Walking Raven

This Much I Know

On this date, at this time, four years ago, the music died.

This Much I Know

This much I know
To be true
With a certainty more certain
Than sure and certain hope.

I know it
Unquestionably,
Without question,
Beyond question.

I know it
Undoubtedly,
Without doubt.
Beyond doubt.

This much I know.
My brother,
My beloved brother,
Is still dead.

The rest is silence.

cko
November 23, 2012
1:20 a.m. PST

Poem Upon Waking

The secret of life.
We all die.
Get over it. And live.

cko 9/29/2012

Oh, My Brother

Oh, my Brother, my Brother.
Dead.
Dead?
My Brother? Dead?
MY BROTHER IS DEAD?

I wish I could believe
My death would present an opportunity
For God to tell me Why.
A Why might help —
Not really.

I see him
Sauntering down the street
Dressed in his favorite best
Internally warmed by his last martini
Against the autumn chill.

Moving toward the fateful encounter
“Fateful” because a minute,
Perhaps even seconds,
On either side
And he walks on, undead.

Instead, he slaps at the vehicle
Driven by a Black, Swedish Rapper.
You read right,
A Black Swedish Rapper,
Driving

Not a beloved ’65 fastback ‘stang,
Or a ’67 Cobra,
Or a ’70 Chevelle,
But a rental
A rental.

And so they watched
As the Black Swedish Rapper
Emerged from the rental and
Killed the Music.
The rest is silence.

— cko, August 30, 2011

Obstruction

I saw again this morning
that which will be
the death of me.
By-product of my misspent youth.
No one ever told me
I could misspend so soon.

cko
December 3, 2009

Synonymic 2

No eye is on the sparrow and nobody’s watching me = Cave, Cave Dominus videt — NOT!

Synonymic

Let us make humankind in our image = I am become you

2:12ish

2:12ish my time,
Every day he worked,
He would call
From the same Starbuck’s near his office.

“Hi, my John.”
“Hi, my Kris.”

“How are you? How’s your health?”

And then a report of his night,
His day ‘til then.

“Well, I guess I better eat my protein bar
And go up the hill.”

“I love you.”
“I love you.”

Good-bye.

cko
11/24/08

The Real Suspension of Disbelief

Let’s be honest.

How many of us
Would simply

Let our virgin child live,
Stay hidden among the women,
Remain celibate,

Kick the bum out,
Marry the first suitable suitor,
Leave the brother’s body to the dogs,

Stay with Circe,
Stay with Dido,
Stay in the Shire?

cko
10/18/2008

Why stop us the climbing?

Why do we stop climbing trees?
Or, for that matter,
Looking for trees to climb.
Or, for that matter,
Looking at trees for their climbability.
Or, for that matter,
Looking at trees.
Or , for that matter,
Looking for trees.
Or, for that matter,
Why stop us the asking?

cko
8/23/2008

Illustration No. 1

Anglo-
We interrupt this program . . .

Saxon
News Flash!

cko
08/17/08

Quiz

Which statement was written by a college graduate:

a) I’m not dead yet.
b) I’m not dead, yet.
c) I’m not dead . . . yet.
d) I’m not dead. Yet.
e) I’m not dead; yet.
f) I’m not dead yet?
g) I’m not dead yet!

cko
7/28/08

Joe Joe

I don’t care what the Good Book says
Our Savior said.
No amount of Faith
(mustard seeds notwithstanding)
Can move
An 86-pound greyhound
Splayed, Sphinx-like,
Munching his morning biscuit.

cko
July 5, 2005

TGIF

You can get that
The world before you
5:00 Friday feeling
Different ways.

Yours now comes Monday night at 9:30.
Mine after successfully negotiating the shower
One more time.

But unless you’ve worked
Monday thru Friday
8 to 5
You can’t know how it feels.
You won’t know what you’re feeling.

At the very least,
You call it something else.

cko
May 16, 2008

Haiku

Mulberries in Spring
Give a whole new meaning to
“I blew my brains out.”

5/2/06

Performance Piece

Upon the addition of a “Poetry” category to Walking Raven

Haiku with Ecphonesis

My time has now come.
But I will speak of no things.
The Walrus be damned.
Goo goo g’joob!

Copyright © 2006 by cko

Drunk Behind the Moon

Poetry ranks closest to Art.
Still, it follows.
Sometimes, though, words and syntax trigger the quickening.

“Drunk behind the moon.”
And we are there.
In the dark.
In the cold.

And then,
Old Mr. Flood himself
Singing to himself
In dissociated harmony.

A dry martini.
Stolichnaya.
Up.
With an olive.

Now that’s a metafer.

Revised January 6, 2006
Copyright © by cko

Dialectic

And if I give all my possessions to the poor, and if I deliver my body to be burned,
but do not have love, it profits me nothing. 1 Corinthians 13.3

I.

I sleep now
facing your ghost.

II.

Take, eat.
Take, eat.

This is my body
This is my body

Given for thee.
Given for thee.

III.

It is not good we should be alone.
Isolato.

Whither thou goest
Follow me.

For as long as there is love,
Love one another.

January 6, 1996

Copyright © 1996 by cko

We’re All Alone

“Nobody reads this shit,”
You proclaimed, 
Handing me a book written
For no reason other than survival.

Publish or perish.

“Nobody reads this shit, either.”
I muttered,
Handing the judge a brief written
For no reason other than comfort.

Eat what you kill.

“Will you read my nonshit?”
I asked again, this time
Handing you pages written 
For no reason other than need.

I was not worthy.

“Obviously I’ve mistaken you for someone who cares.”
I thought, almost appreciating the irony and
Retracting the pages
For no reason other than regret.

I can endure the sweet ache of your flustered rejection.
It is you who will miss the seamless web.

September 15, 2005