Don’t need no blue-eyed Jesus
Don’t need no holy boss
Don’t need no Max Von Sydow
Hanging from a plywood cross.
Keep your protestant Christ
Played by Aryan men who are tall and fair
Blue-eyed, blond hair
Dispensing platitudes of peace
As they hang there
On a perfect King James Version cross.
The Incarnation
Knocked out by a new class of scholars and translators
Making a buck, joining the Writer’s Guild,
Working for Mel Gibson.
Gimme the short little guy
Who worked with his hands and hardly got by
Who discovered that stand-up gig
And got free meals
And hung out with cool guys
And fast chicks,
The guy who got in trouble and didn’t get away with it, but maybe could have.
© R. Scardino
9/27/07
Thursday, September 27, 2007
Thursday, September 20, 2007
Black Night Full Moon
Two figures running across the road
Black boys in dark clothes seen against the asphalt
Yellow lights casting green-gray shadows.
One runs swift with jeans three quarter ways down his butt
Showing off light blue boxers
Light blue framed by black and blue.
The second eclipsed by the first
A dark star beneath the full moon
Soaking light from light clouds on a humid night.
The two absorbing my attention
Like runners on a Greek vase
Not Keats’s urn, but legs all legs crisscrossing
A moment in time
With urgency to run
To be free
Not caring about traffic
Not defiant with a slow walk staring through the windshield
But joyful proud in speed.
© R. Scardino, 1/3/07
Black boys in dark clothes seen against the asphalt
Yellow lights casting green-gray shadows.
One runs swift with jeans three quarter ways down his butt
Showing off light blue boxers
Light blue framed by black and blue.
The second eclipsed by the first
A dark star beneath the full moon
Soaking light from light clouds on a humid night.
The two absorbing my attention
Like runners on a Greek vase
Not Keats’s urn, but legs all legs crisscrossing
A moment in time
With urgency to run
To be free
Not caring about traffic
Not defiant with a slow walk staring through the windshield
But joyful proud in speed.
© R. Scardino, 1/3/07
Saturday, September 15, 2007
Dubya Khan
(With Apologies to Samuel Taylor Coleridge)
In old Iraq did George and Dick
a great democracy decree,
where Tigris and Euphrates flow
through oilfields of proven reserve
down to the Persian Sea.
With presidential palaces there for play
for the pleasure of Saddam and Uday,
past muddy ground and ruin’d towns
past Badhdad to the sea.
Past torture chambers bright with light
and sleepless nights, perhaps a knife
and sensory deprivation, cold, and dark
and water-boarding for a lark.
With pyramids of naked men
Abu Ghraib is in the ken
of newsies 'round the world who see
futility and maybe more:
Democracy is the great cure,
said Dubya happily by the shore of
anyplace with oil galore
to power the humvee of legend’ry lore.
The war goes well, said Dick the demon lover
of this “crusade.”
Oh wait, that’s probably not the word
I want to use, but nothing Dick will say
Will fit the rhyme scheme anyway.
There was a General with a howitzer:
There is a way to make things right,
A surge will make them leave or fight,
A hundred thousand men will do
Don’t forget the women too.
We’ll kick some butt and after that
Tell the congress where it’s at,
We got it right this time for sure
Just keep the funding source secure!
“And all should cry, Beware! Beware!”
This war ain’t going anywhere
we’re winding down because because
we’re running out of troops to toss
into the maelstrom of Iraq
and getting ready for Iran.
© R. Scardino, 9/15/07
In old Iraq did George and Dick
a great democracy decree,
where Tigris and Euphrates flow
through oilfields of proven reserve
down to the Persian Sea.
With presidential palaces there for play
for the pleasure of Saddam and Uday,
past muddy ground and ruin’d towns
past Badhdad to the sea.
Past torture chambers bright with light
and sleepless nights, perhaps a knife
and sensory deprivation, cold, and dark
and water-boarding for a lark.
With pyramids of naked men
Abu Ghraib is in the ken
of newsies 'round the world who see
futility and maybe more:
Democracy is the great cure,
said Dubya happily by the shore of
anyplace with oil galore
to power the humvee of legend’ry lore.
The war goes well, said Dick the demon lover
of this “crusade.”
Oh wait, that’s probably not the word
I want to use, but nothing Dick will say
Will fit the rhyme scheme anyway.
There was a General with a howitzer:
There is a way to make things right,
A surge will make them leave or fight,
A hundred thousand men will do
Don’t forget the women too.
We’ll kick some butt and after that
Tell the congress where it’s at,
We got it right this time for sure
Just keep the funding source secure!
“And all should cry, Beware! Beware!”
This war ain’t going anywhere
we’re winding down because because
we’re running out of troops to toss
into the maelstrom of Iraq
and getting ready for Iran.
© R. Scardino, 9/15/07
Saturday, September 8, 2007
Senator Craig
Senator Craig. What can I say? I did NOT have tea room sex with him. Now, I'm kinda thinking he ain't too bad looking. (I think I need a date.)
The oldest guy I ever had sex with was about 70. I was maybe 27 or 28 and was in a bathhouse just minding my own business walking down the hall. This old guy with white hair and lots of freckles comes out of his room and says, "you've got to help me out. I'm real hot right now." In other words he was close to coming. I decided to give him a hand (a tongue actually) and he got off in like 3 seconds. I thought of it as my good deed for the century and also that if I did him when I was cute and in my 20's then when I was in my 70s a cute young guy would get me off. Talk about magical thinking.
There's a scene in Taxi Zum Klo where Frank, a teacher and consummate tea room queen, shares his hope that his pension will be large enough so that he will be able to afford a boy* prostitute occasionally. I think I'll set my goals a bit higher.
* Note to National Security Personnel and Stasi Agents: The word 'boy' here means 18 to about 22 years old. This is my interpretation of the sub-title 26 years after I saw the film.
The oldest guy I ever had sex with was about 70. I was maybe 27 or 28 and was in a bathhouse just minding my own business walking down the hall. This old guy with white hair and lots of freckles comes out of his room and says, "you've got to help me out. I'm real hot right now." In other words he was close to coming. I decided to give him a hand (a tongue actually) and he got off in like 3 seconds. I thought of it as my good deed for the century and also that if I did him when I was cute and in my 20's then when I was in my 70s a cute young guy would get me off. Talk about magical thinking.
There's a scene in Taxi Zum Klo where Frank, a teacher and consummate tea room queen, shares his hope that his pension will be large enough so that he will be able to afford a boy* prostitute occasionally. I think I'll set my goals a bit higher.
* Note to National Security Personnel and Stasi Agents: The word 'boy' here means 18 to about 22 years old. This is my interpretation of the sub-title 26 years after I saw the film.
Thursday, September 6, 2007
Shades of 7 Eleven
Out of the sun and into the shade I park by the 7 eleven
Out of the shade and into the sun I walk to the store and enter
I get my bottle of water.
In line
A delay at the register
The cashier:
Big hair
Blue eye shadow
Blue contact lenses
Looking down looking down
Perhaps new, perhaps shy, painfully shy.
After each sale she looks into the customer’s eyes and smiles
Direct contact if you want it.
Some ignore her
Some do not.
My turn.
I take off my shades to pay the bill
And receive the gift of her humanity
Then out into the sun.
© R. Scardino
Out of the shade and into the sun I walk to the store and enter
I get my bottle of water.
In line
A delay at the register
The cashier:
Big hair
Blue eye shadow
Blue contact lenses
Looking down looking down
Perhaps new, perhaps shy, painfully shy.
After each sale she looks into the customer’s eyes and smiles
Direct contact if you want it.
Some ignore her
Some do not.
My turn.
I take off my shades to pay the bill
And receive the gift of her humanity
Then out into the sun.
© R. Scardino
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