If I Were A Little Badger
If I were a little badger
I tell you what I'd do
I'd help all the other badgers
Escape from the L.A. Zoo.
We'd go downtown for coffee
And chat the night away
Around the sidewalk tables
At the badger espresso cafe.
We'd have existential rages
And geopolitical despair
Then we'd sneak back to our cages
And pull out all our hair.
~ Russ Allison Loar
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Mysterious Ways
Thinking about the mysterious ways of the Lord
And all,
I came upon a squashed bug,
Some kind of beetle,
Swarmed by ants,
And realized
I was standing on the line of ants
That led from the dirt
To the hot cement sidewalk
Where I stood,
Doing the Lord’s bidding.
~ Russ Allison Loar
© All Rights Reserved
For Schopenhauer
Show me your sun-drenched sprigs of winter,
The juniper bug as he howls,
The rise and fall of oatmeal
In the misty dawn of a burgeoning wahoo!
Show me these things,
My sweet, bare-faced darling,
And I shall inherit your property
With the gay abandon
Of love’s lost moth at eventide.
~ Russ Allison Loar
© All Rights Reserved
Like Emily
She has decided to be an artist,
A sculptress of words,
A poetess.
Her “Tribute to the Hungry Children of Planet Earth,”
Read in somber tones to her reluctant friends,
Such a moving expression of television-inspired grief.
But what do they know of art?
They are lost in contemplation
Of the rise and fall of her breasts,
So invitingly ripe,
While they feign appreciation of her nobler qualities.
She knows they only half listen to her words
And her thoughts are drawn back to Emily Dickinson.
She prepares herself
For the many years of indifference
That will most certainly come.
~ Russ Allison Loar
© All Rights Reserved
Over My Dead Body
If you happen to stumble over my dead body
Someday,
Do not grieve,
Unless it’s mayhem,
And yet you may then
Envy
The way I have taken
My leave.
For if you happen to stumble over my dead body
Someday,
Know I preferred death that way,
Like the swatting of a fly
In the blink of an eye.
~ Russ Allison Loar
© All Rights Reserved
As If
O this revolving world,
I am dizzy with all this spinning,
Cumulative now in my later years.
I feel the solar winds
Tugging at my sleeves
As we hurtle through space,
Madly erecting shopping centers
As if there were no tomorrow.
~ Russ Allison Loar
© All Rights Reserved
Lost And Found
I was upset,
I was angry,
I was afraid,
The sound of children playing was threatening,
The sunlight tired me,
The darkness worried me.
A man rang my doorbell,
A Jesus salesman,
Sent to my house by God
With the answers to my torments.
He read some Bible verses,
We got down on our knees and prayed,
I purchased a ninety-day, no obligation, trial subscription.
~ Russ Allison Loar
© All Rights Reserved
Snake
Snake on a parking lot curb,
Looking for water in the fourth drought year,
Stares blank-eyed at rows of stove-hot steel automobiles,
Shoots his rubber tongue out and in a few quivers
Then inch-glides his black and tan, rug-patterned self
Over the curb,
His tongue sniffing like a dog nose.
He slides into the gutter and angles toward me.
I’m safe in my car
But I can hear my dead grandmother scream
As he slips underneath my front bumper.
~ Russ Allison Loar
© All Rights Reserved
Like A Rhino
for Christopher
How like a rhinoceros,
My dissatisfaction,
My petulance.
A rhino in a sushi bar,
All thumbs.
A meadowlark in a turbine,
All feathers.
A guy writing this stuff down,
On paper,
Trying to fabricate meaning,
Watching the tip of his pen
Carefully outline letters, words,
Incomplete phrases whole,
Hoping some great dark muse
Will speak.
~ Russ Allison Loar
© All Rights Reserved
Wearing Thin
Some folks say
They want to live
Forever,
But as for me,
This particular person
I am
Is wearing thin.
I can think of few things
Worse
Than an eternity
Chained to this one particular person
I am,
This soul attached,
Forever beset
By this particular concoction
Of insecurities and doubts,
Addictions, duplicities
And happenstance.
Gotta wipe the slate clean,
Someday.
Be somebody else for awhile.
~ Russ Allison Loar
© All Rights Reserved
We, The Creative
We of the large-brained variety
Are the creative animals.
Survival is not enough,
We must have reasons to survive,
Philosophies,
Theologies.
And just to prove
How creative we really are,
We pretend our imaginings
Are the work of God.
~ Russ Allison Loar
© All Rights Reserved
The Arrow Of Time
Scientists are scratching their heads
Over the arrow of time,
Why things persistently move forward,
This journey from the womb,
Where along the way
We learn what the word “forward” means,
A word we made up
To describe this perception of progression.
“Why always forward?”
The aged scientist asks,
As the repression of regression
Slowly reverses everything.
~ Russ Allison Loar
© All Rights Reserved
Not Hats
The teacups of time are filling,
Spilling,
While we mad hatters make haste,
Not hats.
~ Russ Allison Loar
© All Rights Reserved
Almost
I’ve said so many things
To so many,
I’ve almost convinced myself.
~ Russ Allison Loar
© All Rights Reserved
Whither
Cheese from a rat is like soap for a hog,
You can’t write your mother by using a log.
A nose is indifferent to all that is art,
The opera’s a good place to rip loose a fart.
~ Russ Allison Loar
© All Rights Reserved
The Artist
O what reward
For lifelong labor
To make a beautiful sound,
To see the man in the front row
Fall asleep
While you so delicately evoke
Bach’s most ethereal passages
From your cello,
The instrument of your breathing,
The whisper of your bow
Across the strings.
Respiration from the front row
Works against the composition,
Keeping time in some asynchronous meter,
Growing steadily louder,
Until,
You have lost the reverie Bach intended
And your playing becomes rote,
Labored,
While the man in the front row
Snores,
While the stone-faced woman four rows back
Unwraps a peppermint candy,
Filling the hallowed air
With the crackle of cellophane.
~ Russ Allison Loar
© All Rights Reserved
Too Much Work
Too much work
Strips everyday life
Of love
And serendipitous happenstance,
Oh yeah.
~ Russ Allison Loar
© All Rights Reserved
Bedtime
Josh who is growing older says,
“Good night Dad,”
And I say,
“Hittin’ the hay?”
And Josh who is growing older says,
“Guess so,”
And I say,
“Sweet dreams buddy,”
And Josh who is growing older says,
“See you in the morning,”
And I say,
“Not if I see you first!”
And Josh who is already quite the young man indeed says,
“Yeah, right dad.”
~ Russ Allison Loar
© All Rights Reserved
What Men Want
When I see her
I hold myself a little tighter,
A little straighter,
Appearing more attractive,
Flexing all appropriate muscles,
Contracting all inappropriate flab,
Making myself desirable,
For she is my sweetheart heartthrob
Honeybunch sex machine
And I want her,
This girlish saint whore
Athletic fashion model intellectual.
I want her.
Now.
I am enraptured by her thin boyish
Sharp-shoulder-bladed frame,
Her overexposed unashamed voluptuous fantastic flesh,
Her long short medium-length hair,
So glossy black chestnut brown honey blonde pumpkin red
Curling straight.
I am lost in her mysterious bold naive uninhibited forbidden
Eyes of swimming pool blue chocolate bar brown
Charcoal briquette black London fog gray
Emerald chameleon green banana tree hazel.
She walks toward me away not moving,
This short long-legged average height tall small woman girl,
So delicate and strong.
She sees me and smiles
And I am hers,
All over town.
~ Russ Allison Loar
© All Rights Reserved
Playground
We are the little children of God
Who decided we want to do things on our own.
So God said, “OK,”
And put us here in this playground.
We’re still learning how to play together nicely.
We’re a bit slow.
~ Russ Allison Loar
© All Rights Reserved
Life Went On
It was Sunday,
And many millions
Living in the most powerful nation on Earth
Spent most of the day
Watching the big football game on television,
Cheering,
Moaning,
Screaming
At the electronic moving pictures of football players
Running back and forth and sideways,
Trying desperately,
Valiantly to get hold of the football
And take it to one end,
Or another,
Of the flat grassy space.
The next day,
Life went on,
Much as it had before.
~ Russ Allison Loar
© All Rights Reserved
Don't Take This Literally
I’ve been way too coherent lately,
Too literal.
Some of my more artistic friends
Blush
At my naive,
Prosaic,
Prose.
I actually use the words
“Love,”
And “heart,”
Even “God,” for “Pete’s sake.”
I “dream”
And sometimes I am “sad,”
Sometimes full of “hope” and “joy.”
I apologize to my more sophisticated friends
For my unadorned simple-mindedness
And would darken coherence with obfuscation
But alas,
I am “too far gone”
And cannot ignore the entreaties of the angels
Who whisper in my ear:
Persevero, persevero,
Dulce et decorum est.
~ Russ Allison Loar
© All Rights Reserved
Books
Books on my shelves,
So meticulously bought
And placed according to thought.
The lines of their spines
Reproach me
For ignoring them so.
In false phrases of praises
My bookstore ambitions go.
What would I know
If I’d read them all
And with total recall
Could bring forth their voices?
Who would I be with such choices,
With such knowledge tamed
And insights gained?
Would I really be changed
If rearranged
By the genius of my age
And of ages before?
Would I be an amazing sage
Or just another incredible bore?
~ Russ Allison Loar
© All Rights Reserved
Who Is I?
Who is I?
My likes and dislikes?
My opinions?
My desires?
My hope?
My fears?
My faith?
My family?
My friends?
My dog?
My cat?
My goldfish?
My daily life?
My comings and goings?
My work?
My accomplishments?
My failures?
My past?
My future?
My reputation?
My image?
My body?
My brain?
My thought?
My spirit?
My soul?
My God?
My my!
Who is I?
~ Russ Allison Loar
© All Rights Reserved
Timenesia
If you could travel back in time,
You would forget how you got there.
~ Russ Allison Loar
© All Rights Reserved
Cats
Why am I not a god to these cats?
They sit, long-pawed on my driveway
As I approach in the fearsome monster of steel
I pilot slowly toward them,
Growling and hissing.
But they watch my advance with disinterest,
Half-closed eyes revealing scant concern.
They are used to my comings and goings
And will not move until the last possible moment,
When a tire threatens to brush a whisker,
When I race the engine to give them a start.
They are becoming accustomed to these things as well.
I step from the roughly idling four-door sedan
And pull open the great wall of aluminum garage door,
Letting it fly upward and crash against the frame.
A few furry heads turn in slumberous response,
Then mechanically turn away.
O what will roust them from this languor?
It is the clack and pop of punctured metal,
The grinding drone of the kitchen can opener
That does the trick.
In an instant they have gathered,
A felonious mob at the back-door stoop,
Meowing in feigned, pitiful supplication,
And God will walk among them once more.
~ Russ Allison Loar
© All Rights Reserved
The Crow
First,
The Earth,
The land,
The air,
The sea,
The fish,
The plant,
The frog,
The bug,
(The rest)
The girl,
And boy.
Then,
The farm,
The dog,
The cat,
Then you
And me
Our house,
The bread,
Too stale,
(Beneath)
The tree,
And so,
The crow.
~ Russ Allison Loar
© All Rights Reserved
Sacred
What do you hold sacred?
Not in your places of worship,
Your churches,
Your temples,
Your mosques.
Not in your ceremonies,
Your practices,
Your prayers.
It is no real test
When you are harnessed with the obligations
Of pious behavior.
Show me what you hold sacred
In a crowded parking lot,
When the hunger is upon you
For a really good parking space.
~ Russ Allison Loar
© All Rights Reserved
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