The dark side of town/you- in Duluth and Minneapolis

This poem is about Paul, no other

She was larger than life
She could not love demurely
Her hands grasped you 
like you were the last, best thing on earth
your brown eyes
lay asunder to any suspicions of real love

She withdrew to dust when 
you left, inbetween passages
moving to cities with complete strangers
with no details no trace

She was a piece of your wise kingdom
and an outlaw in your family
Although they were full of manifested flaws
blood relatives with no grace
many of them hated women
that resembled your mother

abandoning
awakening
an undedicated housewife

Who was the backbone of support?
When you looked for the size 22 women
who would say anything you wanted

You're weak now but stable
yet unfulfilled
She is still chasing your dream
down Grand Avenue
with the enthusiasm of your father.

Circa 1996-1997

jdh

6.30.17

Surprise, I dont care....there are other holy pursuits.....

No one cares about your blabbering ramblings with BBW.  I wouldn't listen to your shows if you paid me.  Jon just invested 2,000 in Bob's Aramaic Bible scholar enterprise.  I have real friends with real values.  The quality of my shows are intelligent.   I am not a low life fishing for bait.  Listen to this show and you will understand the difference.  No name calling, no ridiculing.

http://www.blogtalkradio.com/ernestradionetwork/2014/03/27/beaten-path-dispensationalism

Jon: "There is no one righteous, no not one."  Romans 3:10

No one was worthy to read the book.  The lamb appears who was eligible to read the book. Suddenly, everyone was happy.  Our righteousness is like filthy rags.

Jon loosely quotes Isaiah 53:5,6  5 But he was pierced for our transgressions, he was crushed for our iniquities; the punishmentthat brought us peace was upon him, and by his wounds we are healed. 6 We all, like sheep, have gone astray, each of us has turned to his own way; and the LORD has laid on him the iniquity of us all.

She wants to date a man who...

She can laugh with in the shade or sun,

a cloudy day can be seen in advance,

they can alternate between sleeping at eachother's apartment

a man who has no secrets

a man who is honest with himself.

A man who is not thinking about the next thing he has to do

before or during or after making love.

A man who kisses her everywhere

in all her hidden parts.

a man.

Craig Hoffman, deceased

Searching too far through the unwanted want ads...don't find me....don't look...don't probe....found the Bible beating wife...and her shout outs to the King....prostheltizing between coffee breaks....her goal in life to watch bastard children....something Craig would have never let me done. Our children would never have had bastard children....they would have had 4 yr degrees and been Ivy...Craig working hard thru winter nights....ignoring his new, old wife....evident on her wall...she is making posts about his nighttime duties, and silently admitting he also ignores her....work first, play second. Craig has nowhere to hide from his bi racial granchildren.

Me, with Craig in the back of my mind. Friday night pilgrimages to Denny's. No blatant prairie field full of nothingness and 5 hour drives thru Eau Claire and Black River to a child's transplant destination. No shame from Craig, verbally. No one now. Just the memory of his crooked body in pursuit of some trending action....a Civil War enactment, raking leaves, preparing lesson plans, the deathly hollows of an unsurvivable marriage....the silence and trauma of Dec. 25, 1992, racing thru our veins, the lack of speech, the silent child in the coffin, the marriage over thru unspoken sanctimony and love that never arrested in our souls.

Things I will never know about "The Elder Sage" REVISED

Did I like him or convince myself to like him? Was he a seasonal casting line in my holiday indulgence? One extra snap of the wrist and I unpreparedly sunk my fate into deeper conversation that would ultimately retain its shallowness? Would he laugh at my uncompleted set of dishes or the orange plate with the castigated spoon? Could he eat dinner in my apartment without defining the economic or contextual meaning? Would he acknowledge that Bill Clinton is gifted in one non animated moment or that he does not hold all the secrets of the world in his gray nebuli? Could he have a conversation that didn't end up divided with one person on one side and himself in his pore thought out cage? How often does he let his hair down or is he like those hunched over seniors that gave way to a well protected reputation forsaking a vivacious woman who could make him truly happy? Will he have to prove himself right beyond reasonable doubt for what to eat, whom to trust, where to put your money, where not to, what social investments can never prosper, what wars to back, what conflict to retreat from including his own inner demons? Will jazz and blues be his ultimate sexual substitute...revealed thru YouTube music videos he surfs at night? When in his father's old neighborhood, does he know his true, memory driven self? Or is he beyond the general stereo typing that the Black community naturally stigmatizes itself with? Is he Tyler Perry or Langston Hughes? Is he Spike Lee pre conditioned or evangelized by the blood of the Black Church Christ? In his dark deepest moments only he can answer those questions. It is only he that will share them with his own reflection and departed throne of self.

Letter to Larry

My letter to Larry stood suspended in thought, time and reason unknown to the recipient, unknown in reception. Dissipated like the shroud of Turin, unable to make out the details, the impact, the consequence, the compromise and the residual feelings that linger and cross bow me like a cold Norwegian night left in darkness. Pride or prejudice will prevent him from writing me back and this short term friendship will slip into the anals of unrecorded history.

Free to be

Free to decide
Free to be
Purple streaks over blonde fade
Coco Chanel influenced me
top hats to dress down
nipples standing over chiffon
waiting for the one
He comes down over me
like warmth over chill
a swimmer with smooth skin
& no tan lines
dark Brazilian skin
temperature changing
my body temperature to
thermometer extremes
dissolving Finnish hinterland
to a life untold
celibate for two years
now relinquished
cold front collision
South American captivity
Scandanavian fortitude merged with Latin blood
into never ending desire.