Zumwalt Poems Online

Posts tagged ‘Zumwalt’

Better than

Better than

The land and water is haunted with beasts.
Some are carnivorous;
Some are microscopic;
None are smart like us
or entitled to dine at a good restaurant.

They think, we think, but differently.
None speak Mandarin or Cape York Pidgin English.
They have offspring and some care for their young,
Some eat their young,
But not a one makes contributions to a college fund.

I can wear them as hats, or mount them on my wall
But I can’t suffer this idea that they deserve representation in Congress.
I can grill them on coals, or tie them to my sled
But I won’t consider giving them my email address.

Evolution is a dusty and poorly mapped path
Nonetheless, it does not cross upon itself
And head back many miles
So that one easily confuses the end with its beginning.

It doesn’t jump from amoebas to mudfish and then back down to insects
then jump up to chimpanzees, over to worms and across to chihuahuas.

It progresses steadily, more or less,
from moss to shrimp to clown fish
to red-legged frog to crocodile
and then on to penguin or duck,
next visiting the platypus,
on to rabbits and rats
and terriers and tigers,
or lemurs and monkeys
and gibbons, gorillas,
bonobos, and our friends next door,
the Millers.

At the top are we,
and granted certain privilege and priority.
We can extend our parking lots
and re-engineer the best sun-bathing spots.

At the peak are we
with our rhubarb pie and peach-ginger iced tea.
We have power of attorney to set fires to ancient trees
and reclaim land from the South China Sea.

The air and ocean is haunted with creatures.
Some are carniverous;
Some are microscopic;
None should have free trespass without our permission.

We should put up security gates
And start up detailed dossiers.
Every genus should have a dedicated database;
Every species captured in a redundant set of disk arrays.

They may think that we think they are not much different than we
But none speak Mandarin, Hindi, Hungarian or Burmese.
They have offspring so that their lineage continues on
But that’s up to us and little to do with them.

We may not hang on.
We are a destructive bunch
With a vicious knock-out punch.

We may not survive the dawn,
but if we do manage to last
and hold on as the entitled upper class
they need to take note
most carefully
that we not only own all we buy, lease or see
but in the end,
we can certainly ensure
that none of them,
aggressively,
or at their leisure,
pass us
on any given branch
of the post-Darwinian,
well groomed,
often pruned,
evolutionary
tree.

— Zumwalt (2011)

manic defensive

manic defensive

you increasingly tax yourself
draining resources
to protect against countries not yet on any map
increasing the deficit
inadvertently but effectively inhibiting productivity

you increasingly ask yourself
about potential dangers
unseen, unheard, and unimagined
escalating this monologue
extending your enclosure
inappropriately but efficiently prohibiting new activity

this enemy is inescapable
indefensible
inexhaustible

this enemy is indefinable
inexplainable
incomprehensible
indescribable

we watch where once was wonder
now
is preemptive concern
we watch where once was welcome
now
is just an overly aggressive strategy
to avoid getting irreparably burned

you build a war-head-woven, awkwardly weaponed wall that uses every available resource
to protect against inadvertent encroachment
or accidental contact

you endlessly engineer an increasingly entangled, enemy-engaging entrapment
that escalates every single skirmish into another world war.

this enemy is exactly
as you imagine

this enemy is kept alive
by every single missile that is manufactured for your future use

you say it’s time to end this all
either by self-destruction or surrender
you understand that victory is not a condition
only just the irreversible promise of more bloodshed yet to come

–Zumwalt (2011)

Time

Time

Time is a concept
By which we can relate energy and space.
I’ll say it again,
Time is a concept
By which we can relate energy and space.
 
I don’t believe in time zones.
I don’t believe in time clocks.
I don’t believe in the World Time Server.
I don’t believe in timeshares.
I don’t believe in Daylight Savings Time.
I don’t believe in egg timers.
I don’t believe in timesheets.
I don’t believe in quality time.
I don’t believe in real time applications.
I don’t believe in Time Magazine.
I don’t believe in time outs.
I don’t believe in the New York Times.
I don’t believe in railway timetables.
I don’t believe in reunions in Times Square.
I don’t believe in triple overtimes.
I don’t believe in Time Travel.
I don’t believe in the end of time
I don’t beleive in the beginning of time
I don’t believe in Once Upon a Time!
 
I just believe in space,
space and energy.
And that’s reality.
 
The poem is over.
Not.

–Zumwalt

propulsive retraction

propulsive retraction

because he retreats she goes after
now convinced that he is more than worthy of her
and when he approaches she retreats
certain that she would be accepting
less
than what she can get

she is unaware of how she is
pulled
and
pushed back and forth like
moonlit
tide of some California beach
she
is only aware of some vague confusion
and exasperation

in this marketplace you look carefully at weight and shape,
knowing that
it is impossible to judge
content

in this marketplace you try not to keep a total
of cost
or the number of items
taken of the shelf

she momentarily searches to say something
that she can later withdraw
she has already forgotten that it always pulls her
hardest
and head first.

— Zumwalt (1991)

They’ve Stripped the Forest for Babble

They’ve Stripped the Forest for Babble


Reams and reams
             The black-ink symbols innundate
             Flooding consciousness with printed words
                                          that possess
             Definitions but know no meaning
Tectonics, 
      Aardvarks, 
            political history of Byzantine hydraulics.
                        Dewey decimal has run rampant
                        Chasing, haunting, even lurking
                                  in the restroom
                        Parasitically clinging to the walls
 Stark and blatant waste or frivolous gaud
                        Venus dies --
                                   --                                          
                                   --    nonsensical nausea                       
                        The ice-age is returning
 

— Zumwalt (1974)

anchor’s away!

I want her to throw away the anchor.
She wants me to go overboard with it.

-zumwalt (1991)

note

i look at a note I jotted down
a thought
a revelation
an expression of truth

I trace my fingers over the loops and bends
I cannot remember what I wrote
and I cannot read my writing

-zumwwalt (1991)

plenty of structure

plenty of structure

repeat every action
            deftly
            neatly
            perfectly
until its actuality sinks --
deeply embedded into experience
making the way safe
for any other action

she felt so very much alone growing up
that she is uncertain she ever made it
she understood so little then
that she easily accepts false knowledge now
holding onto it more firmly than she has ever been held

the past
stumbles around
a
run-
down
down-
town                 disoriented
sometimes getting on a bus
only to be chased back into the street

not feeling safe and not far away
the present stays locked in an air conditioned hotel
facing the window
trying to recognize the homeless vagabond below

she thinks thinking will solve her problems
but doesn't want to think about it
she looks for a solution
where she can see it all
without ever having to look

backing away from the window
 driven by the unclear image that remains
   checking the doorknob as well as the latch
     present makes a promise
       that
         it's going to be the last time
 

-zumwalt (1991)

recollection

recollection

the roof is leaking

-zumwalt (1991)

She serves yogurt

She serves yogurt

Stupidly, like a dying man stumbling into a life insurance office,
I asked her out.
“What night did you have in mind?”
“Thursday would be best.”
“Sir, I don’t know how old you think I am but I am sixteen.”
Stunned, I made no reply and she took it for composure
and said yes,
warning me that her mother would have a fit.

-zumwalt (1991)