Three Poems by Wayne F. Burke

 

Dream

 

I open a mailbox on the

street. Inside,

a note addressed to me, from

the "Commissioner of Poetry."

My poem "Show and Tell" has been

selected winner of the big contest.

I need report immediately to the

auditorium to read the winning entry--but

I cannot find the poem in my papers

and I rush to the library, frantic, to look-up the

poem on computer, but

all the computers are being used, and

the librarian, who looks like Dracula's daughter,

tells me to go home and

read 

GONE WITH THE WIND.

 

 

Bought-a-Gun

 

A hirsute man who

got his kicks tying-up

chicks; everyone thought

him hippy-dippy but he

macho, man.

A Northwest cutie,

Dick Bought-a-Gun;

he wrote a funny book

(more than one) and

extended his metaphors far out

on the limb--then sent them

further.

He wore a hat shaped like a bullet

or the head of a dick, which

he could be

(and can't we all?)

in less poetic moments.

 

 

The hands of the clock

swirl round--

my pictures jump off the

wall to save me, but

cannot;

the radio knows my pain, but

its neutered sympathy annoys me.

I surf stations but

never get anywhere

I want to be

so sit

stranded,

beached, on the shore

of myself.

 

 

the Worm of Time gnawing

a fistula

through a Dead Sea shell

of apathy, indifference, and

fear of the

not-here

yet,

phantasms of drear

my dears

(cut to sob-story

in a yellow-drama;

cut-away

suits,

the mustard,

the crap...).

 

 

Bird song and

faint sun in the

window of time

passing, like a

dream of being

alive--sent to

earth for a purpose

yet unrealized--un-

known--work fingers

to the bone for

karmic deliverance

and end of birth/death

cycle of existences

innumerable, 

inkalpable...

Yah.

 

 

People around here have small heads, big

stomachs, and

hop like kangaroos.

It's a zoo.

 

 

gangster editor of nature

poetry magazine running

a pay to publish racket

cuts me from the line-up

 

 

FB headline:

'tragic ending at 400-meter relay'

--runner dropped the baton

 

 

"You Are Loved" 

 

the mural on the building

reads (an anaemic mix

of blue & green.)

By who?

Hoo.

Whom?

The bank loves me.

The store likes me.

Everyone else:

lukewarm.

Wayne F. Burke's poetry has been widely published in print and online (including in LOTHLORIEN Poetry Journal. Burke's most recent published book is BUKOWSKI the Ubermensch, Cyberwit.net., 2023. He lives in the state of Vermont (USA).