This is a virtual cafe where all ideas are entertained all facts discerned, all topics discussed. And just because the proprietor has a passion for Christ, books, and the Acoustic guitar, that doesn't mean you can't veer wildly off into different subjects. So, come in, have a coffee (imported especially from Verble's finca in El Salvador), and talk about whatever you want.
the poet, known only by the initials MR, has decided to write a 3 line poem for each one of Verble's choices for #songoftheday, which Verble posts to his Twitter account.
MR will do this for each song of the day for the year 2013, which will continue the process MR has started with his 360s . . . you have read these poems at the Zen and Tao Acoustic Cafe, as MR writes one poem a day. Has for three years now. During this year, the collections should be published in three separate tomes: 364, 365, and 366.
So, without further ado, MR presents the poem for the #songoftheday for
January 1, 2013:
Bob Schneider "Round and Round"
Timothy Settee awoke on New Year's Day to find an outboard motor,
and empty bag of chips, and a shredded froggiepillow beside him in his bed.
He wondered who had been eating the chips.
Lucky Moran: It just hit me the other day, at our church, we always have the baby dedication and we flash the babies faces up on the big screen as their names are read, and I just noticed that the congregation always goes "oooooh" over white babies, never black babies, never hispanic babies. But whenever white babies are up there, they get a big "oooooh."
Otis Redwing: That's because all you whities are racist.
Lucky: "All you whities"? Isn't that a racist thing to say?
Otis: Takes one to know one.
Lucky: Yeah, but it doesn't explain why the girls with pink bows on their head get an "awwwww" instead of an "oooooh."
- I read in Time magazine today that this Republican Representative from Texas said, "I wish to God that principal from Newton had had an M-4 in her office, and then when she heard the shooting , she could have gone out and blown the head off that Lanza guy before he could kill those kids."
- Wow. This guy thinks we LIVE in Call of Duty?
- Probably does! what a load of crap! This guy is one of 435 guys who run this country! Federal government! Making laws! What in the name of all that's sacred are we doing with a bunch of dipshits up there who think on such small tiny terms.
- I haven't thought like that since I was a kid. pow pow! cowboys and indians . . . bang bang, problem solved. yay! the town is saved!
- Exactly. These guys act like they're still in the sandbox, only now they've got bombers missles and nukes!
- All I know is I'd hate to think of all gradeschools principals having to learn how to use M4s instead of being able to focus on making sure our teachers have a place to teach the kids.
In the kitchen, he poured another drink and looked at
the bedroom suite in his front yard. The mattress was stripped and the
candy-striped sheets lay beside two pillows on the chiffonier. Except for that,
things looked much the way they had in the bedroom - nightstand and reading lamp
on his side of the bed, nightstand and reading lamp on her side.
His side, her side.
He considered this as he sipped the
whiskey. The chiffonier
stood a few feet from the foot of the bed. He had emptied the drawers into
cartons that morning, and the cartons were in the living room. A portable
heater was next to the chiffonier. A rattan chair with a decorator pillow stood
at the foot of the bed. The buffed aluminum kitchen set took up a part of the
driveway. A yellow muslin cloth, much too large, a gift, covered the table and
hung down over the sides. A potted fern was on the table, along with a box of
silverware and a record player, also gifts. A big console-model television
rested on a coffee table, and a few feet away from this stood a sofa and chair
and a floor lamp. The desk was pushed against the garage door. a few utensils
were on the desk, along with a wall clock and two framed prints. There was also
in the driveway a carton with cups, glasses, and plates, each object wrapped in
newspaper. That morning he had cleared out the closets, and except for the
three cartons in the living room, all the stuff was out of the house. He had
run an extension cord on out there and everything was connected. Things worked,
no different from how it was when they were inside. Now and then a car slowed and people stared. But
no one stopped. It
occurred to him that he wouldn't, either. "It
must be a yard sale," the girl said to the
boy. This girl and this boy were furnishing a little
apartment. "Let's see what they want for the bed,"
the girl said. "And for the TV," the boy said.
The boy pulled into the driveway and stopped in front of the
kitchen table. They got out of the car and began to
examine things, the girl touching the muslin cloth, the boy plugging in the
blender and turning the dial to MINCE, the girl picking up
a chafing dish, the boy turning on the television set and making little
adjustments. He sat down on the sofa to watch. He
lit a cigarette, looked around, flipped the match into the grass.
The girl sat on the bed. She pushed off her shoes and lay
back. She thought she could see a star. "Come here,
Jack. Try this bed. Bring one of those pillows," she said. "How is it?" he said. "Try it," she
said. He looked around. The house was dark.
"I feel funny," he said. "Better see if anybody's
home." She bounced on the bed. "Try it first," she said. He lay down on
the bed and put the pillow under his head. "How does
it feel?" she said. "It feels firm," he said.
She turned on her side and put her hand to his face.
"Kiss me," she said. She closed
her eyes. She held him. He said, "I'll see if
anybody's home." But he just sat up and stayed were
he was, making believe he was watching the television. Lights came on in houses up and down the street. "Wouldn't it be funny if," the girl said and grinned and didn't
finish. The boy laughed, but for no good reason. For
no good reason, he switched the reading lamp on. The
girl brushed away a mosquito, whereupon the boy stood up and tucked in his
shirt. "I'll see if anybody's home," he said. "I
don't think anybody's home. But if anybody is, I'll see what things are going
for." "Whatever they ask, offer ten dollars less.
It's always a good idea," she said. "And besides, they must be desperate or
something." "It's a pretty good TV," the boy
said. "Ask them how much," the girl said.
came down the sidewalk with a sack from the market. He had sandwiches, beer,
whiskey. He saw the car in the driveway and the girl on the bed. He saw the
television set going and the boy on the porch. "Hello," the man said to the girl. "You found the bed. That's good."
"Hello," the girl said. "I was just trying it out." She
patted the bed. "It's a pretty good bed." "It's a
good bed," the man said, and put down the sack and took out the beer and the
whiskey. "We thought nobody was here," the boy said.
"We're interested in the bed and maybe in the TV. Also maybe the desk. How
much do you want for the bed?" "I was thinking fifty
dollars for the bed," the man said. "Would you take
forty?" the girl asked. "I'll take forty," the man
said. He took a glass out of the carton. He took the
newspaper off the glass. He broke the seal on the whiskey. "How about the TV?" the boy said. "Twenty-five." "Would you take fifteen?" the girl
said. "Fifteen's okay. I could take fifteen," the man
said. The girl looked at the boy. "You kids, you'll want a drink," the man said. "Glasses in that box.
I'm going to sit down. I'm going to sit down on that sofa." The man sat on the sofa, leaned back, and stared at the boy and the
girl. The boy
found two glasses and poured whiskey. "That's
enough," the girl said. "I think I want water in mine." She pulled out a chair and sat at the kitchen table. "There's water in that spigot over there," the man said. "Turn on
that spigot." The boy came back with the watered
whiskey. He cleared his throat and sat down at the kitchen table. He grinned.
But he didn't drink anything from his glass. The man
gazed at the television. He finished his drink and started another. He reached
to turn on the floor lamp. It was then that his cigarette dropped from his
fingers and fell between the cushions. The girl got
up to help him find it. "So what do you want?" the
boy said to the girl. The boy took out the checkbook
and held it to his lips as if thinking. "I want the
desk," the girl said. "How much money is the desk?" The man waved his hand at this preposterous question. "Name a figure," he said. He looked at them as they
sat at the table. In the lamplight, there was something about their faces. It
was nice or it was nasty. There was no telling.
"I'm going to turn off this TV and put on
a record," the man said. "This record-player is going, too. Cheap. Make me an
offer." He poured more whiskey and opened a
beer. "Everything goes," said the man.
The girl held out her glass and the man poured.
"Thank you," she said. "You're very nice," she said.
"It goes to your head," the boy said. "I'm getting it in the
head." He held up his glass and jiggled it. The man
finished his drink and poured another, and then he found the box with the
records. "Pick something," the man said to the girl,
and he held the records out to her. The boy was
writing the check. "Here," the girl said, picking
something, picking anything, for she did not know the names on these labels.
She got up from the table and sat down again. She did not want to sit
still. "I'm making it out to cash," the boy
said. "Sure," the man said. They drank. They listened to the record. And then the man put on
another. Why don't you kids dance? he decided to say,
and then he said it. "Why don't you dance?" "I don't
think so," the boy said. "Go ahead," the man said.
"It's my yard. You can dance if you want to." Arms
about each other, their bodies pressed together, the boy and the girl moved up
and down the driveway. They were dancing. And when the record was over, they
did it again, and when that one ended, the boy said, "I'm drunk."
The girl said, "You're not drunk." "Well I'm drunk," the boy said. The man
turned the record over and the boy said, "I am." "Dance with me," the girl said to the boy and then to the man, and when the man
stood up, she came to him with her arms wide open.
"Those people over there, they're
watching," she said. "It's okay," the man said.
"It's my place," he said. "Let them watch," the girl
said. "That's right," the man said. "They thought
they'd seen everything over here. But they haven't seen this, have they?" he
said. He felt her breath on his neck.
"I hope you like your bed," he said. The girl closed and then opened her eyes. She pushed her face into
the man's shoulder. She pulled the man closer. "You
must be desperate or something," she said. Weeks
later, she said: "The guy was about middle-aged. All his things right there in
his yard. No lie. We got real pissed and danced. In the driveway. Oh, my
God. Don't laugh. He played us these records. Look at this record-player.
The old guy gave it to us. And all these crappy records. Will you look at this
shit?" She kept talking. She told everyone. there
was more to it, and she was trying to get it talked out. After a time, she quit
some teenager, an obvious leftie from the looks of this writing, left this paper at Table #3. it appears to be some fable, possibly for a class assignment. it's very rough, could use a lot of polish, but it has a fairly sound idea:
Once upon a time, there was a zoo, and all the animals who
lived in the zoo lived under rules that guaranteed each zoo animal would be
One day, though, the lions thought their ideas made them
better able to run the zoo.The lions
were bigger and stronger and liked to fight.In fact, they often went into the zebra cages and the giraffes
enclosures in order to take their food.
The lions also joined forces with the tigers, who were very
religious, and formed a unity that made them feel as though they were better
than the other animals.
The chimps didn’t like the tigers always talking about their
religion.The chimps thought that all
animals had come from chimps and therefore should all be able to just hang out
in trees and sling their poo whenever they wanted.
The tigers thought that the chimps were nasty poo-slingers
and should be restrained from being able to sling poo.
So the tigers and the lions put up posters all over the zoo
talking about how nasty the chimps were.Their posters and their calls to action enraged a lot of the
animals.So much so that the snakes
would go into the chimp cages and bite the chimps, poisoning them so they would
All of the zoo animals were scared of the poisonous snakes,
and of the religious tigers and of the proud rich lions.So they never did anything to stop the innocent
chimps from being killed.
The moral of this story is this:
You can claim that everybody is equal in one big zoo, but that quickly falls apart when you identify yourselves by separate cages.
The chimps are the liberals.
The lions are the wealthy
The tigers are the so-called “religious right”
The snakes are the insane mass murderers driven to violence
by Fox News.
The other animals: are all the rest of us who always stand
by and never do anything.
typed by a manual typewriter on a thinskinned, somewhat yellowing piece of paper, the woodgrains in the paper and the slight offset type indicates probably late-sixties, possible even seventies, when this poem was written.
always be safe May you always
be strong May you
always find footholds When the
path is so long
always be free May you
always find love May you
always find sleep With clear
always be brave May you
always have friends Who will
stand right beside you In cold
always be meek May you
always be mild May your
imagination Always run wild
always be brave May you
always be true May you
always be sure of My love for
My wife and i had a disagreement, because i thought rachel mcadams was totally hot in that movie, my wife she thought that she was just crazy. I said yeah, crazy is hot. My wife then asked me what, do you think im still crazy? I says, baby, you were steaming hot crazy when i met you, and youve been driving me all kinds of crazy ever since.
right between the eyes, the catalyst, the trucker mother rears her oblivious head and shouts something into the four winds, but the four winds are in conflux, conflagration, and generally busying themselves in an intercourse of intersection, and as such, what she has shouted has been lost in the climax, the conflux, the conflagration.
generally speaking, it has been consumed.
then, subsumed, she slinks off the stool and wanders toward the bathroom in arrears and finds herself in a body wandering through a blue field, call it lucille, some night party down, as the sun has long sat down, playing dice between the sun and the moon, yes, they throw dice, splitting the price of the garments on the sky, which they have ripped apart and scattered in the fields, where she lays down now
now, now, old she is. old old old. She has spent so many years dreaming of sailing across the water. Sailing into some now sun. Dreaming of getting rich. Rich off of old people, and then to sail a way in a row row row boat.
gold people, gold cold gold, she sought, she snuck, she sung my precious to the no one who was there, and she is dancing now, dancing without a partner any more, all the partners have gone, they've all left down, they pulled the last shades down on the frontpiecs and the churches were no different, the bells no longer ring, and she slowly stops singing
old people, old old old old old.
from Salinghetti Chronicles Vol. 53 Smoke and Ashes tk3: Tracy Chapman "Cold Feet"
much diminished now, more like a timid
squawk, peeping out from behind the
blinds, like a frightened gradeschooler waiting for
the 11 rounds to be split into your brain.
America, I’m talking to you, hiding there behind the sofa,
pants while you let your dogs ravage your
cabinets, looking for 30round clips, while they throw your
grandmother out into the rising ocean that just
removed the beach, what was that? America? Did you just
let your slipper squeak against the hardwood?
the gas canister, courtesty of Combined Systems Inc., with the
words MADE IN USA so proudly
imprinted on the side.
I will never understand my wife and her shoes. She buys the ugliest shoes in the world, and always asks me what I think. Great! If I tell her what I think I won't get none for a week. No WAY am I going to tell her that she buys the most godawful ugliest shoes ever.