I feel like a bag of bones

I feel like a bag of bones
an hommage to William Shakespeare (1516-1564)
and Allen Ginsburg (1926-1997)




To die, to sleep —
To sleep — perchance to dream. ...
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come,
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause ...




I feel like a bag of bones

a bag of bones, the bones of my dead

freed [now] of dread -- except for my dead,

I'm alone with dread --

[even] dread of the visit to come

dread of all we've left undone --

me too! -- to feed the unfed.



O dear dead, the word kisses your face,

hear the words and relish embrace

when given sweet dreams

the bone-bag will split at the seams ...

whoever you were, whoever you are

he is not far




and comes to your foes

freed not to oppose

the teacher who's paid off your debt.

No sweat. No sweat, he absorbs your debt.




Go into death with your religions or none

go into death, naked, leaving here

your bag of bones, no more drones [and groans]

no more dreadful tones --

you're almost home.




-- Albert Gedraitis©March9,2011


This is a test version -- i'm not sure i want
the words enclosed in brackets to remain
in the final. Tom Brouillette, choreographer
and poetry-theare performer, may be presenting
this at a Food and Rent party for me to test
with a small select audience in the near
future. Woud you come to experience my new
poem? ... bearing small gifts of food and money
for rent? That woud be so nice!

We're at the tip of November

So, we're at the tip
of November again
a day
or so, and
around we'll go
into December.

November's end
and we're reminded again
of the sharp snap
from the one
to the other,
November to December.
November then December.
A blast.

Today the snow blossomed

Today the snow blossomed
valentines hearts white with innocence
covering all smudged the broken
the salted and the ice unsalted
the grey sky of the city
by the wintered lake

November Poem 2k6 2

.
The Crats and the Licans
cudgel, attack and rally;
do-in each other

in each dank alley --
munchin' walnuts, peanuts, and pecans.

November poem

I too

saw the jewell of a Jew bound to the cosmic forces

created and positivellbellating cruelty it would seem

to those bereft of the Key all keyed-up with sharps

& flats–

slots among the flaps

spinners goebelling, even the most cunning

a sterile gerbil

no arts, all-farts tarts,
she said smartly and rapidly drank a cupful
of maciavelli


a poem by Albert Gedraitis©Nov3,2k6

Anaximaximum's homopoems attacked by homophobe Pluthero

See the write-up on Anaximaximum prose, our new page 2 to which all our prose pieces will be moved.

view urbanesque localest

.
thru the one window, past the greenery growing
this side of the pane
into the backway and cemented-over yard
with its clothesless clothesline no clothespins
past the obtruding dark green of the garage
along the backway to the dark brown gate
noticing the h+laticed greyed-out wood fence
dividing the yard and way from those of the neighbour
jumping the gate and the unseen laneway
to the fresh wood of cross-laneway neighbour's
gateway new and h+er than this side of the lane
to the light brick and green shingles
of the neighbour's add-on, then
to the dark brick windows three-storyed wall
of the neighbour's house proper, then up
my eyes wander to the eavesless tinning
of the unseen roof opposite, a line
separating human habitate from grey sky stretching
its solid cloud-cover above