May 2024

Trains Pass (poem)

May 31, 2024June 14, 2024by Stephen J Frankenberry15 Comments

When seeing this prompt from Bjorn at dVerse Poets “Today I want you to use Onomatopoeia in your poem, to strengthen the imagery through its sound” I thought back to a poem I had written a number of years ago (2016) that had use of such, though briefly, and that I included as part of a post of remembrance for my dear Shoes, aka “The Big Orange”, who passed away about a year into living in a new place, along with Bella, with me single again, after a breakup.

Now this apartment, a wonderful little place, happened to be just across the Hudson from the train tracks that ran along the river. I found comfort in my two furry sidekicks but also in the sound of those trains at night and wrote about them then and my new found solitude.

Being reminded of it though, and with a new eye, I thought to a bit of re-work and to expand with Bjorn’s prompt in mind.

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Trains Pass

Trains pass

rumble and clack, clackety clack, clack clackety, clack and rumble in order, order

across a river

Pass past the meander of tugs doing silent heavy water work

only in the shoulder length soft splash – wash – splash – wash – splash wash wake

felt

in the night

in other times

any proof they were even there

They pass the overgrown cat’s couch comforter

Bella

unawares

through my tiny comfy disturbing

nothing

not even a single dining room chair

from a neighbor’s dinner

unawares

throwing air tasted

Island stereo song scent treats into every corner of this new tiny

from below my feet

familial familiar clink clink clink laughing silverware china clink clink

wishing if only for a fork and an invite

Shoes

To my left

in purr-in purr-out purr-in purr-out even cat breath measure

matches the clackety’s and the clacks and the clack clackety’s

from across a river

There’s rhythm, melody, music in trains

and scents

in the linger of a stranger’s daily

below my feet waking, cooking, fighting, living, laughing

the couch

overgrown comforter sleeps as do left bed purr-in purr-out sides

while trains pass in clackety clack clack clackety time

carrying

sleeping cats

scented hungry music

in a clackety rhythm

of strange new comfort

Trumpty Dance (song)

May 25, 2024June 23, 2024by Stephen J Frankenberry7 Comments

I was a little up in the air about this one, thinking maybe it wasn’t quite up to par, after 6 years and dozens upon dozens of these tunes I do have a bar, but I thought about how much I work on these, how important it is for me to make my points about this fucked up in which we live and the even more fucked up who run it and those that want to again, and then a friend, one of my very much valued Mikey Six, who I run things by when need be, mentions a line she thought was spot on and gives me a thumbs up.

Can’t let that go right? I’m good then.

So to post …

(To Men Without Hats “Safety Dance”)

Trumpty Dance

We can Trump if we want to

All the way to NYC

In matching red tie

Blue jacket swarm

Our mini-trump uniforms

Yeah,

We can Trump if we want to

Right up to microphones

Say piece he can’t speak

Help him not look meek

Make him feel like he’s not alone

We can Trump

And sing

And dance

And prance

Well not that

No prance

But dance in trained circus trance

We can lie when we want to

We can follow an orange lead

We can claim the hit was on

By Biden and his throng

Mar-a-Lago was for the deed

We can rail about the border

Security being lax

Work out a deal

Bi-partisan zeal

Only for Trump to give the axe

We can Trump, we can Trump

Everybody take a nap

We can Trump, we can Trump

Listen to these made up facts

We can Trump, we can Trump

Everybody get on page

We can Trump, we can Trump

Dictator’s are all the raaa-aaage

It’s a Trumpty dance

Well it’s a Trumpty dance

Yes it’s a Trumpty dance

We can Trump if we want to

With judges on the payroll

From the highest in the land

To sunshine orange stands

Delay delay until the polls

I say

We can Trump if we want to

Always the victim here

Crocodile tear schtick

While plotting vengeance flick

To be released in new year

We can Trump, we can Trump

Everything’ll be just fine

We can Trump, we can Trump

Everyone’s drinking the whine

We can Trump, we can Trump

Even Nicki’s fallen in line

We can Trump, we can Trump

Can have a new unified Re-iii-eeich

It’s a Trumpty dance

Well it’s a Trumpty dance

Yes it’s a Trumpty dance

It’s a Trumpty trance

Well it’s a Trumpty dance

Yes it’s a Trumpty prance

It’s a Trumpty dance

It’s a Trumpty prance

It’s a Trumpty trance

It’s a Trumpty farce

A Village Of Box (poem – cento)

May 22, 2024May 27, 2024by Stephen J Frankenberry12 Comments

So Tuesday’s dVerse Poets prompt, “April Poems Bring May Centos”, was of two possibilities. Choose any line from any poem from those provided and write a poem including the line or inspired by it or, you could instead, try your hand at a “cento” (a poetic work wholly composed of verses or passages taken from other authors) also from any of the poems provided and to use at least two. In this case those poems provided for both were from April dVerse poetry prompts.

There were selections of poems from six different prompts and I went with the ones for “A Box Of Poems”, a prompt summarized as “write a poem of your own metaphorical box of 3 stanzas, the box, what’s in it, where’s it kept”. Then I decided to take the “Cento” route with this prompt as I had never done such.

7 poems and one of mine, also of a box, that used the prompt for inspiration but strayed from the particulars and went a different way.

So, the poems used for this Cento then . . .

Hidden In My Box – Bjorn Rudberg

History Box – Kim M. Russell

I Have Emptied You To The Wind – Paul Vincent Cannon

Empty Cereal Box – Melissa Lemay

Here Is A Box – Dora A.K.

My Master – Ben Alexander

Boxed – Punam – paeansunplugged

Cigar Box – Frankenberry

A Village of Box

The boxes are piling up

I made my box from stone

My box is made of cardboard

An empty cereal box

My box is forged of carbon steel

Made by human hands this box is

“Boxed” – I carry a bit of this and a bit of that

Here is a box (I won’t bore you)

Look-see, look-see (no you can’t see)

Inside it’s worn bent frame are crumbs and sugar dust

I filled it with dreams, ambitions of verses, ideals enshrined

Pale blue adorned with simple flowers

Pieces of a life,

Old photos, childhood toys,

Books strewn about

Images in sepia, monochrome and colour,

Higgedly-piggedly, no order

A repository of various thingamajigs

Disintegrating petal of pressed petunia

A bit of cloth, a coat of arms, from a school sweater smelling of defiance

A bundle of yellowing letters never sent

Once I held you close

an every day memory

I do not really keep my box,

So much as it keeps me

I’ve lived inside this box like a toy

Whatever you see of it, my dear,

Well, truth is, I see even less

It would have surrendered to the elements

Of mind and body by now

But I have emptied your contents to the wind

Setting me free

Cigar Box

May 18, 2024May 22, 2024by Stephen J Frankenberry3 Comments

Early last month there was a prompt at dVerse poets that talked of boxes and to write something of such. The idea has been sitting with me, what box might I have that holds thoughts, things, ideas, history?

Now I am envious of all my new found friends at the dVerse site that can word as they do and do so well and I know that there is a muscle that needs to be re-worked, exercised, a poetry muscle, but it’s been a while for such. So stretching is in order, grab the back of my sneaks with a lean on whatever is there for that lean, wipe the bottom of those sneaks with a hand just to make sure they’re fresh then go for a run.

Anyway, to boxes …

Cigar Box

Cigar box

that told me I was adult

enough

granted one

smelling of old men and oft smelled stories

drifting

high curls in kingly fathom

street side tavern sidewalks

confident legs holding court

in hard backed simple chairs

crossed in plumes legs of sitting smoke at hand’s burning hip

that hung like clouds wishing rain

heavy full only of droplets of truth

but

torrents of what could fill a day with wonder

for the dumb enough grapes to take smartly a grape’s need

“well, ya know” says grape

“he’s a bluster of nonsense but brings rain and wine stories with my assist”

It held small child-like things

The Saint Christopher medal found with coins

along a child’s suburban hikes

that medallion that the good Saint kept

maybe

himself before he was patron

before Christ’s burden

with iconic emblems

a superstitious sort I’m sure for superstitions that would come

for us

for trips as a test

to protect his own self

in own travels

a coin thrown on the latest nightstand

under a burning lamp safely found

again

or for been company in the morning

It kept my secrets, stolen cigarettes, a lighter’s 70’s smiley face

belying

short unsmiling wind to come

a bit of cloth, a coat of arms, from a school sweater smelling of defiance

a picture of young girls it held

on a sitting stone wall in an old English town

smoking also stolen cigarettes

damning the future as long as mother didn’t know

a mom’s youth arrogance leaving something behind to dry and air

before come home fresh

so mother didn’t know

And the coins I so loved, misshapen, bent aged ones

run over by trains

some

that rhythmically roll clackety lull clack me back to furtive sleep

even perfect coins being quite boring but perfect still

that had years you could mark

in hands and passed pockets of time and bets maybe with a flip

life or death?

Oh the drama

you could

imagine of who had been here

before you

in your pocket’s history

you kept at right hand right there

in a cigar box

if only to find them

In lucid dreams to come

in stark sharp crisp grey yellow contrast relief

like hurricane eye

colors

never casually dreamt in such hard lines

but found in otherworldly lucidly explored stories of ends of

time

worlds

dynasties, presidencies, normalcies, monasticies (if such a word alone exists)

tell me the date, just tell me the date

tell me where I am

in this timeless

could be found there in that cigar box

if only

Saint Christopher had already found his way

immortalized

his nightstands to safe you along

next to yours

your way with a coin as your only token

of safety

please just show me date in this mad world of

clear crystal nightmare dreams

of my own walking searching making

willing

Travel is never done my good man

the saint might say

just place in a corner of that cigar box

a yearless coin

medallion found in child’s walkabouts and skips and jumps

for safe travel tales still be told

smelling of old man smoke plume and oft told stories

floating drifting

soon enough

hanging like clouds

bringing rain for the grapes

Gonna Wanna Rule Somebody (song)

May 11, 2024May 26, 2024by Stephen J Frankenberry4 Comments

Earlier this week I was searching YouTube for something from a tribute band for a show of theirs coming up around here that I could use for building a commercial and Dylan’s “Gotta Serve Somebody” was on the YouTube page. Don’t know why (maybe the YouTube gods were trying to tell me something) but it popped up among all the other “Steve similar things” that are always there, cat and dog rescue videos, movie and show trailers, sci-fi short films, new tunes alien to me but maybe in my “like-house” of artists etc, etc. (that knowing of me, even though I/we should all be well accustomed to such by now, can still be a little unsettling).

Anyway, it’s a Dylan tune I had never heard, or at least I can’t remember that I had but when I played it for a few bars I thought, well, ok, I think I might actually know this and it just happened to be right in my song wheelhouse and could definitely work for a new something if I could find a workable instrumental version.

After getting that tribute band’s spot done I did then find an instrumental version of it and, while referencing that two part Trump interview where he layed out in stark detail his plans for a new dictatorial reign, I got to workin’ …

Gonna Wanna Rule Somebody

You may be a wished dictator who’s scripting a dream

Of what to do in year 25 with a right’s loyalist team

Who’r mapping out a dire plan where democracy it seems

Is no longer a real player in the grandest of red schemes

And you’re gonna wanna rule somebody, yes indeed

And you’re gonna wanna king somebody

It may be those already on the devil’s dark page

Or those forced to take new stage

Body vessels are the targets in this new SCOTUS age

The ones who stand up try prevent women in a cage

The ones who had temerity to think body autonomy

But in this new world order legislating you’s the rage

Yeah, you’re gonna wanna rule somebody, yes you are

And you’re gonna wanna lord somebody

You’ll make women understand that they just don’t have a say

Instead monitored by state

You may be undesirable in this grand U S of A

An invader less than human is all he will have to say

To rile up the base while he drives all you away

The military will be called upon slap down to make point’s sway

Yeah, you’re gonna wanna rule somebody, yes you are

You’re gonna wanna lord somebody

You’ll make those who just don’t belong go back to where they’re from

Yeah, you’re gonna wanna king somebody

You may be a protester on campus wantin’ say

You hate the inhumanity that you’re seeing day by day

That you’re not an anti this that or even a pro that

You just hate women and children wearing dead pawn hats

But they’re gonna wanna rule somebody, yes indeed

They’re gonna wanna use your naivete

To gain an in ground against hated college elites

They’re gonna wanna rule somebody

And you may be example of future disputes

To quell freedom of speech tear it out by the roots

Teach that protest is only what they will agree

You are no patriots like Jan 6 ones who would see

That he gets chance to rule somebody, yes indeed

Gets chance for a new autocracy

That there will be no dissent that doesn’t come with intent

To help him rule somebody

You might like use projection to describe your enemies

Accuse them of harboring fascist wills and dreams of tyranny

You’ll even claim reverse discrimination of dear whitey

You’ll say that anti-white feeling can’t happen in this great country

And you’re gonna wanna lord somebody, yes you are

And you’re gonna wanna take us back

To a time where white man ruled

And others minded their P’s & Q’s

You’re gonna wanna white everybody

You may call yourself disciple of the MAGA ways

Protect yourself on his good side fearful of vengeful days

You may even say that fascism’s not that bad just give it play

As we’ve heard too often now from MAGA’s praying new Trump day

Well, you’re gonna have to serve somebody, yes it’s him

You’re gonna have to serve somebody

Well, it may be the devil, while the lord sits this one out

You’re gonna have to serve somebody

You’re gonna have to serve the orange

You’re gonna have to serve prostrate

You’re gonna have to serve not the lord

You’re gonna have to serve new devil’s day

Marge & Henry Geese (flash fiction)

May 6, 2024June 1, 2024by Stephen J Frankenberry12 Comments

A Prosery challenge at dVerse poets.

“… a very short piece of prose or flash fiction that tells a story … It can be in any genre of your choice, but it does have a limit of 144 words; an additional challenge is to hit 144 exactly. The special thing about Prosery is that we give you a complete line or two from a poem, which must be included somewhere in your story”

The line or two in this case?

“Something told the wild geese it was time to fly”

From Rachel Lyman Field and her “Something told the Wild Geese”

So to a little bit of fun then was my first thought, don’t know why, just was, a conversation.

Marge & Henry Geese

“Marge, can ya high tail it please, gotta fly”

“Hold on Henry, where are the kids?”

“They’re not here, grown and flown Marge, you know that, with little geese of their own”

“You’re gonna make me cry Henry”

“Heck Marge, the only time you DON’T cry is when I DON’T bring up the kids and then you honk at me thinking I’m purposely leaving them out of flight out of mind right before you start to cry”

“But we’re running late, why? Usually we’re right there with our sense of time” Marge flapped a wingpoint towards that sign in the roost Something told the wild geese it was time to fly

“Things are getting warmer now, gets timing off. Now can we go … and leave the Honk Sweet Home sign. Wanna catch up to the kids right?”

“Really?!! Oh, I’m so gonna cry!”

So Then Sunday: New Cat Scratcher … Sir?

May 5, 2024May 6, 2024by Stephen J Frankenberry4 Comments

Since the end of February I have been dealing with a back issue, a really bad back issue actually, after popping it turning a doorknob at the bottom of a flight of stairs at the old apartment. I know, the simplest of things right? I mean if you’re going to pull your back it should at least be doing something cool or possibly even heroic, like lifting a car off a kid or something in a traffic accident, not just turning a fucking doorknob but multiple X-Rays revealing a fracture, a new one (yeah, this ain’t my back’s first creaky rodeo it seems) a bone density test, a couple of MRI’s and a shitload of awful nights (it hurts when I pee takes has taken on on a whole new not in college meaning now as the simple act of just standing up from out of bed has me sounding like the Troll that lives under the bridge to my upstairs neighbors I’m sure so when I do get into a position that doesn’t make me tear up in pain, at my PC desk now for example, I just stay there.

So thus me just doing some scrolling back through old stuff, one to marvel at my own brilliance hehehe and two cause my PC chair is probably the most “comfortable” spot in my feeble, fragile old man world right now.

Speaking of old then, a So Then Sunday, a re-posting of something older, in this case, a fave post of mine from back in August of 2021 about being old.

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New Cat Scratcher … Sir

(August 3, 2021)

On my way home tonight I stopped into PetSmart to see if I could find a cat scratcher that wasn’t ridiculously expensive, something I wasn’t all that confident in accomplishing. Though I have managed to trim them on occasion, it’s not the easiest of endeavors to convince Bella to let me clip her nails and they are getting a little long again as she’s clicking on the hardwood now like she’s taken up tap dancing and rehearsing a new number so I thought a new scratcher would at least help her with some nail maintenance.

I know she wants another one, a stand-up model (I do have a nice large well used wood framed one with cat scratch cardboard inside that sits flat on the floor but it’s not quite the same) as she keeps trying to also use this old one and well, a couple of short naked two by fours nailed together with a carpet top don’t really do the trick. It’s also Bella’s way I think, with the repeated attempts, to say “yo, knucklehead, human, can ya see what I’m tryin’ to do here on a couple of short naked two by fours nailed together with a carpet top?! Are ya catchin’ my fruitless cat scratchin’ drift … numbnuts?!”

She’s right, as you can see it doesn’t really have any cat scratchedyness to it anymore as almost all the rope is gone or fallen to the bottom like scratchy rope one legged shorts around its ankle. I only keep it for a couple of reasons. First is a sentimental one. It’s one of my earliest and favorite pictures of Shoes from when he was kitten, one of my bestest of pals who passed away 6 six years ago now, clutching onto it in its newer days to give me a stare and a sniff while we were getting to know each other and second, I keep it on the floor at the end of the bed as it’s kind of become a pretty good lean to assist for old man stand ups. You see I stand UP from my bed as I don’t have a bedframe, just my box spring and mattress on the floor (I don’t like bed frames … got’s to be proactive on possible spots for monsters underneath right?) so the assist can be welcome, but not always necessary, I’m not quite there yet in my oldness thank you, though still welcome on occasion, breathy light grunty exhales sometimes included.

Anyway, as I was looking wide raised eyebrow eyed at price tags of cat seats and cat condo’s that can also serve as scratchers on the big shelves or a few smaller ones in an aisle across from them on the regular shelves a pretty young woman passed to step into the next aisle for canned cat food, the aisle that has the Wellness Brand by the way, which is pretty good stuff and correspondingly expensive.

I found two possible scratchers but held the thought for the moment, debating 30 bucks versus 40, as the pretty young woman buying some canned food suddenly reminded me that I should do the same, even though this wasn’t my initial intent tonight, before that reminder fell out of the front of my head only to silently slide out the back. PetSmart has a few things the girls like that the grocery store doesn’t carry so I then passed her, reminder still holding noggin front, on my way a couple of aisles up to where another less expensive brand is located but, knowing that she was stocking up on the Wellness, I almost felt guilty and a bad cat dad for going with the cheaper stuff. I was even worried she’d notice disapprovingly.

After I grabbed a few cans of what, like I said, I can’t find at the grocery store (a slightly more top shelf version of this one at least to ease my new found bad cat dad guilt) I made my way back to the scratchers aisle to make a decision on that 30 versus 40 bucks but accidentally came up one aisle short (because of course I did) and stepped right into the one that the pretty young woman was standing at the end of, still, though unknowingly, shaming me as she loaded a cardboard flat with the Wellness food, and I almost bumped into her.

“Whoa, shit, sorry, wrong aisle, my bad”

“No problem” she said

Now then it occurred to me that this all could have looked as if I had done it intentionally. See a pretty young woman pass me when, suddenly, it seems I need to walk past HER and then come back again only to “accidentally” step into her aisle and almost bump into her?

Future reference. I never do anything like that intentionally, I REALLY only ever do things like that accidentally, usually too lost in my own thoughts to sidetrack them unnecessarily for that kinda stuff. Plus that whole possible thought’s attention silently sliding out the back of my head thing I mentioned earlier. In general, if I happen to note, wherever I may be, that there’s some younger woman there who, like in this case, is attractive I also then, almost immediately, note the operative word in this sentence, “younger” and that I’m most probably old enough to be her dad, a dad who would probably kick my ass at any of this whole notion of noting things. So, quick admiration and acknowledgement of pretty and I’m done with the thought. Then it’s just to possibly some accidental awkwardness.

She ended up at the checkout line in front of me and as she was getting ready to leave, bag in hand full of her good cat mom Wellness Brand food and as I was slowly putting my cat scratcher down for the cashier while holding back ever so slightly on the lesser cat food stuff being seen she looked at me and said.

“Have a good night Sir”

“You as well” I replied

Damn … and yeah … she called me “Sir” to which I had three thoughts.

1. Sigh.

2. If she did for some reason think I was actually trying to “check her out” or even hit on her and that I was a bit too old for the attempt and should know better the “Sir” was very subtly and very well played, very well played indeed. Bravo lady!

3. Sigh.

I think I might just be leaning a little more heavily on that old Shoes cat scratcher at the end of the bed for the stand ups this evening while pausing the TV or in the middle of the night when I have to pee a million times it seems, sometimes even when I don’t have to but just think that I do.

Me 2: “Well is that right now … is that what you’re thinking … Sir?”

Me 1: “Shut up Me 2 … fucker.”

Proud To Be A Charlatan (song)

May 4, 2024October 24, 2024by Stephen J Frankenberry2 Comments

So, a good friend, who I will call Bart here to protect the innocent, plus I don’t know his phone # or his address to truly dox him and put his family at risk, mentioned after I just re-posted my Orange Album of Beatles parody tunes from back in 2019 (a pretty damn fine collection I will say) and in mind of all my other parody tunes since then (quite a few) that he couldn’t wait to see what scathing political satire I might have next.

Well, this one surely ISN’T that, doesn’t rate, more just a bit of of a bit really, but this does tread into some hallowed MAGA hymnal territory, could almost be considered MAGA sacrilege, so it has that going for it …