psychologist
because I'm the one who's crazy,
nor could I be a manual laborer
for I am weak and lazy.

I wish I had been born

a rich lady's spoiled black cat.

I'd love to be a ghost in a haunted house,

but I'd have to be dead for that.

I've worked at all sorts of jobs

but I never managed to fit in.

It might be nice to be a vampire

but first I'd have go get bitten.

I couldn't be an engineer or accountant,

a teacher, a doctor, or a nurse.

The only thing I am qualified for

is writing silly verse. - Jeff Barnes

Turkey Buzzard

I thought you would have
noticed my approach but,
so absorbed were you in your meal
you didn't even look up
until I was almost upon you
and honked my horn,
catching an all too brief look
at the sweeping span of your black wings
and the redness of your comically menacing head
as you flew off to the side,
seemingly vexed at the interruption
rather than frightened at the prospect
of becoming roadkill yourself. - Jeff Barnes

Mr. Costello and Winnifred

Mr. Costello
is completely yellow.
He's quite a mellow fellow
who plays the cello
and loves lemon Jell-O.

He fell in love with Winnifred

who is completely red

and has a level head.

The two of them wed

and eventually bred.

They had a daughter who was not yellow like Mr. Costello,

nor was she red like Winnifred.

She was orange instead,

but since orange has no rhyme

they simply named her Clementine. - Jeff Barnes

Portrait of Elon

In his visage you won't find
a single tender feature,
not even the confused innocence
of Victor Frankenstein's creature.

All that I can see

in his shady smile

are the saliva-dripping teeth

of a hungry crocodile.

He's got the eyes of grifter

looking to con his next schmuck

and a character as soulless

as one of his Cybertrucks.

I suspect he's not really a member

of the human race

and that you will find a circuit board

if you peel away his face. - Jeff Barnes

How Mrs. Potato Head Got Her Groove Back

 

After years of therapy
and reading pop psychology books,
Mrs. Potato Head came to realize
that she was married
to a narcissist. 

Most people thought
that Mr. Potato Head was
a wonderful guy because
he had been amusing children for years,
unaware that he secretly despised them.

 

They might have been shocked to learn
that he had two sprouts of his own,
after his secret affair with the sweet potato
in the next row of the garden,
and afterwards he completely
disowned these tater tots and
would have nothing more to do
with their mother.

Years after they were married,
Mrs. Potato Head found out
about this indiscretion, but she 
forgave him because he was,
after all, a young spud whose lust
overpowered his judgment. 

And she kept on forgiving him
for his indiscretions,
his temper tantrums,
his petty tyranny
and his broken promises. 

But it was the neglect
that hurt the worst.
He liked to be seen
with her in public, and
in films and commercials
but only because she
made him look good.
People constantly
told them they were a cute couple
and that fed his ego. 

But in their private life
he ignored her most of the
time, preferring to
hang out with Oscar the Orange
and Pete the Pepper,
and more than once she caught him
ogling Cookie Cucumber and Katie Carrot. 

One day in October
she realized that she didn't need
him, and she decided to leave.
She packed up various
accessories -- shoes, extra mouths,
eyes, arms and everything that would
fit in her car, and she left. 

As she was driving
on a lonely stretch of highway
she saw something in
the distance -- a figure lying
on the gravel by the
guard rail.  She pulled over
and saw that it was a banana. 

She thought it might have been
tossed out of a car window
or fallen off a fruit truck. 

She rummaged through
her trunk, pulled out extra pairs
of eyes, ears, arms, legs
as well as a nose and mouth,
which she put on the banana. 

The banana breathed,
blinked his eyes, and smiled
at Mrs. Potato Head.
She smiled back at him
and they both kne
they had instantly fallen in love. 

She helped the banana,
whom she named Byron,
to his feet and into the
passenger seat of her car.
She got behind the steering wheel
and they drove off into their new life together. - Jeff Barnes