All Out of April Fools

April 2013

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Spring Fragments 2010

Entitlement, Poor Self Esteem and Learned Helplessness Q & A

An erection

does not

count

as evidence

of personal growth.

In the next yard over

Right around this time

of the late afternoon

the neighbors’ yard

is transformed

in a Hill-Billy

Happy Hour

Trailer Park

starring a toddler

that they all refer

to as

Rogaine.

You’re not just Whistling Dixie

The song that starts off

Wish I was in the land of cotton

was written in a New York City

hotel room in 1859 by a down

and out composer from Ohio.

Ok….. Who’s been eating my Artificial Ear ?

Alexander Graham Bell did not in fact invent

the first Telephone, Actually 15 years before

a German school teacher came up with a device

he named an Artificial Ear. It was comprised of a violin,

knitting needle, a scale replica of the human ear carved

out of knotty pine and a piece of sausage.

– From Sometimes Grief 2012

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One Shitty Spring Fragments 2011

Revenge Fucking

Revenge fucking

is almost always

kind of a bad idea.

After all that revenge part

is really

a dish best served cold.

A Dopy Bastard for all Seasons

All my life

I’ve had this

longing

ache

sense of perpetual loss

and end up

watching subways

go by looking

for her face

on the wrong end

of the platform.

Barking up the Wrong Grief

or was that

sometimes grief barks up the wrong tree ?

know what ?

Skip it.

God Bless the Callous

True.

They might not inherit the earth.

But then again

They won’t give a shit anyway.

-From Sometimes Grief 2012

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Lost/Found Fragments 2012

And there he goes-

And there goes

Driving off into a shaft of sunset…

The wrong way.

Shallow End of the Pool

In ways perhaps

She will never fathom

That your love was

Just deep enough

For her to swim

Away from you in.

He thought….

He thought he was

12 angry men in one guy.

Perhaps.

But Problem was ?

none of them

were named

Henry Fonda

Just Ask The Romance Accident Reconstruction Team

Our best advice to you in this instance

Is when you lose that one person

You once regarded as the love of your life ?

Make it look like an accident.

How should you pitch to them in your Dreams ?

Everyone should be considered Game 7

And throwing a shut out

Will never show up in

Anyone’s box score.

Uncollected 2012

The Missing Thread

(Recorded on the CD Singing Mr. Cedric Live audio link below)

05 Missing Thread

Trying so very hard

to explicate myself from that

Spider’s thread.

The tail end of the shadows

contains it like it was pulling ink

in a thread line pinpoint

needles eye of the lines on this page.

April ignoring Spring

Back turned smirking

lusting in the gusting

of a premature barbecue twilight

gale burning hotter

wanting Summer now

Instead.

No time foreplay.

April pleading hot and fast

Jump me now

Instead of holding the fool May’s hand

So in the hissing high unnatural

desire there is just enough

light and heat to make you

believe out of season

you’ve got a shot at all this.

When April wants to really taunt March

she uses his winds like this on you.

The roar of Winter in the throat of a August Dog

right after the Fools day with your name written

all over it.

April laughing in all their faces.

Calling then just a bunch of numbers with Roman names

don’t let the calendar door hit you as it clears

your ass clear away.

April

Not a nice girl

after all.

Knows you and your missing thread

and shows up on an afternoon like this

to taunt and tease you…..in knots.

-from Sometimes Grief 2012

Happens Every Spring

And he wraps

his fingers

around the pen

holding it in

his hand

like it was his

favorite bat

and takes

a 1-2-3

series of practice

swings

crouching into stance

while setting in his

place between the

white caulk lines

of the pages

batter’s box

looking out at the pitcher

and nods in acknowledgement

with a slow sure steady stare

glaring a certain degree

of due respect

but….

Thinking

Hell yes….

I can hit this guy.

– From Sometimes Grief 2012

Why is April the Cruelest Month ?

Hard to put a handle

on this label.

So I asked my students

who originally wrote

this line.

They “peered” up at me

with such a deep bewilderment.

All except for that one girl who sits off on the left hand side of the room

who rolled her eyes and let out a sigh while huffing indignantly ,

“I don’t even see what that’s even supposed to mean.”

I guess now wasn’t the time to introduce the line,

“I see myself dead in the rain”

Maybe it was the bookend of chilled dawn memory

sandwiched between the evening dusk desire frost.

I remember driving to work in

those April ice storms

when I was once teacher in a County Jail

that tended to make you a “little thirsty”

by the end of the day.

OK.

How about

“a lot….. of “little thirsty”

Perhaps it is the distance taking hold

like one real “stick it to um” bitch stuck in my memory

The distance of the years gone realized

in a growing, gnawing squeezing in your chest.

But really it’s that stranger’s hand in your pocket

You know that one you discover

upon putting your own in there

to fish something out.

And it looks like somebody already beat you too it

In some other April

when someone has no more memory

of picking your pocket clean

of all you ever desired.

From Greeting From Gridville 2006

In a April Moment

Strange perfume

Chilly Sunday

April afternoon

Ambient concussions

in oscillating cycles

My shadow lingers

in the doorway sighing

in the silent hiss of

blooming scattered

upon fitful sparse green.

New red maple buds

burst on my daughters

tree in disfigured branches

Cardinals in pairs appear

nestled in the thick

wild golden eyes

of Forsythia.

They seclude themselves

hide deep red wings like

secret lovers

and in this late afternoon

translucent fragile light

I think the wrinkles around your eyes

and slight pout of your lips

are singing hymns of the

Terrible Now to me.

Christmas ornament Cardinals

seclude their love inside

Forsythia’s arms

while this intoxication

of the second is complete

every time when I keep my silence

you return to me.

From Sometimes Grief – 2013

This entry was posted on March 31, 2013 by Cedric. It was filed under Po o' the Month .

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