jonberger

In an early poem
wherein I tried to woo the entire populace
by claiming to be a poet
I suggested that “no poet will ever make it.”
In content, it was supposed to be a selling point.
I was much younger then.

I just read it aloud for the first time
in a long time
to an audience that would not shut up.
It took a lot of will power and force
to bring them under control
and I didn’t think anyone actually heard the the entire piece,
but at least the next poet got an attentive room.

After she was done with her recitation,
the next poet exited the stage
and bent to me to say, “By the way,
poets do make it.”

And she was right.
There are different standards of making it.
There’s personal satisfaction.
There’s groupies.
There’s successful performances.
There’s legacy.
There’s earning copies of the issue
that you’ve been published in.
You can make it after all,
when love is all around.

The standards of the youth I was
needn’t be the standards
of the craggy old man I’ve become.
Maybe I’ve made it.
Certainly she has.

I’ve been trying to puzzle this out:
I’m chatting with this sweet Israeli star
who asks me to read my poetry to her
but the bar is too noisy
and I can’t hear my own voice
and maybe the accents are causing some difficulty
and it looks like she’s trying hard to keep my attention
so I hand her my phone instead
and say, “These are some good selections,”
and let her read so she can get the jist.

When she’s done,
she hands me the phone back
and thanks me,
leaving,
but she doesn’t seem all that happy.

Have I done something wrong?

Dance while you’re able.
Dance while you can.
Dance with abandon.
Dance like a man.

Dance like you’re children;
a squadron of ’em
causing chaos cross the county
making mostly mayhem!

Dance as a woman, whatever you are!

Dance really close. Dance friggin’ far.
Dancing near danger can be really cool
just exercise caution; don’t act a fool.

Dance like you have to.
Dance with the need.
Dance with desire;
dance on your knees!

Dance! Dance on your knees!
Dance. Dance on your knees!

Dance. Dance on your knees!

Dance. Dance on your knees!

Dancing on knees doesn’t always make sense
but when having fun, all your logic, dispense!

Just go for the joy and keep moving your butt.
You can do that from any position, Peanut.

Dance to extinction. Dance with a chimp.
Go to the best clubs; no need to skimp.
In terms of your movement, dance with the best.
Just take thy pastime, at my behest.

Require instructions? It’s easy to do:
Just get down to ground on your one knee, then two.
Then move to the groove with the finest you’ve got.
There’s no harm in giving your very best shot.

The stretch is electric; it’s what you need do.
There never is more that you bite, you can chew.
Keep on dancing. You must do it, please.

Dance with me now; dance on your knees!

Dance! Dance on your knees!
Dance. Dance on your knees!

Dance. Dance on your knees!

Dance. Dance on your knees!

Dancing all night will make it all right;

if you’re feeling uptight, knee-dance a delight!

Dance with your feet or your hands or the band,
with a man, woman, other, in air or on land.
You can dance if you want to, you can humpty dance.
You can move with purpose or by happenstance.
Wear whatever you want, whether suede of blue,
or Angel’s red, or old brown shoe.

You can dance on your elbows or your knees or your toes
but when I ask you to dance, say "Yes!", no "No"s!

Just

Dance! Dance on your knees!
Dance. Dance on your knees!

Dance. Dance on your knees!

Dance. Dance on your knees!

If there’s one thing here today
I can offer up to you
it’s there’s nothing that you are unable to do
if you lie. This is true!
It’s my mantra of honest advice
that’s been due since I chose to talk through
a lifetime’s conventions – and your several intentions –
just back a moment or two.

The world is simply your oyster for shucking
if you fail to give but a single butt-fucking
instant of instance of virtuous heed
to the millions of others’ irrelevant needs.

Just tell all the tales that are yours to invent
and prevent any legends too ludicrous to lament
and go on and libelize to your heart’s content
for any untruth is some oxygen well-spent!

If I’ve left you a thought to consider
as I hope I’ve authentically done,
it’s that honesty is one dish to deliver
after everyone has gone.
You can serve it snarky or spicy
or with fine spirited alcohol
but if you ask me, factuality
is most well served, not at all.

– Really, you must stop speaking for me. – she said.
– If I don’t speak for you, nobody speaks for you. – I replied, – the speaking doesn’t get done. –
– I speak for myself, – she answered, – in the way that I want.
– With no words? –
– If that’s my choice. –
– Well, I just don’t understand that. – I snorted.
– Then you just aren’t listening to me. – she said.
She said it again, differently.
It took me quite a long while to hear.

You have come from a great distance
and you find an obstacle before you of some substance.
Say it is a wall.
You think of all the obstacles that have been placed before you
the distance and the threats and the people
the hunger and the heat and the blisters and the locusts
– were there locusts?
you have been too fevered to remember –
and the fevers!
It has been a long voyage to get here.

You think of where you are going
and the people behind the wall:
rebels
revolutionaries
people who throughout history
do not do what is told of them by others
who ignore rules
defy them as unjust
and make new rules
as befit a new people.

Surely, then
this wall is a test
of ingenuity and inspiration.
Only those who truly want it
will pass into the land
and you’ve come too far
to back out now, haven’t you?
What is this wall
but another thing to fall
before you?

Three days later
the burnt smell has not yet escaped.

It is far too cold out there
to truly air the place out
so the results
of my last errant attempt
to use the kitchen
remains,
a reminder

as to why domestic chores
should be left to people more responsible
more capable.

So next time you ask me to make the toast,
Sonny-Boy,
know what you’re getting into.

I am not quite sure how this will go.
The last time we saw each other
started out with an awkward lunch
at a mediocre diner
and ended with an overnight visit
to the hospital.

No permanent damage
but still.

I’m certain nothing permanent
will arise from this meeting either
but perhaps
we can spring for a nicer place?

There’s a note I just foundof indeterminate age
among my papers
that reads, "I’m sorry for what you heard.
I don’t remember saying it
but I’m sorry that you heard it."

That’s exactly the kind of weasley-ass
non-apology I’d give
in trying to avoid responsibility
as some bullshit excuse for something I totally did.

The handwriting checks out.
It’s definitely me.
Of course, to paraphrase myself,
I don’t remember writing the note
or the context in which it was written.
I’d guess college or high school
based on the kind of politics suggested
by what I’m saying.
It definitely sounds like me.

But who ever really knows
what kids are talking about these days
or those days
or some days
or something.

Anyhow,
if you’re waiting for an insincere note from me
about something I said a long time ago,
I’ve got it right here.

Will furnish on request.

I’m going down down down to Multiply City
where the girls times boys are exceedingly pretty
and the boys times boys are incredibly witty
and the girls times girls rarely love by committee!
Going back down…. to Multiply City!

If you ever get to wander in to Multiply City
you may find yourself just looking for a place to call home; a parcel or a piece of land on which you’ll make your final stand where antelope may play all day and buffalo roam.
In Multiply City, they accentuate the positive
and minimize the negative; it happens every day.
When you go, you’ll find it so, you’ll be as happy as winds blow. That’s precisely what you’ll claim upon your ultimate say.

Going all the way down to Multiply City
where the girls times boys are exceedingly pretty
and the boys times boys are incredibly witty
and the girls times girls rarely love by committee!
Going back down…. to Multiply City!

Well, the next time you stop back into Multiply City
bring a spreadsheet program or a paper and pen.
When you’re in that world, you’ll be doing calculating.
Be prepared with tools, right? Cool. I’ll see you then.
Gotta add me and you, she and she, he and he
or whatever permutation that you think makes sense.
It’s all about what you like here in M City,
When you get down to it, let the mathing commence!

We get down and dirty here in Multiply City
where we work like rabbits just to get it done well
whether me and you or Bob and Sue or Jack and Jim or Lu and Lou we do it to make it true
right here…. in Multiply City!