Ginsberg quote ………………………………...…………………………………………………………………...…..
Title poem Diet of a Madman ………………………..………………………………………………………….
Index ...…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………...…..
Index ……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….….
Cats …………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………...
There will come a time ……………………………………………………………………………………………….
Ravens in Colorado …………………………………………………………………………………………………….
White tail deer fly ……………………………………………………………………………………………………..
God waits …………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..
Change ……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..
The end ……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..
Some of the best ……………………………………………………………………………………………………….
Autumn eulogy ………………………………………………………………………………………………………….
Decades ago ……………………………………………………………………………………………………………...
Lakefront lights ………………………………………………………………………………………………………….
Twins ………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………...
Complied poetry ………………………………………………………………………………………………………..
Autumn & the big sleep to come ………………………………………………………………………….……
Three unrelated thoughts about snow ………………………………………………………………………
75 ties ……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….
Ukraine famine 1933 ………………………………………………………………………………………………...
Cicadas in July …………………………………………………………………………………………………………..
The face of God I recognize ……………………………………………………………………………………...
Sweet rain at long last ……………………………………………………………………………………………...
October moon ……………………………………………………………………………………………………………
Celebration ……………………………………………………………………………………………………………...
Small town ………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..
…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..
Home from Dayton after a long day ………………………………………………………………………….
Veil of tears, wall of mirrors ……………………………………………………………………………………..
If chainsaws were good medicine ……………………………………………………………………………..
Late …………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..
She …………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….
Come out to play ……………………………………………………………………………………………………...
Metaphor ………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….
Haiku ………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..
Creating order (part 1) ……………………………………………………………………………………………..
Creating order (part 2) ……………………………………………………………………………………………..
Train of thought ……………………………………………………………………………………………………….
Empathy …………………………………………………………………………………………………………………...
Roadkill ……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..
Lost child …………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..
He left for good this time …………………………………………………………………………………………..
The horse ………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….
Roadside after icestorm ………….……………………………………………………………………………...
City child …………………………………………………………………………………………………………………
Harvest moon rises ………………………………………………………………………………………………...
Snowfall 11/30/74 ………………………………………………………………………………………………….
Anything but ..………………………………………………………………………………………………………..
Death’s prairie ………………………………………………………………………………………………………..
Fish out of water …………………………………………………………………………………………………….
………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………...
Winter fog ……………………………………………………………………………………………………………...
Inheritance ……………………………………………………………………………………………………………..
The flock ………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..
Wash day
Ossuarium (the dream) ………………………………………………………………………………………….
Drunk again prairie schooner ………………………………………………………………………………...
Sad old place ………………………………………………………………………………………………………….
Bright leaves have fallen ………………………………………………………………………………………..
My attic retreat ……………………………………………………………………………………………………..
Vision ……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..
Depression ……………………………………………………………………………………………………………..
Ending …………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….
Hotel lobby ballerina ……………………………………………………………………………………………...
Walk to be alone …………………………………………………………………………………………………...
Michigan backroads ……………………………………………………………………………………………….
Groaning combine squats ……………………………………………………………………………………...
A shadow late in the day ……………………………………………………………………………………….. ………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..
The drive home ……………………………………………………………………………………………………...
Religion ……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………
Clarice …………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….
Back through North Star ………………………………………………………………………………………...
Ludlow falls …………………………………………………………………………………………………………….
I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness, starving hysterical naked, dragging themselves through the negro streets at dawn looking for an angry fix angelheaded hipsters burning for the ancient heavenly connection to the starry dynamo in the machinery of the night.
The whole reason for this collection, and for poetry in general, is to use a word image rather than digital photography (which has been the go-to medium of visual communication for me).
I hope to develop an indelible Polaroid in your head (pun intended); one that is completely of your own making, rather than the coaching of your brain with a graphic image. Poetry should be able to do this, as it has done, for as long a men and women have put their dreams to rock, parchment, 20lb bond or word processor.
Thank you for travelling with me. Rev. Sean
Diet of a Madman: a collection of poetry
Diet of a madman
Gin And Promises
Originally published in Broadside 1986
Diet of a Madman: a collection of poetry
Cats Sit Unblinking
Unperturbed as Egyptian Statuary
Whiskers are Thin quick Brushstrokes In white Light … On most Afternoons
From The front Window
Passersby Will notice
A Sphinx Smiling
Back in Stone:
Unperturbed as Egyptian Statuary.
There will come a time When? When it is my time; and
I will not be that surprised Because I have known for some Time; we all know.
It is not only inevitable But to be anticipated with joy ... yes, joy!
Time is not foe, not friend, but gift; Not because I tell myself this But because I was told this. I know this.
Yes, my body will cry out But my soul will have no secrets;
Sin will be erased & The chalk board of my life, finally wiped Pristine and green, will be Forever unblemished,
To be broken one last time Placed alongside Tablet pieces, And other sacred things, In the Holy of Holies. Of course ...
We know that no one knows the time (the Hour and the day, etc.) but the Father.
And who really wants to know; Who?
Diet of a Madman: a collection of poetry
Ravens in Colorado
Peck at the hood
Grille and windshield
Of a black Mercedes
As though deposing a rival.
We honk to dismiss, To make them Scatter
But no response, not a glance,
Just an homage to Poe:
Peck
Peck
Knock
Knock
At the Diamler parlor door; The dull metallic Scritching and scratching
Of beak and claw
Defacing paint and chrome.
White tail deer fly
Over backroad fencing while Meadows sleep like children.
God waits long for me Patiently on the corner Of my next decision.
Change
What cannot actually be seen As it unfolds …
The drying of a butterfly’s wing In the morning sun
Or
The hand of God As He cups a broken heart.
The end
Bad things will continue to happen:
The land will shrivel on our watch Eve will be reborn without a womb
The Serpent will stand tall for a time Regaining his slippery gift of gab; He will ring the closing bell on Wall Street Waxing poetic about hedging on apple futures,
And yes, we will take another Bite … a much bigger bite this time.
Some of the best Days Are overcast days melancholy
To the causal observer
But peaceful in their neutrality and solitude
To those of us with an ascetic's heart .
We seek out the hidden places
Warm to the touch
Where offering and plate come Together as one gift, one meal;
Where oolong tea and November clouds Give way to
Lawns covered in deep brown decay, Clogged sewers, relentless north winds & dead batteries.
And then there are those places, with dens deep and dark Where the snow is deeper and the ice thicker
Winter longer (two can get warm but one cannot).
And then at daybreak
Women emerge one by one On the first blue sky day of spring
Pregnant and full of choices.
Diet of a Madman: a collection of poetry
Autumn eulogy
Burning pine
Hangs sweet and dense
Above meadows, and in the hollows
Like incense ...
Levitating just above the rain-bent corn
It is the smell of well-being, The providence of hard work.
Decades ago
Leaves fall through The metallic chill
Of long October nights
Passing second story
Porches
Silent as goose-down; Silky black cats
Diet of a Madman: a collection of poetry Originally
Diet of a Madman: a collection of poetry
Lakefront lights
Waxy pink
Clamshells Cup
Cultured
Electric pearls;
Necklace of Slick
Dimestore
Paste
Dangling clicking
Like dentures
Between Twilight’s blazing
Fabric
And midnight’s Deep satin
Cleavage: Satellite warriors
Wage war against the Night
Piercing the darkness again & again
Releasing our souls
To the wind.
Twins
When she died You were only hours old Too young to understand
Or so they assumed.
As it was You lived Only half a life
Killing yourself
Ten times faster than the Reaper Could ever hope to:
Day by day
Cigarette by cigarette
Pill by pill
Not believing you deserved to live Not having the hope Of salvation No saving grace
Unable to end it quickly enough
Unaware (or so they said)
That death
Grew Inside you
Like a twin.
Compiled Poetry
I don’t sleep much Rolling over and over Bones in the sheets Ghosts with sharp edges They wake me;
Seeds in the rye are Bitter but necessary;
Things that use to cure Now make me sick;
My head is in the heavens Feet held to the fire
My legs melt in the black flames That encase them like Diabolical trousers;
Each shovel-full of anxiety
Fills the hole in my soul with Dirt that buries
The angel sent to protect me;
Swimming in the darkness
With tired friends
Only assures you and me of drowning
Together.
Autumn & the big sleep to come
The Honey-pink liquid heat of summer, Cupped like a reservoir of Forever possibilities, Overflows the white-gloved hands Of the young.
Agitated bees return to each Shriveling pool of clover
Afraid in the way only bees are afraid That the emerald green oasis they are mining
May be the last, May only be a mirage.
They work feverishly, making a beeline
Dipping
Swaying
Intoxicated
With Indian summer
Preparing for the big sleep,
Preparing ...
3 Unrelated thoughts about snow
In the crisp distance
Between an opal sun & glistening black fields
The ephemeral ghosts of winter
Rise up against a cobalt sky
Carried off by maverick thermals On galloping steeds of gold.
Sheets of wooly snow
Slip down the hoods Of cars left out Overnight
Like lard
Off the griddle At a Westside Bar & grille.
Daffodils and narcissus
Blossom like young women
In their slat of afternoon sun … Patches of immaculate snow
Lie undefiled
In the shadows.
Diet of a Madman: a collection of poetry
75 ties
Collecting ties
With compulsive zeal
From Sears
The Salvation Army
Thrift shops
K-mart
A retired preacher:
He especially cherished the Sleek maroon 100% Italian silk
That caressed His un-collared neck
Like a perverse knotted serpent,
So it was really No surprise
When his ex-wife discovered Him gently swaying
From a hot water pipe In the basement Of her townhouse
Eyes upturned
Open weirdly wide
Straining to watch His beloved pet,
A forever smirk Pulled tautly across his purple face.
Originally published in Explorations 1988
Diet of a Madman: a collection of poetry
Ukraine famine 1933
Shriveled bodies
Stacked
Cordwood
Knotholes
Cosmic windows
The soul stares
Blindly
Unblinking pathos
Thick snow
Blanket
Numbing cold
Frozen tears
Blue skin sags
Rats grow Bold.
Originally published in the G.W. REVIEW 1987
Diet of a Madman: a collection of poetry
Cicadas in July
They sing little girls to sleep
First in maple trees overhead
Then in pines across the street;
Like a tattoo
The sharp staccato
Eventually Becomes a purring, a cadence A numbing peace
That hypnotizes, lulls & Wakes the moon
Ushering twilight into the wings Of birds gathering, flocks
To roost, and to silence ...
Another Ohio summer Is finally on the wane.
The face of God I recognize The Dark-eyed Emmanuel.
I know this face Without seeing
Having once spotted it Eyes closed tight At the end of the universe. This was my grade school attempt To know the unknowable Having glimpsed divine mystery In the gentle doomed face Of John Matthews.
Oh, Lamb of God White as the overspray Of a million Constellations, Your life blood Courses without fail Through rock Flesh & the olive tree, Your Spirit is The Hero With a thousand Faces.
Sweet rain at long last Comes in the heat of the day … Dust fires sputter and die.
Diet of a Madman: a collection of poetry
October Moon Diana Spreads her Gown Except In the shadows Where frost Is Black Sparkling lace
Distant lightning Claws At the horizon Crackling Like Broken bone Hookah winds Rush Out of a clear Night Sky Thin Glass moon Spills
Her flaxen Light On those Who Bring marshmallows To Hell. Originally published in Seems 1989
Diet of a Madman: a collection of poetry
Celebration (for Steve Early)
Tucking our shorts And clean white T’s In shallow sandbox graves,
We ran through the shaded backyards And the alleys of my Plum Street boyhood
Dogs without collars kites without strings
Living our Genesis and leaving it far behind In the apple-red knowledge of our flesh:
Brief was our innocence Departed was the world, all Lost in the shadows and the light.
Hand me that stack of Polaroids, Steve, The ones that old man Armstrong took;
Now, deal me a memory, Pull a rabbit
From your Hat.
Remember? We were just little boys then; and It was pure magic.
We were naked, unafraid, and so very much alive.
Originally published in Seems 1989
Diet of a Madman: a collection of poetry
Small town
Homage to Twin Peaks
Go to church In Laura; Sit straight
As a pitchfork handle. (make believe)
Pious veneer
For the record will Cover the last Ten miles Of bad road
Like an expensive 3-piece Suit
Covers true evil
In our midst. (the owls)
Watch the choir Proceed
Like a scarlet-robed parade Of beautiful children
Pooling itself
Transformed Behind the Altar …
Sing Negro spirituals with feeling
In the best white Small town Tradition. (and the pines)
Sit in the back pew (it’s Bob)
Eyes closed so
Tight that Retinas are a kaleidoscope
When turned toward Sun
Stained glass
And the kneeling Christ.
Then the freedom (coffee black and cherry pie)
The solitude
The peace
The primitive
Choral harmonies, and Finally the slipping away Into a Sunday place
That polishes
Jagged edges
Like a high mountain stream ...
But, wake up! (the plastic, the body)
Pass the plate now
Recite the doxology & benediction
Scatter the beautiful children
To the morning
To the streets
To the cafes
To the wind (fire, walk with me)
And to the owls
In the pines.
Home from Dayton after a long day
Pair after pair of red lights Fall into line behind us
Tracing urban corridors
Like neon chemo
Travelling thru blackened arteries; A new age city-spirit Organizes itself into clusters Of luminescence and pure color
To arouse, to tempt …
Constellations of signs & billboards
And signs of yet more signs
Create a chaos worthy of You, a single cell That grew into the Lure of the metroplex.
Others pass by in their Opposite-direction-time-capsules
Crouching, aiming to pierce, to punctuate the night
Hoping to arrive somewhere
Anywhere meaningful
By morning,
While we flee from it
Pretending we are deep space voyagers
Expelled from a dying planet
Like cosmic debris blown
Into the outer most places … space junk ...
Truly grateful, transformed.
Veil of tears, wall of mirrors
Half-smoked pack of Marlboros Nestled in the shadow Of a crooked smile; Cold Indonesian coffee Settles dark and heavy In the belly of an old Clay mug.
My bad luck this morning Is living in a house full of mirrors With no powder to snort No pills tucked away:
Wake up, wake up I am a whore now A door to door whore
Going wherever the Jones go Trying to keep up With them, panting, breathless Even as the corridors I wander Fade to black And worse.
Skeletons (so many of them crammed) In my closet have come to life, creaking, Clicking their false teeth, hungry as hell Reaching with impunity through my own sad creation … A veil of tears, gilded with a false repentance.
The dry bones clamor for yet another piece of the me, some new part; But no, it’s mine to keep this time.
I choose life.
If chainsaws were good medicine
If the cure Could be applied
To long-dead trees
Hardened with neglect, Those strangled by Poisonous vines
Big around
As a hod carrier’s wrist,
Then we considered it along with the wisest, and the Worst, the unmentionable, and then the unthinkable
Yes, even using chainsaws
As you lay in your bed
Wanting to, and then, vomiting over and over From weeks of chemo
The same vines growing Inside you.
Late
November rain
No overcoat
Again Standing
Bent
Flashlight in hand
Umbrella
For a small black puppy
Waiting for Nature to call Louder, please
Long underwear & Slippers
No match
For dark & Damp.
Diet of a Madman: a collection of poetry Originally
She Greasy lipstick smeared Across her ghost-white face Is A twisted, blood-red rose.
This is how it looks Sometimes When you No longer recognize Your children.
Come out to play
Miami County backroads glisten
In the milky white of an autumn moon-bath Miles of twisted ribbon hold firm the cool terrain
Hypnotic and treacherous
In unannounced S-curves Veering into the shiny obsidian Of a deep October night:
The midnight breezes Of late Indian summer
Are thick with fallen oak and walnut, Benign whirlwinds Are atmospheric knotholes, Eddies of the cosmic dream state;
Brown curled hulls of fallen leaves Become the mottled bodies Of summer toads, fat and motionless, On an asphalt mirage.
Before the tired eyes of an hallucinating driver Shapechangers come out to play.
Originally published in Nexus 1988
Metaphor
Somewhere west Of Milton’s lost paradise
In a town full of wasps, old ways And as of yet undefiled young minds,
Children who, for now, disobey Their parents and take off their hats & scarves, Faces blotched red and pink From brisk mid-March breezes, Poke cautiously, curiously, innocently, At a broken and dying blackbird Moaning its last on the curb.
Whether it was hit in a drive by or was dying Of “natural causes” they would never know.
Probing gently and then roughly, then gently With fingers and sticks, expecting to be pecked or bitten,
Little minds were trying to make sense of this Thing up close. No, it was not at all like the church doves They had seen, but not dangerous, either.
So, it was not the differences that made This particular blackbird interesting But its eyes that seemed to say, “I am human, too.”
Originally published in Blue Light Review 1987
Creating order (part 1)
Spend a whole day
In the cool November sun
Piling stones
Taking them up to the now-withered beds
Lining them up
Straight
Edges conforming to one another
Creating a border
Where the line of demarcation
Rock to lawn to rock
Grows fainter
With each freeze and thaw.
Creating order
Is something we need to do,
A natural repetition
A mindful activity
A primitive therapy,
Stones side by side
End to end
Skulls of our ancestors
Staring back
Through the void of our souls
Stoned, relentless in vain striving
We peel back the old flesh, adding
Eyes to the empty sockets
Hoping that just maybe
We will close our eyes one day for good
& lock gazes with God, Himself.
Diet of a Madman: a collection of poetry
Creating order (part 2)
Close our eyes
Opening them to darkness
The darkness of a clear night sky
A lantern of stars
Where constellations
Are the skulls of our ancestors
So far away from us that we have forgotten Their faces;
We cannot make out their features But we know they look back
In the way time folds in upon itself
Like a clamshell of Einstein’s own making
Peering back from Orion the Hunter
Cygnus the Swan
The 14 eyes of the Seven Sisters
Puzzled at what we cannot see:
The many faces of God
That watch the stars
The stars that are skulls
The skulls that are rocks
The rocks that are loaves lined up
Side by side
To create order.
Diet of a Madman: a collection of poetry
Train of thought
Half-asleep
Awakened by whispering;
Take them to bed
She says Pinching my thigh
“you will get yours
Later,” she laughs
While I grumble about Middle class slavery
And before-bed buffets …
I seriously Reconsider
The isolated freedom
Of a 14th story
Single room, Empty with cot & bedroll
High atop the YMCA building
In downtown Dayton
Alone with the wind, Terra cotta roof, and Lightning rod bent
Ever so slightly by the hand of God.
Even traffic
Keeps its distance
Muzzled
By cool stone
Impenetrable
On hot summer Nights. Originally published in Riverrun 1994
Empathy ( fire at a homeless shelter)
Leave me cold In ivory tower garments
Furniture for anatomy
Doors closed
Satellites convey The Message
Something for everyone
Alabaster tears
Crinoline laughter
Deadflower bouquet
Vicarious giving Bread seekers
Doorstep is an upgrade
Glad to help, now leave To ratholes
YMCA
St. Vincent’s Where fires cleanse
No one brings marshmallows In hell.
Diet of a Madman: a collection of poetry Originally
Diet of a Madman: a collection of poetry
Roadkill
Methane fat
Balloons of death
Wobble in ditches
Or middle of the road:
Furry pancakes
Fester in the afternoon sun
Pointing all fours
Skyward pop, pop, pop, pop
Stiff as table legs
At the Last Supper
Reaching
All the way to St. Francis …
Stinking & churning, Gurgling & bubbling, Black asphalt afternoons
Launch their revenge
Against heavy metal Dreamers, and Bleach-blonde motor Heads.
Diet of a Madman: a collection of poetry
Lost Child
Searching still for that Eldorado …
A golden opportunity
A silken womb
A padded cell Of quilted darkness:
Fresh blood fills
A ritual basin, Scribbled epitaphs adorn The bedroom walls
Beneath the darkest places in your head;
You, oh Oedipus’ Son, have fallen headlong Impaled on your mother’s solemn oath.
By now she is blissfully unaware, Out of it on Quaaludes, And you are suffering alone.
Stop bleeding on me Find meaning
Get a life in the now … because …
As much as you hate it on the outside Even a pilgrimage on your knees, Across acres of broken glass, Will not alter the past Nor bring you back To the watery Grave You seek.
He left for good this time Not reaching out to anyone … Death was his surprise.
Diet of a Madman: a collection of poetry
The
horse
Across a dark plain Eden’s thundering herd Burst through a wall Of primordial dust, The long-awaited gift, A prayer answered By spirits of the blue faraway ...
Hunting dogs On long stick legs
Originally
Diet of a Madman: a collection of poetry
Roadside after icestorm
Olive limbs jut
Broken off
Empty coat sleeves;
Dylan on cassette
All Along the Watchtower, Acoustic afternoon
After all. Brown sky
Sags lower and lower
Pregnant with wind, And blackbirds
Gathering
On telephone wires;
Thin ice
Drapes
Over plowed fields Like a dull mirror.
Cows wait;
Farmer John
Sits on a wooden stool
In a white barn
Pulling milk
By hand.
City Child
Moon so bright
As a snowman’s heart
Platinum luster
Shadows deep
In Tulgey Wood
Where things are not What they seem
… go ask Alice
Hookah winds
Rush out Of a clear night sky
Stars collide And glitter falls
To the ground
In an old whore’s dream
City child
Crowned with light Walks the street Alone.
Diet of a Madman: a collection of poetry
Harvest moon rises In the shadow of a scarecrow … Summer’s door clicks shut.
Diet of a Madman: a collection of poetry
Snowfall 11/30/74
Snow came in flocks
For the first time
Spreading their wings
Alighting
Perching so close together
On every blade of grass
On every crack in the sidewalk
On every windshield
On every curb and gutter
On every rooftop
On themselves
On us.
Anything but
He lay motionless for a time, Listening to sirens fading In the suburbs
Fading and then gone,
Feeling the curtains
Barely move across the hairs on his wrist in perfect response
To what was left of an evening breeze,
Staring at the blistered ceiling
Trying in vain to find an image of Jesus or maybe even An angel
Anything but the same Tired old brown watermarks and Constellations of fly shit.
Death’s prairie
Bless your scattered dead With eagle feathers; Consecrate the ravaged earth Where bones of your fathers lie Exposed to the brittle cold.
New-age medicine man
In golden herringbone tweed
Let your hair grow twisted in the wind
Braided by the eagle’s claw …
While tears of the Great Father Rain down on your ceremony
Silent as a proud man’s pain
Silent as a deaf god’s ear.
On the cluttered wall of a souvenir shop
Nestled on the river’s southern shore
Hangs the bleached skeleton of a young Indian warrior
Displayed like big game ‘long side the beer.
Diet of a Madman: a collection of poetry
Fish out of water
My willow-eyed mistress Of the morning
Weeping For Me
Drenched in tears
Weeping
Because I hurt her
In my own
Quest For Pain
Grating Like
Sand on teeth
The slow
Drying movement Of walking On New legs
Saffron eyes Become Opal
Stones dipped In Blue
Unable to cry Except In anger
And she becomes Angry In selfDefense Her hair Breaks Out in blue
Fire
Arms and legs
Ignite Pressing
To the center Of her Being I cannot Put her Out I cannot Swim In thin Air I cannot.
Winter fog
Watching it flow is mesmerizing, hypnotic:
Thick brown water flows, not in gallons But in cubic flatbeds, creek loads Of tree trunks, buckets & tires and much, much more.
Grumbling and gurgling it parts its banks
Passing under the bridge and rising up Like a muddy Moses
Swelling out of itself consuming All ditches and low lying fields.
A frozen fog lifts out of it and then falls Back onto twigs & branches, itself, Dried grass and mangled cattails
As wave after wave of tiny sparkling skeletons
Dissolve in the headlights
Melting on contact with my hands and face
Imitating starfire
And finely ground blue-bottle glass.
Diet of a Madman: a collection of poetry
Inheritance
I inherited my mother’s personal hell …
The black, the gray
The silence
The cycles of depression And mania
The nothing That begets less than Nothing.
Coming and going With Doppler precision
Sanity runs
Right along the brink of disaster Like an ambulance chaser
Hungry for pizza And the extra Cash.
The first fruits of reason Have dropped To a sullen earth
Overripe
Collapsing
Teeming with dread.
I am afraid that my heart Is only a Jarvik
Cold, mechanical, distant
A thoughtless remark, a fake, A stone in the wind.
Originally published in Rambunctious Review 1990
Diet of a Madman: a collection of poetry
The flock or “my addiction”
Blackbird flies across barren time
Casting shadows
On the golden jewel of a memory …
One of the phantom flock That drove Van Gogh Finally mad.
Thick funnel of feathers, beaks and darkness Surrounds me in a cloak of exits; Neon death
A last soft escape.
Heavy breathing, Heart bloated with desire, That same old feeling returns.
Quills of reason fall to the ground, Useless shards of genius thwarted, Dulled by the leaden armor of self-indulgence.
I must consume everything, cannibal that I am, Chewing beaks like popcorn, Preening my teeth with glossy black feathers, Sucking on entrails, shooting eyeballs, Using assholes for hatbands …
Casting shadows.
Diet of a Madman: a collection of poetry
Wash day
Bleached bedsheets
Clorox bright
Flap like sails
Over a dry riverbed
No different Than shadows on Blue water
Except for the water ...
Diet of a Madman: a collection of poetry
Ossuarium (the dream)
In a suburban front yard
Lined with marigolds and petunias
A ten year old blue spruce Bursts into flames.
In the old county hospital
A dying man
Takes his last breath
While his own ashes rain down Around him.
In a forgotten cemetery
At the edge of town
That same old man, now young and handsome Wears a fine tuxedo
Stands ankle-deep in water
As he kisses his lover
Through a red silk undergarment …
All around him in a musty swell Skeletons from the old township
Begin to dance
Making frangible noises
Like dry twigs & broken wicker furniture;
Unborn children
Wriggle down through the dank confines Of their own slender ossuaries
Unborn, dry as a bone
Time and time again.
Drunk again prairie schooner
Its hope were higher Dreams brighter Wheels rounder
And spokes thicker Than anyone had a right to expect.
Like a vessel Titanic-perfect Found shipwrecked and Deserted Among Ghost towns and busted out saloons,
Undergrowth and strong prairie winds Had begun to blot it out altogether Except for the fond memories And poor investments
Of those who had Such high Hopes.
Sad old place
It was melancholy
For lack of simple care and attention;
Nostalgic skeletons Of a more romantic age Still rattled in a strong wind.
The rose-gilded lane was still there Albeit, overrun by violet pigweed And scarlet peony …
Most of the climber had ceased to flower But here and there a salmon bud Exploded in the tangle;
A pea-green corn spider Scooted to the outside of a similarly tinted Nettle,
Her two sets of overly protracted arms Reached into thin air
Patiently waiting, yearning, for that fatal pax de deux Of prey and predator, Dinner and diner.
Originally published in Grand Lake Review 1997
Diet of a Madman: a collection of poetry
Bright leaves have fallen On tired lawns and crumbling sidewalks … Sweet smoke fills the air.
Diet of a Madman: a collection of poetry
My attic retreat a poet’s lament
Under the naked gaze
Of a wrought iron desk lamp
Bleached hulls of mayflies
Pile up deep as electrocuted sparrows
Accumulating one death after another Throughout the summer
Phoenix-patterned wool blankets
Nailed to black window frames Grow heavy & dank
After an early morning downpour
While a fat yellow sun begins to rise Already somewhat indistinct Behind the dense mulberry haze ...
Only this pile of words chaff not wheat And a failing marriage To show for it ...
Vision
Day so still and clear, A Wyeth framed In steel Factory windows: One blue heron stands motionless Poised like a slingshot In the river
Below the Dam.
Diet of a Madman: a collection of poetry
Depression
Moon shines useless In its bed of trees; Crickets forget their song.
Ending
Mom lies in state
Completely quiet now
Her hand is not ice cold, but cold enough And unresponsive; I hold it anyway
Afraid she might slip away
While I think this through One last time.
I mutter a silent prayer at the casket, A monologue really, About Frank Sinatra, Matt Monroe, Simon and Garfunkel, The Serfs, Judy Garland, And all the other crazy conglomeration of stuff she Fed me along the way.
Oh, she and dad let me explore … a lot ...
Even if my teachers saw a problem in the works, Those were my wonder years When tomato horn worms
Meant a good crop & Cecropia caterpillars
Were plucked like righteous fruit
From the full-blown maples
That adorned our suburban Ohio landscape.
I had so many jewels in my crown; and then there was always hope. It was a time when fields were there to run in Because they were endless; And fossils, like their diamond cousins, Were always in the ground waiting If I wanted to dig all day
For them. That was before 19 and 64.
Hotel lobby ballerina
Alabaster figurine
Back toward me, arrow straight
Feet @ a perfect 45
Flanked by blinking digitals
Dayton Time … 10:46 P.M.
San Francisco Time … 7:46 P.M.
I light a thin cigarette
Brush ashes from my pin-stripe vest And sink elbow-deep into the plush cerulean furniture And watch:
She glissades to a cigar and menu counter
Perpendicular to my unobstructed view
Glances for approval
I pretend not to notice but I do
Bending at the waist
She unlaces a calf-high leather boot
Eyelet by eyelet all 24 Till it falls to the floor
Like a program on opening night
Lifting a slender, well-boned foot, And curling her flawless painted toes
She presses down hard on the cold marble floor Getting reacquainted with truth and the dance ...
She eases into a golden slipper a second shimmering skin And unbeknownst to her oblivious guests
She strikes a perfect Arabesque Undetected all the while.
Walk to be alone
Bowling Green, Oh 1973
Walk on The hardened snow
Neon drifts
Bow to the east
White Mecca
Cyclone wind
Laid flat, polished
Blanket of stinging
Cold Compound halogen eyes
Pyramids of light
Refracted;
House of mirrors
Glistening windows
Of frozen blacktop
Acres of dark turf
Sea of folded chairs
Echoes thrown
Hang in mid-air
The perfect bomb
Hail Mary!
Michigan backroads
Hours spent Testing the shocks
On chuck-holed Michigan backroads.
Endless snaking miles
Of lush thicket and maple
Span the dead zone between acres of short corn And cherry orchards;
Driftwood tree trunks
Washed ashore on a Van Buren County nowhere
Attract dwarf marigolds and white picket fences
Faster than retirees can say, “bingo.”
Diet of a Madman: a collection of poetry
Groaning combine squats
Axle-deep in mud and beans … Tractor wheel clouds roll overhead.
Diet of a Madman: a collection of poetry
A shadow late in the day
Mint chocolate-chip for the girls and me At Hart’s Country Stop; And then a stroll Down Roarke’s Alley, The one that runs left off of Pike Street In Laura.
It was a walk back in time, my time, and So easy to remember Those unattended, overgrown Passageways winding through the blurred Landscape of a more Innocent age … When a warm embrace cost nothing but A pleasant memory.
It was then, through the blinding sun That an old and tarnished gentleman Disguised as A golden retriever, Coat threadbare and unkempt, Began to follow us Like a shadow late in the day.
We slowed to an uncertain stop Unsure of intentions all of us As he came to inspect With a moist wrinkled nose And watery Clouded Eyes.
Diet of a Madman: a collection of poetry
We conversed in sign
With gentle hands, calloused paws, everything at once, Of moons that rose Sons that fell, of what had been And what can never be, not ever again.
But, nature soon spoke louder than we So our shaggy friend
Shivered, squinted, And set his sights;
Growling a brief Farewell
He made short work
Of a telephone pole, then Shook a leg goodbye.
Rewind the reel to reel …
Deeper down the alley
I was struck by the intensity
Of recall as the faceless opaque
Sun that once warmed us fell to the ground, scribbling
Penciling in cool gray shadows
Between slats of thick yellow light;
The bleached weathered facades
Of this alley ghost town
Seemed so very familiar
Looming toward us
Bearing the weight of a thousand memories, or more Windows blank, unblinking
And garage doors slung open
Across rusted tracks
Of someone’s broken dreams. Mine
Diet of a Madman: a collection of poetry
There exists a musty attic
Somewhere behind the weathered
Bone-colored siding
Where thrice folded newspapers
Carry a 1955 dateline
Accumulating in gigantic brittle
Heaps
Yellowed with age
Stacked in corners, ceiling high;
Bats still clung to unhewn beams
Like memories
In storage, fat with fear
Frozen solid in the mind’s Eye
Of a skinny, blonde-haired boy
Tanned from the fields, An alien on his own Street … Plum Street … Troy, Ohio;
Afraid of the bats, yes, but more so
The boys down the block
Who chased him home
Up into the attic
Called him names And forced him
Into a world of his own making
A gentle and faraway place
Full of butterflies and tall flowers.
But that was then
And this is now;
I shook my head, called to my daughters And tried to spot
That old retriever
Diet of a Madman: a collection of poetry
And I did. The old man was sitting crosslegged In the waning daylight, waiting For his master, patiently Seven houses back Barely visible in the deepening blue shadows.
And then he became one with them, One more shadow Cast within a shadow Late in the day.
Note: This poem is highly modified, and for a reason. I wrote it when I was half the age I am today which is 60. As such I have had plenty of time to reflect, and to layer the poem with incidents or strata from at least 3 different periods in my life.
As with theoretical physics I was able to bend and compress the timeline of events so that my own recollection is retained while certain times and places were compressed and intertwined … with the exception of the beginning in Laura and the trip down Roarke’s Alley as we called it. That part is as it was, and was the stepping off point for me that afternoon late in the summertime of southwestern Ohio.
Originally published in Ohio Poetry Day Contest Awards 1986 Lewis & Anna Ryman Memorial Award First prize
Diet of a Madman: a collection of poetry
Homeless (Lyn Lifshin style)
A dream, A nightmare
A study in compassion?
Kicked out
No where to go
Not even a camera
To my Name
O God
Everything gone
Including
My name
Who am I?
I said I can’t
Remember
Walk to mom’s place
And she’s already dead
I know it
But this time
Evicted
Everything I knew
Gone
Walk a levee
Toward
A make-believe city
Looks like Troy
Feels like Hamilton
Must be Middletown
Somewhere
Between here and there
Bullied out of my
Belongings
No clothes cold
But the rags wet
On my skinny frame
Homeless
I know it
Everything sold
To feed
The beasts
They have teeth
And they want
To hurt
Me
Again
I know it
But can’t remember
Why Only place is Hope House
Hope House
Found it I hope
I said I can’t remember
Intake done
No one knows me
Unrecognizable
No bedroll
Just a cot
Failed some stupid
Questionnaire
Wrong answer
I am nobody
Can’t follow
Directions
O God
How did this Happen?
I want to cry
Really do
But can’t remember
How.
Diet of a Madman: a collection of poetry
The Drive home
Rushing headlong
Through Space
Tires skimming along Narrow roads Hydroplane smooth Asphalt everglades
Fireflies hurled toward And past … tiny meteors
In a tailspin:
Knee jerk reflex
Wanting to duck
As yellow spears of light Click on impact
Leaving finger Paths Of phosphorescence
Splayed
Across the windshield
Like shimmering jewels On the gloved hands Of a black-tie Night.
Originally published in Blue Light Review 1988
Advent of winter
A young man, pale and thin, Hides behind an apple-red barn
Pulling fragrant petals from the last rose of summer, Pulling brittle wings from Monarch butterflies Too frail to make the migration,
All the while smiling
All the while waiting
For jack-o-lanterns to be taken from a suburban porches, Crushed in the middle of the street, And tomatoes to rot to a slimy and pendulous perfection.
Diet of a Madman: a collection of poetry
Anhedonia
A place where the sun Will not shine, Where sex and symphonies
Are performed by robots Rendered in the exquisite likeness Of who we used to be …
Where gray is all that matters
Where beginnings and endings Are as pointless as broken shovels Where the intellect reigns supreme & the government is a puppet
Where the heart has long since Locked up from an overdose of self
And the soul runs screaming over a cliff Chasing its Annabel Lee
Over and over and over because This is hell ...
Diet of a Madman: a collection of poetry
Clarice
… fell asleep
In the russet warmth of a North Dakota Lignite sun
Winter squash continued to grow, uninterrupted Undersides pale as clouds
Ice cubes melted Rising to the surface of her honey-colored tea Like a halo of blind fishes
Shadows lengthened Slender black tributaries ran deep into late afternoon
She did not get up to thaw sausages for dinner
She did not acknowledge the brimstone sun As it plunged to the horizon, teetering on the rim of nightfall
Nor the rise of a perfect apricot moon.
Back through North Star
Curtain of rain
Lightning curses the afternoon sky
Tearing across like streaks of neon adrenaline
Splitting thunderheads stacked and dark with purpose
Travel home quickly, back through North Star
Trying to beat the rain
Seeking to catch a glimpse of the heritage I share With a young sharpshooter named Annie And the stories that surround the county
Before fame and fortune
Became her.
There were tales of locals, even Weaver relatives
Tossing coins in the air Cans and just about anything Miss Oakley could shoot backwards over her shoulder Or from the hip without even aiming.
Yes, I could see them all gathering in the dusty streets
Under the whitewashed and watchful silhouettes
Of God’s most favored steeples
All gilded with a golden light, the Hallmark version That all old family stories are bathed in ...
Eyes on the road, racing the wind, finally outrunning it Home again to a place well-remembered: Seven Oaks
A good place where new grass is a blanket of emerald fire
The sun shines platinum in its permanent station And Morel mushrooms populate Woodland sanctuaries
With a dense carpet of edible sponges.
Ludlow falls
Dad would spin donuts in the new fallen snow
Just once a year, blessing us all With his annual rite of youth and remembrance
Before we plowed headlong into the deep night
Secure in our time capsule, a ’65 beige VW;
Ever anxious to arrive
We sang Christmas carols, a cappella
At the tops of our little boy lungs
Still believing in white magic, The cold swirling kind That still gave birth to angels And snowmen.
At the falls blistered old firemen And wind-worn farmers
Kept solemn guard in their wool lined canvas coveralls, Huddled like characters in a dim Rembrandt
Close as possible to the sweet cleansing fire
Faces flickering orange to black
Over a sawed-off 55 gallon drum;
We warmed our hands
Singed our scarves
Stood with our backs to the stinging wind, While Dad carried the conversation
In a language we barely Understood.
Diet of a Madman: a collection of poetry
Our waterfall creaked and groaned In the bitter blinding cold
While tine rivulets of holy water
Ran unseen
Beneath its frozen mask;
Icicles smooth as dragons’ teeth
Reached all the way down Almost touching The swimming’ hole below …
A single strand of decorative lights, Muted by the snowy thick blanket, Pulsed forever red & green
Filling the air with crisp mint candy And the dreams Of faraway places In the pine.
Balloon Afternoon
They were the colors Of fruit-flavored popcorn
The kind we brought back from the mall In huge plastic bags
Teasing our tongues With the prospect of the next tart and crunchy Mouthful
Breathing new life, giving a new definition To the beautiful hues and Brilliant designs That painted such cool ethereal shapes On the colorless vault of The heavens.
Diet of a Madman: a collection of poetry
Raindance
Faces upturned
The faithful stood silent as sunburnt hills
As the first explosions of dust began Afraid that even a sigh of relief Might break the spell.
Flashback
I do vividly recall
That day of poetic inspiration, The second immaculate conception, Frame-for-frame
As flashbacks are prone to present Themselves:
Opposing elements, Fire and water, Were an alchemist’s dream … Brooding skies became a rare metal Shining soft and amber; lightning struck; Hail pecked on the library window
Relentless as a gossip, Waking me from a young man’s daydream.
I was drugged with insight! No longer in control Of my x-ray vision; everything Was poetry, Nothing was invisible, Rocks became bread, water became wine, Trees talked of time immemorial And love was not unrequited.
And it became clear ... That burning was the brand of Keats and Brautigan, That lust was for the word and the life, That lust was for the truth that is not beautiful, Those urges that are worse than a masochist's nightmare;
Looking back, reviewing life’s ledger, I would not barter with any muse
To be a lesser being. Originally
Diet of a Madman: a collection of poetry
Moth
Ragged little caretaker Of late, late autumn
Gray and unremarkable nuisance, Tenant of summer’s eviction;
You court our porch light
Like a deserted lover
Never forgetting nor forgiving Erratic in your grace Lover of the proverbial flame Flawed in your passion:
Worn out wings pound Furiously
In what has become for you A satin vacuum, a killing jar Where there is no sound & No purchase,
Where death
Is understood, even solicited;
A friend of a friend of a sailor Is coming across the lake, White in a heavy wool trench coat Gunmetal slacks, brown bucks
And a cold, hard heart.
Many of the poems which are included in this compilation are previously published works; the original publication is listed with the year it was released at the bottom of the page. Understand, however, that editing is a perennial exercise so most (but not all) have been rewritten, and thus may be updated from their original state altering the look, intent and feel.
The author lives in Middletown, Ohio with his wife Rebecca and their 5 cats. Cats, in Sean’s estimation, illustrate one of God’s finest hours. Sean and Rebecca are devout Christ-followers; they praise God and thank Him for “the good life.”
Other projects either published, or in process, are available to read on the website ISSUU, which makes a cyber-version available that looks and reads like a paper publication …………………. In the Beginning: The Book of John in Lesson Form, Thomas: The Gospel of Thomas Researched, and The Voice God Gave Me: A Year-long Collection of Meditations.