SURVIVAL AND SOME

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

POETRY BOOK

THIS IS MY POETRY BOOK

Twilight Dances is a collection of poems which explores the dark side of the human experiment in a serious lyrical fashion. In it the author allows thanatos, or the instinct toward a worldly death, take over and color many of the poems from various points of view, and people, some even from a comical perspective. The book is divided into three parts: Identity and Aspiration; People Known and Dreamed; Observations of Culture. There are a total of 140 poems in rhymed and free verse forms. The style is spare and transparent, though sometimes bordering on the lyrical and romantic. This is decidedly not a light read.

TWILIGHT DANCES: A COLLECTION OF POEMS

Kindle Edition

by Ron Kozloff (Author)

DREAM DENTIST

I had a broken tooth

And we were talking

About age

And you were so bashful of yours.

You always come back to me

When my face is covered.

The tinkle of ice cubes into the tall glass.

I felt my tooth recoil in back

And hide like a mouse.

But it never touched nerve.

Why do you always talk of silly things

In the midst of my chaos?

========================

STAIN

You were so colorless before the event, so perfect that you passed through our field of vision unnoticed. You would always be there, though left unappreciated for the many functions and movements you performed in the world. Then the fire, then the blemish as an aftermath that put you on the map. You are now marked, dignified in your ugliness. You have acquired history, a sense of having lived and suffered, which we will exploit as an added feather in our cap.

=============================

NOT A LECTURE

The human mind is relentless

at what it wants to get.

When there is a pay-off, don’t worry,

It will be there in one way or another

To turn over the earth for its desired worm.

Your call will be returned.

You’ll be called “sir”

There will be bells and smiles at your command.

The whole world will tickle your fancy

Till the worm is there in the hand.

Then it will be farewell and good luck

And see you soon, maybe,

Until the next worm is wished for.

Self- interest is a funny thing

Because it makes people into things.

It makes us a hinge on the door

To someone else’s gain.

I’d rather be called something else,

Like friend.

Let’s spend some time together.

Let’s have mutual pleasure.

What’s -in it- for- me

is a nowhere strategy

That subtracts from our humanity.

Let’s be

Animals that care for each other.

Your gain is mine

Mine is ours,

A communism of the heart

In a time when the heart has become

nearly dysfunctional.

It’s possible

To transcend the fear of losing,

Being less

Because you have given.

There are just rewards before heaven.

A life of me and mine

Is less than satisfactory.

So find your generosity.

(This is not a plea from

An ad agency.)

=======================

L ‘WREN

L’Wren Scott

la-styliste-l-wren-scott_4858771

When the bird died

I cried

She was so long and lithe

Hung from her French door.

And the world sighed,

‘Why? She had everything.’

 

Everything is not nearly enough,

There is nowhere to go from there

No real air,

Everything marked up with checks

And squares

To convince oneself this is a life.

 

I suppose we convince ourselves,

We must. Otherwise

Hell meets us face first

To declare the worst.

How to survive?

She tried , but she

Is no longer alive.

Mort-de-L-Wren-Scott-devaste-Mick-Jagger-ecrit-Je-ne-comprends-pas_portrait_w674

=======================================================

PROGRESS

The intermediary and the subject have fused

Into a person without blood ,

One perceived with eyes tilted down.

This other is me from far away

This other is you on the flat screen

Worn on your arm

To push away the world

To make you believe

You are not alone.

It is a way you have come to deal with terror-

The terror of the Void,

The terror of the foreshadowed.

So you dress up in distraction

To keep it at bay

Pay the Electronic Vampire

To keep you in its magnetic graces,

A blip in the atmosphere in sync

With all the friends you don’t know.

And you get sucked cleanly into this

Semblance of personhood.

What is left of being when

Everything can be denied by

A slight pressure?

Who are you if you can be anyone

And not be anyone real?

We do not need each other today

As long as we can go through

The motions instead, the body

now functioning on remote control in

This realm of the facile, a quicksand

In which we sink muttering banalities.

We have been taken over by a crafty

Master, who makes us think we

Are winning when we are losing

Almost everything.

THE SKY ANNOUNCES (2)

The pain caves his brain

 Like fast anxious fire

As

Outside,

The afternoon sun shines .

Nothing particularly untoward

reported . Only

A sense of the already been ,

The old islands of thought

Punctuated by angry siren swells,

 stick figures and

Sweating somersaults of gloom…

But

There is a place and

There is a way that is

Better than possibility, the far-away sky announces

To this wreck it addresses

Whose head’s in the closet

In search for a bonnet

And  a perfect drink.

The light moves fractionally  (his head now out for a peek)

Yes, movement opens to a room in his parched

Brain, the pain subsides fractionally, and he hides for a beat

In  a synapse of reprieve  between his words.

‘Reshape this worldview ,’  the sky announces:

‘All is empty argument,’

Blinks the blue cool eye.

========================================================================

THE SKY ANNOUNCES

Pain cave collapses brain

 Like fast anxious fire

As

Outside,

The afternoon sun shines steady,

Nothing particularly untoward reported

 in actuality-

A sense of already been –

Pain remembrances , the light

The islands of thought

Punctuated by angry siren swells

And  stick figures and already been

Sweating somersaults of gloom…

But

There is a place

There is a way

Better than possibility, the far-away sky announces

To the wreck it addresses

His head in the closet

In  hopes for a bonnet

And a perfect drink.

The light moves fractionally  (his head out for a peek)

Yes, movement opens to a room in his parched

Brain the pain subsides fractionally and he hides for a beat

In  a synapse of reprieve  between his words.

Reshape this worldview , the sky announces:

All is empty argument,

Blinks the blue cool eye.

TODAY

Today  I am out of the loop

Out of the play
Out to lunch.
Today I am shiny
And No one knows it.
Today all the apples
Fall from the tree
And lay there.
No one
Not even the gardener
Picks them up.
The sky is blue
Thru my window.
The coast is clear.
Noises accost me
Outside me!
(I am not mad)
Today
I don’t need anybody
To tell me I am beautiful,
That my beard
Is just the right length.
Today I am private.
It is crazy the way people
Wear the” Do Not Disturb” sign
On their eyes.
Oh well…
Today
All the arrows point up
Despite the old miseries
And the new miseries.
What did we say in Scotland?
‘Keep on walking,
Don’t stop, don’t stop!’
Yet I need.
Today I need…
What?
I need…
Maybe just to forget.
No!
Not that.
I forgot

I forget too much already .
I need…
It is vague
Today
All about me is bright
And I need…
Oh well,
Maybe an end,
Maybe just an end.

RESPITE

The architecture of summer comes
in the form of the  perfect temperature
for your clothes
and the ideal lighting from
the window which is totally open .
So, you can light a cigar
smoke it in a dream
and  hear the swish of far away traffic
play on your pleasure zones.
Pain is on hold
Momentarily
And there is nothing to do
Except write about it.