Unicosm
some like to read the railroad tracks
reflect on journeys past
some gaze at the sky
anticipate upcoming cloud formations
Some discuss running away
what chases them
what ensnares them in place
Each creates their own universes
Storing them up
Or discarding them in the dumpster with scattered package wrapping and useless electronics
— Zumwalt (2016)
thick trees engulf the hidden spell;
soft streams collide on risen ground;
so much, so fast, so far we go —
then leave the remnants of the trampled dust.
–Zumwalt (2011)
nevermore
Missing the dead, more than, I suspect, they miss me, I somberly reflect:
the most recent, smell terribly,
and the long departed are more like fallow soil than fellow souls;
I don’t want them to stagger and stumble like the living dead
or communicate to me while their face parts fall off;
I want to be around them like when they were at their best.
And so I go to memory,
that slippery, somewhat unscrupulous, disobedient vagabond
that tells the same stories and strays from the truth far too often —
each torturous tangle with memory takes something away
and provides nothing new —
this is no consolation for so many losses,
just needless punishment for keeping company with the only companion that cannot die
but only deteriorate.
— Zumwalt (2016)
(This is the original version, now verified as final version.)
nevermore
Missing the dead, more than, I suspect, they miss me, I somberly reflect:
the most recent, smell terribly,
and the long departed are more like fallow soil than fellow souls;
I don’t want them to stagger and stumble like the living dead
or communicate to me while their face parts fall off;
I want to be around them like when they were at their best.
And so I go to memory,
that slippery, somewhat unscrupulous, disobedient vagabond
that tells the same stories and strays from the truth far too often —
each torturous tangle with memory takes something away
and provides nothing new —
this is no consolation for so many losses,
just needless punishment for keeping company with the only companion that cannot die
but only deteriorate,
repeatedly
leaving me with less,
never more,
than that which
actually
once
was.
— Zumwalt (2016)
The Grand Panjandram
In dark draped light, they set the stage with positively pessimistic preposterous pronouncements:
open-ended, close-minded —
an onslaught of oozing, slimy, backbiting, backstabbing, bamboozling, bath-bubble babble.
Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled peppers but where the heck is the peck that Peter Piper picked?
Blame the government! Blame the moderators! Blame the other politicians!
Blame the prosperous! Blame the lazy, liberal-influenced, moral-obliterating, freeloading nameless discontents! Blame blame, but oh, so blamelessly….
Our media plays politics, shamelessly positioned cross-legged on the tracks of the central station throwing rocks at the podiums of the office seekers and office sitters who madly craft the nightly news peering over the simmering cauldron as they add tortoise ears and bat eyes to their brew.
They know nothing is knowable; the perception of reality is reality: reality is only what is perceived.
I had a little nut-tree, nothing it would bear, but nuts are scattered everywhere along with rampant fear. Predictably, my mind wanders until there is no more silliness to hear while my unsuspecting stomach growls as the choruses of the shameless masses cheer.
I know reality.
It is that thinner-than-thread string that connects one thought to another and one moment to the next.
I know consequences. These are things that happen in direct proportion to lack of diligence.
The end follows the beginning; but also sets up every new beginning. Each possibility is the result of each result.
I will set aside my expectations — of what reality should be — to go along with the ride. It will ultimately lead to the next ride and at some point there will be a chance to get off, walk away and look back at the vast, almost infinite, devastation.
— Zumwalt (2016)
Voortrek
Twisting and deforming
Raging daemonic forces
Scream across the veldt.
Corkscrew clouds
Peeling off our thin, Formica-top civilization.
No Oz awaits;
Dorothy and Toto have headed for the shelters.
The only Munchkins, mutants.
Your fault
My fault
No fault.
We pulled the cork,
The Jinn gave their notice;
And History’s in its familiar whirlpool
With vertigo the fashion of today.
Like hunkered hedgehogs
Curled in spherical,
Lance-backed laagers,
We have one option:
Shut our eyes
And wait for the dust to settle.
— Zumwalt (1981)
mental block
spiraling parapet spinning passages
sweeping the bleakness
clouds sail skimming the
gravy scum of lifetimes of labor.
I know
of what you go
and where you want
but pretense
the avenger of moonglow
cries out against all that is anguished
and taps on the counter
like the frozen ballerina
on the shoulders of your shoelace.
— Zumwalt (1980s)
Overweight Legionnaires
Ripening wine
And a greedy fire
Throw on another log
While the fog coagulates about the limes
And chokes Eboracum
In a clammy shroud.
Hadrian’s Wall’s gone mossy—
Too cold for laid back Latins
Pouring libations
While we watch the
Gonzo Celts
Digging up the peat.
— Zumwalt
TICKER TAPE PARADE
Parody Worship
Smiling in the Dusk of Midnight Eyes
Acting in the Bleakness
of Frosted Minds
Paced Paper Parade —
Pausing Promises Pleading
Past the Cineramic
Sycophantic Sharks
a Coldness Recedes
and Faith Breakers Retreat
into Placebos of Reeling Celluloid
— Zumwalt (1981)
Bull Market
The gardeners have hit the pavement,
Bulldozed by smiling engineers
Optimists—peddling bromides.
Take your pick:
Withdraw your last fiver
For a philosophic Wheel-O;
or,
Hands in your pockets, sardonic
Watch Babel climb.
“On this spot will be erected utopia”
Yeah, sure.
But, the wise man knows Penelope
Has taken on Ithaca
And counsels Odysseus to put his
Money in Krugerrands.
— Zumwalt (late 1980’s)
zumpoems 