Sunday, July 8, 2018

Rodak's Writings: An Orphaned Poem

I'm pissed. The first thing I posted on Facebook yesterday was the poem below. I was very happy with it. I waited all day for it to get any response at all from my FB friends. Twenty-four hours later it has still gotten none. So be it. I can play that game too. 

So, nobody--here it is again. At least on Rodak Riffs I don't expect any response:

After Duran

Finally the body says, “No mas.”
“Long enough have I endured
these constant, nagging, pains,
only to allow your ridiculous mind
a rosy cave in which to cower.

“Return you now to Platonic realms.
Or simply dissipate like the angry clouds
of a summer storm.
“I will lie me down
and let the birds, or the worms,
or the oven’s flame,
clean up after all that was substantial
during this mundane interval.
“To rot is to rest:
Disintegration is the only promise
Existenz can keep.”

Saturday, April 14, 2018

Rodak's Writings: Some More Bitter Verse


So, you think you can break my heart?

Well, maybe you can,
if first you are able to pick up
all the scattered pieces of it
and then work some kind
of jerry-rigged Jesus act,
to make it whole again.

But, honestly, I’m too old to feel much.

Best you go break a heart
that’s not already been broken.

I’d hate to see you
do your voodoo
for doo-doo.

Friday, April 6, 2018

Rodak's Writings: a Pome

Star Light, Star Bright

When things get very dark,

the fucking suckers say,

you can then look up

and see the stars.


There they are:

seductively twinkling

unreachable gems,

light dead on arrival,

celestial cockteasers.

But thanks for the thought.

Saturday, March 31, 2018

Rodak's Writings: An Oldie Redux

A Good Friday/Easter Sandwich

This world is a room
to run screaming
how do we
How do we
straining to hide
the walls
under pictures
of pictures
of pictures of pictures,
venturing out
only to buy
furniture and frames:
sequentially cadenced,
staring through the sun
at dusty angles:
twitching under the moon,
gravid as windfall fruit,
in dreams
of an uncornered being
coiled ‘round
some polar secret
and vertical center:
yet chewing,
chewing and reflexively chewing:

Saturday, April 11, 2009

Friday, March 30, 2018

Rodak's Writings: Good Friday - 3.30.18

Good Friday -- 3.30.18

Slouched below the gaslight,

we cast cynical shadows,

look down to question our nervous feet.

But the road is lost in dark irrelevance.

All that lies behind is time-altered or forgotten.

We are deaf to the call of any distant destination.

The word “home” no longer possesses meaning.

Some believe our God may be imprisoned there,

locked in an upstairs room

to which no survivor’s pocket holds the key.

Wednesday, January 24, 2018

Reflections: Happy Birthday to Me

January 23, 2018: Age 71 today

Image deleted to save face.