i am again participating in the Poetry Super Highway Free E Book Exchange. My book, “Mozart Blues” will be available for downloading from the PSH web page on December 1 for 24 hours (from Mid-night PST time). Please consider downloading my book and others on December 1, 2023.
Acknowledgment
These poems have been published in the following journals and elsewhere and were written between 2016 and 2023. They were published in.
Down in the Dirt, Spillwords Poems, Ink Pantry, Synchronized Chaos, Former People Poems as well as on my website, The World according to Cosmos (https:/theworldaccordingtocomos.com) and All Poetry, Fan Story and Writing.com
This chapbook is part of the Poetry Superhighway’s Annual Poetry E-Book Free for All event.
The mission of the Poetry Superhighway is to expose as many people to as many other people’s poetry as possible.
What?
A project in which your poetry e-books will be freely available to all interested humans on Earth for 24 hours.
Throughout November we will collect e-books from poets and writers interested in participating.
Then on December 1st, for 24 hours, links to all of the e-books will go live. For 24 hours anyone can download, for free, as many of these e-books as they like…a poetry e-book free-for-all.
How?
To participate, read the guidelines below and then click on our Online Submission form. That’s it. It’s simple. By doing so, your e-book will be included.
The E-Book has to be written by you.
E-books should be in PDF Format for universal compatibility with anyone’s computer.
If you have an e-book in Microsoft Word or another format, please convert it to PDF. One way to do this (if you don’t know how) is to visit the website http://www.freepdfconvert.com/. From there you will be allowed to select the file on your computer which will be uploaded and e-mailed back to you in PDF format.
When creating your e-book file, please keep it smaller than 2 megabytes.
Once you’ve created your e-book (not before), click on our Online Submission Form to join in!
Do not fill out the form and then e-mail us your e-book later. Please fill out the form and use it to upload your e-book to us.
We do not accept e-books or submissions by e-mail. The only way to join in is by clicking on the Online Submission Form below.
On December 1 at Midnight (the evening of November 30), people will be free to download any or all of the titles and your poetry will be freely, electronically, traveling all over the world. This web page will go offline 24 hours later at Midnight on December 2nd.
We will also list your e-book and description on this web page along with the link to your website for all to see.
“How Did I End Up Here?
You asked me
How I ended up
In this place?
I mean, I look
Like a reasonable
Responsible white dude
Not a violent thug
Am I right?
Well, my life
Went downhill fast
When I met Maria Lee
In that infamous bar.
You know, the Cosmos bar?
On Telegraph Ave
Down the street
from Mc Arthur Station?
Do you know the UFO place?
Been there?
Yeah then you know
It is filled with hot assed babes
Looking for a little side action
If you know what I mean?
She was a regular there
Stood out from the crowd
Just a drop-dead gorgeous
Korean babe, a real looker.
And I was smitten.
Until she laughed.
I would have happily
Married Maria Lee
If it weren’t for her laughter.
Maria had a horrid laugher
That was just so annoying
A high pitched crackling sound
That filled the air.
Like the proverbial chalkboard
Screeching sound
That got into your ears
And got stuck
Like a malignant earworm.
Her laughter was annoying as hell
And she was a beautiful gal
With a bonkers sexy devil may
Care personality.
Otherwise
We got along famously.
But I just could not get beyond
Her annoying laughter.
That sound made me
Want to beat her up.
Just to shut her up
You know what I mean?
I had to call it off
Before I was driven to murder
Due to her insane laughter.
It was the laugher
Did me in
In the end.
Got five to ten years
In this prison paradise
For the wanton killing
Of Maria Lee.
Last but not least, here’s our prompt for the day (optional, as always). Hard-boiled detective novels are known for their use of vivid similes, often with an ironic or sarcastic tone. Novelist Raymond Chandler is particularly adept at these. Here are a few from his novels:
A few locks of dry, white hair clung to his scalp, like wildflowers fighting for life on a bare rock.
Dead men are heavier than broken hearts.
From 30 feet away she looked like a lot of class. From 10 feet away she looked like something made up to be seen from 30 feet away.
She smelled the way the Taj Mahal looks in the moonlight.
He looked about as inconspicuous as a tarantula on a slice of angel food.
Today, I’d like to challenge you to channel your inner gumshoe and write a poem in which you describe something with a hard-boiled simile. Feel free to use just one, or try to go for broke and stuff your poem with similes till it’s . . . As dense as bread baked by a plumber, as round as the eyes of a girl who wants you to think she’s never heard such language, and as easy to miss as a brass band in a cathedral.
Who is My Muse? Dew Drop-in
“There is no architect
Can build as the Muse can,
She is skillful to select
Materials for her plan”
Emerson the House
My muse
Is a strange one
A strange creature.
That hides deep in my mind
Coming out mostly at night
Whispering words of wisdom
In my nightly fantastical dreams.
Fragments of which
Haunt my mornings
As I try to recapture
The elusive fading memories
Of my nightly movie scripts
That plays on in my mind’s eye
In my private cinema.
I don’t dream mere dreams
I dream movies
And the director of my movies
Is the ever-elusive fairy queen
My eternal muse of beauty.
As I write my poems
And stories
She takes control
Leading me down
Dark rabbit holes
Where I fear to tread,
Encountering the dark demons
And the wild things
Of my imagination.
Who are waiting for me
Demanding I pay
For my entertainment.
I smile as my muse
Negotiates a way home.
And I wake up
And see that my muse
Sleeps on in the form
Of my wife
The love of my life.
That is the power
Of the queen of my heart
My eternal muse.
April 24—Text—Use A Short Quotation In Your Poem, Embedded Or As an Epigraph
The super nonsense man
Appeared one day
In our land.
He appeared on TV, tweeter
Facebook and everywhere
Spreading forth
Across the virtual universe
infecting everything with
One nonsensical conspiracy
After another.
Everything he said
Appear plausible, reasonable
Even desirable.
But it was complete nonsense
Lies based on lies
Wrapped up in lies
Hatred and mind-numbing fear
THEY were after you
To destroy America
He claimed.
All his false words
Designed to deceive,
To weaken the mind
And the spirit
of the gullible.
Who soon begin
Believing everything
The super nonsense man
Sprouted forth on TV.
No one wanted to fact check
No one believed the truth anymore
That was so old school it seemed.
Super nonsense man
Soon took over the world
And became what
Many had feared
Just another con man
Off to grift as much
As he can
From the land
Of the free
And the home of the brave.
Before leading
The alien invasion
Enslaving humanity forever.
In the end,
It did not matter
We all believed
The lies of
super-nonsense man.
And humanity became
Just another failed civilization
In a uncaring universe
For today’s prompt, write a superhero or supervillain poem. It’s OK to write a poem about an established hero or villain, like Thor, Green Lantern, or The Tick. But it would be more fun to have poems about lesser-known (as in, you just invented them) heroes and villains. People like The Recycler, Dr. Dirty Dishes, or the diabolical Pie Bandit. Save the day; wreck the day; but please, write a poem
Life is an endless dream, my friends
Life is an endless dream, my friends.
A dream that has no beginning and no ending
That flows down the rabbit holes
Of one’s mind to dark dangerous corners
Where the wild things do roam
A Metaphor Write a poem that is entirely made up of one metaphor.
3 room press prompt (for April 24th)
The poet dreams lost in memory
While the secret architect
His fairy godmother, his muse
Dances about his head making designs
The Sun and stars shining overhead
The poet finds himself alone
Watching God singing the blues
3 room press prompt (for April 24th)
For the first prompt, grab any book at all. Flip to a random page and scan, making a list of ten or more words that catch your eye. Write a single stanza poem that incorporates seven as end words, for a bonus write a sestina (six lines) poem that incorporates all words as end words.
Prompt words from Emerson ‘The House”
Poet
Memory
Architect
Muse
Designs
Sun
Stars
God
Sings
I Remember Writer’s Cramp
I remember it was in September
A date I shall always remember
For on that date I met my fate
Met the love of my life,
Who soon became my wife,
With such an impact
Looked at her every morning.
Déjà vu moments abound
her love a mirror image
Of my love for her.
When I was in high school
I had my first dream
The dream changed my life.
In my fevered imagination
I saw the most beautiful woman
In the universe speaking to me
She was a tall Asian woman
I knew that someday
Somehow I would meet her
It was my fate
Became my obsession
To find the girl
in the dream
It took eight years
Before I finally met her
On a bus in Korea
I met her
On the day
I was determined
To give up
To abandon this mad quest
To find the lady in the dream
That haunted my nights
That morning she came to me
Said
“don’t worry
We will be together soon”
She walked off the bus
That night
When I saw her there
I knew that it was her
And she knew it too
Two months later
She became my wife.
That was almost 40 years ago
Every day I recall the dream
Of how we first met.
Today’s (optional) prompt is based on the Aisling, a poetic form that developed in Ireland. An Aisling recounts a dream or vision featuring a woman who represents the land or country /in which the poet lives, and who speaks to the poet about it. Today, I’d like to challenge you to write a poem that recounts a dream or vision, and in which, a woman appears who represents or reflects the area in which you live. Perhaps she will be the Madonna of the Traffic Lights or the Mysterious Spirit of Bus Stops. Or maybe the Lost Lady of the Stony Coves will address you. Whatever form your dream visitor takes,
Flies all green and buzzin’
In this dungeon of despair
Prisoners grumblin
Piss they clothes
Scratch their matted hair
A tiny light from a window-hole A hundred yards away
That all they ever get to know
‘Bout the regular life in the day
‘Bout the regular life in the day
Slime and rot and rats and snuck
Vomit on the floor
Fifty ugly soldier men
Holdin’ spears by the iron door
Stinks so bad, stones are chokin’
Weepin’ greenish drops
In the den where
The giant fire puffer works
And the torture never stops
The torture never stops, torture
The torture never stops
The torture never stops
Flies all green and buzzin’
In this dungeon of despair
An evil prince eats a steamin’ pig
In a tumbers right near there
In the chambers right near there
He eats de snouts and trotters first!
The loins and the groins are then dispersed
His carvin’ style is well rehearsed
He stands and shouts
All men be cursed (4x)
And disagree it, well no one durst
He the best of cause of all the woist
Best of cause of all the woist
He stinks so bad his stones been chokin’
Weepin’ greenish drops
In the room with the iron maiden
And the torture never stops, torture
Torture never stops
Torture never stops, torture
Torture never stops
Flies all green and buzzin’
In dungeon of despair
Who are’ll those people
That is shut away down there
Are they crazy
Are they sainted
Are they heroes someone painted
Someone painted
Are they -isms
Later ornated
Once they come they have been tainted
Once they come they have been tainted
Never been explained
Since at first it was created
But a dungeon and his kin’
Require naught but lockin’ in
Of any anything that’s been
Could be a her but it’s probly a him
Could be a her but it’s probly a him
Its what’s the deal were dealin’ in
Its what’s the deal were dealin’ in
An he stinks so bad it’s hurt
To the pearl and the piles of blast
Any dungeon has a trailer
Were the torture never stops, torture
Torture never stops
Torture never stops, torture
Torture never stops
Torture never stops, talkin’ to you
Torture never stops
April 25—Music—write a(nother) poem in response to a particular song or larger musical work (or to a jukebox situation connected to “drunken barroom layabouts” to quote Harlow Flick)
Broken Down Souls on the Street PSH
You see them everywhere
On the street
On the bus
On the metro
But mostly wandering the streets
Lost souls
Broken down defeated souls
The souls of the living dead
Dead inside
Waiting for death
To deliver them from the agony
Of the living,
They make do
They beg
They steal
They con their way,
Living the life
Living death
Broken Souls
You have two minds
One part of you
the fearful part of you
Conditioned to ignore,
Conditioned to walk by
Ingoing the tragic wounded lives
The broken souls all around you.
But part of you knows
That you cannot do that
But you can’t save everyone.
So you do what you can
You help those whom you can
All it takes is a little act of compassion
A little human kindness
A few bucks or a cup of coffee.
And you walk by
Knowing just knowing
That by a simple act of acknowledging
Our shared humanity.
You have made a small victory
And brought happiness
To yet another broken down soul.
And the fear
that you will be a broken soul
Recedes away
Not me never
Never will happen to me
But one forgets
It is a simple matter
A wrong turn in life
The wrong place wrong time wrong thing
And you could be the broken soul
On the street
Begging to be heard
Begging to be taken away
And so I walk on by no more
I will listen
I will talk to them
I will make a small difference
And in so doing
Avoid becoming a broken-down soul
Entering a Picture (Poetry from Visual Art) by Seretta Martin
Is it possible for a lesson to appeal to all ages from third grade through adult, beginner through advanced? Yes, this one does! I’ve taught it from elementary through high school, at museums, and senior centers. It stimulates the imagination in magical ways. The picture is a focal point for the poem to develop. The student has selected the image for some personal reason yet to be discovered in the writing of the poem. This lesson teaches attention to images, detailed descriptions, the senses, vocabulary research, and more. Sometimes it triggers memories or uncovers unexpected desires. The student’s imagination is stretched when prompted to crawl into the picture and become someone or something in that world. Start this lesson by using a projector to show and read a few successful model poems and show the pictures that were used. Read some of the poems yourself, then call on students to take turns reading. The model poems create excitement and show students how others have approached the lesson with stellar results. After each poem is read, comment on how the poet addresses aspects of this lesson. After writing paper and handouts are distributed, place a batch of pictures on each table. Give students 5 minutes or so to select a picture for their poem. Collect extra pictures so students can focus on the one picture that they have in front of them. You may want to also leave the lesson projected on the screen. Walk them through these steps:
Enter into the painting. Let your mind wander. Think about how you would describe it to a blind person. In your poem, you are going to paint a picture with words. As you write, pay close attention to details. Remember, a blind person needs lots of information to visualize the picture. What do you see in the painting? colors? patterns? figures? What do you feel? Write what first comes to mind. Does the art remind you of a memory? Does it remind you of a family member or a friend? Does it remind you of something you lost?
Describe the place (the setting) that you see in your picture. Is it a meadow? An attic? A candy jar. Your front porch? The edge of a volcano? Think about your five senses and use some of them for rich details in your poem. Describe smells, sounds, tastes, colors, and what things feel like to touch.
What is happening? Use action words. For example, perhaps the creature in your poem does some of these things: sings, growls, chomps, dives, leaps, flees, soars, glides, races, dances, or slouches. Make your poem come to life with colorful and unusual words. Avoid tired (worn-out words) that are overused and consult a Thesaurus.
What is not in the picture? Imagine what happened before, during, or after what you see. Crawl into the picture and become a person, animal, or object. Maybe you want to take a point of view as if you are speaking with someone in the picture and use dialog.
Now, ask yourself questions: Is my first line or stanza so interesting and grabbing that it will make the reader want to read the rest of my poem? Do I want to make my most exciting idea my first line?
Have I used words that paint a clear picture? Do I want to repeat any sounds or words to make my poem more musical? (lyrical) or to emphasize something?
How will you end your poem? Will you surprise us? Reveal a secret? Use an unexpected twist? End with a question? Do you want to leave the reader saying ah, or feeling sad, or what? Think of a unique title that makes the reader want to read your poem, but don’t give away too much of your poem in the title.
Time: 1 to 1.5 hours. More time allows for students to read and share their poem drafts and show their pictures on the projector as they read.
Materials: Pictures: postcards, greeting cards, pictures cut from magazines or calendars, cards from art galleries and museums, fine arts prints, etc., Thesaurus, projector, paper clips (To clip the picture to the poem at the end of the class session.) Posters of: The Senses, The Emotions, Worn-Out Words, Vocabulary, and Action Words. You may want to look up and print out model adult poems by famous poets such as White Wedding Slippers by Anna Swir, tr. by Czeslaw Milosz, The Starry Night by Anne Sexton, Cezanne’s Ports by Allen Ginsberg, Van Gogh’s Bed by Jane Flanders and Mourning Picture by Adrienne Rich.
Published in Poetry Crossing – 50+ Lessons for 50 Years of California Poets in the Schools, 2014.
Response to Watching the War Unfold Writers Digest
Every morning
dogs of war howling
For the last two months
I and millions of people
Have tuned into the unending drama
The trauma of watching the war coverage
In Ukraine as Russia continues their assault
Against their neighboring country
Their cousins as it were
Who dared to declare themselves
Independent from their former Russian overlords.
The world is amazed by the bravery
Of the Ukrainian people
And the plucky courage
Of their leaders
In defying Putin and his war machine.
Where this is headed
No one knows
But one thing is clear
In the end Putin and his evil
Will be defeated
Ukraine will recover
And the world
It will never be the same again
War has a way
Of changing things,
In unanticipated ways
And unknowable consequences
follow.
Once the dogs of war
Are released to wreak havoc
Against the people
Of the world.
The old song put it best
War has but one friend
The undertaker.
And in Ukraine
So many people have died
Becoming war ghosts.
Joining the corona ghosts
The gun violence ghosts
And all the ghosts
That are everywhere
these sad end-of times days.
their voices
crying in the wind.
For today’s prompt, write a response poem. Your poem could be in response to a popular poem by another poet, sure, but it could also be a response to a poem you wrote earlier this month. That’s how I’m coming at this prompt today.
God’s Confession Local gems
I was sitting alone in a dismal dark bar
In a godforsaken evil din of inequity
Somewhere on the lunatic fringes of society
Twenty drinks too sober
On the dismal wrong end
Of a Friday Night booze run.
Ended up in the infamous Cosmos Bar
On the bad assed wild side part of town
Over by the abandoned decrepit railroad tracks
I was surely heading down the highway to hell
As fast as I could drink it down.
Enjoying my lonely drink
Drinking by my lonesome self
With my partners
Jimmy Dean and the Walker brother
And his old Granddad.
Just drinking and hanging
With the Jack Daniel’s gang
Talking with Wild Turkey
and Evan Williams.
Yelling at the sweet young bartender
“Give me one bourbon
One scotch
And a beer”
She smiled as she always did
Had heard this request a thousand times
An old washed up smelly derelict
A crazed bum looking at me
With a thousand-year-old stare
Walks up to me
He begins muttering to himself
Nutty nonsense, crazy words
In a lunatic’s voice
He had the look
Of one possessed
By his own demons
That only he can see
Or hear
Possessed by a secret knowledge
Only he knew,
Despite myself
I was fascinated
By this lunatic’s tale
So I stopped him and said
“So crazy dude,
What’s your game, anyway?”
The short little dude
Stopped his insane prattle
Staring at me
With that thousand-year-old stare
Just another washed up
Crazed lunatic
Too many drugs
Some washed up LSD causality
Leftover from the ’60s
Too many bad nights
On the wrong side of life.
He looked at me
And proclaimed his story
He reared up
And filled up the room
And lifted the bar
On his finger.
And stared down at me
From the sky,
And said
Since you asked
I am God,
Jehovah, Allah
And a billion other names
The alpha and Omega
The real deal
The original dude of dudes
The Sultan of Swing
God of hosts
And the father
of that Jesus dude.
But no one knows me
Any more
No one cares
They think I am irrelevant
They think I am dead
They think I am a fairy tale
From some olden, ancient time
Some say I am dead
Others think I should be dead
That my work is done
I looked at him
Carefully now
And what did I see
An old man
With that lunatic look
thousand-year stare
But there was something else
He was crazy
Sure yes
But perhaps he was the real deal
I mean why not
Why would not God be
A lunatic wandering
around loose
Talking to low lives like me
In a bar on the highway to hell
So I looked at him
And invited him to share
His tale of woe
God tells me
“Well, it’s like this
Many a year ago
People believed in me
But one day
They quit believing in me
And they went on without me
As they left me
My powers got weaker and weaker
And so eventually I became
What you see today
A broken-down drunk
Hanging out
Looking for a handout
Looking for some company
Or at least a free dinner”
And he laughed and laughed
And I looked at him
And saw the beginnings of the end
And the ends of the beginnings
I saw a million planets
Flash by
A billion people
A trillion sentient beings
Thinking all at once
Cosmic thoughts filled my head
Lights flashed
And I knew
He was telling the truth
But it did not matter
In this day and age
Of materialism
God has no role
God is truly dead
And so I bought him a drink
And walked out of the bar
Profoundly saddened
by what I had seen
God was dead
And we had all conspired
To kill him.
I suffer from poet envy. I can’t ever get past thinking that roses are red, and then I get stuck.
One person that I’ve always admired is John “Jake” Cosmos Aller. His poetry seems to reflect many thoughts I’ve had about life, love, loss, and loneliness.
Touched by Jake’s Words
We know that any writer who touches us stays with us, and with each subsequent Poetry Break or fiction submission for the Best 1000 words for an Image Prompt, he hasn’t disappointed me.
“Sam, how are you doing? An old friend of mine, I am delighted that I can speak with you.”
Sam looked around and could not find out where the voice was coming from but realized that the bench had spoken to him. Sam laughed and said, “Well, bench, if you can speak, tell me what you know.”
The bench spoke of Sam’s life and of the lives of others in the community that Sam knew. The bench said he knew everything that occurred in the lives of the people that sat down to rest, reflect, or remember.
And the trees knew, too, as did the cosmic cat and even the squirrels. But people, well, they just did not know how to listen to nature and the world around them. In a way, it was too bad because the bench had so much wisdom to implant.
I See His Poetry
When I started at Two Drops of Ink in 2014, I claimed the job of finding images for posts. Scott Biddulph was a great editor, but his choice of images sometimes seemed lackluster. Don’t worry, we had that conversation, so I’m not talking behind his back. His response was, “I don’t have an artistic talent; you do.”
So I scoured every known site and found Pixabay and Unsplash. If you need images for your blog, these are two free-to-use sites that never disappoint me.
I loved the job then and still do. Some of Jake’s poetry has been especially fun to the image. It might just be me, but if you squint, I think you can see a little of Jake in the image for Just An Unhinged Lunatic Howling At The Moon
And finally, I had to say something
So I gathered up my manly courage
And walked up to her
And she looked at me
And instantly bewitched my soul
With a devilish grin
I lost all reason
And became a raving lunatic
Just an unhinged lunatic
Howling at the moon
Switching Gears
From a female perspective, we sometimes wish we had that kind of influence on a man. But then, Jake switches things up for us in Howling at the Moon. Our love-struck man transforms under the effects of the moon:
Excerpt:
Beneath the lunatic rays
Of the blood-red full moon
The lunatic lights of the moon
Casts a wild primeval glow
On me
The hormonal chemicals are unleashed
The wild beast within
Escapes it chain
And I howl with delight
A werewolf
Free at last
Understanding His Characters
The other thing I like about Jake’s poetry is that he writes about subjects I know, if not first hand, then in the retelling by countless men and women I’ve worked with for 30 years. Addiction either robs us, or we give it away, all the things that some people take for granted – a job, home, children, car, or food on the table.
Some of the characters in his poetry are downtrodden, not necessarily from addiction, but the sentiments and experiences of his character in Just Enough for Coffee sound hauntingly familiar.
Alzheimer’s, homelessness, and out-of-work are subjects that most people wouldn’t tackle in poetry, yet Jake does so admirably.
Excerpt:
The homeless man
Had been on the streets
For too long
Barely remembered his life
Before early-onset Alzheimer’s
Robbed him of his job
His dignity
His wife
His life
His money
Now he drifted
Waiting for the grim reaper
To call him home
Any day now
He prayed nightly
To a god
That he no longer believed in
Lonely and Laudable Words
Jake delves into loneliness with wonderful mind/word images in many of his poems. Here are some that express the despair of all humans cut off from contact, friendship, and love in Reflections and One Crazy Day.
Excerpt:
One dismal night
One lousy, lonely, loathsome demented night
In a godforsaken bar
In the global south
In a tropical hell hole
Drinking my way to hell
As fast as I could
Drinking alone with my buddies
Jack Daniels, Jimmy Walker
Wild Turkey and Old Grandad
Excerpt:
I looked up
Looked out at the window
At the full moon
Saw by its lunatic light
Your face
Was on the moon
And I looked up
At the light
That crazy light
And dreamed
I was with you
Again
And I woke up
Again
And I woke up
Alone in my bed
Climate Change in Poetry?
I am so impressed with Jake’s ability to take a hot topic and turn it into poetry. Ten Years After Climate Change Collapse envisions the collapsed world through a poet’s eyes. Excerpt:
Sam Adams carried heat
To protect himself
Against the wild animals.
The lions, tigers, coyotes, wolves,
And their running feral dog gangs,
Who prowled the city streets
Preying on deer, feral cows,
feral cats and pigs
Who grazed among the ruins.
And the two-legged neo-savage gangs,
And what was left of the city police
Interchangeable with the gangsters,
Battled it out for control.
The second poem in that group sizes up the situation from the Lion King’s perspective. We’ve spent years killing animals and they finally decide that enough is enough.
Excerpt:
lion
The lion king,
Addresses the animal parliament
The question before them
Was simple.
Will humans have to die,
To atone for their sins,
In almost destroying the world.
Through pollution, mismanagement of resources
Subsequent climate change,
Fueled by greed and corruption?
Are all humans guilty as charged
Will they all have to die?
Positive Poetry from Jake Aller
Before you think that all of Jake’s poetry is maudlin and melancholy, there’s a humorous and positive side to many of his poems, too. Dora, The Intergalactic Explorer, and Dragonfly in My Mind are two that show his playful, positive side.
Excerpt:
dora
Dora, the intergalactic explorer
Is traveling to the strangest planet
of all the known worlds
she is traveling incognito
with a video crew
making a documentary
the planet earth
is known as a planet
of intelligent monkeys
Excerpt:
Oh, difficult, negative thoughts
Be gone
Like the bugs
You are
I’ll squash you like
The evil creatures
You are
The sweet music
Invades my soul
Driving away
The evil bugs
And I soar
Like the majestic
Dragonfly
Far above
The chaos below
Piqued Your Interest in Jake’s Poetry?
I hope I’ve gotten your attention and that you read Jake’s posts here at Two Drops of Ink. Here’s four more for your enjoyment:
I wonder if Jake could help me with my roses are red? Oh, sorry, I digress. But I just know that with the imagination Jake has, he could do something magical. I might just ask him.
Bio: John “Jake” Cosmos Aller
John “Jake” Cosmos Aller is a novelist, poet, and former Foreign Service officer, having served 27 years with the U.S. State Department. He toured in ten countries – Antigua, Barbados, Dominica, Grenada, Korea, India, St Kitts, St Lucia, St Vincent, Spain, and Thailand, and traveled to 45 countries during his career.
Jake has been an aspiring novelist for several years. He is pursuing publication on:
He has been writing poetry all his life and has published his poetry in electronic poetry forums, including All Poetry, Moon Café, and Duane’s Poetree and literary magazines.
He is looking forward to transitioning to his third career – full-time novelist and poet after completing his second career as a Foreign Service officer and his first career as an educator overseas for six years upon completing his Peace Corps service in South Korea.
Spillwords has published my poem, “Sleepless on the Streets” .They previously published a number of my poems, including “Eve Eats the Apple” and “Mocking Laughter.” They also published an interview and additional poems below. Including a bonus poem, not published called “ I am the Snake” on a similar theme, re-telling the story of the garden of Eden from the snake’s perspective.
This morning I read my poem, “Just Enough for Coffee” on the Journal of Expressive’s Arts First Zoom Open mike. They will be hosting it monthly and I hope to read some more of work there.
I grew up in Berkeley, California, and Washington DC, and went to College in Stockton, California. After college, lived five years in Korea as a Peace Corps volunteer and teaching ESL. I returned to the US to Seattle for graduate school. Afterward, I joined the Foreign Service where I lived and worked in over ten countries. I retired and lived in Korea and the west coast.
What is the greatest thing about the place you call home?
I live in Youngjando island, South Korea near the Incheon Airport. I live in a garden city. There is a magnificent park – the world peace forest behind my house and a nice mountain to hike in. Over three hundred restaurants are within walking distance of my house. There are five beaches ten minutes’ drive away, Incheon is nearby as is Seoul.
What turns you on creatively?
All my work starts with a dream. I don’t dream dreams; I dream movies, filled with action, sound, music, smells many times in a completely different world. I have been writing a dream journal for many years. I write five to ten dreams per day, saving them as stand-alone flash fiction, and also write one to ten poems per day.
What is your favorite word, and can you use it in a poetic sentence?
One of my favorite words is my portmanteau scumbaggery which I define as the actions of a ”Scumbag.”
The scumbaggery Of Texas Senator Ted Cruz Utterly confounds
What is your pet peeve?
Racism, sexism, homophobia, bigotry, right-wing nutcases, left-wing zealots, Christian holy rollers, gun violence, police misconduct, anti-Asian hate crimes, hate crimes, America Firsters, QAnon conspiracy theorists, neo-Nazis, White Supremacists, Proud Boys, Boogaloo Bois, and the Oath Keeper militia, etc. I don’t like ”gangsta rap,” “heavy metal,” or “country music.” Pragmatist and don’t care about ideological correctness.
What defines Jake Cosmos Aller?
Grew up in Berkeley and DC. Lived all over the world, visiting forty-five countries and all 50 states. Served my country as a foreign service officer, and Peace Corps volunteer and taught ESL and government overseas. But what is more important than anything is that I married the girl of my dreams who became my wife 40 years ago.
Dora The Intergalactic Explorer written by: Jake Cosmos Aller @Jakecaller Dora the intergalactic explorer Is traveling to the…
Dora the intergalactic explorer
Is traveling to the strangest planet
of all the known worlds
she is traveling incognito
with a video crew
making a documentary
the planet earth
is known as a planet
of intelligent monkeys
not much is known
about them
as very few
have ever been there
the inhabitants are described
as blood thirsty insane creatures
ruled by hidden sexual and political passions
following incomprehensible
religious dogmas following Gods
that clearly do not exist
the inhabitants are just on the verge
of developing intergalactic travel
and the galactic empire
is worried that they will be driven
to try to conquer the rest of the universe
driven by their needs to impose
their religious dogma
everywhere in the world
the planet is divided into large tribal groups
governed by corrupt elites
corrupt businesses destroying the planet
in pursuit of profit
and the locals are little more
than wage slaves
barely making a living
addicted to alcohol, drugs, gambling
pornography and illicit sex
and their main land
is ruled by a clearly delusional madman
intent on poking a fight
with all his alleged enemies
Dora assumed the appearance
of a character from TV
and will pose as a journalist
trying to make sense
of it all
but she was afraid
that she if found out
could face the worst consequence
her ship crash lands
and she is outside
the capitol
of the non empire empire
called the United States of America
Dora gets her crew together
and walks into the city
staring at all the strange sights
as the monkeys go about
their daily activities
she stops at a restaurant
tries the coffee
the chief drug of choice
and is instantly addicted
wow no wonder
these people are crazed
she tries the local booze
and smiles
perhaps she could
become an intergalactic merchant
introducing the world
to the galaxy
her thoughts are interrupted
as a mad man armed
with weapons of war
bursts in and starts shooting
yelling at people
and she is shot dead
the authorities
are shocked
when they recover the body
and realize
that she is not a human
as she reverts other original
form
sort of a giant feline like creature
two legs and arms
and clearly from an advanced
civilization given her gear
what was she doing
no one knew
as all the aliens
died in the gun blaze
the world is shocked
at what had happened
and fearful that the aliens
were coming to invade
their world
the galactic senate
decides to contain
the humans
declaring them
a threat to the global civilization
and the humans vow
to discover the secrets
of interstellar travel
and travel to her land
to enter into business arrangements
and spread the one truth faith
to the heathen space aliens
thus ended Dora’s excellent adventure
in the crazed world at the edge
of known civilization
Where is my home? Where do I belong?
I really don’t know, always moving on to another place
Moved every other year it seems the last 45 years
Traveled to 49 states, 45 countries, drove across the U.S. six times
Lived in Berkeley, Yakima, Stockton, Seattle, Alexandria, DC, Oregon, Korea, Thailand, India, The Eastern Caribbean, and Spain
Where do I belong? Where is my home?
Neither here nor there, nowhere and everywhere
And so is that my rambling man’s fate
Never to really belong anywhere at all
Bus Rides in America’s Underbelly written by: Jake Cosmos Aller the Bus – Travels Through America’s Underbelly I…
the Bus – Travels Through America’s Underbelly
I am a bus rider
That makes me unusual
For a white male
From an upper middle class family
Our people are not bus riders
Though some are subway riders
Bus riders are other people
The poor, minorities, immigrants
People who don’t drive
Because they are blind
Or have a DUI
And in my case
I don’t drive
Because I have bad vision
And bad coordination
Just never got the hang
Of the whole driving thing
Fortunately for me
My wife does the driving
But I still take the bus
From time to time
I rode the AC buses in Berkeley
As a child
Line 67, line 51, line 43 F bus
Rode them long before BART came along
And afterwards as well
As an adult seldom rode the bus
But when I did so
I was always impressed
By the sheer diversity
Of the bus riding property
Hundreds of languages
All sorts of sexual orientation
Some were white
Most were not
Most of my fellow passengers
Were nice enough
Some were friendly
And some were lost
In their own thoughts
And a few
Were scary looking dudes
With the look
Of someone who had done time
And were capable of more violence
I also rode the bus
In Seattle as a graduate student
A lot of fellow UW students
And the usual immigrants
Minorities etc
And some white people
Commuting
And in DC
Over the years
I rode a lot of buses
Mostly to and from the metro
But I got to know
And love the DC buses as well
I also took the greyhound bus
Across the country
Several times over the years
All over the U.S.
From Bay Area to Stockton
From Bay Area to Clear Lake
From Bay area to NYC
NYC to DC
All over the USA
Taking the Greyhound
Was always an adventure
Met a lot of interesting people
As people on long distant bus rides
Tend to open up and talk
To pass the time away
Overseas I took the bus
All over
In India, in Barbados
In Spain and in Korea
The Korean buses
For many years
Were difficult for foreign visitors
As the signs were all in Korean
Most have signs
Now in English, Chinese and Korean
And are much more foreigner friendly
Riding the bus
In America
Allows one access
To the underbelly of American society
The poor, the marginalized
The immigrant communities
That many middle-class white people
Just never see
And for that reason
I am glad
That I am a bus rider
NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR:
Based on my experiences riding the bus all over the world from 1968 to 2018.
