DNA's Poetry Corner
Return to NeverMind
Breathless, Procrastination, Painted Dessert, DearReader, Where There Be Dragons, Empty Theatres, New Age, Iron Works, Little Johnny (is a little disturbed, folks), Modernization, Personal Problems, Wheels of Progress, Puzzle Pieces, A Quick Trip (or why you shouldn't do Acid), Rain, Sunrise, Soul To Keep, Scrollwork, The Picnic, You,
Monday 12/23/91 11:39:16 AM From Mr DNA
---A BAG OF GOD---
Spotlight's glare opened jaded eye
on the figure upon the stage.
Arms thrust wide, engulfing all,
in pious, moral rage.
"I have walked this earth in search,
with lantern burning bright,
to find Eden's precious gates
and the narrow path of right."
He flung his fervor far and wide
throughout the seated throng,
as they sat in wonderment
at the chorus of his song.
"I am here to save you
and spare you from the rod.
I have come to you, dear friends,
with a bag of God."
Stunned they sat in awe contrere
amidst the silent din,
not a creature dared to stir
except his trembling chin.
"You may think that I'm insane,
but I have to disagree,
for I've searched and found True God,
at Safeway, down aisle three."
Gasps were the order of the day
as jaws dropped to the floor.
A few of the more devout among
headed for the door.
"My coupon had just about expired
for my favorite onion dip,
and there it was in glory be,
right behind the chips."
There were a few that felt, I'm sure,
his head was rather tender.
Or that he had just come from
at least a three day bender.
"So step right up with soul laid bare
and I will pass to you the lot,
I will save your soul with these bags of God
whether you want me to or not."
Breathlessly the sun arose,
and colored in the scene.
Touching heart and warming toes,
and gazed into our dreams.
We wished for courts of fargone kings,
and felt the cool winds sigh.
We spoke of rings and finer things,
as the day did tumble by.
Castles were built and floated away,
to mingle with the clouds.
Whims were served on gilded tray,
and gathered round in crowds.
Tomorrow's promise our script conjured,
the daystar was our kite.
The sun followed the soaring birds,
as the day flew into night.
Saturday 12/29/90 15:07:32 PM From [oh no! it's] MR DNA [again?]
I chased her through the kitchen,
she teased me on the stairs.
She told me to come up sometime,
so I could taste her wares.
Procrastination in the pantry,
a put-off in the hall,
I began to really think,
I would get none at all.
Time and again as it goes,
my spirits rose and fell,
wondering just how long
I'd be in this blue-ball hell.
Finally I cornered her
on top of the TV,
and as promised a many time
there's no better show to see.
Then she asked what took so long
to take her to the mat.
I replied the best takes time,
and that, my dear, is that.
Sunday 12/16/90 20:02:26 PM From [oh no! it's] MR DNA [again?]
The face of an angel,
with pants painted tight.
I couldn't control it,
it was lust at first sight.
Music to my eyes
was the way she walked.
It was embarassing
the way I gawked.
Of high strung libido
I had no lack,
for my thoughts
were on one track.
With a twitch of hips
she could my morals impeach.
I am still thankful
she was out of arm's reach.
Come on everybody, come in and look,
come in and see the pages of my poem book.
No need to bat an eye, nor even a lash,
even if you think it's all tripe and trash.
For I'm sorry to say that none of these pages,
holds even one word of the masters and sages.
For I expect nothing more, nor nothing finer,
than having these pages used as bird cage liner.
So, dear reader, turn and read on,
for here are words to put eyes upon.
Some are funny, and some are sad,
and some are very, very bad.
So without further ado and no more fanfare,
onward and forward, dear reader, if you dare.
At your own risk, tickets will not be refunded under any circumstances...:>
---WHERE THERE BE DRAGONS---
The rain washes away the marks of people's passing. Scurrying souls make way down the nearly deserted street with head bent to the wind, ignoring those hunkered down on business of their own.
Boats hug the docks waiting for a new set of fishermen to string their lines come morning. Captians and baitboys tuck their crafts in for the night, the long hard day slackening their faces.
A for sale sign stares out at the street from a quiet diner as the gift shops beckon to passerbys with t-shirts and shell boats pressed into sparkling windows. Postcards tell tales of sun and sunsets, of fish and fish stories, of sand and sand dollars. Seagulls on sticks cry out to be taken home while plastic Gumbys peer deflatedly out of their packages.
On the dock, the fish packing mill stands quietly. In front, tubs of crushed ice melt, mingling with rain then joining the sea as if just another raindrop. Fish scales glitter on the planks of the pier like forgotten gems.
The sea hisses in it's gravelly throat, churning and playing with the brush of the wind. The spray from far off waves erase the horizon and nearby places the taste of salt on the world.
Another rainy day,
Where There be Dragons.
The Beach Papers
MR DNA [elsewhere...]
The silence folds in around me,
the lights fade down to black.
There's only so much that I can see,
with my door open just a crack.
My dreams are simply melted wax,
on the table of my life.
My hopes all sit in silent stacks,
outside in the rain.
The silence folds in around me,
the lights fade down to black.
How lonely can one man be,
when noones looking back.
Solitude breathes a heavy sigh,
and sits so very near.
The moon stares down with lazy eye,
outside in the rain.
The silence folds in around me,
the lights fade down to black.
The darkness sits there heavily,
and fills that open crack.
My dreams gather dust of ages past,
and fears grow fat on thought.
My hopes are as paper cast,
outside in the rain.
Saturday Sep 22 1990 13:16:13 PM From [oh no! it's] MR DNA [again?]
With sun renewed dawns the day,
calender marking time.
A reformed age the poet's say,
pages hold new rhyme.
Dancer's spin a heartfelt reel,
chains no longer bind.
Emotions sleeved allowed to feel,
beauty comes to mind.
Musicians tune out notes of fear,
finding gentle key.
To play the songs they hold dear,
guiding what will be.
Another day to savor life,
to turn another page.
another step away from strife,
toward another age.
-excerpt from "Soul to Keep"-
Life's hard lessons fill the flask,
of the man in the iron mask.
Holding the pain and fire within,
and showing the ice of a mannikin.
Enduring the wait, hoping to see,
if someone will come to find the key.
To remove the chains that hold the shield,
and give to life the man concealed.
A polar soul keen for spring's melt,
biding for passions yet to be felt.
Speaking words no one will hear,
the mask hiding his fiery tear.
Holding at bay the past gone by,
working the wings that cannot fly.
Wishing for someone to pick up the task,
of releasing the man in the iron mask.
Saturday 12/01/90 23:46:50 PM From [oh no! it's] MR DNA [again?]
Johnny was a little boy
who lived just down the street,
quiet and courteous
a nicer boy you'd never meet.
But peer inside this little child
I'm sure you'll find intresting,
and you will find a piece of mind
that is a bit distressing.
Sadie Mae said she saw
within the doctor's folder,
that Johnny simply does not believe
that heads belong on shoulders.
Documents contained therein
told stories very sad,
including the one about the bird
that was very very bad.
His mother wrung her hands alot
wailing "Oh alas!"
His father simply sat and grumbled
"Just a phase to pass."
The Headless Horseman was his hero
of that we can depend.
For the book ne'er left his side
and fan mail he would send.
This did give him quite a quandry
and put him in a spot,
because the Horseman's head came off,
and his would surely not.
He had no dog nor any cat,
a brother or sister, never.
For any ties that might come with
he would quickly sever.
Even Batman, GI Joe
and other figures fun,
Had their heads propped under arms
when the deed was done.
Finally the doctor
ran out of things to do.
"I'm afraid that it is time," he said
"to think of something new."
"A snake I feel, will suit our needs."
The doctor firmly told us.
"Unlike a bird, a dog or cat,
you see, it has no shoulders."
So a snake they gave to him
and vigils they maintained,
to keep an eye on just how long
that snake's head remained.
The days and weeks went quietly
and soon they felt assured,
that little Johnny's problem
had finally been cured.
But one day his mother dear
screamed in loud alarm,
"Oh my God, it cannot be!
Batman has no arms!"
From [looking at you] MR DNA [from the petri dish]
There's certain things that can't be made,
with your standard Kitchen-Aid.
If you've got a tough guacamole dip,
then it's time to break out the cordless whip.
What in the hell is the world coming to,
next thing you know we'll get a pneumatic kazoo.
Or perhaps you'll be able to obtain,
a brand new set of electric chains.
(The set comes with a rotary feather,
and don't forget your rechargeable leather.)
But you'll never have a fulfilling life,
unless you've got a telescoping knife.
And no good hostess would want to forget,
the new, and wonderful, self-pouring tea set.
The wonders of tech, how to extol,
what wondrous advances since the blue toilet bowl!
From MR DNA [elsewhere...]
I have my very own personal persecutor,
and it comes in the form of a home computer.
You just learn basic, all that you can,
and watch it decide to accept only fortran.
So fortran you learn, to be on the ball,
now it will speak, yes, only cobol.
If I try to program, it throws a snit,
and trashes the memory, Bit by Bit.
Of keeping the modem, I cannot decide,
can I trust it with a direct line outside?
I fear I'll come home and find there a shipment,
of brand new and costly peripheral equiptment.
All stacked by the porch in my front yard,
and the bill neatly covered by my bent VISA card,
But no matter what it wants to demand,
I'll keep the wall plug close at hand.
---THE WHEELS OF PROGRESS---
So you're trapped in the corner, a wily young beast,
a pressure-cooked serving for a carrion feast.
You'll wish for steps you'll never retrace,
Until you see your hunter's face...
A leaf blown about one autumn day,
part of a tree only yesterday.
Now awaiting the whim of the winds that blow,
where you'll stop you'll never know...
Danger in the trees silently waits,
you and your kind shall find their fates.
I can't protect you, don't ask me,
The peril's your own as you can see...
We tried to reprogram you, as I'm sure you can tell,
Though we didn't mean to put you in hell.
Were sorry to fold and spindle your soul,
But, you see, the wheels of progress must roll...
Sunday 11/25/90 23:23:34 PM From [oh no! it's] MR DNA [again?]
I sit and stare at the walls
bored by familiarity.
Fall winds ruffle through the trees
and pluck at my thoughts
trying to carry them away
to mix with the breeze.
Puzzle pieces scattered
waiting for me to paint the picture.
with tomorrow's dream
written all over his mind.
I am alive with fire
a curious cat
chasing my tail
tasting your life.
I smell the lilac scent of your life.
The fall day will not hinder
Share with me the sun
watch with me the moon
feel with me the power
of the sea.
This is our life
the template for the puzzle.
Tuesday Sep 4 1990 21:18:32 PM From [oh no! it's] MR DNA [again?]
---A QUICK TRIP---
I had a friend who was really quite placid,
till someone got funny and slipped him some acid.
He ran around, he just wouldn't tire,
he thought he was a smoke and lit his hair afire.
Then walked around as well as was able,
had a rousing talk with the dining room table.
He dressed his plants in my best shirts,
and made some tea with 2 rolls of certs.
Running out the door in a state of dread,
he cried "I'm being chased by a killer loaf of bread!".
It took 3 hours to find him, more or less,
by then he was in a pink party dress.
All the way home he talked to my seat,
I have to say, I was really beat.
At home he began to play like a bear,
then became a dog and hiked on a chair.
He's OK now, you can come to see,
tho' completely sane he'll never be.
To see a good shrink is what he's needing,
but he IS a leader in decoy-duck breeding.
Rain, rain, go away,
come again some other day.
It'd be nice if rain would coincide,
with the times I'm not outside.
I can just hear you say "Why the fuss?"
Why dont YOU go out and wait for the bus.
Altho' you've a bumbershoot to cover your crown,
you'll always get wet from the waist down.
I don't really mind if my hair gets mussed,
but I do take exception when I start to rust.
And I've yet to find a way to be subtle,
just after I've plumbed the depth of a puddle.
Besides, I really get the blues,
when I have to wear wet tennis-shoes.
And on top of that, it's a sure bet,
that not only my shoes, but my sox are wet.
Then when I go in, clothes stay by the door,
so I don't drip all over the floor.
And on a clear day when I wash my car,
that the rain will appear, that's always par.
So now I never take the weather for granted,
'cuz the next thing I know, the clouds have recanted.
'Tween the sun and the rain, it's quite the battle,
especially when you live in Seattle.
I sit here listening to the chatter of birds,
thinking of things I can't put into words.
I wait for cards yet to be dealt,
and ponder emotions already felt.
How can I speak of feelings unkenned?
That cannot be formed on canvas nor penned?
How to descibe that wonderous fear,
of loving another so beautiful and dear?
The waves of my life break on new shore!
cresting with puzzles and beauty once more.
I sit and watch the sunrise approach,
it peeks through the clouds like a jeweled broach.
A dawn seen through eyes as if seeing anew.
A heart that's feeling again, and loving you.
Saturday 09/01/90 00:44:49 AM From [oh no! it's] MR DNA [again?]
that's one to teach the kids, samurai... :>
got a dark one that my kid will never see...
---SOUL TO KEEP---
Time is short as you will see,
and with so much to say to thee.
I hope your sheltered from the pain,
of never seeing me again.
Of life's twists and fate's turns,
and love's searing heartfelt burns.
I trust that you will never know,
where I've gone or of my foe.
Just think of me when you feel blue,
and carry a piece of me with you.
In your travels do take care,
I leave you with this little prayer:
Now I lay me down to sleep,
I pray the Lord my soul to keep.
I'll surely die before I wake,
so I pray the Lord my soul to take.
The stars peer down, with their eyes so cold,
fortelling a night too long.
A story being written, yet to be told,
wishing to become a song.
For the writer is so afraid to look,
at the words upon his page.
Hoping his chapter turns into a book,
and opens up his cage.
Only the stars accept his silent word,
that no pen may write.
hopes he wishes could be heard,
yet they cause him fright.
So he talks to paper with his pen,
and says naught of his fear.
He looks to the stars now and then,
and wishes she were near.
The writer knows he must abide,
the poem in his soul.
And keep his novel all inside,
and put away the scroll...
When it was written I had a mental picture of a place in time, I expect the
reader's place will be different, and the emotion will arise from different
experience. The format that I used is what I felt was the best feeling frame
for the picture.
We selected a relatively little used spot,
out in the middle of a parking lot.
And spread out our gingham, gaberdine drape,
then built a fire to cook the crepe.
We chilled the wine, a fine Thunderbird,
and set out the salmon, of course, kippered.
We set out the china, our best paper plates,
and began to serve the pomegranates.
What wonderous smells our baskets exuded,
mostly because of the pig's feet included.
We finally settled down to our meal,
of goey-duck sandwich and highly spiced veal.
She all of the sudden, with a sidelong glance,
said "By the way, did you bring the ants?"
Saturday 09/01/90 12:28:34 PM From [oh no! it's] MR DNA [again?]
a tender love sonnett...
You're the cherry on my jubilee,
you're the afro on Aphrodite.
You're the icing on my devils-food cake,
you're the garter on my garter snake.
You're the fruit around my peach-pit,
you're the lick in my lickety-split.
You're the marshmallow in my eclair,
you're the imp in my impair.
You're the play in my playmate,
you're the forn in my fornicate.
You're the egg in my egg-nog,
you're the pea in my pea-soup fog.
You're the brain in my brain storm,
you're the perf in my perform.
You're the belle for my bell-rope,
you're the envy of my envelope.
You're the must for my mustard,
you're the leap in my leopard.
Yes, your the turn in my turnpike,
but whatever you are you're what I like.