Category: Audio Poetry

THE MORE I EAT THE HUNGRIER I GET

On By Ron KozloffIn Audio PoetryLeave a comment

RON’S WISDOM SALON: 

A fictional advice column

Dear Ron,

Are there foods that make you hungrier after you eat them? And If there are, shouldn’t there be warning on the label? There is a pastry (I won’t say which because I don’t want a lawsuit) that I have been eating which  makes me so hungry that right after I finish one I immediately want another one.

This is not right. I eat to get full, and so if this food makes me even hungrier than I was, it stands to reason that I shouldn’t eat it. But- And this is a massive but- I love this food! It is a food which I would choose as a last meal if I were languishing on Death  Row.  When I finish a box of this edible, and I am starving, I feel cheated and I tell myself I will never buy it again. But I do!  Help me, please.

Hungry Hal

Dear Hungry,

You will have to choose. Either eat and be hungry or eat and be full. It does come down to that. Pleasure is what is driving you. This food gives you pleasure but it also causes you pain. Is it worth it? From your tone, I don’t think it is.

Weigh the alternatives. Be a man (if you are a man) and stand up to this pastry! A wise woman  I once met at the  zoo told me that what causes pain hurts more if we have just had pleasure. We suffer by its contrast. It is so simple and so true.

It is like going out with a girl who has real snappy answers and you enjoy her for that, but at the end of the night you realize that she was making a fool of you to everyone at the restaurant. Okay she had a silver tongue, but do you want everyone in the restaurant to laugh at you as if you were the biggest idiot in town?

Well, this pasty is doing that to you. It considers you a jerk and it is right. I am certain that it is telling all the other pastries in the box, “Look at this guy. He is going to eat us and HE WON’T EVEN GET FULL!” And they are LOLing at you.

Eat something that is more boring but ultimately more nourishing as well. A hunk of cheese or a salami pole that sticks to your insides and gives you a firm output the next day. Brush off the pastries. Demanding labels on the boxes? Unfortunately these never work like they are supposed to. If people read labels, there would be lots more fasting in the world.

This should help. I hope!

MEAT

On By Ron KozloffIn Audio PoetryLeave a comment

Meat is gravity

a dreamless state

pieces of death

there already in the beginning

and in all things

their essence.

Meat allows nothing to escape

and is empty of all but itself.

Meat consumes meat

becoming more meat

fleshier carcasses

duller slices of heads and legs

some younger

some more red.

The butcher is our friend.

And if we pretend

to aspire to other ends

with our many meat brains

meat guards meet us

at the door to the station

to disconnect the trains.

Fresh meat sizzles with notions,

take sides.

Lies slide from its bloodied hides.

Shapes abound.

Meat like meat likes to fry

in meat patties and on delegations

and in pairings that result in

baby meat who cry.

The meat parade began in time,

its womb the mirror, before

which we walked on air

part of the atmosphere

or flew

or were never there.

A WORD ABOUT BUSINESS AS USUAL

On By Ron KozloffIn Audio PoetryLeave a comment

People should be screaming out of windows
people should be kicking down doors,
jumping on flags,
shaking like epileptics!

How is this possible?
We have
nearly a million years of human evolution
and the standard line can still prevail:

“It’s mine!”

Well,
It’s not.

You have no right to it.

A spell is on
you,
which continues
generation after generation,
an afternoon darkness,
your robotic mind
clinging to a cliff of lies.
And your mouth that spits on
anything better
and shoulders that
shrug ugly
and bellies that stick out
like eggs.

And you want security?

This will not stand!
There is a Law that says:
This. Will. Not. Stand.
We will make sure
you understand this.
By train and by plane and by ship,
your skin will dissolve in fear.
You will breathe in the stinking corpses
of your children.
Your houses will crumble over you.
You will be availed of no
hope,
no future.
You will cry to the end
of your days
when you may finally
realize the Justice in this
for your atrocious
incomparable
stupidity.

WHAT REMAINS

On By Ron KozloffIn Audio PoetryLeave a comment 

(for Anne Sexton)

She carried her love into a whole other house
leaving her splendid eye for detail
in the world.
Softer truths enfold her now,
hopefully,
there,
out there
with the stars she devoured.
So, be kind to her.
She was the best.
Nobody bit into the darkness
as prettily as Anne.
Nobody mined the depths
as courageously,
to set down on the page
in her own blood,
open veins
judged inappropriate
by jealous academics.
She was the real deal,
the one who does not
relinquish her quest,
a craving for absence
that gnawed and whined.
Perhaps she felt its
velvet glove
already brushing
past her bones,
the witch’s invitation to a table
dance.
 
Come in
Lay down your burden
Lay down your burden
Leave your flesh at the door
This is a real party
 
Regardless,
what beckoned
what called
must have wafted
stronger than a blood rose,
promising marriage and peace,
a stepping down,
as she acquiesced
to ride
the slow carbon monoxide air
home.

LIFE WITH YOU

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You are the blood in my every thought and motion

The essence of my dream

Your voice echoes softly in my sleep

You are the morning star to me

Your face is round and pretty

A mask of the sun

Even if I am almost over

I have only just begun

Our love has not been easy

The way has been obscure

We tried so many times to undo

What we were never sure

The future is your forté

You pursue it like a bitch

Will we go together

Into that abyss

Is this just a dream of love

Is it really real

Can I ever express to you

What I really feel

My heart is so weary

My mind is so upset

Though I have no regret

For what hasn’t happened yet

Will we meet again one day

On that special hill

And play again like children

Which we were once well

If not

It is just as good to be old with you

And mope and rub away our aches and pains

Many times or few

And have a word with you

As you go here and there

Tearing up the scenery

While I stay in the square

You know time is relentless

It takes you for a ride

Remember that beach we knew

Remember that morning tide

I wish us together there

In the early air

We join the endless ocean

Beautiful and fair

Our love means more than

Days and nights

Our lives are not just

Bits and bytes

Come

It is already light

Please

I don’t want to fight

SURVIVAL AND SOME

On By Ron KozloffIn Audio PoetryLeave a comment

He huffs and he puffs and he blows
The house down
He sings for his supper
He’s a rare clown

He has a girlfriend who hates him
She has good reason to
She calls him a transparent fake

And a certified Jew

Not a juggler or philosopher
He ever was
Not a lover of the lofty life
That was just buzz

He always salts his beans
and peppers his hair
He comes on time
And pretends to care

But he doesn’t really want
To save the world
That’s just a line
If the truth were told

He has a crush on Satan
Not a thing for Christ
He calls himself an agnostic
Unless it’s a bad night

He’s been a con-man forever
Never held down any job
He’s done time for nearly everything
And has no connection with the mob

Though you’d never suspect it
He has a tender side as well
He blows kisses to the moon
From his apartment in hell

His childhood was rather lazy
Though it’s gotten sort of hazy
His family was middle-rung
His mother was slightly crazy

His father was a barber
Who liked his steaks rare
His mother was a janitor
With a big pile of hair

As a boy he always played
On the wrong side of the track
As a girl he always played
With the leader of the pack

Then came the crash
In his late teenaged years
The suicidal mission
The solitude and fears

That landed him in the middle
Of a psychological ward
With old people who slobbered
While they played cards

This was just the place for him
To chill out and think
This was just the place for him
To get fat and pink

The doctors had the cure
For the illness in his head
Stringy food and pills
Yellow green and red

Which cheered him so much
He slowly exploded
Into the next century
All arsenic coated

He eventually straightened out
His curves and his kink
Went straight for the bottle
And started to drink

The years have not always been kind
to this boy
The poisons that he swallowed
The means he had to employ

To keep right on going
The measures he took
Were not easily come by
Were not found in a book

If it all works out in the end
It’s too soon to tell
He’s not dead yet
And he’s close to being well

What is true for certain is
That he’s paid his dues and some
What is less sure is why
He didn’t turn around and run

There isn’t much to gain
By beating a dead horse
There isn’t much left
Besides dying of course

Whoever may want to take a lesson
From this saga and this man
Might just as well forget about it
As fast as they can