I Hate Poetry.com

Another Day At The Office

The black-winged fungus of death
Would like to have a word with you
And is holding on Line 2.

Take a message,
Say I,
For the splintering semen of rebirth
Is Miss Ledger’s hand on my thigh.

Encountering my limitless non-self
I give her nothing but love,
Baby.

~ Russ Allison Loar
© All Rights Reserved

My House

It was barely sprinkling
After several hours of light rain
Early Sunday morning
When I heard the coughing,
The retching,
And looked out my breakfast nook window
To see a young man with his car door open,
Vomiting on the street in front of my house.

My house.

How lucky I am
That I can say the words:
My house,
While aimless young men
Wander through this city,
Regurgitating at will.

~ Russ Allison Loar
© All Rights Reserved

Stir

If you use the wrong words,
In the wrong place,
At the wrong time,
You could go to jail.

And that first day in stir
When they ask,
Whaddya in fer?
You give ‘em a low, mean stare
And say:
Vocabulary.

~ Russ Allison Loar
© All Rights Reserved

The Agony Of Ecstasy

The older I get the more I wonder
Why I’ve been spared from so much,
So much of the suffering of this world.
Why, why, why?

O the agony of this incessant good fortune,
This ecstasy,
Will it never cease?

~ Russ Allison Loar
© All Rights Reserved

What Comes Next

Sometimes
It seems like
Everything’s going wrong,
Then,
Everything gets worse
And you realize
Just how good you had it
Before everything got worse,
Then,
You get sick
And you realize
Just how lucky you were
When you were not sick,
Even though
Things were not going that well,
Then,
You die
And you think,
Oh great,
Here I am,
Dead.
You never made it to retirement,
Everything you ever worked for,
Gone,
And you’re stuck
In some kind of undefinable limbo,
Then,
You hear a voice that says:
You’re not stuck at all,
Come with me.
The next thing you know
You’re in some kind of eternal infinite agony
That must be hell
And you realize
Just how lucky you were
Before everything got worse,
And you don’t even want to think about
What comes next.

~ Russ Allison Loar
© All Rights Reserved

A Game

It takes a lot of luck,
And money,
To discover
That life is just a game.

It seems much more serious
When you’re unlucky
And broke.

~ Russ Allison Loar
© All Rights Reserved

Looking Forward

“When hell freezes over!”

My dearly beloved intoned,

Nullifying my request for a hot buttered cinnamon roll.

When hell freezes over?

Not an unpleasant thought,

Not at all.

Free from matrimonial bonds

In the stygian realm of human weakness,

Bundled up against the sudden change of climate,

Sipping hot chocolate

While the scent of warm cinnamon

Drifts lazily into my nostrils

From the buffet table of fresh-baked pastries.

O yes, when hell freezes over.

Now there’s something to look forward to.

~ Russ Allison Loar
© All Rights Reserved

Best Seller

He was the anointed one,

And the literati decided,

Agreed,

Confirmed,

This book was his finest work yet,

Prognosticated as:

“The best book you will read this year,”

Though it was only June,

Though it was generally agreed “the best” was an anachronism.

After all,

Did they really believe the future could be so blanketed,

So predictable,

So immutable?

The book vendors ordered dutifully,

Feverishly,

Inspired by so many reverential author interviews,

So certain this was indeed the next big thing.

Who am I?

Who are we to belittle such pronouncements?

Such hysteria?

So I,

So we dutifully purchased the book in droves,

Eager to possess the sacred knowledge,

The newly christened insight,

The talisman,

Ready to verify the conclusions of the cognoscenti,

Ready to approach the godhead and be blessed,

Though by page 83 most of us stopped reading,

Already full of enough dispirited angst

To last a lifetime,

Our purchases already having confirmed the acclaim,

The acclaim of the marketplace

Bestowed on all such highly strung best sellers,

So infrequently read to conclusion,

So soon forgotten.