Bad Dreams

Bad dreams can ache when you awake.
I write this with my left.
My right is doing something else
none of your business though.
Too hot in here to be frank,
as if besides a hearth.
She isn't at the doorstep, see.
She went to fetch some milk.
She might be back before it's late
with something in her pouch,
perhaps a little child's foot,
perhaps a little sinfulness.
We'll go visit by the grave.
It cannot hurt to cry.
My hand in hers, and hers in yours
and so on till noon.
She'll read me out of the book
about something sad.
And I will smile and nod my head
as if I can agree.
But inwardly I'll let a tear.
The best is here to stay.

The Man Who Didn't Like the Beatles

There was a man who didn't like the Beatles.
Neither did he play with needles.
He headed a local public office
and smoked out of his orifice.
He wouldn't cut his jacket's neck
because he kept his nerves in check,
in check his culture, and his tone
always immaculate. Alone
he smoked out of his orifice.
Alone sitting in his office.

Work Related Stress Disorder

I wondered lonely as a jerk
and then I got down on all fours
pretending to be doing work
among a swarm of monitors.

And in a blink between the screens
I saw a green and yellow field
spotted places by evergreens.
And in a blink I chose to yield
and spilled my multicolored beans.

I spoke of love and loneliness,
of passing youth and dripping tears,
and of myself I made a mess
and laughing stock among my peers.

But then they died and laid there dead
because I shot them in the head.

In the Meadow

Drop by drop the rain drips.
Sip by sip the drunkard sips.
I will saunter in the meadow.
I will pick a daffodil.
I will photograph the shadow
of the ramshackled windmill.
Wind will scatter all the petals
that have fallen from the rose.
And as gently as each settles,
just as gently as it rose,
all my dreams will gently nudge me,
every dream I have composed.
Nature's piano, lift and judge me.
I am open and exposed.

Hope

Hope is sheepish dawn-like whisper
of the golden treasure moose.
Cock your eyes for you must listen
your way out of the noose.

No, don't listen - nonsense, empty.
Words can wear a mask of dusk.
Hope in years measures twenty.
Guard the mammoth, keep the tusk.

Say, if over the sun
the ends of tunnels merge,
will the stock of hope
be the one to surge?

Industrial - Organizational Psychology / Human Resource Management

The bosses say you know how to fire
when you can socialize a man
to don professional attire,
but not to pat co-worker Ann,
on coffee breaks to strum a lyre,
and flush when finished in the can.

The Circus Troupe at Home

Come in. Come in. Come in.
Now climb up on me. Yes.
Now jump, jump up. Jump off.
Next.
Come in. Come in. Come in.
Now climb on me. Good.
Now jump a little, jump up. Jump off
on those guys.
Next.
Come in. Come in. Come in.
Now climb up on me. Yes. Now
jump, jump up. Jump off.
Yes, on those guys. Next.
Come in. Come in. Come in.