Variations on the Theme of Comfort (Two Poems)

At this point, I believe these two poems will begin and end the Chapbook “There is no I in Poetry” that I am currently working on.

Discomfort

By Chuck Howe

Being asked if you American when overseas

An itchy sweater
with no shirt underneath

A homeless man
Who gets right up close
In a wide open space

An acquaintance
who reveals far too much
about a mutual friend
who is a better person than you both

Really bad artwork
or poetry
done by a close friend
who is very proud of it
and wants your opinion

Being trapped
in an elevator
with two strangers
who are obviously fighting
but have been silent
since you got on

Watching an elderly person
Sitting all alone
In a crowded diner
Slowly dipping their spoon
Into the bowl of plain looking soup
Blowing on the spoon to cool it off
And repeating until all of the soup
Has been finished

Going to your favorite restaurant
with a new friend or associate
getting your favorite waiter
ordering your favorite food
When your associate starts
insulting the waiter
the restaurant and the food

When the log of shit
Breaks through the anal sphincter
And you are still a few blocks
From a friendly bathroom
On a crowded street
And a stranger notices

You know her name
You slept with her once, long ago
You are both with new people
Introductions are made
Before you both remember that night

Running into that guy
You haven’t seen since school
That you used to party with
And he can’t wait to get away

Playing God
In the chapel
At the Hospital

That taste in your mouth
After keeping the vomit down

Life

Comforting Thoughts

by Chuck Howe

The people who are resonsible for your drinking water
Gave the Native Americans small pox infested blankets

Half the devices in your home are made by companies
That have bowed down to the US government time and time again
Not afraid to sell out their customers
For the promise of a tax break

The people responsible for prepaing you for the real world
Told you that Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny and the Tooth Fairy were real

In the Bible, the great glorious and merciful God fucks with and devastates his most devout follower just for kicks

Your tax dollars pay the salary
Of the IRS agent
Who is responsible for figuring out
How much you owe in taxes

The sun is only in the sky
Because some magical being
Who likes to fuck with his most devout followers
Said “Let there be light”
That mother fucker is holding you hostage
Demanding your love

Like a kid who says that you
Can’t play with his toys unless
You tell everyone that he is your
New best friend

Solutions

by Chuck Howe

A trench is being dug around the whole thing
Protection
It will be filled with oil and lit on fire
Protection
There will be towers built every 100 feet
Protection
There will be armed guards in the tower
Protection
There will be walls behind the trenches
Protection
A roof will block the sun’s harmful rays
Protection
It will keep the rain and snow away
Protection
No one can get in or out
Protection
Nothing can get in or out
Protection
Nothing and no one can get in or out
Starvation

Parenthood (to an outsider)

by Chuck Howe

Mother curled
up in a ball
in the corner
of the room

Baby stands
in his crib
smiling from
ear to ear

Shit everywhere
Not stuff
Shit,
Crap,
Fecal matter

The best advertisement
for birth control
ever
plays over and over
every morning

Illegal Aliens

by Chuck Howe

Republicans are afraid of
The wrong kind of
Alien

They’ll need all
The Mexicans they can find
To help fight off the spacemen

On America

Something that I wrote a few years ago. There are times I have to remind myself…

by Chuck Howe

I love America with all of my heart. I always have. I love the American dream. This country is the best country in the world. I do not mean that in the Toby Keith way. I mean that we live in a country where a hippy can go from festival to festival living on ground scores and a bank CEO shakes hands and makes a million dollars, and they both know that they are lucky to be living in America.

I have spent years yelling and screaming about America. America has angered my blood pressure up to 240 over 150. What makes me so angry about America is the same thing that I love about America. People are free to be themselves and free to be happy. People are assholes. People are beautiful. People are beautiful assholes. In America you can be a beautiful asshole.

It angered me every time I would hear about someone not wanting to help their fellow Americans. We could give billions to the banks but we don’t want to pay for universal health care. It’s good to know the teller giving me money is healthy, but when I use the money, it’s to buy food from a waiter with bronchitis. We create facebook groups asking to drug test all welfare recipients. Would you take the food out of your grand daughters mouth because your son smoked some weed every now and then? We turn our backs on good people when they need it most. Would you tell your unemployed brother that he is useless and you don’t think he should get any help at all because then he would be even more useless?

It would anger me every time someone felt that another person deserved less rights than other people. A family member who I love with all of my heart was trying to tell me they didn’t like gay marriage because homosexuality is icky. I knew a girl who liked to get “raped” at unexpected times. The relationship didn’t last, I found that to be very icky. That family member would have gladly gone to our wedding with a big gift and a big smile.

It would anger me when Americans thought they were better Americans because their families have been here longer. If you want to compare family histories and the formation and protection of the new world colonies and America itself, believe me my cock is bigger. My direct ancestor opened an inn in Sudbury Mass in 1637. Family had already been in the country for 17 years. The inn welcomed many new arrivals. The inn held meetings of the Minute Men. Four Revolutionary War Officers were brothers and Howe’s. A relative helped create the American Civil Liberties Union. Whether you like them or not, they fight for Americans new and old. The point of all this is that my family fought for the very creation of this nation that would always welcome people who desperately wanted to be American. I am very proud of that family history.

I know that this country will never be the perfect Utopian paradise that I wish in my heart it would be. It’s for the best. My vision would never last. We would be left unprotected and we would be destroyed. There is a place for everyone in the country and honestly we have a lot of angry kids who want to shoot guns, might as well put them in the military. Besides there were a lot of people who did really good things in their post military lives as well. I am glad there is someone out there to defend our country but…

I have a friend who is a big dude. I’ve worked a lot of jobs with him, and he is a bull. Nothing has ever been too heavy. Nothing can’t be squeezed in. He could kick multiple asses at once if he really wanted to. The biggest ass kicking he will ever give is turn bright red and yelling at you. He once had a buddy screw him over and then attack him when he called the guy out. The guy was tiny. He swung repeatedly but he wasn’t going to cause my friend any damage physically. My friend just kind of sat on the guy, until he calmed down. Then my friend got up and left. His own house. He was angry and hurt, but he was still going to give his friend all the time needed to calm down before the guy left. Later on my buddy, with a tear in his eye said something to the effect of, “Do you know how badly I want to hit someone and I can’t. I am so afraid I would kill them.” I’m sure it wasn’t the first time that a male lamented the fact that he could kick the worlds ass, but it was the first time I saw it.

I want America to be able to kick the worlds ass. There is a safety in being able to kick the worlds ass. But we should also feel bad about even using the most restrained force against our friends and enemies. I’ve learned how thin the line between friend and enemy is. Usually all it takes is a few words. I know how easy it was to turn a friend into an enemy, it’s much harder to make an enemy a friend, but it is never too late to try and never impossible.

We are surprised that there are those in the world who want to kill us, most once considered us friends. We gave Bin Laden money to fight the Soviets. We gave Saddam money to fight Iran. We gave the Taliban money to fight Poppy production. We have been rewarding nations for fighting. Then we are surprised they want to keep fighting when the fight that we liked has ended. We suddenly stop rewarding them for fighting. They get pissed. They feel we abandoned them, or worse yet are trying to control them. There is a very fine line between big brother and schoolyard bully. We play jump rope with that line.

People come in all flavors, and we Americans love to eat. We are the melting pot. The American stew is filled with flavors and texture that you may not think work together, but as a meal it is completely delicious and good for you too. You might not like cinnamon. And yes, there is cinnamon in the pot. There are so many other flavors you only slightly notice the cinnamon. Keep eating. Eventually you’ll grow to like the cinnamon, or at least not mind it’s presence.

Dueling Fantasies

by Chuck Howe

While you sit there
fantasizing about
stripping her naked
and making love to her
right there
in the middle of the sidewalk
She may be fantasizing
about slicing
your neck
from ear
to ear
and watching you
bleed out
right there
in the middle of the sidewalk
or maybe it’s
the other way
around

Cake and Barbed Wire

by Chuck Howe

A piece of cake
given for no reason
at just the right moment
can change your entire life

A word
misheard
or misused
can have a devastating effect

Sometimes reality itself
can be morphed and shifted
into better or worse shape
based on inconsequential events

A suicidal misunderstanding
A monster of regrets
being controlled by a past
that never actually happened

You are Jack Tripper
Thinking Janet and Chrissy both
Want to sex you up bad
Because of what you thought you heard

The Guiliani Legacy

by Chuck Howe

Remember when Guiliani was more worried about arresting Pan Handlers than he was bankers that were stealing millions?

Remember when Guiliani tried to cancel the mayoral election because he thought New York couldn’t survive without him?

Or how about when Guliani announced that he wanted a divorce, not to his wife and kids, but to the press, during a press conference?

Or how about when he used thousands of tax payer dollars to get laid?

Or when he endorsed Bernie Kerig for Homeland Security days before he was arrested for corruption, stealing tax payer money and sleeping with his girlfriend in an apartment meant for people working on ground zero?

Remember when Guiliani was a US Prosecutor and went after organized crime, but only those who opposed the organized crime members of his own family?

Or how he gets paid to travel to foreign countries to bad mouth America?
Remember when Guiliani said the President, who spent his whole life working to make America a better place, hated America?

Call the Dogs

In honor of the 10 year anniversary of Hunter S. Thompson’s death, Here is my most Hunter S. Thompson style story. aken from my book If I had Wings These Windmills would be Dead

by Chuck Howe

Scooter wanted out of Colgate. The year was over and he was ready to come home. He had already applied to other schools and it looked like he was going to get into Hampshire. I had already decided to head out to the University of Oregon in the fall, so I wouldn’t see too much of my friends.
Phish was playing in Syracuse that night, and then at a festival in Amherst the next day. Picking up Scooter on the way to the Syracuse show made perfect sense. We loaded his stuff into my car, and with Lenny and Steve, made our way to the show.

Next thing I knew, it was four in the morning, and I was tripping my balls off. I was driving 95 miles an hour. I had to make it to Amherst by morning, or else we might not get into the show. We had stayed in Syracuse for too long, but I couldn’t see the cigarette in my mouth, let alone the road. Phish had blown our minds. We even got to see Mimi Fishman challenge her son to a vacuum-playing contest. I was so out of it, I had no idea who won. So we waited in the parking lot until I came down enough to drive. Of course once we hit the road, I took another tab. I had to stay awake after all.

Everyone but me was asleep in my car when the cop came up behind me. I didn’t even notice him until finally he pulled up alongside of me, and ordered me to pull over. “Everyone, crotch your drugs.” Lenny woke up to see a cop pointing his flashlight into the window.

”Everyone out of the car,” he ordered. He took one look at me and knew that I was fucked up. “How much have you had to drink tonight?”

”Not a drop sir,” I was telling the truth. “How much did you have?”

”OK, so you’ve been smoking pot. I can smell it on you.” He had us sit on the side of the road as more police cars pulled up. “We believe that you may be in possession of illegal substances, so we are going to search the car.” Normally I would argue the search, but I was still a little too fucked up to think straight.

He was right. Illegal substances covered almost every inch of my car. Luckily there were a lot of backpacks and all of Scooter’s crap from school cluttering the car, but there was also an ounce of pot, a sheet of acid, and 2-dozen Valium. Looking through the back of my Volvo station wagon I could see the police lights swirling through the blue plastic of a two-foot bong. I thought that some dip shit upstate cop was about to make the biggest bust of this town’s history.

A few kids walking past stopped to see if we needed help. I said no, but asked them to stick around just in case. “Were you guys at the Phish show?”

I guess it was obvious. “Yeah, it kicked ass.”

The cops made us empty our pockets, and Steve pulled out a pack of rolling papers. They immediately began searching my car. I could see the cops opening empty packs of cigarettes, and pulling empty beer bottle out of the back seat. I looked at Lenny and Steve, and they had their heads in their hands. They were sure we were going to jail. As I sat there, I remembered the pipe in my visor and the mushrooms in my glove compartment. I figured we were busted, too. Scooter had no clue what was in the car and was talking happily with the kids who stopped by.

Twenty minutes later, the cops were still searching. If they had looked up they would have seen the bong. I knew then and there that they were a bunch of idiots. I was still tripping my face off, but I figured it was time to talk to the cops.

”Excuse me sir,” I said standing up and walking to the cop sitting in the driver’s seat. He was sifting through the 300 cigarette butts in my ashtray looking for a roach. That was the only spot in my car without anything illegal. “I’ve been driving all night, and I still have 4 hours to go. Can we finish this up?” I tried to make it seem like I was not worried at all.

”Tell me where the drugs are. Do you want me to call in the dogs?” I knew if they had dogs, they would have been there already.

”Sir, I haven’t used any drugs. The smell is probably because we were at a concert.” The cop looked at the other cops, and then amazed me by telling them they could go.

”Come to my car. I’ll write you a speeding ticket, and if you pass the Breathalyzer you can go.” I had no problem with that. I hadn’t had a thing to drink. I hated mixing the acid with alcohol.

I walked with him back to his car, passing the bong sticking up like a flag pole. Scooter, Lenny and Steve got up and went back into my car. The officer administered the test, and when I passed handed me a ticket. “Now drive safe. If you get tired, pull over, or have one of your friends drive.”

”Yes sir,” I said and went back to my car. I opened the door and got in. Lenny handed me the packed bong, and as the cop pulled past me, I blew the smoke out of the window. I started the car and drove off to Amherst. I wasn’t going to miss Phish playing a festival with Fishbone and the Beastie Boys after all.

The Last One part 2

by Chuck Howe

For a few nights it’s been cold and cloudy. Snow has been falling constantly, but there is only a trace amount left on the ground. Late Night/Early Morning has not been the best time for late night creature watching. The first night however, with it’s harder snowfall that actually seemed to stick at the time, provided some fun highway watching. There were no crashes, but I’m sure a lot of oh shit moments from the squeals I heard as they tried to navigate the turns just passed my property. Last night, though pretty damned cold, was bright and clear.

The winter is great because my favorite time of day seems so much longer.  At six in the morning we are still in complete darkness. With the proper clothing it was perfect cigar smoking weather as well. I paid little attention to the parkway. The random car that sped by was safe from ice. I saw a couple of small shooting stars. The moon was now closer to a sliver than it had been that first night. There had been no turkey sightings, or strange man with balloon sightings either. There were very few sounds. The wind kicked up every now and then, and the leaves would rustle.

It was during one of these wind burst that I heard a strange noise to the left of me. When the leaves settled the noise continued. Looking in that direction I couldn’t see anything. I figured I’d make a noise but I had been out there a while. Any human within a hundred feet would be able to smell the cigar let alone an animal.

The rustling was getting closer and I fully expected to see the large lead turkey with the others close behind. To my surprise it wasn’t a turkey that came out.  It was Cracker. I quickly made a coughing noise and he looked up at me. Cracker was one guy I didn’t want to surprise.

Cracker has lived in the small patch of woods behind my house for a few years now. When I first ran into him he was a tiny little thing, now he’s the big cheese our little habitat. Cracker is a skunk. I have always had a good relationship with Cracker. I don’t bother him, he doesn’t bother me.  The perfect human/skunk relationship.  I call him Cracker not because I feed him crackers. I don’t. Feeding him would fall under the title of bothering him in my book. I call him Cracker because he is completely white with a big Black Stripe down the center of his back.

Cracker knows I’m cool, I think. He has to by now. He never runs away if I’m around. If I have to go where he is, if for example he is near my car,  I tell him repeatedly that I am going over there as I walk toward my car. He moves far enough away to let me know I’m safe to enter. I drive off, and he returns to whatever mischief he was making in my yard.

This morning I wasn’t going anywhere. I was just sitting there smoking my cigar. He looked long and hard at me, and then walked to within 10 feet of me. I wasn’t worried. Like I say, Cracker is cool.

I took a drag from the cigar and the cherry glowed brightly. Cracker stopped in his tracks and looked right at me. I thought I saw his tail raise a little, but it was probably my imagination.

“Don’t worry buddy,”  I said in a soft somewhat sweet voice. “I’m not gonna bother you.”

He took a step or two closer to me. He had a clear walk to the neighbor’s yard from where he was, he didn’t need to come closer. “What did you say?” His voice was clear as day even though his mouth didn’t move. I knew I had smoked some good pot earlier, but this was ridiculous.

“I’m not gonna bother you. You looked startled, by the cigar.”

“That’s because it smells good. You got an extra?” I’ve have people bum cigars from me all the time because they smell so good, but I never had an animal ask for one.

“Yeah, hold on.” I got up and grabbed the pack of the table near the door. I unwrapped one and brought it outside for him. He was now sitting on the stone wall right next to where I was just sitting. I got down next to him and handed him the cigar. I pulled out my lighter but he stopped me.

“No thanks.  I’m gonna eat it.” And sure enough he started gnawing at the end.

“Ummm.” I started, but couldn’t think of anything to back that up. I took a drag and watched as he made his way through the thing.

“Yeah.  A bit of a trip isn’t it.” He said when he had even nibbled out the tobacco that is left inside the wooden filters.

“A bit.” It was a lot of a trip, but I was trying to keep my cool. That’s one thing I learned about trips. Have fun, but keep your cool.

“Well, I won’t bother you after one last question.” He came so close to me he was almost up in my lap.

“Have you seen any turkeys around here?” He whispered softly to me.

“Not tonight, no.”

“When was the last time you saw them?”  He seemed very anxious.

“About three or four nights ago.”

“And how many were there?”

I thought back. “I’m pretty sure it was seven.”

“Damn.  He’s here.  Did one of them look strange?”

“One of them laughed at me.”

“That’s him, did they go that way?” He pointed to the right and I nodded.  “Thanks for the help and the cigar,” he said and then scurried off in that direction. I got up off the wall and put my cigar out. I still couldn’t figure out a good storyline for my next project, and it was time to get working.