KANSAS GEORGE AND THE FLYING MONKEY

KANSAS GEORGE AND
THE FLYING MONKEY

Hello George
I am
also
   George

funny about that
isn’t it
    George

people might call it
a coincidence
but there
   are no
coincidences

where are
          we George?

are you the blue fairy?
are we
    both red fairies?
are we
   the munchkins
are we
     in Kansas, in Oz
somewhere in the 60s
down
     in Hait-Ashbury

carefree
    and happy
enjoying
a summer of love

now
   don’t go
wicked witch on me George
fall on that
ball all
serious

go total
flying monkey

jumping on that ball
as if it is not
all
   just a game.

HELLO GEORGE

HELLO GEORGE

hello George
are we in Lyra
is this the star Vega?

good to see
you
   we have.the same
name we
could be friends

cannot hear so well
from inside that thing
must be a
     space helmet you
are wearing

red and yellow red
and gold we
are so brightly
coloured
   this evening

and he you are
mumbling stuff about
yards and downs
and winning
    turn overs
and not being
on Vega
     but in Nevada
Las Vegas

and completely ignoring me
you have just
jumped on
the ball

SIX

SIX

sometimes
simplicity rules

so much practice until
instilled

    becomes
embodied in
perfect  delivery

and, talking of perfect,
in your hands
a dossier of
       perfect plays

grandmaster chess puzzles
fail to
   rival
    in their brilliant complexity

but here
      we have comedy

see epic antagonists
    convulsed with laughter

suddenly the script has the
texture of absurd theatre

longer
   than waiting for Godot
waiting for
  Super Bowl six

SUPER BOWL POEM


SUPER BOWL POEM

woke up
in time to hold off
on the SuperBowl result

worst fears confirmed when
I summoned up courage
to check

    yep Brock loves God
but Brock loves
Patrick Mahomes

(does not seem
to care much about
Head Coach Kyle Shanahan)

and at this
        juncture, out of the blue,
an unruly host of
archetypes made their move
wanted to stick
         around a bit, get
the lie
   of the land in the process
of passing through me

a mad mosaic it was
for a while

      many shapes and
sizes, manners and
demeanours

     jostling up against each other
(Brownian motion)
          excanging, debating,
doing their
dialectic dance, analysis
synthesis
no homogenizing

and there I was in a carnivalesque dream

chatting to the players in
St Francis’ kingdom
of those elevated
                    high above
the realms
of material wealth

peering into the abyss that
a philosopher cum psychologist
had laid
      before me

a tablet broken with the
entire script jagged

and there on the road
a burnt out humvee

and there in the docks
a rusting destroyer

archetypes at home within
settling
     for a game of solitaire

and me
thinking, wondering,
      who does have a
prophetic bone in this
my body

is winning everything?
    and if it is not

will there ever
indeed

      be an end to war?



KYLE AT CHESS

KYLE AT CHESS

After those blown
final quarters think
I should
   play Kyle at chess

across 64 white
black squares

he would
not be at his best

checking on
his playbook
instead of
analyzing the
board

fools mate, scholars mate,
smothered mate
      quick
into the pan
fried liver mate

one, two,
          three, West
Coast, East Coast
         Bobby Fischer
        (merciful) mate

he wouldn’t need to
worry about

the torture of
leading
       heading into an

       endgame, being
outmanouvered
            at the end

GIMME

GIMME

world’s
falling apart

little children
getting blown
to
   smithereens

so gimme that
sweet false consciousness
that would come
with a
    SuperBowl victory

don’t let Mahomes
spoil everything
with
    an insane overtime
charge

this after Kyle left
his best laid plans
in a briefcase
in the
    locker room

this is not
   the script I want,
I need

so write me a new one
bring me that
thick syrupy delusion
that a Niners’
Vegas victory
          would bring

the world falling apart
                         bits
of little
children

how come I always get
             caught this way

how come
I’m not
         so smart
                   

NINE LIVES

NINE LIVES

to win
the Superbowl
we are going to
need every
good witch
in the land
of Oz

get Brock’s arm
to perform miracles

carving up the Chief’s defence
like they
    a basket

of loaves
and fished

or the blessed Saint Patrick
otherwise known
as Mahomes

to twist his wrist
stub his toe

will be the sign to
show him

Kansas going bye-bye
he ain’t in Kansas no more