jonberger

DAMN MONSTERS

There are benefits to being a ghoul,
a goblin,
a monster in the night.
I can always find a spot on a train
or at the movies.
Nobody ever crowds me.

When I ask for something
however outlandish
I usually get it
– and quickly.
I was joking about a donkey’s weight
in cranberries,
but here it is.

Sometimes,
the fate of the outcast
is not all that bad.
I don’t often get bored by idiots.

And yet
despite the protection from the worst of society
I would trade it all
if I could spy the smile
of a mother unconcerned
if I’ll make dinner of any of her children.

If I could smell the perfume of a lovely lass
because she had allowed me close enough,
that would be sweet.
I would happily forsake this cursed life
to have a taste of normalcy
– or virgin’s blood.

JANINE TO JON ON THAT FIRST NIGHT

Oh, that’s sad.
All you could come up with was that?
That was your finest line?
REALLY?
Man, you’ve been working this corner
staring at me
for what seems like forever,
and this is the best you van come up with?
Oi…

Really
I think you can improve
upon that shoddy performance
and
for the betterment of all society
really wish you would.

I’m sorry;
you’ll just have to do better than that.
I refuse to go home
with someone
with such lousy pick-up skills
and I’d already decided
I was going home with you
so, I’m afraid,
we’re going to have to keep at it
until you improve
(the same may apply
to later activities
as well)

So
I insist
come at me
with something better.
I can wait.

WONDER AND QUEST

In the far future,
when my fame is a given
and my fortunes long ago lost,
when the literary detectives
seek to uncover each and every inch of evidence
of my inspiration,
and they look at my work
to seek some smidgen of story
to add to the annals of my honored existence,
what will they make of this piece?

(Will they note that I wrote ‘piece’
instead of ‘poem,’
and build theses on my down-to-earth nature
how I felt far too modest
to call myself a poet,
but preferred the phrase Wordsmith?
These are questions for another day)

No doubt, they will seek out my muse,
for they will need to be able to lay thanks
at somebody’s feet
for inspiring me to the heights
that I no doubt reached.
They will ask, certainly,
who was it that I wrote to?
What girl or boy
(for the future will have
much more nebulous and liberal
sexual politics than today
– but let the record show
that it was girls.
Always girls)
put my mind to the matter of writing
this particular work of art?

They will look back on this era
and search for meaning
using whatever records they can find.
They will scour my Facebook history
and the lesser sites
like Florydoor dot com
and jonbergerisfunkyfresh dot Tee Vee
and, of course, jay bee dot com.
They will study correspondence
and notes in the margins
of the coasters I saved
from gentlemen’s clubs.

They will wonder and quest
using whatever means they can
to find you, Jenny Martin,
and see how you fit into
my important history.
Will they succeed?
Only time with tell.

ODE TO THE PARK

When you sit in the park
with your book of verse
and your cappuccino
and your solitude
as you look on at the happy loving couples
and think how much happier you are
you are lying
and more: you are a poseur.

You know you don’t want to be different
especially since you aren’t.
You belong to a different tribe
– a loser tribe –
if they would even have you
and since you sit alone
on your rock
gloomily staring at others,
they don’t,
poseur.

Drop the book
and pick up a girl
if you can find one
who will tolerate your pretensions
ad your smell
you frigging poseur.

AN HONEST PROPOSAL

People talk all the time about the right to smoke
and the civil liberties involved
and the freedom of expression
and how
the loss of the cigarette
is the loss of the soul of America
and that if we are true patriots
out last breath
should be coughed.

I have little against those arguments
(other than the fact that smoking is stupid)
but there’s another issue at play
one I’ve never heard before
and it must be addressed:

What about the trees?
Who is giving a thought to our green, rooted friends
who suck the carbon monoxide
like we suck air.

They need it.
They thrive on it.
If we restrict the smoking of humans,
we restrict the breathing of plants
and we love then too much
for them to suffer, right?

The poor plants of America have rights too
and we must protect them
until the end.

Hm?
Carbon dioxide?
Not…
Well, surely
the logic applies to a CO, too?
Look, my girlfriend can’t seem to quit.
Help a brother out?

ELEVATE THE HATE

Swords in hand
they eye each other
waiting impatiently
for the other
to make the first move.

Whoever goes on the defensive
will have naming rights
in this adventure
so each awaits
the eminent attack.

Days become years become hours.
Eventually, someone will go
– either forward or back.
It has to happen
some time.

Until then
they face each other
wondering when
– if –
one will strike.

THE GOOD OLD DAYS

You look back on history
and see the good old days
a glorious past you’d hope to revisit
a time of less complexity
of greater simplicity.
You look upon the past
and imagine satisfaction.

The past
looks ahead to us
and sees hope.
The people living there
imagine a world of possibility
and try to reach us as soon as they can.

They strive to become us
to voyage among our marvelous spires
our eclectic chances
our alchemical jetpacks.

We look back at their gorgeous green grass
while they seek stratagems
to curb our dependence on Big Nature.
They work
every day
to escape the good old days
and arrive somewhere better.

Someday,
we all dream
of a return to Eden
but all Eve wanted
was one taste
of freedom.

WEDNESDAY AT
MUDVILLE ON CENTER STREET

They are dancing up a storm
in the club tonight
with the thunderous bass
and the lightning flash strobes.
It’s as crazy a Wednesday
as I’ve ever seen here.
This is the place.
It’s sort of a scene dream.

Look!
At the color of that drink.
At the moves on the DJ.
At the slutty girls in their slitty skirts.
There is joy in Mudville
’cause Casey’s getting balled
in the back of Stefen’s Jag.

If you get out of the bathroom,
you may enjoy the party
a little more.
If you witness the talent
you might make more effort.

No more excuses, kid.
Get with it; got ‘er done.
This is the time.
The fat girl’s friend is crazy hot
doing that slutty librarian thing.

We can run interference for you
meet her friend and chat her up
separate her from the herd.
Then you
can attack at will.

That bathroom you like so much
– the one next to the bar is pretty spacious
I’ve heard
and you can do your duty there.
It’ll work out well
although
the librarian might be into the fat chick
who’s really kind of sexy on her own.

Maybe we’ve been looking at this
the wrong way
all along.
The little girls in the little skirts
might be all right
but maybe it’s time for heartier fare?

Something to think about
or maybe it’s the drink talking.
Maybe it’s the excitement of this Unwind ing opportunity after so long – it’s already Hump Day!
Let’s stay on course with you cat-eyed
glasses-wearing prey over there.
She is a spectacle, that’s for sure!

It won’t be long before
you’re dripping with sweat
and she’s dripping
with you.
It will require a little effort
a bit of perseverance
and a shit-ton of alcohol
to get the job done.

Also: you’ll need to spend less time
in the bathroom
until the time is right.

SEMI-RHYMING HAIKU WITH A TITLE THAT IS SUBSTANTIALLY BUT UNSURPRISINGLY LONGER THAN THE PIECE ITSELF

As the castle’s king,
you would think that I would win
but it’s chess; she’s queen.

CRUMBLES

OK.
I got it.
I’m a smart cookie
I’m with ya.
There’s just one thing I don’t understand:
If… Scratch that.
Rewind.
There’s a dozen things I don’t understand
like physics.
Or the process of silk-screening
– or even the definition of silk-screening.

Did I say there’s A dozen things that I don’t get?
I meant dozens.
Hundreds.
Well, I’m not sure if I’ve counted this far
– ever –
but I’ll bet I could find three thousand items
that are beyond my comprehension.

I never really had faith in the shape of the earth
or why we mock those ignorant old world folks who didn’t know better that our planet was round
when no one could ever actually SEE
it for themselves
until space travel
and the last time I was that high
it was on Vicodin
you know what I’m saying?

I mean, have YOU ever proven
that Earth was an orb?
There’s so much to question out there
so much that we take on faith.
How does a green piece of paper equal one hundred small copper coins?

Sorry?
What was I getting at?
Damned if I can remember.
I just don’t know.