Poems Written Between 1990 and 2010
T.J. Seitz
Copyright 2011 by T.J. Seitz
Smashwords Edition
"Open Season"
A hunting trip we shall go
I and my boy
Tracking deer through the mid-fall cold
Our licenses and bought
Guns and gear cleaned
Out to the country we drive
Quiet and serene
We find and climb the chosen trees
Sitting tight for hours
Waiting patiently for signs of Bambi
Son says, “Dad I gotta stretch.”
I say fine, go for a walk, take a rest.”
He scurried down silently
And then disappears into the bush
Anticipation of the kill
Makes my right index finger tingle with thrill
Hark there’s movement coming over the hill
I aim, shoot twice
With no time to spare
Climb down quickly
Reload and begin to search for my prize
The trail of blood was easy to find
The beast is near
The sense of death is so sublime
My God, that’s not a deer!
The mangled corpse of my son
Lies right in front of me
Numbness overcomes my spirit
I can’t live with myself
This act is unforgivable
My life I must end
The muzzle to me head
Finger on the trigger
One quick tug
And now I’m…..
"Stifled Honesty"
That awkward moment
Before the phone's in place
Silence between two lovers
Words hung in space
You long to say it
But know you can't
When repeated too early
The results are scant
Denying their fate for one more day
Each lost in the world
That has no name
Spitting out rehearsed words
Not their imprisoned souls
Saying
Until next time, adieu
Instead of
I love you
“Piss Off!”
Boy
You
claim to be artsy fartsy.
But
was your sphincter candy coated
By
an Andy Warhol flavored cough drop?
Do
you...
Brush
daily
With
a gold plated straight razor?
Don't
forget to rinse with Silly Puddy
Cheat
on your sofa
With
the neighbor's ottoman
Read
Charlie because he can spell words
Admire
Salvador's rendition of life
Through
the hungry eyes of Dr. Lecter
Hate
your Mother for fucking the dishwasher
Hate
your Father for cumming in your best bottle of Aqua Velva
Hate
your Brother for beheading sister's Barbie dolls
Love
Sister for the shows she puts on for you and your friends
Tonight's
episode:
"Huck
a Buck a Bean Stalk! Come Find Skipper's Poor Lost Head."
(Its
somewhere here on Sally's body)
Let
her smoke some crack before the guys rape her!
She's
really asking for it, isn't she?
Can
you...
Beat
an aged women senseless
Leave
her for the dead
Spend
one night in jail
Then
weeks uncounted strapped to a hospital bed
Chase
after cars with a dirty needle
Inject
gasoline into your arm
Paint
a portrait with your girlfriend's blood
Sell
it to any ole Captain Kangaroo
For
five bucks, a two bit whore or bottle of Boons
Play
the drums with a broken stick shoved far up your ass
Never
loosing a beat
While
the sweet tasting cranberry sauce drips out slowly
From
a frayed hole in the crotch of your jock
Give
it up bud,
Your
just another wannabe flim flam
Who
thrust an eraserless number two pencil up his impotent prick
While
plucking the wings off butterflies
That
live outside your ivy lined cardboard cave
Remember...
Just
because you got a bad haircut called style
Model
your Merry Go Round wardrobe after boxcar bums
And
float within clusters of degreed invertebrates
Does
not necessarily make you one of them
Who
ever them may be.
“The Play of Life”
My
life beckons me to change
As
the pages in the back of my mind
Once
memorized
Are
forgotten
I
must relearn my lines
Again
For
my role in the production
Has
been edited
As
everything is through time.
Five
years ago I was a child
Five
years from now I could be married
The
person I am today
Did
not exist yesterday
And
will be dead tomorrow
Then
who am I?
I
do not know.
Probably
won't,
Until
the last day of my show.
"Festering Scab"
Stop bitching about the world
Damn it!
Everyone has their own private Idaho to contend with
After being fucked in the ass by their parents
For example let use
Poor Crazy Jane,
She splattered all her brains
While listening to a sermon
At Saint Alphonzo’s Pancake House
The Bishop blamed Satan
Oh contrar!
What a sorry explanation coming from a man of the snotrag
Nick was nowhere near the North Pole when it happened
He accepts no credit
Jane was crazy for Chrissake!
She was bound to do it eventually
One can’t expect miracles from a cunt with a mansion
Build on mounds of shit and filled with bones
And then there’s The Captain
He chose his fate
So why remorse,
Because he died before reaching port?
Blow me!
He was partying with a bunch of stowaway Hare Krishnas on deck
The night before
Submerge himself in the drink of their word
(It was tempting to believe)
Surrendered his soul and signed all his belongings over
To “My Sweet Lord”
In the morning when he woke
His indiscretions where brought to his attention
“I FREED WHO!!!!!?”
A bullet in the head was the price he paid
So why not hop along happily
With a permanent shitgrin on your face?
You’ll soon lean that ‘Nothing Matters’
And accept your cursed fate
“Valor”
I am The Knight in Shining Armor
I accept quests to strengthen my honor
Thus ignoring Falstaff's wise words
Seeking answers
And facing the truth
Have forced me to forswear my youth
The sword is my savior
My mind, its deity
To no one I offer my fidelity
Cursed is the life I lead
Blindness and vanity
Overcome me
Making me no better
Than the spineless thief
Who picks through the pockets of dead men
Lain out in the street
“Bimbo Bitch”
You
Bimbo Bitch
Sitting at the bar
Sucking down all that light
beer
Hoping vainly in your drunken stupor
For that hot looking
rich man to appear from nowhere
Whisk you away forever in his
cherry red sports automobile
You Bimbo Bitch
High hair and
heels
Tight purple leather dress
Tits falling out
Black lace
stocking
No panty line
Dick tease
You Bimbo Bitch
Gaudy
red lipstick, black eyeliner, blue eye shadow
Highlighted blond
ends
Brown rooted cunt
True age scraped on by a putty knife
every morning
The beer goggles worn by hormone driven homely
onlookers
Desperate for a fuck
Are your only defense for this
illusionary deception
You Bimbo bitch
Do you have anything
intelligent to say
Who cares about the weather
Or how long it's
been since last you got laid
"Light
my cigarette
Oh,
please..."
What's
your name?
"Claire.
Buy me a beer
Oh,
please..."
Ok,
here. Have you ever read any Dostoyevsky, Maugham or Camus?
"Kiss
my ass
You're
not cute enough
Bye..."
FUCK
YOU!!!
“Ode To Cronshaw”
You drunken, foul mouthed, infidel
Poet esquire
Brandishing your drawn out, bantering drivel
With every drink you drown
To every friend or fool, who dares to sit nearby
Eulogizing the unpublished words of your endured wisdom
Duly warning the precocious Philistines,
Who sanctimoniously celebrate your phenomenal pestilence
Nightly at the café La Closerie des Lilas,
To leave Paris and take up more profitable trades
For an Artist's life is virtuous misery
Fervently dedicated to the Muses
Everything material must be forsworn to Fate
Only your avocation, ego and an empty stomach
Remain to creatively conceive
Your eternal demise.
“Deceptive Smiles”
Why aren’t we told as a child
Hat most dreams die
Learned reluctantly as an adult
After waking up
Abruptly!
During The Nightmare and suddenly remembering
Knowing it was something from the past
Locked away and denied
Things like…
Being stabbed with swords and told not to bleed
Or dead siblings buried under rotten leaves
Worst of all the pain and guilt
Soon forgotten as days quickly pass
But never really lost
Resurrected
After years of suppression
While the Green Dragon roams freely through the peaceful fields
Of Holy Camelot
You fight the hurt
Try to get by
Lie hours alone in bed holding pillows
Masking your enlightened eyes
From the ignorant outside world
Wishing there was someone nearby to project the torture on
Knowing though its your own isolated doom to overcome
Not for others to bare
Besides, they don’t really care
For they have their own enigmas to overcome
That Fate forbids them to share.
“Baking Love”
This is a recipe of suggestions for young men to follow
Understand these instructions and in a woman’s love ye shall wallow .
Remember to bathe weekly, do not drool
Wipe thoroughly after leaving a stool .
Deodorant used daily helps attract the ladies
So does brushing your teeth and shaving.
Laundry done on a monthly basis
Will prompt people to stop staring with such funny faces
Rub on some Krell Kream, just this once
It will make the itch disappear along with the bumps.
Don’t chew with your mouth open, don’t spit when you speak
When you have to pee at night remember to lift the seat.
Pay attention to manners
They are very important
Say please if you want something
Thank you when you’re done
Stifle rude habits
Stop sucking your thumb.
The same goes for belching and farting and picking your nose
Saying bad words out loud at church or the Saturday morning matinee show.
You say you can’t handle it all?
Then learn to say I love you, cook good meals and send bouquets of flowers.
Done at random intervals most women will overlook some of the above problems
So long as you continue taking regular showers.
“Love is a Feather”
Love is a feather
A Truth
Whispered by the wind
Its company can unveil ancient mysteries
And open our being to flight
“Retribution”
I’m a white trash man,
With a Ph.D.
Was raised on welfare,
Food Stamps and government cheese.
My IQ’s high,
Ambition’s kinda low
I have no common sense,
Couldn’t piss a round hole in the snow.
It’s pretty silly to see
A sleazy, good ole boy,
Red-neck type like me
Acing the SAT and GRE
English was my major
Harvard was where I studied
Got a Masters in Philosophy, from Syracuse
After that, Stanford and Berkeley started callin’.
Did my thesis work on Twain, Faulkner and Tobias Wolfe
Illustrated that “ignorance is bliss” within many American books
Using Huck Finn, Darl and Frank, from “Hunters in The Snow”
(Spinoza was real right when he said that most men will disregard utter reason to attain personal goals)
Now I teach whatever I feel
Might cop one too
Love hearin’ dem darlin Dolores’ squeal.
(Being the Humanities Department Head sure does have it’s appeal)
Live in a trailer park
Down the road from work
I must live amongst my element
(Everyone else thinks I’m a jerk)
I think that all Niggers, Gooks, Spicks, Arabs, Hindus
Jews, communists, queers and dykes should die
Spilling their blood will help keep The Klan alive
The Confederacy shall again rise
Been married three times
Working on number four
She lives with her half-wit husband
In the rusted heap right next door
Got lots of other little ladies on the side
Just in case I ever get board
When a woman knows that you’re a college professor
She will transform herself from the Virgin Mary into a lascivious whore
I’ve slept with my mother, brother, sisters, cousins
Aunt and Old Lady Lucket up the street
Even tried a duck, a dog and Daddy’s award winnin’ sheep
A few times at night, while everyone was asleep
Have lots of kids scatted all over the place
Don’t pay child support, or know any of their names
Their moms were a bunch of dipshit bitches
Who’s fucks were all quite lame
At night I like to relax under the moonlight
On my rustic plywood porch
Swigging cases of cheep beer
Thinking deep thoughts about Nietche, Benjamin or Curious George
Not aimin’ to be famous
Writing just ain’t my cup of tea
Only want to collect a substantial paycheck
Then piss it all away in one weekend on country music, candy bars and a few bags of weed
As you can clearly see
A higher degree don’t mean shit to me
For my intellect does not totally reflect
The debaucherous side of my established prefect
“While Sewing My Heart Back Onto My Sleeve”
While sewing my heart back onto my sleeve
It dawned on me that it didn’t belong there
So I carefully removed it and placed it out of habit
Into the left pocket of my worn blue jeans
Where I predictably forgot about it
Until after my soon to be ex-wife
Washed them
My daughter found it all hard and crumpled up
In the dryer lint trap
While looking for loose change and barrettes
She moistened the lump with her melancholy tears
Wondering how it got there
Wishing it was back on my sleeve
Then laid it out flat to dry
Between the pages of her coloring book
For safe keeping
“Love Used to be a Feather”
Love used to be a feather for me
Today though,
It's just burnt toast
I’m trying to scrape some of the black off
With my ball point pen
But it doesn't seem to be working very well
I need to pull the rusty butter knife out of my chest
And allow the Truth to bleed out onto the floor
Instead of holding it all in and pretending it doesn't hurt
“Love is my Shoulder”
Love is my shoulder
A safe place bury your face
While the shirt on my back
Soaks up your tears and muffles deep sobs of desperation
After trying to stand up for yourself
While talking to your ex husband on a cell phone in the kitchen
And being hung up on
Like he always does/did
When confronted with/by your Truths
“Soul Searching”
I have all these islands in my life
Places I built sand castles on the beaches
At night the tide came or sometimes a storm would pass
Washing them away, turning my intentions back into mounds of sand
Why did I feel the need to sail so much
Attempting to work so hard against or to defy nature
Creating something that already exists
Home
Where I started the journey to begin with
“The Body Loom”
While
we lay next to each other at night and sleep
Our body parts slowly
move towards each other
Performing an ancient dance
Carefully
weaving themselves together into the fabric of our love
In the
morning when we wake up
The material becomes torn, threads unravel
and ends fray
But
We carry a piece of that magic cloth around
with us
In our hearts
To admire and embrace throughout the day
“Mrs. Baba Yaga Kelly”
Mrs. Baba Yaga Kelly
Spends the day devoted to the brood
That came from her belly
In a lily white suburban home
A wholesome woman she appears be
To the untrained eye
Kissing booboos
Baking blueberry pies
Instructing the cleaning lady
Making beds and hanging dresses
Picking up assorted messes
Between trips to the market, mall and music lessons
Play dates, naps and teacher conferences
But at night
When the clock strikes nine
After all the children are sound asleep
The exhausted Mr. Kelly
Passes out
Reclined
She silently tiptoes
Around the house
Sprinkling liberal doses of Sleepy Dust
Over each and every face
To ensure no one will wake
And notice that she is really gone
Before flying away on her Tommy Hilfiger brand broomstick
She hastily exchanges her
Frumpy, formless jogging suit
For a low cut dick tease blouse and tight miniskirt
With no panties
Slips on some enchanted stilettos
While surreptitiously slugging a six pack of Guinness
Which magically transforms
The run of the mill
Married middle age mom
Low standard seductress
Who spends the predawn hours
Prowling the dark corners of dive bars
Adult book stores and thruway rest stops
Looking for vulnerable prey
Over time she’s acquired a taste for divorced dads
Frat house virgins
Jealous gigolos
Trailer trash
Honky-tonk philanderers
Or an occasional woman with itches that need a scratch
Sometimes
On evenings she’s feeling most deprived
She will try to tempt
Faithless husbands
From their righteous, neurotic wives
First with feigned innocence
Gradually gravitating toward romance
Then an improvised pole dance
Leading them astray from their good intentions
Down the fire and brimstone catwalk
Taunting their hungry deprived psyches with the kind of candy
Frugal spouses refuse to buy, let alone share
Shrewdly emanating a particular look, scent or touch
Whose memories were dutifully repressed
Through regular trips to the counselor
Not to mention their partner’s prescription meds
Exploiting masculine naivety and marital celibacy
To experience the titillating thrill of sin and conquest
Mrs. Kelly always flees the scene before realization
Detonates delayed feelings of shame and damnation
Gleefully watching her spells unwind
From a safe distance
While the stupefied subject
Slowly drive them-selves silly
Formulating a list of lame excuses
Loathing the mythical journey
Many before have undertaken
Towards the wasp nests they call home
Aqua Velva and Listerine
Wash away the smell of sin
Not a person’s conscience
Which a frigid female’s keen perception
Will easily recognize transgression
Instantly becoming judge, jury and jailer
Imposing a tailored sentence
Far worse than a hangman’s noose
One that only a miserable marriage of 24 years
Can effectively institute….
Before the mourning hour of five
Baba must return to her quintessential life
Since the effects of her charms are fueled by makeup and moonlight
Winged monkeys
Will often appear
Escorting her back to Oz
Kicking and screaming
Until the first rays of dawn
Warm her cold heart back to room temperature
Allowing her just enough time to put on a pot of coffee happy face
After a hot shower and quick change of clothes
All the lunches are made
The kids are fed Fruit Loops for breakfast
Half are sent to the end of the driveway at 8:15 to wait for the bus
The rest in front of the TV while momma naps on the couch with one eye open for a few hours
Starting another day in Paradise
“A December Night in Clearwater Florida”
Modern transportation is so amazing
Yesterday morning I was tracking snow though the living room and kitchen
Six hours later I was knocking salty sea sand from those same shoes
Right now I'm sitting on a hotel balcony overlooking the Gulf of Mexico on my left
Jupiter shines above me in the partially cloudy
Light polluted sky
A dimly lit pool patio is five floors below me
The collective backdrop for my thought inspired word-scape
I don't think anyone notices me watching from the shadows of my voyeur perch
My wife went to bed about a half an hour ago
Tired from a long day of pomp and museum
I'm on my second Black and Tan and have become distracted from Fitzgerald's Jelly Bean
Carag Lafar is playing on the ipod
Several teenage boys just exited the Jacuzzi
Because a couple of older guys wanted to share the space
Their bikini clad tweenie sister joined them in the pool
They pushed her in
A neatly dressed
Discrete looking young couple
(probably from a wedding party in the lobby)
Just returned from a walk on the unlit beach
I wonder if they just fucked each others brains out
On an unattended chez lounge chair
That costs twenty five dollars to rent for the day
The sea seems quieter than it was a few hours ago
But the monotone hum of filters
Continues
It smells like clorine and wet seaweed
The light breeze is warm by my standards
Though a resident might beg to differ
It gradually carries the distant fog toward the shore
My mind is beginning to wander
I'm thinking it's time to go inside and join my wife
And how earlier it was pointed out how oblivious to the obvious I can be
So many people are wrapped up in paying attention to the illusion
of their physical surroundings
Forgetting to observe with synchronicity and imagination
Perceiving with your heart and gut
As well as your eyes