god with a potato
by
tom miller
“you’ll laugh, you’ll cry, you’ll shit the bed.”
© Feb 9-10, 1996 FREDInk Records
big open spaces
the plain
sky
space over
ocean
this room
my mind
the canyon
forest
meadow
memories
each a flower
in the garden
pretend bourbon street
not really there
on bourbon street
watching displays
for flying beads
tossed indifferently
a brief flash
of private treasures
not really there
on bourbon street
eyes awake with
creole spices
slurping and sucking
crustaceans give up
their inner most secrets
not really there
on bourbon street
hearing cajun stories
had to done it
i had did it
didn’t i had done it so
actually…
here in corporate replica
like epcot center
like wax museums
like pages in a book
pretend bourbon street
everything here but the truth
paddle fans
paddle fans are dumb
but they get the job done
maybe i will buy me one
used with kind permission of ernie
my table
salt here
and sugar
sweet and low
cigarettes – ashes
ash tray
ketchup on the table
pepper too
couple of drinks
paper
pens
writers
briefcase
lighter for cigarettes
only thing missing
something to write about
fuck spree
my bitch was getting tired
not sleepy – tired
i was feeling horny
not sleepy – horny
what better time
could there ever be
for a fuck spree
i visited my former
lovers door to door
all night long
and after the rampant
fucking of all my former
lovers door to door
i returned to
my tired bitch
and fed her a
bottle of aspirin
for
her never ending headache
my back to hers
i fell asleep
and counted sheep
untitled
seagulls drift
aimlessly overhead
eyeing the lady bug
crawling across
the dumpsite
dinner for 1
as i pass
they ask
for change
change
in the heart
change
from the pocket
they bless me with
the power of god
and later soak
their bread in
thunderbird
the devil is in me
channel 45
televangelist
middle of the night
just got done
beating off
drinking beer
reverend wyman reed
attorney at law
points the finger
at my shriveling cock
screaming loudly
i can be healed
how? i ask
with such hair
such big hair
sprayed hair
pull on bouffant
hair of the lord
this is no servant of god
this is a hair man
a sprayed hair man
a pull on bouffant man
in a fancy sequin suit
my god is not this sprayed
big hair pull on bouffant
hair of our lord charlatan
telly savalis yul brenner sinead o’conner
the trilogy
john luc picard
for thine is the kingdom
and the power
and the glory
forever
amen
muffin man
have you seen
the muffin man
the muffin man
the muffin man
have you seen
the muffin man
earl eye in the mornin’
i have seen no
muffin man
muffin man
muffin man
i have seen no
muffin man
early eye in the mornin’
a memory of vinny gaglioti
2 cups flour
1 cup starch
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
2 sticks of butter
½ cup of pine nuts
directions
until the rebellion.
reflections in love
i look in the mirror
i look in the mirror
into my eyes
into my eyes
i see myself
i see myself
i make me smile
he makes me smile
kiwi – fruit or bird
ethel – bird lady we called her – ‘cause she liked to collect exotic birds. she had a penguin, a macaw, and a kiwi – round little Australian fellow – and how was i to know – having never studied birds at all? at her home – she offers, have some kiwi. – lovely fruit – a little tart, a little sweet – just around the corner in the kitchen. there is was – caged like a bird – but clear as day i saw the label – paco the kiwi – funny – i never name my fruit. i opened the cage and got the fruit – which was moving and breathing fairly rapidly – squawking at me. funny piece of fruit, i thought to myself – and i began to peel it.
soon the fruit stops squawking and i almost have the peculiar skin off the juicy nibble. i stick my thumbs into the fruit and pull open the gray and red membrane. how does one eat this? – i wonder – this fruit – i run my tongue from the base of the fruit to the top, savoring the various parts that tumble into my willing eager mouth – i don’t know if i like it, but it must be good because it is exotic. exotic things must be savored because they are exotic, not because they necessarily taste…correct.
i like kiwi fruit, i said aloud – although given the squawking i had to endure to reach this point, i don’t know if i would enjoy standing in a forest of kiwi trees – the noise would be unbearable – as if thousands of live birds were being feathered and killed. i hadn’t intended to make a glutton of myself, but how often does the opportunity to sample exotic fruit happen to an ordinary joe like me? the penguin fruit was a real struggle to devour as was the macaw fruit – its beak i found most unpalatable – but, my god! how i revel in the glory of nature – how i bask in the passion of the succulent fruit of the vine.
if ketchup was transparent
when world war 2
made man into metal
when hiroshima made
shadows of soldiers
when Vietnam made
America wonder
when revelations made
dust of us all
there came into being
a bottle of ketchup
made by the heavens
to season the fire
as blood fell like rain
from the tip of the bottle
the meal was served
but no one could swallow
napkin
i blow my nose
into a paper napkin
crumple it up
and throw it away
love is simple
why complicate things
the last penny
every last cent
i spend for you
for love
for life
for living
every last penny
goes to the flow
of the long
tumbling stream
called america
every last cent
to the poor
and the penniless
to the needing
to the hungry
to the artist
send your metal and paper
into the wind like seeds
floating on currents
airborne on rip tides
settle to the ground
and grow
green
green
green
see a penny
pick it up
plant the seed
where it may grow
make a wish
3 cats, a nun, and her industrial park
3 cats
each different from the other
none like a nun
3 cats are
not the nun’s
she has none
not one
3 cats and a nun
none like an industrial park
3 cats don’t have that
but the nun has one
3 cats, a nun, and an industrial park
each different from the other
but 3 are cats who
own no industrial park
and one is a nun
who has one
killer bees
let go
let go
love is a bee
that stings and dies
savor the pain
the swelling
the poision
long for it
disturb the nest
let angry angels
numb you into
a blissful sleep
let go
let go
heal
with each touch
the end of
another
singing yellow
flower
let go
let go
take the smoker
smother the hive
set it on fire
lay beneath the
black clouds and
open your mouth
hot honey
scalds your tongue
with sweet
death
of a thousand lovers each
working to keep
the order
of the species
let go
let go
killer bees
are coming from
texas
moving west
moving west
the smoke clears
the queen emerges
from the nest
falls so gently
to the ground
a twisted ruin
shut up
listen
shut up
be quiet
stop your chattering
that which makes us
different from monkeys
and hyenas and birds
is our ability
to focus
on a message
or a person
for the sake of
learning something
that might
change the way
our lives manifest
that might educate
our higher selves
that might help us
connect for the greater good
so listen
shut up
and be quiet
unless you intend
to shit on a tree
marking your place
in society
winter shadows
he talks to
imaginary people
i see him every day
i wonder
maybe
i am the imaginary person
i cannot see
the real people
he is talking to
and one cold day
i never see him
again
i wonder
maybe he made it
to the world where
his imaginary friends live
maybe
i am a phantom
wondering
about a ghost
in two separate dreams
legal ease
mr. chair
am i correct in that
i am to address my
questions through you
to the petitioner?
that is correct.
and mr. chair
am i correct in that
the petitioner is to direct
his answers through
you to me?
that is correct.
mr. chair
will the petitioner be
speaking through you
to me as the
petitioner or
as himself?
i am afraid I will
have to ask our attorney
mr. attorney
would you care to comment?
mr. chair
as your attorney
representing your interest
in this matter
on both this board
and the other board
comprised of you same members
i shall have to consult with
myself for quite some time
at my usual
hourly rate
the last leaf
like coral
trees stand unashamed
naked in winter
tendrils reaching skyward
swaying gently
in the breeze
one leaf
courageous lonely
she refuse to fall
by act of will
by
tom miller
“you’ll laugh, you’ll cry, you’ll shit the bed.”
© Feb 9-10, 1996 FREDInk Records
big open spaces
the plain
sky
space over
ocean
this room
my mind
the canyon
forest
meadow
memories
each a flower
in the garden
pretend bourbon street
not really there
on bourbon street
watching displays
for flying beads
tossed indifferently
a brief flash
of private treasures
not really there
on bourbon street
eyes awake with
creole spices
slurping and sucking
crustaceans give up
their inner most secrets
not really there
on bourbon street
hearing cajun stories
had to done it
i had did it
didn’t i had done it so
actually…
here in corporate replica
like epcot center
like wax museums
like pages in a book
pretend bourbon street
everything here but the truth
paddle fans
paddle fans are dumb
but they get the job done
maybe i will buy me one
used with kind permission of ernie
my table
salt here
and sugar
sweet and low
cigarettes – ashes
ash tray
ketchup on the table
pepper too
couple of drinks
paper
pens
writers
briefcase
lighter for cigarettes
only thing missing
something to write about
fuck spree
my bitch was getting tired
not sleepy – tired
i was feeling horny
not sleepy – horny
what better time
could there ever be
for a fuck spree
i visited my former
lovers door to door
all night long
and after the rampant
fucking of all my former
lovers door to door
i returned to
my tired bitch
and fed her a
bottle of aspirin
for
her never ending headache
my back to hers
i fell asleep
and counted sheep
untitled
seagulls drift
aimlessly overhead
eyeing the lady bug
crawling across
the dumpsite
dinner for 1
as i pass
they ask
for change
change
in the heart
change
from the pocket
they bless me with
the power of god
and later soak
their bread in
thunderbird
the devil is in me
channel 45
televangelist
middle of the night
just got done
beating off
drinking beer
reverend wyman reed
attorney at law
points the finger
at my shriveling cock
screaming loudly
i can be healed
how? i ask
with such hair
such big hair
sprayed hair
pull on bouffant
hair of the lord
this is no servant of god
this is a hair man
a sprayed hair man
a pull on bouffant man
in a fancy sequin suit
my god is not this sprayed
big hair pull on bouffant
hair of our lord charlatan
telly savalis yul brenner sinead o’conner
the trilogy
john luc picard
for thine is the kingdom
and the power
and the glory
forever
amen
muffin man
have you seen
the muffin man
the muffin man
the muffin man
have you seen
the muffin man
earl eye in the mornin’
i have seen no
muffin man
muffin man
muffin man
i have seen no
muffin man
early eye in the mornin’
a memory of vinny gaglioti
2 cups flour
1 cup starch
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
2 sticks of butter
½ cup of pine nuts
directions
- grease the bottom only
of an oblong pan. - grease the bottom only
of an oblong pan?
- grease the bottom only
of an oblong pan. - grease the bottom only
of an oblong pan?
until the rebellion.
reflections in love
i look in the mirror
i look in the mirror
into my eyes
into my eyes
i see myself
i see myself
i make me smile
he makes me smile
kiwi – fruit or bird
ethel – bird lady we called her – ‘cause she liked to collect exotic birds. she had a penguin, a macaw, and a kiwi – round little Australian fellow – and how was i to know – having never studied birds at all? at her home – she offers, have some kiwi. – lovely fruit – a little tart, a little sweet – just around the corner in the kitchen. there is was – caged like a bird – but clear as day i saw the label – paco the kiwi – funny – i never name my fruit. i opened the cage and got the fruit – which was moving and breathing fairly rapidly – squawking at me. funny piece of fruit, i thought to myself – and i began to peel it.
soon the fruit stops squawking and i almost have the peculiar skin off the juicy nibble. i stick my thumbs into the fruit and pull open the gray and red membrane. how does one eat this? – i wonder – this fruit – i run my tongue from the base of the fruit to the top, savoring the various parts that tumble into my willing eager mouth – i don’t know if i like it, but it must be good because it is exotic. exotic things must be savored because they are exotic, not because they necessarily taste…correct.
i like kiwi fruit, i said aloud – although given the squawking i had to endure to reach this point, i don’t know if i would enjoy standing in a forest of kiwi trees – the noise would be unbearable – as if thousands of live birds were being feathered and killed. i hadn’t intended to make a glutton of myself, but how often does the opportunity to sample exotic fruit happen to an ordinary joe like me? the penguin fruit was a real struggle to devour as was the macaw fruit – its beak i found most unpalatable – but, my god! how i revel in the glory of nature – how i bask in the passion of the succulent fruit of the vine.
if ketchup was transparent
when world war 2
made man into metal
when hiroshima made
shadows of soldiers
when Vietnam made
America wonder
when revelations made
dust of us all
there came into being
a bottle of ketchup
made by the heavens
to season the fire
as blood fell like rain
from the tip of the bottle
the meal was served
but no one could swallow
napkin
i blow my nose
into a paper napkin
crumple it up
and throw it away
love is simple
why complicate things
the last penny
every last cent
i spend for you
for love
for life
for living
every last penny
goes to the flow
of the long
tumbling stream
called america
every last cent
to the poor
and the penniless
to the needing
to the hungry
to the artist
send your metal and paper
into the wind like seeds
floating on currents
airborne on rip tides
settle to the ground
and grow
green
green
green
see a penny
pick it up
plant the seed
where it may grow
make a wish
3 cats, a nun, and her industrial park
3 cats
each different from the other
none like a nun
3 cats are
not the nun’s
she has none
not one
3 cats and a nun
none like an industrial park
3 cats don’t have that
but the nun has one
3 cats, a nun, and an industrial park
each different from the other
but 3 are cats who
own no industrial park
and one is a nun
who has one
killer bees
let go
let go
love is a bee
that stings and dies
savor the pain
the swelling
the poision
long for it
disturb the nest
let angry angels
numb you into
a blissful sleep
let go
let go
heal
with each touch
the end of
another
singing yellow
flower
let go
let go
take the smoker
smother the hive
set it on fire
lay beneath the
black clouds and
open your mouth
hot honey
scalds your tongue
with sweet
death
of a thousand lovers each
working to keep
the order
of the species
let go
let go
killer bees
are coming from
texas
moving west
moving west
the smoke clears
the queen emerges
from the nest
falls so gently
to the ground
a twisted ruin
shut up
listen
shut up
be quiet
stop your chattering
that which makes us
different from monkeys
and hyenas and birds
is our ability
to focus
on a message
or a person
for the sake of
learning something
that might
change the way
our lives manifest
that might educate
our higher selves
that might help us
connect for the greater good
so listen
shut up
and be quiet
unless you intend
to shit on a tree
marking your place
in society
winter shadows
he talks to
imaginary people
i see him every day
i wonder
maybe
i am the imaginary person
i cannot see
the real people
he is talking to
and one cold day
i never see him
again
i wonder
maybe he made it
to the world where
his imaginary friends live
maybe
i am a phantom
wondering
about a ghost
in two separate dreams
legal ease
mr. chair
am i correct in that
i am to address my
questions through you
to the petitioner?
that is correct.
and mr. chair
am i correct in that
the petitioner is to direct
his answers through
you to me?
that is correct.
mr. chair
will the petitioner be
speaking through you
to me as the
petitioner or
as himself?
i am afraid I will
have to ask our attorney
mr. attorney
would you care to comment?
mr. chair
as your attorney
representing your interest
in this matter
on both this board
and the other board
comprised of you same members
i shall have to consult with
myself for quite some time
at my usual
hourly rate
the last leaf
like coral
trees stand unashamed
naked in winter
tendrils reaching skyward
swaying gently
in the breeze
one leaf
courageous lonely
she refuse to fall
by act of will
aids hurts
i still love you
i think of you often
i miss
your touch
your warmth
i see you are losing weight
i feel a tightness in my throat
when i overhear the questions
are you feeling alright
are you sick
are you losing weight
you smile and shrug it off
you dance and smile
you smile
i love you still
i love you more
i know i will soon lose you
you slip away and i feel closer
near you
next to you
i become you
when you go
i go with you
i still love you
i think of you often
the vertical highway
you know how it feels
when you have nothing real
and you have nowhere to go
going to bed
is the drug that you dread
the escapist material dream
the vertical highway
are you afraid
of not getting laid
or getting too involved
why try to wait
those two don’t relate
none of your problems get solved
going to bed
is the drug that you dread
the escapist material dream
riding down the vertical highway
a poem about poets who write poems about poetry
some poets
don’t like poems
about poetry
some poets
don’t like the
poets who write
poems about poetry
some poets
don’t like poets
who write poems
about poetry and
poems written
by poets who
write poems
about poetry
as i am
a poet writing
a poem about poets
and poems hated
by poets
who write
poems which are
not about poetry
some poets
must not like me
poem about a poet
his words
made pictures move
award winning – experienced
senior lecturer at Stanford – oxford – cambridge
a real educated writer
courageous – ferocious – tender – languid
storms and sunsets
rolled from his tongue
like water over sand smooth stones
he joined me for dinner one night
and expounded on
philosophy – religion – politics – linguistics
i shared my best work
a poem i wrote over
the course of seven months
fine tuning each word to the right note
molding the poem like clay
with my hands – with my hands
he suggested i attend his workshop
i told the cantankerous drunk
to bite my shit
fiddlin’ man
he an old style
country man
he a fiddlin’ man
got no teeth an’
he got no wife
he a fiddlin’ man
uh fiddle all day an’ uh
fiddle all night
he a fiddlin’ man
hey diddle diddle
wouldj fiddle for yer vittles
he a fiddlin’ man
dance a little jig ana
belly full o’ wine
he a fiddlin’ man
hey there daddy oh
you fiddle mighty fine
he a fiddlin’ man
look like he hada little
too much wine
he a fiddlin’ man
stop that fiddlin’
get a fuckin’ life
he a fiddlin’ man
all that tobaccee done
rotted out cher mouth
he a fiddlin’ man
all that drinkin’ made
your liver go sour
he a fiddlin’ man
all that fiddlin’ done
drove out the wife
he a fiddlin’ man
he don’t read ana
he don’t write
he a fiddlin’ man
know one song an’ he
don’t play it right
he a fiddlin’ man
keep on dancing geta
heart attack an’ die
he a fiddlin’ man
one fine day in the
middle of a diddy
he a fiddlin’ man
he stopped playin’ ana
call for his wife
he a fiddlin’ man
but no answer from
the kitchen did come
he a fiddlin’ man
he sit down and
begin to feeling glum
he a fiddlin’ man
and he never did play
another fiddlin’ dound
he a fiddlin’ man
next day come they
bury him in the ground
he a fiddlin’ man
cause the night afore
he passed away
he a fiddlin’ man
chased god’s angels back
down to the grave
he a fiddlin’ man
with the horrible noise
he learn to make
he a fiddlin’ man
from a brand new harp
they give him at the gate
he a fiddlin’ man oh man
say he a fiddlin’ man
he a fiddlin’ man oh man
say he a fiddlin’ man
briefcase
my briefcase
is staring at me
mouth open
it whispers
dirty little secrets
teasing me
with my own
inner most thoughts
we have a relationship
my briefcase and i
holding hands we
head to the office
we never argue
we work together
but…
it knows
it knows
if I’m not careful
it might talk
the and and i
i am seven
watching it walk
and tumble over
obstacles
in the sand
thinking i can
kill this thing
if i choose
like god
i have this power
i wonder
maybe ants
are like me
like people
we build houses
work together
push our grains
of sand to form
mountains
some lasting and
others crumbling
kicked apart
by forces
we have no
awareness of
like this ant
like me
i can kill this
ant if i choose
i have this power
like god
with my finger
in an instant
i
kill
killing it
crushing it
feeling it
b r e a k a p a r t
savoring
the power
all my being
focused on this
one solitary merciless act
i can feel it
i relish it
and then
in a dawning moment
i find myself unable
to hold back my tears
how to speak so very right
(a lesson in relationships.)
allow me the liberty if i may
to correct your grammar
for your pronunciation is
so abysmal and your
syntax quite abstract
i feel an obligation to
instruct you in speaking best
let us begin with lesson one
how to utilize difficult words so as
to appear more intelligent
repeat after me…
parochial – statistician – stigmata – chandelier
very good!
so on to lesson two
befuddling your adversaries
with bovine manure
do not say yes or no
when perhaps will do
do not commit to a decision
if ambiguity is an option
point out things which
are plainly obvious to even
the most casual of observers
then call them something else
are you beginning to view the pictogram?
repeat after me…
intelligentsia – extemporaneous – misanthropic – aphrodisiac
very good!
you are profoundly studious
lesson three
mislead with fabrication
repeat after me…
who, me?
no, i did not take it.
he took it.
it was him.
are you catching my wind?
finally we close this conundrum with
lesson four – the most important dissertation of all
syntax!
sam was bitten by an anesthesiologist ~ an anesthesiologist was bitten by sam
same words – different meaning
i hope my instruction has caused you to
achieve a better grasp of how language may
be used to shit the bed
now go out into the world with your perennial banter
and find that which we call love
i is so stupid
hi
me ernie
me dumb
i got all nine fingers
in my mouth
i got a job
my job to
sit right here
and not get in trouble
i not smart
i not know much
but i know one thing
me ernie
that my name
the revealing transcripts of state of California vs. dr. suess
i am suess – suess is juiced
i am suess and juiced on boose
i’m a racist – i hate jews
and blacks and greens and reds and blues
i did not touch that little boy
i did not touch him with a toy
i ate the pills both green and red
my brain went flippledee dippledee dead
i did not kill her with a stick
i did not kill her with a brick
i put my kanoogle inside of her floogle
she didn’t say no – at least i think so
i did not shoot them with a gun
i did not kill all twenty one
steal? me? fiddle dee dee
i was caressing my peebeedeepee
how could i bamboozle that hustling floozle
sniggies and kikes and faggaly dykes
i am not a racist because i hate faces
so darker than white and from some other races
i did not smuggle in a box
i did not smuggle in my sox
it was not me and now let me tell you
it was horton! yes horton! – he did it that’s who!
make believe
(for fred)
friday and tuesday
stroll over to the
tree where henrietta kitty lives
to borrow a saucer of milk
for lady elaine’s birthday cake
rocket’s new rocking chair
appears so inviting and
the platypus family
is having bob dog over
for a pretend tea party
the wonderful world of
make believe
lady aberly is the most
beautiful woman in the world
purple panda looms
behind the orange and yellow
trees smelling
delicious aroma
from the kettle
where chef brockett
is stirring the batter
he lets Daniel – the tiger
that lives in the clock
lick clean the spoon
everything here is pure
wonderful – magical
friends can be trusted
love is never taken for granted
even the trolley’s distinctive
whistle means something
special
in the distance
a bicycle bell rings
ever so sweetly
speedy delivery speedy delivery
thanks man
i want to
keep this going
as long as i can
the last page
the last page
is both rewarding
and a little sad
you make it through
meet the characters
and sometimes catch
the writer peeking
out from behind
descriptions
to see if you still care
and then the words…
as familiar as i love you
the end
you are left
with only the
memory
and if it is true what they say…
eternity is how long we are remembered
the reader
makes the read real
and the writer
f a d e s
a w a y
the end