3 poems for June

I am sending you a picture

I am sending you a picture of my Jonathan,
that naughty boy,
that horn dog, hellfire meat missile.

Don't be afraid.
Open the file and know it's from
my heart.
Know that my hand is demon-possessed.
I want it to scatter
dewy, defocused fluids as it runs down
the soft crevice of your ass
and discovers the bright star
formed by your thighs and as yet
uncrossed legs.

I am sending you a picture of my Jonathan
I want to writhe in the deep verge
the fount of musk, sweet water and
inescapable warmth.

I am sending you a picture of my Jonathan
my muscle of fun.
Oh look at it.
It's an icon of lust works that works miracles.
It is a column of desire and raging blood.

You know what next comes?
My desire overwhelms your defenses
It erodes your dikes
of deny and denial
My pipe yearns to burst
in your conduit

Don't act surprised
I wouldn't do this
if I thought you didn't want this
to happen.

I am sending you a picture
of my Jonathan.


Rituals of exclusions

You don't see it, you feel it.
The mask of your reality
cracking under the strain.

You can't just pull out
your Wizard's spell book
full of rituals of exclusions
and practical strategies
to defy unclaimed experience.

But you do it anyway.
You chant your chants,
a narrative of traumas that sounds
like werewolf cries.
You wave your hand--

The air becomes toxic.
The once clear blue sky shatters
into a heap of
glittering broken shards.

There it's finished.
Are you happy now?

Galaxy of risk

The Devil has wired
this galaxy of risk
we are living magnets
attracting only animated corpses
we call them zombies
but we are the ones
beyond redemption
deficient of Grace

We care, if we care at all
only in the physical and mental well-being
of bullies
While their victims,
well uh...you know
if they weren't where they were
they wouldn't get what they deserve

Oh I stand here
I stand of sacred ground
a paradise of paradox
where as an adult
I act childish not child-like
I can defy those harpy sisters
Science, Reality, Morality
knowing I'll get by
through some miracle or Fate

So I and you--I mean we
dance that kinky Kabuki like dance
feigning false morality
while violating natural and moral law

The seas boil turtles in their shells.
Birds burn as they fly through acid skies
Eight year-olds grow breasts and pubic hair
drinking estrogen laced milk
We dance merrily onward
from gratification to gratification
I'm thinking--
I love what is happening.
I don't even want to return.

Capitano Tedeschi

30

I am sending you a picture, Galaxy of risk, and Rituals of exclusion copyright June 10, 2011 by Jamie Jacks

R2 D2 returned from the wars

Numbers all is numbers
numbers never lie
The tireless droid
Skywalker's gallowglass
came to the end of the galactic wars
The Evil Empire vanquished
The Dark and Light side of the Force
locked in tight harmony
D2 ran the numbers
and randomly threw itself back into time
and landed in a parallel galaxy
by an irrigation canal in almond orchard
not far from Bakersfield California
Droid disguised as an irrigation pump
something close R2D2
calculated to turning a sword into a ploughshare.
The silly humans here
still believe you can hear explosions
in the depth of space
D2's memory banks aare filled with silence
where there should have been screams

Once R2D2 spanned the universe
destroying Emperors and Death Stars
now it's regulating the flow of water
to the orchard
and attempting to model
the falling of almond blossoms
blown by a spring breeze
and erasing databanks of
distant,violent, and dire days.
Sometimes on winter nights
when the Tule fog seeps into
circuitboards seared by war
wounded, repaired, replaced
but never fully restored
the old days come back to the droid
Laser blasts
and space as cold as Vader's breath
or stranger still Princess Leah's message to Obi Wan
is warped into a strange lullaby
that sings it to serene stasis
if not actual sleep.

Thus the days go
the rains fall
the brown water flows
and the orchard blossoms
the Almonds are harvested.
D2 knows someday
they'll come to scrap this strange pump
Atoms will be recycled
Then R2D2 will be reborn
innocent, empty
to be filled with the same new numbers
to journey across time
to save the Galaxy once again
D2 knows not urgency
it knows how to wait.

Capitano Tedeschi
30.


R2D2 returned from the wars. Copyright 8/19/2010 by Jamie Jacks

he still thinks he can bite

My head aches
as if I've come down with some
acute, critical and wasting illnes
Has a fever scorched or
burned out
the cells that archive both
memory and common sense?
I feel like I've lost the ability
to differentiate reality
from illusion

I think I am seeing that science
has no importance anymore.
It is as disgusting as a
sexually transmitted disease.
Facts, like wise, have no power
and are overwhelmed, drowned
by a flood of plausible and oft-repeated lies.

Examples abound.
An aging beauty queen makes millions of $$$
uttering lies and sheer nonsense.
Such is her charisma she hopes to replace
the Electoral College with a swimsuit competition.
Meanwhile a non-plumber not-named Joe
stomps down the corridors of the
Mega-temple of Conservative, Christian power
ranting like a bald-headed Jeremiah
because the promised book deal and the TV gig
haven't come through.
Finally saddest of all the aged war-hero
the self-styled Maverick gelds himself
so he can cling to the trappings of political power.

Such lies lurk like a cancer.
A signal in the bones that
some of my cells,
damned to immortality,
have formed into a venonmous spider
that feeds on silk swathed pieces
of my brain and heart.
I am paralyzed by their gnawing.
The real world , glittering in the morning sun
beyond my grasp.
I have become an endangered species
no longer relevant.
A bit player in someone else's story.
An exhibit in alien museum or zoo
hidden behind a sign that says
"Please don't feed this animal."
He's old, fat, and toothles
and he still thinks he can bite.

Capitano Tedeschi

30

He still thinks he can bite copyright May 13, 2009 by Jamie Jacks

virtuous shadow warrior

The guardians of Americanity
now float above in the sky
unseen, unheard
hovering at 20,000 feet
on their singing wings
like omnipotent, autistic children
idiot savants
whose talents are hellfire missles
who hasten death
through aggressive harm reduction

Below on the barren ground
of Waziristan and the Swat Valley
in the back alleys of
Karachi and Kandahar
vendetta is visceral
the knife knows not subtleties
amongst the people whose lives
are on the edges of the bomb craters
and the kill-zone
every death is a war crime
every grave a martyr's shrine

After 9 years of conflict
the global clash of cultures
we find that this is best death
our money can buy
But we never see the deaths
or the damage, except as
viral videos on YouTube
Share them with your followers or friends.

Do we still believe
that we are the virtuous shadow warriors?
Does death dealt by men and women
in silhouette in some air-conditioned trailer
enforcing the policy of Peace Americana
help stop end an endless war?
Or do we do it 'cause it's easy,
'cause we can, 'cause it's exciting to dwell
in the virtual space
where war is a video game?
ZAP!

Capitano Tedeschi

30

virtuous shadow warrior copyright April 8, 2010 by Jamie Jacks

Can't abide a sloppy man

Neat, that's how he's always looked
His momma always made sure
His hair was combed, his shirt was pressed
"Can't abide a sloppy man," she'd always say.

Marines made him neat as well, tougher too.
Korea was hell but when he was on
R&R in Japan, his boots and belt buckle
always gleamed.

Working in the Midway Sunset oilfield
Was hot, dirty and hard.
But he never was sloppy.
In the oilfields, like Korea, sloppy got you killed

He looks dapper today
Straw cowboy hat
Bolo tie with the blue turquoise slide
starched plaid shirt and pressed khaki pants.

Riding his power scooter
round the block by the assisted living facility
no need to change the habits of lifetime.
Never was sloppy. Sloppy gets you killed

Capitano Tedeschi

30

Can't abide a sloppy man copyright Sept. 22, 2009 by Jamie Jacks