Archive for September, 2010

i am a caged animal

Posted in poems 2010 with tags , , , , , , on September 29, 2010 by GJK

pacing the floor

of the food-room

but there is no two-legger

anywhere in sight

i pace with tummy rumbling

wondering where the giant people

have gone.

i do not know how long

it has been since they left

all i know

is my hunger

and, powerless to open

the food-jug,

i wait.

those giants never tell me

when they will return

they never tell me

much of anything





so i pace

and i wait.

i know i am loved

but i also know

i am caged.

silly two-leggers,

don’t they know

that i am hungry?

and then i hear the wall creak

and a fissure opens, widens,

and there they are

with bags full

of food.

my pacing ceases

and i let forth

a tremendous MREEEOWWWW

as i scoot toward

the empty bowl.






a schism of Self

Posted in poems 2010 with tags , , , , , on September 29, 2010 by GJK

it has got to be coffee and cigarettes

or yoga

it sure as hell

can’t be both.


here i am



another schism

of Self.

nights and days diverge

rather than merge together


my left foot doesn’t know

what the right foot does,

legs and arms

and eyes and lungs

flail and clamor

i have failed to become

a fully integrated being

ho hum

hum drum

this evening is

cafe and smoke,

what tomorrow

might bring



do not




inspiration strikes

Posted in poems 2010 with tags , , , , on September 28, 2010 by GJK

crack of aluminum pops silvery bright

crack of illusions pops moonlit blight

crack of thunderous thought smacks of

brilliance and light.

this is the idea that began with me

many cycles ago

many moons before

i even knew

who i was.

it was first in Oktober

when inspiration struck

it was first in December

when i learned what it meant

to be in love.

it was first in my youth

that i learned to put

pen to paper

it was my first revolt

to craft poetry from despair.

and now

love and poetry

is everywhere

even in this sickly glass

of tepid brew.





Posted in prose, sarcasm with tags , , , on September 28, 2010 by GJK

PR Wars Continue Over Holiday Weekend

by gjk, 7 Sept. 2010; Marquette, MI –

Local U.P. mining company, Krabbykott, expressed concern over the Labor Day weekend that Bee-Pee, a foreign oil giant, is still monopolizing media coverage of global ecological disasters. A spokesperson for Krabbykott said on Saturday that “our company is doing everything it can to raise our profile from that of ‘an environmental nuisance’ to ‘truly mind-bogglingly-incompetent.’” When asked who Krabbykott considered to be their corporate role-model for such an up-tick in notoriety, the spokesperson responded by saying to this reporter, “Bee-Pee, obviously… those guys really know their way around a U-Toob channel and network news sound-bites, and they sure as shit got one hell-of-a chain of command. Boy, when they screw the pooch they sure go all the way!” (It should be mentioned here that Krabbykott has recently purchased stock in a Bee-Pee subsidiary that specializes in petroleum-based lubricants, whose motto is “GET CORN-HOLED WITH SLIP ‘N’ GLIDE, FOR THE PET LOVER IN YOUR LIFE.”) When prompted, the Krabbykott PR wizard could neither confirm nor deny whether or not corporate policies included such things as corn-holing, or being corn-holed, by ones pets.


Posted in poems 2002 with tags , , , , , on September 24, 2010 by GJK

oh utopia! where are you?

i actually believe the dream is possible,

but there are such immense political machines

in the way of such glorious change…

if only we could tear everything down

and start anew — renew the spirit of equality,

destroy the economic institutions

that keep the masses in bondage,

end religious warfare, instill goodwill

and create a true brother-and-sister-hood

of humankind that disregards old borders

and outdated ideologies

oh utopia! can it ever be?

oh utopia! i insist that you answer.


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Posted in prose with tags , , , on September 22, 2010 by GJK

All you wanted was a bag of chips but what you got instead was a

scorcher of a migraine. You made the short walk to the convenience store

on the corner without incident, but on the way back you got accosted by

Jimbo. Again. That drunk prick is a constant source of consternation for

you, what with his propensity for unprovoked confrontation. This is the

fourth time this month that he’s ruined your evening, and you’ve had


This time your mistake was to have the gall to be smoking a cigarette as

you passed by his house, and there he was, drinking on the porch and

drunkenly drawling HEY MAN DO YOU HAVE A SMOKE FOR ME, as if you and he

were friends, or as if you were a vending machine. You are definitely

neither of those things, but in the spirit of the brotherhood of man you

went ahead and said YEAH MAN HERE YOU GO. And that moron Jimbo, that

drunken lout, went ahead and set about the serious business of lighting

the cigarette with the wrong end in his mouth and the filter sputtering

a pathetic flame that stank to high heaven. So you said, as calmly as

you could, YOU’RE LIGHTING THE WRONG END. Jimbo stared, uncomprehending,

and tried again to light the filter. By now your fur was up and all you

wanted to do was either walk away or smash some sense into Jimbo’s

addled brain.  You chose to walk away and you figured you were doing the

right thing, but no, you weren’t. You knew you did the wrong thing when

you heard the word DICK spill from that stupid fucker’s mouth. You gave

him a smoke, you tried to help him out, and this was your reward…


By the time you got to your own porch the migraine was in full swing. It

is now hours later and still all you can hear clearly amidst your throng

of thoughts is that one derisive syllable. DICK. You don’t know what to

do, so you do nothing. You sit alone in the dark and wait for the echoes

to cease.






Posted in for Jingle et. al., poems 2002 with tags , , , , on September 20, 2010 by GJK

GJK poetry notebook

from June 2002 —





my guitar sings songs of dissonant dissatisfaction

its strings vibrate disconsolate, morose tunes

my hand strums a somber rhythm

and fingers fret agonized chords

i need a new song

a melody strong and hopeful

harmony filled with peace.

i need a rhythm for the living

not one dead and stuck in defeat.

my guitar sings songs of lonesome detachment

it rings with sounds of failure and futility

my hands are stuck in a pattern of sadness

and my ears are filled with brooding.

i need a new song,

an energy full of bliss

i need to hear a masterpiece

to take me away from this

away from madness, away from sad.

i need a new song,

a melody strong and hopeful

a resonance firm

and pure


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