Friday, December 14, 2007

The Almond Window



Today while rummaging through the web, looking for fodder to sketch, I stumbled upon this eye. It caught my gaze and seemed to look right into me and as I looked back I saw something more than just an eye. I saw my self. It made me think of how our friend Jim once said poets write about the strangest and simplest things.



The Almond Window


I settled into that gazing pool
Where pain and pleasure cumulated
Like ions on a retinal rod


Stealing x-rays of my inner shade
A keepsake devil caught to display
Within that pretty almond window


For just a breath my pulse quickened
While some cathexis penetrated
And wooed me into woolgathering


A wink would have killed the glassy mood
But alas your shutter is affixed
To capture all these charmed immersions

12-14-07

Wednesday, December 12, 2007

The Tale of the Monkey and the Midget

The Tale Of The Monkey And The Midget
Inspired by the poetry of Li Po www.poemhunter.com/i/ebooks/pdf/li_po_2004_9.pdf


Lole couldn’t quite remember when the monkey first appeared. He knew Joey showed up shortly after though. His confidant, Joey was someone he could tell anything and repeatedly did. In fact, they spent countless evenings sitting on the couch together, Lole talking as Joey listened. He was a great listener.
On these occasions the monkey fed them beers. He was perfectly trained. An empty never hit the table before a cold one replaced it and as he took the empty there was always the cheerful eek-eek or drink-drink. .
Lole could never really tell what the monkey was saying, but tended to lean towards drink-drink. This was reinforced by Joey’s approving nod. The questionable gesture was pleasant, but Joey never spoke and simply nodded yes to everything. A tendency Lole seemed to overlook.
On occasion the three would dance, though Joey never really left the couch. His legs were at the most thirteen inches long and would simply swing like metronomes from the sofa. This was a smart move on the midget’s part for the monkey always tended to break something, which, Lole was invariably blamed for.
The monkey, who was affectionately named Jo Jo after the Beatles song, had placed many a strain on Lole's relationships with family and friends. Even the loss of his wife could be blamed away by the antics of the monkey. Still, Lole always chose Jo Jo when it came down to making the tough decision.
Maybe it was their long and strange history or the fact that Jo Jo still wore that cute little clown suit. Whatever the reason, Jo Jo prevailed while the others moved into Lole's clouded past. The monkey, in his opinion, was worth any amount of aggravation because, unlike the others, Jo Jo always suffered with him through the hardest times. This, Lole thought, was the very essence of true friendship.
At times, Lole would find himself out at the bar with other friends. His mind though was always with the monkey and the midget. They never teased him like his other friends. The chiding he took from them was relentless. Sure, Lole gave it back as much as he got it, but nothing pained him so much as the kidney jokes.
After an onslaught of kidney infections, tests, antibiotics and rigamarole from doctors, Lole learned he only had one kidney. This immediately spawned a series of jokes about waking up in a bathtub full of ice and being the victim of kidney thieves. But, there was no scar, so it was later assumed that aliens had extracted the organ through a certain orifice. The missing kidney and potential probing caused Lole to be the butt of endless razzing.
It was "never you worry" though Lole always said, taking life with a grain of salt, tequila and beer chaser. "Never you worry." This staunch philosophy was the trio's credo. Three simple words to live by.
Lole had first found himself in this delusional hakuna ma tata on the municipal golf course. His buddies had challenged him to a game of beer golf. The rules were simple. Subtract two from the par of the hole, meaning, par 5: three beers, par 4: two beers and par 3: one beer.
By the fifth green Lole had pounded his way to two under par and had resorted to using tees on the fairway. Most of his balls had been lost in the woods due to the distracting chatter of the monkey. At this point Jo Jo had been elusive, untamed, a wild creature tempting fate.
Lole had spent many an afternoon trying to catch the Panamanian primate, but to no avail. On that day though he had just tried to ignore him, but the imp patronized Lole on every stroke. To make matters worse someone drove off with his golf cart.
As he heard the cart pull away, Lole dashed towards it making an inebriated dive. Unfortunately the lunge was successful and to everyone’s amazement he held on to the bumper as he was dragged around the course. Finally the culprit cut sharply sending him rolling into the sand trap on the seventh hole.
Grass stained and covered in sand, Lole turned over. His body aching as the sun burned in his eyes and at that moment he wished he could just lay there and die. This is when Jo Jo appeared over him, bouncing with that playful eek eek and in his hand was the beer Lole had dropped.
This is how Jo Jo came to stay with Lole. Through all of the menacing hard ships of everyday living this friend had the ability to do more than just save his beer. This friend, this monkey, had the ability to make him forget his woes, in fact, he was distraction made manifest. Drink-drink.
That night Lole drank till the beer went down like water and all the while the monkey danced. He danced till the fridge was empty, till the sun sliced through the blinds, till all the bubbling molecules in their heads fell dark and unconscious.
At 1:42 pm Lole awoke to find he had soiled himself. To make matters worse he discovered his universal remote had been smashed into several pieces. He had been sleeping with his cheek pressed against the keypad; ironically the stop button had left the most noticeable of impressions on his face. After some tinkering with the pieces he gave up all hope of keeping the batteries in properly and resorted to duct tape, something Lole found to be a useful fix all.
Joey had introduced him to this remedy one evening after the monkey had broken Lole’s card table. The jocular primate had become quite rambunctious and, after urinating off the balcony, made a mad dash for the player’s pile of poker chips. Needless to say, Lole’s attempt to prevent this course of action placed him face down on the table.
With a crash, poker chips were hurled to the farthest reaches of the apartment. This was accompanied by a barrage of insults to Lole and a couple of smacks as he rose amidst the scattered Hoyle’s and foaming beer bottles. He tried pointing to Jo Jo, who had returned to the balcony, but the players just kept on razzing him, picking up what was left of their game.
This is when Joey appeared, duct tape in hand, a little guy with big ideas. He had been sitting quietly on the couch all evening and then, to Lole’s relief, Joey waved his hand to the bunch then went about repairing the leg of the table with him. After a few minutes the table was up, the game restored and Lole found himself sitting on the couch with his new best friend and a couple of ice cold ones.
Now, he sat at his table, tape still holding, realizing he was alone. The monkey, likely out terrorizing the neighborhood and Joey, only god knows. One thing was certain though, they would return. His two friends always did.

On the third day of his friends disappearance Lole had a recollection. A fuzzy thought came to mind like a radio station just out of range. Bits and pieces came followed by intermittent bouts of static. Halloween night? Jo Jo in a torn up clown suit. Was there a fight?

The images perplexed him on the way to work. Sweat broke out of every pore as he barreled along. A cold beer would be nice, but then his stomach wrenched. Where was Joey he wondered, wiping the perspiration from his face? Then it hit him, like the night of the incident, that terrible pain in his bowel churning and sheering. There was no time to react, to pull over.

The explosion instantly filled his BVD’s, saturating the gray cloth upholstery through to the foam cushioning of the seat. Lole now sat in a pool of shit. It was unimaginable how much fluid the body could release. To further aggravate Lole’s situation, the stench was overpowering to the point of nausea. Turning back towards home was his only option.

It was on this torturous venture back that Lole recalled that dismal falling out. Weeks of benders had led to months of solid drunkenness, which, came to a head that loathsome Halloween.

Incoherent, the threesome had consumed far more than any man could hold. Parts of Lole’s body had begun to shut down due to the damage. And so, unable to control his bowels, the unfortunate had crapped his pants at the bar. This caused the monkey to fall into a riotous fit of laughter.

All the laborious way to the restroom, Jo Jo taunted him. Joey, like a crutch beneath Lole’s armpit, helped him stagger into the stall. The men’s room rang with the shrill laugh of the monkey as Lole attempted to clean himself. Tears welled in his eyes as he shouted at the monkey to stop, to shut up, to get the hell away from him and then it happened.

Jo Jo, with his teeth flared like ivory daggers, snatched the soiled drawers. His first fling sent a large spatter across the mirror as Lole tried to pull his pants back up. The attempt was in vein though for it only caused him to fall on his face, his pants twisted about his knees. The second fling was aimed at Joey, who evasively ducked behind the stall as it spattered.

Lole screamed, “I hate you. I hate you. Just go away. I freaking hate you.” As he lay sobbing on the floor.

The monkey, chest heaving, made a final fling, sending the loaded skivvies into the fan above the stall. Choking, the small rotor heaved for a moment and then broke loose. Feces spiraled about the restroom as Jo Jo ran out. This was the last he saw them. The monkey, his clown hat tipped to one side, running out of the men’s room. Joey, cautiously opening the door, looking around and then slipping out.

One week later, he soberly sat at home. Outside a storm raged. Wind lashing at the sliding door, hurling bursts of rain against the glass. In the dark room Lole meditated on the sofa, one week dry he thought, hands trembling as thunder shook the apartment. One week he thought again as lightning flashed, illuminating the eerie silhouette of the monkey.

In the corner, Jo Jo stood hidden and quiet. As the lightning flared again, Lole could just make out the terrible look on the creatures face. Anger built wildly in the monkey’s eyes. “Drink-drink”. It said from the dark.

“No.” Lole cried out, but the monkey persisted.

“Drink-drink. Drink-drink.” It railed, taking a step towards him.

“No.” He screamed, closing his eyes to it and then came a startling dull shot.

When Lole opened his eyes he found Joey standing with a throw pillow and a smoking revolver. On the floor the monkey lay dead. “Problem solved.” His friend said smiling. Then to Lole’s surprise, several midgets entered the room. Like little mafia style Oompa Loompa’s they marched in, never speaking a word as they rolled the tiny clown corpse up in a rug. Never a sound as they cleaned the evidence from the room.

Even as the crew left not a tiny sound was uttered. With a nod and a wave Joey smiled once more, closing the door behind them. A sense of freedom filled Lole as the door clicked shut. Freedom, he felt, as he walked out onto the back porch, breathing in deeply. The rain rolling off into the distance, the earth cleansed, freedom.

Wednesday, November 21, 2007

Digging

Digging



Franklin N.C. was like any old pit
Natural beauty pocked with poverty
Lacklustering in gross inequity

We traipsed about in the staining red clay
Hoping to unearth some brilliant jewel,
Black dust or even a small flake of gold

Avoiding those loose roadside slews in town
Who’s salted pails sat pre-marked and rationed
With the lapidarists shards and discards

Digging in the crystal cold mountain air
We found something grander than pink sapphires
Something worth more than any carrot weight

That grit in our teeth and below the nails
While reminiscing with Norm the mine hand
We struck that rich vein to humanity

Wednesday, November 14, 2007

Cruel and Usual Punishment

Here's some new poetry that was inspired at the office today. Any critical input on the piece is welcome.

Cruel and Usual Punishment


There was happiness in her voice
So innocently revolting
As the chipper chanting hammered
With varied tamping inflection

The twisting phone cord would have worked
To strangle out that naïve pitch
Which nauseatingly squeak squawked
Into the nerve like fiber line

What hell spawn on receivers end
Encouraged such numbskullery?
Where was great Zeus’s lightning strike
To right the chattering cosmos?

One’s soul should never suffer this
Some maladroited cubicle
Or tactless tack wall prison cell
That leached those water board-ish rants

11-14-2007

Friday, October 26, 2007

Welcome


Hello. I would like to welcome you to Monkey Wrench. I hope everyone enjoys the blog and look forward to having many an entertaining and enlightening conversation with you. I would appreciate any type of feedback you have about the Broken Cog Media site as well as any suggestions for the site or things you would like to see on it. Also, if anyone knows of someone that would benefit from the site, please share it with them.
The blog is open to anyone that would like to discuss Art, Writing, Photography or various types of media in general. I am hoping it helps stir some creative juices and give people of like minds a place to gather, gab and have a good time.

Thank you and Happy Blogging.

Sincerely,

Cogswell