jonberger

The last few months have left us tumbled and it’s been rough.
Winter beat us down and we have had enough.
I can feel it coming by the beat of her wings
Still, despite the date, it is not quite Spring

Though the park is suffused with a golden glow,
it’s just one of the colors that she likes to show.
The days are longer and the sky is promising
but no matter evidence, it is not yet Spring.

I don’t think that I can wait much longer…
the need to speed into the season’s getting stronger…
Are there many more days that I must ponder
if patience for Spring is right, then I am wronger!

I miss being out of doors and walking jacketless.
If I could do that again, ‘twould be miraculous.
I cannot wait for all the stuff the season can bring.
It’s coming soon, I’m sure! It’s just not quite Spring.

Any day now, I’ll be checking, only to recognize
a shift in weather before my very own eyes.
With warmth and sunshine and other vital things
I will discover that I have finally entered Spring.

The season’s changing really soon, you can’t control it.
No matter what you try to do, you won’t withhold it.
I’ve seen the future and my prophecy foretold it.
The Spring is coming and it’s great. Hell, we are owed it!

I kept her waiting. I do that more than I should.
I’m just the sort of kind of nobody who’s always up to no good.
But when I got there she looked radiant; like nothing could be wrong with the Earth.
As if all was glorious under Heaven
and her time I was worth.

So we got to chatting, catching up since our last talk.
I was amazed it was going so well; I felt kinda smooth. I didn’t even gawk
but the folks around us did. Seeing me with someone as classy as her.
They’d never believe it if they could hear what she said when she came close and purred.

She said: “I think I got a use for you in the organization.
I think there’s a place where you could fit right in.
Yeah, I’m sure there’s room for you in the organization,
if you’re ready to sin”

I shook. “Is this an interview?” I asked with a gulp, “am I here for some work?”
“I’ve got some positions that I’m mulling over,” she replied with a smirk.
“There’s a job or two I think you would like,” she mentioned devilishly.
While looking at a potential employer, I don’t know what came over me,

But I suggested we conference in a quieter spot where disruptions would be few
so we went upstairs for a tet a tet and discussed my future, we two.
I can’t discuss the wheeling and the deals behind those doors that noon
but we worked out a transition plan and I’ve been working with her since and I am over the moon!

Yeah, I found a place in the organization.
I’d always been a loser but I’m learning how to win.
There’s a place for me in the organization.
I’ve fit right in.

If you listen
in the hills
you can hear the fading sounds of heavy reverb
sucking saliva and excelling life.
Soon they will be gone.

To seek further signal of those sounds
you could go further in the hills
but you could go anywhere else as well.

Those sounds can be found anywhere.
Everywhere.
The world is pregnant, emanant
with such noise, if you choose to listen.

As someone once said,
everything is alive.

I really wanted to like the Doors. Something about their mystique drew me
so I bought a bunch of their records
and I listened to them a couple of times.
I read a couple of articles
about their origins
and the genius of Jim Morrison.

I paid attention to that first album.
I listened again
and again.
The band wasn’t for me.

Not every product pleases every consumer
and the Doors definitely seemed like product.
Morrison’s voice sounded like a Vegas crooner to me
which didn’t quite turn me on.
It tuned me out.
The tinkling organ wasn’t working for me, either.

The records have long since left my collection.
My perceptions have been blocked
to what Morrison might have shown me.
I’m all right with that;
I closed that door long ago.

The sea lions at the Queens Zoo
were fucking huge.
I should note
that they were not seals
though I don’t remember the difference
between seals and sea lions
(other than “ion”).

I’m sure it’s something pretty important.
I just wish there were a way
I could get that information
quickly and easily.

Don’t bark at me like that!
My tiny ears can’t take it!

These are not adventures in foreign lands
but areas we know full well.
Still, they have not been visited in quite some time
and who knows how they may have changed
in the years since the last sojourn?

I don’t think I’ve been here since COVID
which was a lifetime ago
and don’t know anymore what to expect.
Will they still allow my sort through the door?
Do they continue to serve macaroni salad?
Is Marianna still on staff in the back corner?
These important questions need answers!

We find these answers
and more
through our stay at Last Hope Cafe & Smokes
(which no longer allows smoking within the premises).
It is not the only place we frequent
in this long-overlooked neighborhood
but it is the only one
where Marianna has forsaken me.

When Crazy Grandma dies
and you have to come up with the right words to say
because people will be asking at the wake
and you want to seem respectful
but she’s been crazy as long as you’ve been alive
and you liked her all right
but it’s not like you had that much to talk about.

Like, you’d say, "Hey Grams!"

and she’d say, "The waffles are coming in from Left Gnosha today!"
and you’re wondering if this is a delivery service from a store
or a place or a state of mind
and you don’t even like waffles
you prefer crêpes.

So you wonder and you plan
and you come up with a phrase or three
so in case anyone corners you
or if God forbid
someone calls you up
you’ve got something prepped
but then there’s a round robin

and everybody takes turns saying something
and they’re all variations of

"Crazy Grandma sure is crazy!"
only it’s was, because a heart attack on the toilet
is no joke.

So everybody talks
no one is looking at you special
and you don’t have to worry

when you pop your couple of words
into the mix.
It works out pretty well.

Crazy Grandma sure is crazy.
Was.

That’ll do

The blockade is gonna last.
It has to.
The mutates will be held at the gates
and we have the underground bunker
all to ourselves
and the guards
and the maintenance staff
so we’re good.

Only…
the champagne can’t last.
We’ve been drinking so much
celebrating our survival
that we’re gonna be out
in no time
and we don’t have a way to get more.

Well, we can’t go back to France
for more now, can we?

You know that it’s only from the correct region
and we’re stuck underground.
The gates work both ways, now…

When we run out of champagne,
there will be no more
forever.

Luckily,
our cocaine supply is virtually limitless.

All told, today’s been a lazy sort of day,
just a lot of staring up into the gray,
aimlessly wishing awkward thoughts away
thinking of something vaguely positive to say.

Nothing seems to come to mind.

Perhaps if I try enough, I’ll find
that finally something will, in time
but so far, to date, I’ve been blind.

If I could at this moment perhaps see
– that is, have the perspicacity –
to escape from this sense of ennui
then I suspect I could be free.

Alas, though, I’m muddled in this mire
with the melancholy I’ve acquired
and cannot raise my spirits higher
to that of any to aspire
(to).

Speak to me again.
Call me by the name I was born into
not the one I chose
the one where I redefined myself.
Call me by my original identity
when I knew not who I really was.

Name me by my primordial material.
Know me in my earlier form
so you can understand me
through all my eras
all of my different adventures.

Get the full measure of me now
by seeing the transitions
through generations.
Watch the climb.
Hear about me putting the crown
upon my head.

Know my name
my original one.