P o e t r y
Check out After The Break-in - a collaborative poetic novella, Mike Mollett & Michael Lane Bruner. http://www.evergreenreview.com/102/fiction/after/preafter.html
DEADLY WEAPONS
Lovers
kiss
& feed
pigeons
little
bits
of
bread
(from the early 80's, punk period)
as a dive-bomber of love
his toenails are singing in the looky-here of what-now
for Scott Wannberg (a Carma Bum) version 117 early 90's
it was after midnight on the sunrise shotgun side of the turning Cadillac…
sweet jumpin jazz riffs bopped from the big guy's bigger
soul bursting wildly like a great crazy film
noir cartoon adventure poem
all his friends are in that movie
(with a ton of tasty books on the side plus
plenty of ketchup & fries)
I believe I know a few of those friends:
real & imaginary sitting here next to me flying out of his mouth
mind-scaping converging Mobius strip like
and it all really matters exactly as he puts it
in Scott's dancing surrealist montage a tickle of
whatever-is-everything howdy do, Amigo
the music is rolling as its own country
happy trails again, pardner.
Slim Pickins, detective, is charged on the case in a mind-popping
whirl-wind of otherworldly delights
an inter-planetary thingamajig why not
the Always-Alwaysland script is a perpetual-motion peek into
Scott Wannberg's humongous corner of the world
and here he is behind the scenes
sleeping not so easily in a very tiny bed
in a very tiny apartment
on a very plain street of Mar Vista, L.A.
Yes…
the clear soft vital madness
is ringing & dinging poking at the tweaked lickety-split
all of us participants are mingling with him ha ha ha help…
hold on to what you imagine… better yet…jump in…let it all go
your seats & your butt & buttons' story
your wig-merkins & funny little picture critters jigging
in the middle of cold-hearted war…that's more like it with every line…
a dive-bomber of love.
Are we ready for the ride for dear life?
this is his magic in a wink
his toenails are singing in the looky-here of what-now
for Scott Wannberg (a Carma Bum) version 117 early 90's
it was after midnight on the sunrise shotgun side of the turning Cadillac…
sweet jumpin jazz riffs bopped from the big guy's bigger
soul bursting wildly like a great crazy film
noir cartoon adventure poem
all his friends are in that movie
(with a ton of tasty books on the side plus
plenty of ketchup & fries)
I believe I know a few of those friends:
real & imaginary sitting here next to me flying out of his mouth
mind-scaping converging Mobius strip like
and it all really matters exactly as he puts it
in Scott's dancing surrealist montage a tickle of
whatever-is-everything howdy do, Amigo
the music is rolling as its own country
happy trails again, pardner.
Slim Pickins, detective, is charged on the case in a mind-popping
whirl-wind of otherworldly delights
an inter-planetary thingamajig why not
the Always-Alwaysland script is a perpetual-motion peek into
Scott Wannberg's humongous corner of the world
and here he is behind the scenes
sleeping not so easily in a very tiny bed
in a very tiny apartment
on a very plain street of Mar Vista, L.A.
Yes…
the clear soft vital madness
is ringing & dinging poking at the tweaked lickety-split
all of us participants are mingling with him ha ha ha help…
hold on to what you imagine… better yet…jump in…let it all go
your seats & your butt & buttons' story
your wig-merkins & funny little picture critters jigging
in the middle of cold-hearted war…that's more like it with every line…
a dive-bomber of love.
Are we ready for the ride for dear life?
this is his magic in a wink
P o e t s' A r m y
We
the People
with e-mailing flourishes...
the body & soul flash words such as
attack slice kiss explode reveal
(we rest when we have to or when we get a chance)
for the B I G G I G
always the BIG GIG
in the bloody
careening field of possibilities
where orders of weapons are words
f e e l i n g & m e a n i n g f a c e t o f a c e
Y E S
the battles' wind hits the senses &
burns w'creative magnitude
moment thru moment
w i t h e v e r y t h i n g
on the verge of life & death.
this is the power-knot lining up
the balancing act natural tipping
the fruiting body wounded & happy
B A N G in the free-for-all massage parlor
(it's crazy isn't it?)...
rangy tiny attack buds firing
ruthless freedom fighters of gut & heart
the cannonades of innocence quiver in the heat
(boors, the hopeless, buttheads, egotists & the cruel l i s t e n...)
LIFE is a
vital bomb
of transposition
always plugged in
a n d w o r k in g
inside the enemy lines
THIS IS
THE FIREPOWER &
THE JOY WE CARRY WITH US
to wherever
we
must go...
Love is a warm cat anywhere at home
a memoriam 2014
Inko chose us, Dee & I. 11 years ago. Claw-climbing
the Dracaena Draco, Inko followed
little Ziggy up the home trail tree
to the perilous 4 foot jump down
thru open air high over the driveway
soft thud landing onto our upstairs patio wall.
easy time then to the come inside cracked-open door
& the couch’s invitation
F--k mortality
the transience of everything
the passings
the letting go
the dying of most light
as it is & even so
it’s plenty for me already
5 of our best little friends have passed on
since living in Silverlake, Eagle Rock, Mt. Washington…
Dee’s mom, my mom & dad, & friends’ moms
and dads & other friends, furry or human…
our best in the end cannot be enough we might feel
I must accept this process…holding on today,
maybe a little less tomorrow
to the memory of our irreplaceable tabby Inko. Age 17.
I am turning 70.
My few people friends still love me
sharing moments of life
in the face of my thoughtlessness, foot-in-mouth insensitivity,
breaches of confidence & sparse communication
fortunately love can be unconditional
& we learn to speak other languages
shaping-up our own as we go on to find
that warm spot in the sun
January 24, 2015
----------------------------
& one of my classics,
from my anti-nuclear, punk period, around 1980
I AM THE BOMB
There’s nothing you can do about me.
Or the others.
It’s all over with.
Not a chance even for a “FUCK YOU”.
I am the bomb.
Made to live forever. & when I
die, everything’s new.
I AM THE BOMB.
Stop me suckers. You can’t.
Your heads are full of pennies.
Your hands play with genitals.
Stop me sucker!
I’m out of your hands, in the hands of
presidents & generals technicians & preachers.
I am the bomb.
Cats & refrigerators---nothing.
Instaneouos fires. I command
winds like God.
My moment is millions of degrees.
Concussion cities.
The cats and refrigerators slam
thru space with the buildings & cars.
I vaporize all those habits.
I am the bomb.
I go all the way. Come. Come. Come. . .
I will even find those presidents in time.
I am the bomb. The ultimate earthly lover
& necrophile.
I PENETRATE THE BILLIONS WITH MY ORGASM.
I AM THE BOMB.
I am most wise.
I play for keeps.
I am the unimaginable.
I have not been created for nothing.
Nothing.
nothing...
a memoriam 2014
Inko chose us, Dee & I. 11 years ago. Claw-climbing
the Dracaena Draco, Inko followed
little Ziggy up the home trail tree
to the perilous 4 foot jump down
thru open air high over the driveway
soft thud landing onto our upstairs patio wall.
easy time then to the come inside cracked-open door
& the couch’s invitation
F--k mortality
the transience of everything
the passings
the letting go
the dying of most light
as it is & even so
it’s plenty for me already
5 of our best little friends have passed on
since living in Silverlake, Eagle Rock, Mt. Washington…
Dee’s mom, my mom & dad, & friends’ moms
and dads & other friends, furry or human…
our best in the end cannot be enough we might feel
I must accept this process…holding on today,
maybe a little less tomorrow
to the memory of our irreplaceable tabby Inko. Age 17.
I am turning 70.
My few people friends still love me
sharing moments of life
in the face of my thoughtlessness, foot-in-mouth insensitivity,
breaches of confidence & sparse communication
fortunately love can be unconditional
& we learn to speak other languages
shaping-up our own as we go on to find
that warm spot in the sun
January 24, 2015
----------------------------
& one of my classics,
from my anti-nuclear, punk period, around 1980
I AM THE BOMB
There’s nothing you can do about me.
Or the others.
It’s all over with.
Not a chance even for a “FUCK YOU”.
I am the bomb.
Made to live forever. & when I
die, everything’s new.
I AM THE BOMB.
Stop me suckers. You can’t.
Your heads are full of pennies.
Your hands play with genitals.
Stop me sucker!
I’m out of your hands, in the hands of
presidents & generals technicians & preachers.
I am the bomb.
Cats & refrigerators---nothing.
Instaneouos fires. I command
winds like God.
My moment is millions of degrees.
Concussion cities.
The cats and refrigerators slam
thru space with the buildings & cars.
I vaporize all those habits.
I am the bomb.
I go all the way. Come. Come. Come. . .
I will even find those presidents in time.
I am the bomb. The ultimate earthly lover
& necrophile.
I PENETRATE THE BILLIONS WITH MY ORGASM.
I AM THE BOMB.
I am most wise.
I play for keeps.
I am the unimaginable.
I have not been created for nothing.
Nothing.
nothing...